Chapter 825 - This Game Is Too Realistic

### Chapter 825: A Mere Few Thousand Kilometers Between Hell and Heaven As Ross led reinforcements closer to the port, the soldiers stationed at West Sail Port, eager and ready, prepared themselves to teach these "big noses" a lesson. The first line of defense was under the command of the centurion Imran. At this moment, he gripped a telescope provided by the Velante military, secretly observing the four incoming warships from afar. Three seemed to be transport vessels, while the other, a dark mass, was likely a warship, though it was too far to discern exact details. Seeing only one warship offered Imran a slight sense of relief. It seemed, just as His Majesty Janusz had predicted, that the legion couldn't send many forces. In reality, until four days ago, Imran had been a centurion of the city defense force, living a carefree life of fishing and loafing around, and occasionally bullying others. However, due to the commanding officer's desertion, they switched sides to join the rebels with barely a fight. It's hardly blameworthy—they resisted integrating into strong military forces due to Xilan's unique "ecological environment." Both Heaven and regional powers were wary of militarizing groups they couldn't control. Thus, in the Xilan Empire, the city guards were always at the bottom in terms of combat capability, in name only concerning city defense, as their everyday tasks involved bullying farmers, small vendors, or fellow hoodlums. Janusz, emerging from the Grey Wolf Corps, looked down upon them. Yet, perhaps driven by a belief in strength in numbers or sheer desperation for manpower, he enlisted them indiscriminately. Not only that, this merciful King also retained the original military officers, promoted them, and even rewarded them with the prosperous West Sail Port. Imran could see it: their king harbors grand ambitions. This noble King intends to overthrow the decayed and incompetent empire. They indeed have a chance. Currently, the empire's elites are far away in Mammoth State, making a quick return impossible. As for their king, riding momentum from the myth of the Wolf Devouring the Sun and his proclamation to free all slaves, he's amassed an army of 200,000 in just a matter of days! Even if the quality, equipment, and supplies of this army vary greatly, their sheer size and high morale are undeniable. They are like an avalanche, gaining mass and force as they descend from the mountain's peak, eventually becoming an unstoppable force sweeping everything away. Should this man achieve his aims, Imran himself would surely be lauded as a hero for supporting the true king. Perhaps he could even earn himself an earldom... Imran was abruptly dragged back from his daydreams by the distant thunder of a cannonball. All at once, his reflexes kicked in, and he grabbed the communication radio with all his might, shouting loudly. "It's the legion! The Velante! Those big noses are here! Everyone, prepare for battle—!" The sound boomed through the radio speakers, spreading across the entire battlefront. Under the raspy voice's encouragement, shouts rose up along the defense line. "Oooh oooh oooh!!" "Those damned Velante!" "Let's show these big noses some real color!" The chaotic noise resembled the squeaking of mice, completely unaware that catastrophe was looming over them. The initial salvo came from a 380mm naval cannon on a shallow-water gunboat. A thick column of fire erupted from the foreboding black steel deck, like a sword piercing the heavens or a bolt of lightning cleaving the sky. As the thunderous roar swept through the waves, the small "mice" holding the port suddenly realized what kind of enemy they faced. Nobody dared provoke warriors born for war like this. "Boom——!!!" Molten lava-esque debris erupted violently along the brick-paved streets! Bricks shot up like scallions uprooted by a plow, the shockwave instantly scouring the entire street! Two 100mm cannons set at the street's entrance had no time to return fire, not even glimpsing their target's shadow before being crumpled by the searing shockwave. Nearby artillerymen and loaders couldn't even scream before being pulverized along with shattered storefront windows. Those unluckiest, edging near the blast's outer perimeter, lie sprawled pathetically in the debris. Half-dead might be the worst state of all. The wounded shivered, convulsed, and writhed in the wreckage... "Ah..." "Where's... my leg..." "Ahhh!" "Help! Please... I don't want to die..." Silence fell over the whole port. Only the creak of collapsing beams and mournful wailing pierced the smoke-choked air. Some wept over severed limbs, others curled up like shrimp, while others futilely attempted to shove protruding intestines back into their bellies... The Heaven's soldiers, gripping their guns, froze in place. Facing the annihilated street, they were left speechless. What was that...? Seemingly in the blink of an eye. The defense line they had labored to construct over two days and nights was crumpled and tossed into oblivion. Half a squad vanished in an instant, not even seeing where the Velante were… "Thwack—" A "black rain" suddenly descended. Stone and mud hurled up by the gunfire rained down, clattering against the soldiers' emplacements, helmets, even trickling down into their collars... Rudely awakening many from dreams! Standing at the front, Imran, mouth agape, hadn't even realized he'd wetted his trousers. Now he understood why Janusz had hurriedly left. His own thoughts mirrored Janusz's—and those of his former superior officers! Ultimately, his old commander was the truly smart one. The guy who seemed inconspicuous was clearminded than anyone else. From the moment rebels seized the port district, West Sail Port was doomed, regardless of whether they resisted or not! Given that, why resist at all? Flee while there's still time! Imran opened his mouth, trying to mask his panic with a facade of bravado, shouting fiercely. "...Don't panic! We have the manpower! They’re only three—no, four ships! Let them land if they dare... I'll make them pay once they do!" Even if just to stall for time to escape, anything to have those little mice hold the front lines. As he yelled and retreated, he shut off the radio, leaving the terrified adjutant to command. Meanwhile, he concocted a slew of ridiculous excuses and, under the desperate eyes of his makeshift troops, hastened away from the front line command post. Just as he'd hoped, the Velante had no intentions of landing. At least not now. The prior cannon shot was merely to gauge distance. Once their aim was confirmed, the powerful cannon spoke again—and again spewed out fire! The shells rained over the entire port, driving the defending troops from hiding with head-splitting shrieks. West Sail Port wasn’t a military installation, lacking sturdy fortresses or emplacements. As for the marble edifices the Velante had erected here, they offered negligible protection against a 380mm cannon, virtually crumbling on contact. Like tofu underfoot! By the time the third salvo struck, morale among the port's Heaven troops was completely shattered. After all, many of them were clueless as to what they were truly fighting for, what victory or loss would mean—just idly thinking they might win. Only at the cannon fire’s sound did they grasp the misconceptions clouding their muddled minds; true warfare wasn’t how they’d imagined! Too late, though... Cannon fire didn’t relent due to their dread and lamentations but rolled unabated over their heads and into the nearby city district. The defenders weren't the only ones to suffer countless casualties; the civilians in the city also faced a similar fate. Just days ago, they had endured the ravages of the rebels, and now they were under the brutal assault of the Velante. The cannonade stretched on for over ten minutes, and the once-bustling port was now cloaked in thick smoke. "Enough!" MacLennan grabbed Ross's shoulder, turning the latter's face towards him. Ross's eyes were bloodshot, resembling a demon that had crawled out of hell, his lips twitching incessantly. "Enough... enough? It's not enough at all! You've seen what they've done! These beasts... I want to slaughter them all! They must pay this debt in blood!" He yelled hysterically, every inch of his face twitching with tension. Ross wasn't obligated to heed MacLennan's orders, and at that moment, he momentarily forgot all respect due to his superior. MacLennan, understanding Ross's predicament, didn't reprimand him. He shared the same boiling anger. "I agree with you, but don't forget, that's our port." MacLennan stared at him with cold determination, his grip on Ross's shoulder firm. "Also, don't you think executing them with cannons is too merciful for these beasts?" Ross froze for a moment, still breathing heavily but no longer maniacal. MacLennan continued calmly, "You have those 'Grey Men' mercenaries, right? I have an interesting proposition. If they're so brave, let's test exactly how brave." A cruel grin slowly emerged on MacLennan's face as he spoke. It sent a chill down Ross's spine, realizing what MacLennan intended. Indeed, the savages from the Eastern Legion were known for their unique methods of torture. But this... this sounded like a pretty good idea. A similar cruel smile began to creep onto Ross's face as he prepared to agree with the demon from the Eastern Legion standing before him. Indeed, cannon executions would be too lenient. How about a fight with bare hands against mutated creatures? From what he knew of the "Grey Men," those beasts would tear them to pieces, doing so meticulously to keep the "food" as fresh as possible... He no longer viewed those onshore as human; he only sought the most brutal methods to slaughter them all. With the malicious grin wiped off his face, MacLennan patted Ross's shoulder and gazed seaward. "... Even if only one Velante remains, we must rescue them." "Enough venting; it's time for our lads to take over." … With the cannon fire paused, two troop-carrying transport ships charged toward the port. Soldiers standing on deck bristled with pent-up rage, clutching rifles, eager to tear the beasts ashore apart! In the lead were the "Purification" units—hulking figures clad in heavy body armor, wielding flamethrowers and gatling guns. These giants, failed in their awakening, retained brute strength and resilience but at the cost of their intellect. Even their dull faces now blazed with a bloodthirsty fury. "Roar—!" One giant bellowed, placing the barrel of the gun at his knee and unleashing a storm of bullets amidst the roaring barrel. Under the ferocious hail of gunfire, the Heaven's soldiers cowered behind their defenses, unable to retaliate, blindly firing their rifles over their barricades. Such tactics might have worked in close-quarters combat but failed utterly across hundreds of meters; bullets either soared skyward or embedded harmlessly in the ground, accomplishing nothing but wasting ammunition. The shoreline defenses quickly assembled, and the first hundred-man squad divided into smaller teams leapt into the bombarded ruins. Before long, gunfire erupted amidst the ruins, mingled with cries of pain from those who fell. A Velante soldier shot a Heaven's soldier's leg through a wall, then, ignoring pleas for mercy, slammed the rifle butt into his forehead. "Scum! Attacking civilians, huh? Let's see you take me on! Get up!!!" The soldier roared, pounding the helpless man's face until comrades dragged him back under cover. "Enough, he's already dead!" Reloading with deftness, a fellow soldier, face also contorted with fury, spat through gritted teeth. "... Plenty more left alive." "KILL!!!" Velante soldiers, having tasted blood, killed indiscriminately, slashing, scorching, beating, stabbing—employing any means to end lives. Trampling over shattered windows and streets, they unleashed a maelstrom of violence upon the Heaven soldiers, who were reduced to terrified mice. Initially, some Heaven's soldiers attempted a desperate last stand, but realizing their futility, they frantically shed their armbands, abandoning weapons in frantic retreat. In time, as they had hastily donned those armbands, now they discarded this flimsy faith just as readily. The battle was never truly balanced to begin with. Most defenders had been civilians merely days ago, just learning how to fire and aim a gun. Had they possessed any unyielding courage or belief worth dying for, they might have made a difference, trading their lives for a few victories. But clearly, they did not. Most of those who fell here didn't. In contrast, their opponents were "genetic soldiers" born from the technologies of the prosperous age! These Velante were 20% stronger, more enduring, and agile than ordinary humans—gaining an extra "attribute point" in each category, and they weren’t just ordinary soldiers but seasoned veterans! Even without awakening powers, these legionnaires were battle-hardened survivors, emerging from iron and flame. The cowardly brutes, who only dared attack the weak, were no match for these demons! Watching the creature soldiers retreat with tails between their legs, the frenzied Velante charged after them, firing and taunting— "Aren't you tough? Why run! Come on, pick your guns up!" Bullets whistled past, and the Heaven's soldiers, tearing away bandages, scurried through ruins like crazed rodents. Two mortally-wounded five-man teams were herded into a collapsed two-story villa. Terrified, their instincts betrayed them as they raised guns at each other, nearly firing on allies in panic. By then, the Velante were at the door. They hurriedly barricaded it with fallen furniture, hanging a white cloth out the window as a makeshift flag. "We surrender!" "S-sir... we'll never do it again!! Please spare us!!" "We're just city guardians! Not with them! Janusz forced us to fight you!" At the door, two Velante soldiers exchanged a grin, one reaching for a grenade, but the other held him back, subtly gesturing to the white phosphorus grenade at his waist. "Use mine." Pulling the pin, a soldier shoved it through the barricade into a crack, then sealed the window tightly again. Inside, frantic screams erupted, like mice drowning in a flooded den. Brilliant, deadly flames bloomed like fireworks, spewing acrid smoke weaving through the room, igniting everything combustible. The fiery room filled with shrieks; Heaven soldiers, engulfed in flame, desperately moved obstacles blocking the door, but the guards outside kicked them mercilessly back into the blaze. Agonized cries echoed across the battlefield. This was no fight—it was a unilateral slaughter... As the Velante continued to land, the massacre endured from dawn until noon. When MacLennan and Ross's group set foot on the port, it was already drenched in blood. In the end, the Velante forces suffered nearly a hundred casualties, while the defending two thousand Heaven's soldiers lost close to five thousand, with the rest mostly scattering into the city's various districts. West Sail Port, despite having been battered by the Heaven's army, still housed a population of seven to eight hundred thousand from its original million. Ross first reported the situation to Evernight Port, then called for reinforcements and supplies. He dispatched three hundred-man squads to seal off the main exits from the settlement, issuing a shoot-on-sight order for anyone approaching the checkpoints. A blood debt demands blood repayment; their vengeance had just begun... ... Like the other high-ranking officers of the Heaven's forces holed up in the settlement, Centurion Imran didn’t have the chance to flee the city or even hide before being dragged back to where he once fought. In truth, he was handed over by the residents of West Sail Port themselves. The frenzied Velante soldiers had terrified everyone; nobody dared harbor him. Kneeling on the port's stone tiles, Imran trembled as he looked up at the two Velante officers standing before him, begging for his life. "Please, sir..." "I-I was forced... I had nothing to do with that night! It was that Janusz guy... They were the ones looting in the port district! I-I can help you—" MacLennan didn't spare a glance at the pitiful wretch. He simply removed the cigar from his mouth and blew a smoke ring. Suddenly, reaching out, he grabbed Imran's head and fiercely pressed the burning cigar into Imran's left eye, twisting it brutally. "Sizzle—" "AAAAAA!!!" His screams, like a pig being slaughtered, echoed in the room, drowning out the sizzling of the flesh. Only when blood covered the cigar's ember, extinguishing it, did MacLennan toss the bloodstained cigar into the sea, yanking up Imran's head by the hair. "Did I ask you?" Imran, a bloody mess, convulsed violently, gasping for air as if trying not to drown—the desperation of a fish washed ashore. "You have one eye left," MacLennan said slowly, locking eyes with Imran’s one good eye. "I'll ask, you answer. Clear?" "Y-yes! I understand, sir! I do!" Imran nodded weakly with all his remaining strength. MacLennan dropped him disdainfully to the ground, watching his worm-like wriggling with cold dispassion as he methodically asked all the questions planned. Who was involved that night, the masterminds, casualties, how they died, and who survived—all the details Imran knew spilled out quickly. After getting what he needed, MacLennan nodded, then calmly drew his sidearm and fired, ending it with a single shot into Imran's bewildered face. He never promised to spare the man’s life, though honest confession spared him some agony. "Bury him according to local customs." "Yes, sir!" A soldier saluted crisply before dragging the corpse away like the dead dog it was. "At this rate, it'd take two months to kill ten thousand a day... damn," Ross cursed, fists tightly clenched, anger still smoldering. "Should we request a strategic nuclear warhead?" At this murderous pace, he’d never make it home in time to celebrate birth day with his family. "Forget it, we'd need to rebuild the port all over again." Removing his gloves, MacLennan casually tossed them into the sea, lighting a fresh cigar. Though this was bureaucrats’ project, ultimately it was Velante property. Exhaling a smoke ring, MacLennan continued coldly, "Just replace dirty blood." "We still need the land." ... On the wasteland, the distribution of information follows the same uneven pattern as wealth—vastly imbalanced. This isn't just a matter of technical limitations but also infrastructure readiness, debris in orbit, radio signal interference from the radiation—all contributing factors. Because of such complexities, some places have restored the "Internet of Everything" from the prosperous age, enabling constant high-speed connectivity, fridges included. But other places still depend on telegraphs or even older methods, relying purely on nature. Therefore, only those who pulled the trigger or got shot knew about the massacre at West Sail Port. On the first day of Wasteland Era year 214, most settlements associated with the Alliance were still immersed in the festival's joy. Last night, Dawn City celebrated the New Year with two hours of continuous fireworks. Other survivor settlements, friendly to the Alliance, also followed suit, celebrating New Year’s Eve and broadcasting the fireworks celebration on TVs or other media devices! The festive spirit lasted well into the next morning. Just hours before Velante's assault on West Sail Port, Dawn City's streets buzzed with jubilant excitement. Local residents and visiting wastelanders rose early, gathering at Dawn City’s square. Despite a night-long snowfall, fiery enthusiasm burned undampened. Excited, joyous eyes fixed unwaveringly on the square's center. There, a cerulean power armor figure stood, its face handsome and resolute, wearing a kindly smile akin to a friend long unseen. He waved gently as if greeting old comrades. This simple gesture ignited the crowd's enthusiasm; small flags waved like a rolling tide, the entire square erupted in cheers. "Long live the Administrator!!" "Long live the Alliance!!!" Beyond repeated cheers, distinctive voices arose mainly from the players: "Hail, Lightbro!!" "Lightbro, look at me! Lightbro!" "Remember the junkheap by Lake Diamond? I helped you scavenge there!" "Look at me, Father!" "Shut it, stop pretending you matter!" "Wow... this NPC is crafted damn handsomely, almost as much as me." "Ugh!!!" Though some NPCs in the Alliance could speak Mandarin, like Boss Xia, these players spoke in such abstract terms, it baffled even the best linguist, Xiaoyu. Standing amid the crowd, Pai peered curiously at the Vault dwellers, attempting to make sense. "What's that person shouting over there?" Xiaoyu, initially unconcerned, listened intently before commenting seriously. "Seems like they're calling to bear Chu brother's child." Pai stared, bewildered, turning back. "Huh? But that guy's a dude?" Xiaoyu's eyebrows shot up. "That won't do!" Elisa, beside them, chuckled despite herself. "Regardless of can or can't... that's impossible." Arms folded, Heya smiled softly, adjusting her holo-glasses. "From a technical perspective..." She was cut off as Boss Xia covered her mouth. "Alright, alright, no tech talk, I don't want to hear it, thanks!" Gathered aren't just Alliance residents but wastelanders from afar and survivors from various other factions too. Legends of the Alliance Administrator have spread far beyond the Alliance or Rivervale Province. Returning alliance forces and all who yearn for order carried news of him and the 404 Vault dwellers to all corners of the wasteland. These stories, like dandelion seeds, take root in new, unfamiliar lands. Those who idolize him have come on pilgrimages, eager to see the one leading the united forces to triumph, some traveling from the distant Ideal City or even Triumph City to behold him personally. "...so that's the Alliance's Administrator?" "Quite young-looking, actually." "I thought he'd be an old man... turns out he looks barely over twenty." "Could it be he's actually quite old but just doesn't show it?" "Like those old geezers in the Academy?" "Hard to say, who knows with this sort of thing." A group of Velantes, arms crossed, stood at the edge of the crowd in the square, gazing at the figure in the center. Not far from them, a group of survivors from Ideal City animatedly discussed with some mercenaries from Free State. "I heard he smashed a Pioneer in bio-power armor with a single strike at Weifu Wasteland!" "He even fought on the front lines himself?!" "Haha, that's just one of his many legendary feats. If you've got time, check any bar in Dawn City; those drunks can yap about him all day." "Incredible..." "Sounds like pure exaggeration." "Ahem! I can't vouch for everything, but this one's true. Believe it or not, I served in the 100th Mountain Division—I witnessed it myself!" Amid the bubbling excitement, the clock struck eight, resonating across the square. It marked the most radiant moment of the morning sun. Standing at the square’s center, Chu Guang surveyed the eager faces before him. In a voice both solemn and approachable, he addressed the crowd, offering his New Year's greetings. "Today marks the year 214 of the Wasteland Era, a little over two centuries since we lost everything and plummeted from paradise into the abyss." "But today, I’m here not to mourn those two centuries of decline, rather to honor the past year, the year 213 of the Wasteland Era—" "A year whose history we have written with our own hands!" "...In the past year, we not only conquered the Brood, which tainted these lands for over two centuries, but also sowed the seeds of civilization far to the south, and repelled plagues, chaos, and savagery that threatened our prosperity." "This journey hasn’t been easy. It's been fraught with challenges, setbacks, and loss. Time and again, we stood at crossroads, mired in turmoil and dispute." "But despite that, we remained steadfast and united, setting aside differences to stand together for our shared destiny, forging a bulwark that defended the dignity and foundation of human civilization, fighting courageously until we secured victory!" "This tremendous, glorious victory belongs not only to the Alliance but also to those who stood by us, and to every soul who dares to dream of ending the Wasteland Era with hope and vision for the future." "Now, we face new challenges, including unresolved disputes, extending the illuminated path onward, sowing the seeds of civilization to distant places, and nurturing them to grow." "I believe we have the strength and determination to fulfill all our promises for tomorrow. Our predecessors left us with a wealth of experience, blueprints, and revelations. Now it’s our turn to carry the torch forward!" "The Wasteland Era will end in our hands, and the victory long overdue will finally be ours!" "For all survivors united!" As Chu Guang's words echoed through the air, the square erupted with thunderous applause, followed by roaring cheers. Seeing those spirited faces full of hope, Chu Guang waved with a smile, then handed over the ceremony's hosting duties to the waiting emcee behind him, officially announcing the beginning of the celebration. As always, Chu Guang didn't intend to occupy too much of people’s time. After distributing medals of honor to the players, he left the square—a place shared by all survivors—amidst a shower of flowers and applause. He always believed that on such a celebratory day, people should spend time with their families rather than focusing solely on him. After all, he needed some time for himself too, to handle life's trivial matters and explore the settlement. Especially the latter. He wanted to spend more time seeing how people lived in his absence and what new mischief his delightful players had been up to. But as Chu Guang pondered where to grab a meal first, Lü Bei suddenly received a message, his expression turning serious. Quickening his pace to reach Chu Guang's side, he leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "Sir... there's major trouble!" (To be continued...)