Chapter 853 - This Game Is Too Realistic

### Chapter 853: An Unknown Fleet On the tumultuous sea, majestic warships were surging through the waves. They were the fleet of the South Sea Alliance, and also the only organized naval combat force on this sea. At the forefront was the flagship, the Harpoon cruiser, renowned for its exploits during the civil war. Following behind were four destroyers. The South Sea Alliance had dispatched almost all available ships, leaving only enough for homeland defense. In addition to naval forces, three submarines lurked below the surface, dispersed and hidden. In times past, the Alliance helped the South Sea Alliance to unify. Now that the Alliance was facing trouble, the South Sea Alliance naturally rushed to aid its brothers in need. Although the survivors on the southern sea islands were disinterested in land disputes, they were acutely aware of the Legion's ambition, which extended beyond merely occupying an old provincial territory. The Legion would test the limits of Eastern survivor forces bit by bit, exploiting the weakness of academies and enterprises to continuously advance, shrinking the civilized world's safe haven. The South Sea Alliance would not let the Legion succeed, recognizing that aiding other suffering survivors was also self-beneficial. However— The start of this campaign was not promising. In the bridge of the Harpoon, President Li Minghui, in military attire once more, squinted at the signals on the radar and sonar screens. "… Heh, it seems we have trouble." Five hundred kilometers away, twenty signal sources, with warship-like characteristics, flickered intermittently. The ships were coated with radar-absorbing materials, clearly indicating advanced technology. Not only that, but simultaneously detecting them, the opposing forces cautiously kept their distance, maneuvering northeastward. Their intention was clear: provide escort for transport ships traveling between West Sail Port and Eternal Night Port. According to the original plan, the South Sea Alliance's fleet would block the shipping routes and the nearby sea areas between West Sail Port and Eternal Night Port. Yet now, it seemed things wouldn't be so simple… Li Minghui contemplated briefly, picked up the communication device from the console, and issued a crisp order. "Deploy reconnaissance drones!" A prompt response came from the communication channel. "Roger!" As the order was executed, the Reefs destroyer, moving alongside, elevated its launch tube, emitting a puff of white smoke, and fired a sword-shaped missile towards the airspace ahead. The missile, after flying for a distance, unfolded its wings like a petrel, soaring above the clouds, approaching the radar signal swiftly. In the ship's bridge, Li Minghui, eyes fixed on the radar's intermittently flickering twenty signals, supported his hands on the central control panel. Time ticked by second by second, the atmosphere inside the bridge was exceptionally tense. Naval warfare was far duller than land warfare, without numerous flashy tactics. Discovering or being discovered by the enemy could be a matter of moments, and a minor mistake could result in thousands' efforts sinking into the sea as scrap metal. The hands of the weapons operator were sweaty, gripping onto the console without releasing. This war was not as simple as initially envisioned, akin to tossing explosives into the sea for fish and returning home with medals. Particularly for them, this was not about defending their homeland, but rather defending someone else's. Whether their sacrifice would be remembered, if they ended up as marine fodder, was uncertain. In these moments, these young men finally empathized with their "big brother" Alliance's past sentiments. Risking one's life for a shared destiny was no easy feat… The drone continued forward for tens of kilometers, following the fleet's course. Li Minghui grasped the communicator once more, and issued a calm command. "Activate the active radar." Upon the command, a hatch beneath the drone opened, releasing a fist-sized pod. An electromagnetic signal fanned forward, engulfing the dozens of flickering signal sources. Yet, in an astonishing turn of events, the moment the echo returned, all signals disappeared from the radar screen! "… Our drone detected no enemy vessels! Requesting further instructions!" Bewildered expressions adorned every face, the officers in the bridge collectively stunned. Including Li Minghui. His pupils dilated briefly, then quickly contracted. "Likely electronic warfare…" Next to Li Minghui, the captain of the Harpoon expressed, frowning. Li Minghui nodded, continuing orders via the communicator. "Turn off active radar, switch to optical cameras… Approach and observe." "Understood!" Echoes resonated in the communication channel, and the Reefs destroyer, controlling the drone, acted swiftly. Continuing its flight, the reconnaissance drone soon approached the target area, revealing an expansive emptiness on the sea's surface, as predicted by Li Minghui. At this time, the opposing forces seemed aware of the drone deployment, as signals on their ship-borne radar vanished. Li Minghui furrowed his brows, pondering briefly, then declaring. "It should be submarines…" Beside him, the deputy gulped, nervously inquiring. "Should we have our submarines take a look?" Sending a submarine to scout ahead was standard, as their retreat speed generally surpassed that of destroyers, especially in deep-sea areas, where hunting a determined-to-escape submarine was challenging. However, before he could finish, the Harpoon's captain immediately interrupted. "Best not to. It might be a trap. If I were their commander, I'd set up an ambush nearby." And then, a staff officer standing nearby suddenly spoke. "Isn't it possible… they actually don't know where we are?" A murmuring ensued among the group. Li Minghui contemplated briefly, nodding and speaking in a low tone. "I was just considering that possibility. We initially detected the signal via passive sonar, likely deliberate noise from a decoy." Their probing suggests a high chance they share the same predicament. Both sides aware of each other's existence, yet ignorant of specific strengths or details. Thus— "This probing ought to be a draw." Indeed, beyond the strong, lies the stronger. This encounter's adversary proved far more challenging than expected, and relying solely on command skills to manipulate the opponent seemed unrealistic. However, this might not be entirely negative. Well-matched opponents result in mutual restraint, with both sides likely avoiding rash escalation. After all, albeit officially, it's a conflict between the Xilan Empire and Borro Province. Before the Legion openly declares war on the Alliance, the South Sea Alliance's fleet can, at most, block ports, attack Xilan Empire's strategic facilities, sink a few supply ships, but cannot openly bomb ports. This hasn't escalated into full-scale war. And as supporters, they lack any reason to willingly escalate it. "Tough situation… We can only wait on our allies." Li Minghui fished out a cigarette, lighting it with a lighter. Today wouldn't see any battle. The other side waited patiently for them to bite, hoping they'd fire the first shot. The staff officer, still deep in thought, furrowed his brows. "The issue remains… We can't yet determine whose fleet this actually is." Li Minghui's deputy turned to him. "Does it matter?" The staff officer nodded. "Absolutely… If it's the Western Legion, then our rear's at risk." Presently, just one destroyer and one submarine are in the southern sea area; their hopes rest on the island's air force, and land-based missile launchers. But those alone aren't sufficient. A brief silence fell over the bridge, followed by renewed murmurings. Though the Eastern Legion had reached a private agreement with the Alliance, the other two legions hadn't yet stated their stance. "… Heard the Western Legion's in the New World." "Yeah… On the other side of this planet." "Has anyone ever been there?" "As far as I remember, no one has... It's too far, whether you set out from the east or the west, with no supply points along the way, and the port locations aren't even certain." "And no one knows how they've developed..." "It would be great if we had some satellite images." Li Minghui stayed silent, puffing on his cigarette, as the others conversed around him. The captain beside him remained silent for a long time before sighing, "If only the 'Sea's End' was still with us." The 'Sea's End' was once the South Sea Alliance's only battleship, uniquely designed to counter the Legion's airships. Yet, it was ironically used by their own internal militarists against them. Looking at it from another angle, Vault 70 really had them building cars behind closed doors for far too long. Those airships based on starship cores were no longer the Legion's sole reliance. And only now were they starting to step off the islands… --- Meanwhile, at the forefront of the battlefield, the 17th Grand Battalion under Olet, the Van Chief, had taken Surak County in the northwest of Lion State, opening a breach to continue their northward advance. The defense established by the first and second Grand Battalions of the Borro Nation was like paper, initially blasted into disorientation by artillery, then surrounded and isolated by the advancing armored units. The Southern Legion specialized in artillery, with armor as a secondary aid. Even so, for Borro Nation with scarcely any tanks, over a hundred "Conqueror X" moving through the breach resembled a steel flood. Leading the charge into Surak County was the 171st Battalion under Chief Ross. In Borro Province’s local culture, "Surak" meant "Lion's Head," and it was also the surname of a prominent local family, owning vast tracts of land and thousands of tenant farmers. Ross didn't care whether "Surak" was first a surname or a curious phrase meaning "Lion's Head," nor did he care. As a conqueror, the cooperation of local people mattered. Without it, he wouldn't mind mounting this "Lion's Head" on the trophy wall. What's intriguing is, upon entering this area, his troops met zero resistance, but boundless enthusiasm from all the "Suraks." In the largest village of the county, a man around sixty led a group standing on the road. He wore an opulent robe, resembling the elder of a clan. Though aged, his face beams with joy, genuinely welcoming the Welander troops. Seeing the unarmed crowd, Ross signaled for the armored personnel carriers to follow the tanks into town, disembarking from his jeep with some officers to meet the elderly man. Seeing the Welander officers approach, the old man shakily moved forward, almost kneeling. "My lord… Finally, you're here! Those heavenly kings have plagued us terribly!" He was entirely sincere; minions of those heavenly kings slaughtered the nobility and stole money and food. Terrified, he hid in the forest for half a month. Only news of Janusz's death and the heavenly kings' dispersal emboldened him to return with his household. Unconcerned with past occurrences, Ross glanced at him. "Are you the local nobility?" The old man smiled obsequiously, nodding eagerly. "Indeed… I am Cham Surak, a viscount personally appointed by His Majesty. For miles around, this is my estate." Without wasting words, Ross signaled to an adjacent officer to hand over a list. Watching the old man bewildered, the officer said succinctly, "We are from the Southern Legion, invited by your king, Akbar, to help eliminate bandits up north. Your king expects full cooperation, else national law prevails." "Moreover, we need rations for one hundred thousand — mainly wheat flour, with some meat and vegetables. Please prepare accordingly." The number startled Cham, nearly causing him to collapse. "A, a hundred thousand?!" The others behind him were similarly stunned, whispering nervously, fearing an impending doom. Growing impatient with their chattering, Ross pointed to the list in the old man's hand. "The list includes pricing. You provide as we request, and we will pay." Unlike looters, they mimicked possessors without embracing the tactic. Valuable land wouldn't have its production relations destroyed. They'd even divert minor profits from other colonies to win over the locals. Post-war, however, this investment would be reclaimed. Local survivors would repay with sweat and blood for a fleeting whim and brief sweetness. Hearing about payment, Cham sighed in relief. With his color restored, he beamed and bowed, "Rest assured, sir! Our county is abundant, never lacking grain! There's more in neighboring counties, ensuring your requested supplies met!" Ross nodded, shooing the man aside. With a simple word to his staff about patrol duties, Cham moved aside dutifully. The Legion’s logistics, under attack by the Alliance air force, delayed the originally scheduled supplies to the frontline. Needing a brief respite, they would wait until logistics caught up before advancing. Surak County was suitably situated for frontline supply transit. They might even establish a temporary port along the western coast, reducing West Sail Port’s logistical burden. After assigning his orders, Ross noticed a group of half-naked men and women kneeling roadside. They were young, barely into their twenties, all tightly bound. Fifty or so, tied like livestock in a pen, their faces colorless and vacant. Their breath alone confirmed life, sparking doubt about their vitality. Raising an eyebrow, Ross glanced at Cham, who shadowed him. "Who are these people?" Cham, seeing the Welander's interest, nervously chuckled, "My lord, these wretches are bandits! They are wicked sorts, even encouraging us to fight you!" Bandits? Ross paused, realizing after some thought they meant "Heavenly King's troops," then squinted. Indeed, these people still owed them blood debts. "Take them outside and execute them." "Yes, sir!" The Centurion beside him snapped to attention, saluted, then led his men toward the kneeling group. Obediently, they followed and shortly fell to gunfire. The thick blood soaked the soil, turning living zombies into deceased. Nearby fields hid onlookers, including serfs and tenant farmers. Unaccustomed to such violence, they watched curiously, fearful and a little excited. Post-execution, Welander soldiers roped in some onlookers, handed them shovels, and had them bury the bodies on-site. Nodding vigorously, they worked without demanding pay, digging fervently in the execution grounds. Some quietly stuffed blood-soaked soil into their pockets. Seeing their varied expressions, a nearby Welander soldier scoffed, his disdainful tone unmasked, "…Handing over this fertile land to them is truly a waste." Another Welander soldier, rifle in hand, chuckled, "Nobody gave them this land. If I recall, it was a zoo. They just crossed mountains and got here themselves." "Hahaha!" "If I were their ancestor, I'd regret not perishing in the desert." The ridicule seemed boundless, yet the burying slaves remained silent, unperturbed. The prosperity-era descendants bore no connection to them. Only in moments of boasting do they mention their ancestors who once hailed from the center of a prosperous world, bragging about how General Lowell achieved unparalleled feats amidst the icy wilderness, while making light of how tribes beyond the Zobar Mountains lived miserably, chased by mythical beasts with awesome power. Yet at times, they'd disdain Lowell, resent the War Construction Committee for abandoning them, and hate that the prosperous epoch left them no inheritance. Just like how they sometimes remember themselves as Borros, other times they differentiate from the Borros or other varieties of "rats." Some make memories into boots, stepping on them to tread farther; some weave them into clothes for a pretty appearance. Ingeniously, they turn them into pillows, flipping over just to get a restful sleep... And indeed, they sleep soundly now. Peter stood aside, smoking, uninvolved in the soldiers' discussions, feeling rather vexed. He didn’t care about their ancestral histories nor who claimed this land; he simply longed to face a true opponent. Whether it was the Alliance or enterprises, at least someone worthy, please! Fighting defenseless people filled him with no pride, rather a sense of shame. Especially the court specter, eternally haunting his mind. Lately, he’d been tormented by nightmares, repeatedly finding himself back in that courtroom, except now, it was he who stood as the accused, while the jury was filled with the dead. Among them were Wilanders, as well as others with less prominent noses. It was merely a dream, yet woke him with a sweat-soaked fright. At that moment, the centurion’s voice called from afar. “Peter, is the digging done?” Startled, Peter hastily answered. “Almost there!” The centurion continued. “Leave those slaves. Have them dig, and get back to the squad!” “Yes, sir!” Responding promptly, Peter stamped out his cigarette, quickly leading his men back to formation. A sharp-eyed slave spotted the discarded cigarette butt, dashed over to claim it soon after they left, sparking a scuffle under the guise of "finder's keepers" and "share alike." Their wrestling in the blood-red soil seemed both absurd and poignant. Meanwhile, urgent telegrams from the capital reached Golden Gallon Port and Borro Province, announcing war’s outbreak across 400 million square kilometers. That same day, Golden Gallon Port's "Survivor Daily" issued a special edition with an exceptionally bold headline in blood-red lettering. "Brazen Invasion! Southern Legion Wages Undeclared War!" The bloody hue mirrored the blood of pilots and soldiers. “This is outrageous!” In his study, Achin cursed, flinging the newspaper onto the table with all his might. Rarely losing composure, yet anger now was unstoppable. It wasn't just him; thousands stood enraged. From the port district, along Tulip Street, through Knight Way, to the endless reeds at the Eternal River's mouth—anger was etched on every indignant face. Some chose to lower their heads; others, proud and defiant, raised their chins. They too were Borros, but awakened Borros! Suni stood on the street, holding textbooks, gratified at the sight of the young man amongst the throng. At sixteen or seventeen, he hadn't had such influence—if memory served, he was feeding seagulls at the docks, skipping school to lie in the sun. He was eternally grateful for choosing to board that ship to Golden Gallon Port, become a teacher in a public school, and serendipitously come across a piece titled "Red Earth," which he shared in class. Not a grand effort, merely a post-lunch triviality. Yet he'd never forget the light igniting in those teens' eyes. The burgeoning hope took root at this moment! These were the seedlings he'd tended with care— “We sent away our emperor, and the legion wants us on our knees! Tell me! What's your response?” From the heights above, the young man shouted furiously, met by a roaring chorus. “Never!!!” His frail arm raised defiantly, yet he wasn’t alone, as stronger arms soon joined. Among them, long sleeves, short sleeves, or no sleeves at all. Fists clenched, they propped up the sky. “What should we do—!” “Fight them!!!” To be continued...