Chapter 854 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 854: Expansion Update! "Southern Barbarian Invasion!" "Fire!!!" As the survivors at Jin Jialong Port were riled up by the invasion of the legion, far away in the forests bordering the southwest of Dog State and Lion State, the cannons hidden among the trees roared with deafening thunder simultaneously. A fiery rain soared into the sky, crashing heavily down onto the battlefield 30 kilometers away, engulfing it in a sea of boiling flames and thick smoke. These were the 155mm howitzers sold to the Mammoth Nation by the Alliance. At the frontline, a full-complement battalion fire group comprised of 24 guns was fiercely deployed! The cannons fired continuously, delivering twelve rounds of concentrated artillery barrages. The coordinates for the bombardment were located within Lion State territory, right on the position that a Boro National First Myriad Squad had just vacated. Even though it was Boro Nation's land, the Southern Legion had already torn down any camouflage, and the Moon People’s resistance didn't care about such matters anymore. With these twelve fiery barrages, the offensive of the legion’s 172nd Thousand-person Team was finally stalled, pinned down in the trenches abandoned by Boro’s Myriad Squad. After a relentless surge of over 300 kilometers, the legion's advance finally hit a momentary halt. This was likely the greatest and most direct resistance the Southern Legion had faced since landing. Beside one of the artillery units, "War Wolf" was sitting by a tree stump, eyes closed in "meditation." Upon receiving the message from Brother Dog at the front, he quickly logged online, opened his eyes, and notified the battalion commander beside him. "It's time to retreat!" The response from the Southern Legion was swift. Even as their mobile units advanced, they efficiently set up the artillery positions. While the steel airship was currently engaged near Western Sail Port, it wasn't the Southern Legion's sole support weapon. According to Brother Dog’s reconnaissance intelligence, enemy artillery units had completed preparations for counter-fire and could correct their shots at any moment. The battalion commander was enthusiastically overseeing his troops fire, but the reminder from his Alliance comrade was like a cold shower. He quickly adopted a serious demeanor. "Understood!" With no hesitation, he immediately ordered the retreat via radio. Soldiers clad in exoskeleton suits swiftly moved forward to dismantle the artillery mounts, skillfully attaching them to the back of light trucks. The entire routine had been rehearsed countless times and executed many times during skirmishes with the Grey Wolves. In less than a minute, the entire position was packed up, with artillery-bearing trucks retreating swiftly along pre-prepared paths. They had just retreated when thunderous booms erupted just behind their heads. A corrected shell landed in the forest. Within less than half a minute, a more intense fiery rain came showering down in waves. The blazing explosions and fragments rampaged through the forest, tearing through towering trees. Watching the shaking forest behind them, the soldiers in the truck couldn't help but display expressions of grateful relief on their faces. The Southern Legion's reaction speed was much quicker than the Grey Wolf Army. When skirmishing with Arayan's troops, they even had enough time to smoke before leaving. But here, there was no time even for a cigarette. Had they delayed by merely ten seconds, they might have left a leg behind in the forest. "Did we hit anything just now? How significant was the enemy's loss?" The battalion commander on the truck showed no fear, only an earnest curiosity as he eagerly looked at his Alliance brother. War Wolf glanced at the VM, which was temporarily out of signal, and replied calmly. "Our scouts are confirming, no rush." In truth, during the offline phase, he had already verified the results of the artillery strike. The earlier bombardment had indeed pained the legion, and the retaliatory strike they were carrying out now seemed to be mixed with a sense of wrathful despair. Though his spoken Union language was not the best, making explanations cumbersome, he chose not to elaborate. The commander did not press further, instead directing his gaze toward the raucous forest behind. The cannon fire had been resounding for quite a while with no sign of abating. The preparation by the legion appeared to be thorough, as if intending to level the entire mountain range. However, this also confirmed that their strategic goal had been achieved. Before the battle, Lasi had instructed the front lines not to be confined by the blues or lines but to utilize long-range firepower and terrain to hinder the enemy’s advance. The brothers in Boro Nation had proven that a positional strategy could not deter the legion's onslaught. They had to substitute rigid defense lines with flexible ones, dispersing small units over larger stretches to ambush deeply penetrating enemy forces, gradually wearing down the enemy’s vitality through repeated attrition. Even as the cannon fire rumbled on, it became a distant noise to the troops. They were off to the next position, awaiting the brigade's next command. A fourteen-year-old boy soldier cradled a rifle, murmuring with his head lowered. "Just how many Willanter people have landed this time?" He was a new recruit, enlisted a few months ago, and a local of the northern three states. When the petty emperor came to build his palace, he was conscripted to serve. Later, when the Moon People’s resistance came in, the petty emperor and the nobles fled with their tails between their legs, leaving him nowhere to go. Eventually, a lad around his age found him, shoved an LD-47 into his hand, and told him if he couldn’t find his home, he might as well join the resistance where meals and land were provided. So he joined. The older soldier next to him, in his early twenties, thought for a moment before replying. "By our standards, about thirty divisions." Thirty divisions... Hearing that number, quite a few on the truck instinctively gulped, even some seasoned resistance veterans grimaced. They thought their numbers were sizeable, only to realize the opponents were not fewer. Currently, the Mammoth Nation only deployed ten divisions, with five on the frontlines and the rest making their way from the east. Though Boro Nation had over a hundred divisions, more than half were mere nominal forces, their million-strong army barely had equipment for 100,000 men. Moreover, they faced a severe issue—re-equipping their troops. Though the rifles used by the legion and the Alliance were of 7mm caliber, they weren’t the same ammunition model. Even their gray uniforms had only been issued to a third of the troops, leaving the remainder looking much like a ragtag army. Despite the Alliance's help, this was still a battle with a stark imbalance in power. A new recruit couldn’t help but murmur. "...Can we win?" War Wolf intended to be candid—there’s a chance. After all, even the Alliance hadn’t directly fought a unified legion; it was hard to say how much of a chance the fragmented Boro Province truly had. This was purely a rational analysis. Just because they won an artillery skirmish didn’t mean they could turn the tide of the war. The battle had barely begun for a day, and the Southern Legion had already seized the entire northwest coastline of Lion State, pushing the front to Surak County. Even if the Alliance fought this campaign, their advance wouldn’t likely be swifter. Yet, before he could voice these concerns, the commander beside him grasped the recruit’s shoulder firmly. "We definitely can!" His voice was unyielding, his eyes unwaveringly resolute. His sight transcended the present, seeming to glimpse a bright and beautiful future. He believed without a shadow of doubt. War Wolf, sitting beside him, was slightly bewildered. He couldn’t fathom where this guy got his confidence, yet he noticed, surprisingly, that this ragtag band had found something to believe in. These unlettered, theoryless fellows had actually found belief! It was incredible... Like many new players from the Alliance, he hadn’t held high regard for the Moon People’s resistance, assuming that without a guiding ideology or theoretical foundation, they were at best bandit kings, lucky if they could hold off the Grey Wolf Army at all. However, he realized that this might just be his arrogance and prejudice—thinking that "not having an absolute ideology" equated to "absolutely having no ideology." The Alliance wasn’t built in a day either. When the Pioneer passed through Spring City years ago, they seemed as insignificant as ants by the roadside. Noticing the eyes around him sneaking glances, Battle Wolf remained silent for a while, then suddenly let out a faint smile and articulated the most fluent sentence he had spoken in a long time. “Don’t ask such trivial questions…” “Those beasts merely have sharper teeth… If having sharper teeth meant winning, you and I would still be up in the trees.” The amusing analogy stirred a pleasant laughter in the bouncing truck’s cabin. Many of the Moon People soldiers were amused by the Alliance brother’s humor, and smiles broke their stern faces. Especially, the artillery battalion commander laughed heartily, causing the cigarette clamped in his mouth to fall. However, the thirteen-year-old boy was puzzled, gazing at the Alliance brother in confused thought. “Why would we be in the trees?” In his understanding, the Alliance brothers were the most learned individuals, respected by everyone in the army, from lieutenants to commanders, all keenly considering their advice. Looking at the child who should have been in a classroom studying, Battle Wolf grinned, showing off his knowledge. “There are various theories about human origins; one suggests humans evolved from monkeys.” The kid’s eyes widened. “But I’m a Dog race person…” “That has nothing to do with belief; it’s what… they call science, right?” The commander, having popped a cigarette back into his mouth, chimed in with a grin. A fellow townsman of his had visited the North Island in the southern seas, and he heard about science from that guy. Science was a marvelous thing; it was said the survivors of the southern seas lived more comfortably on a tiny piece of land than those possessing vast plains, with a piece of clothing being pricier than life itself. And that was after bankruptcy. Before that, people there were rumored to be several times more affluent than now. Battle Wolf: “…Strictly speaking, it should be considered a hypothesis, as no one witnessed the past firsthand. I don’t fully grasp it either, so it’s best to ask your teacher once you’re back in school.” The boy nodded, partially understanding, then curiously asked again. “Then… why did we come down from the trees? Wouldn’t staying in the trees be good?” Battle Wolf chuckled heartily. “That’s a long story, which would have to start from before the Prosperity Era… even beyond the Classical Age…” ... The sun dipped into the sea as the cloudy sky finally unleashed a torrential downpour. The pelting rain pounded on the muddy trenches, pooling into shallow pits clutching a forlorn, severed arm. One slip in attention, and a Willanter soldier stumbled during a trench crossing, nearly face-planting into the mud, saved only by a nearby commander grabbing his collar and hauling him back. “Watch your step. If that were a landmine, you’d be dead.” It was said the Alliance had shell-deployed landmines, not hard to set up. Swallowing rain-mixed saliva, the soldier lowered his head in shame. “Yes…” Pete cast a glance at the rookie soldier but said little, instead turning his gaze towards the devastated battlefield ahead. This was previously a Boro Nation position. After Boro troops retreated, their allied 172nd Thousand-person Team moved in. However, soon after, artillery shells rained down from the northeastern forest, striking with over twenty 155mm cannons, delivering a full twelve rounds of barrages. Based on allied reports, their hundred-person team was right at the barrage’s center, losing contact from the second round. They hoped for the 171st Thousand-person Team positioned nearby to check the status of their units. The 17th Myriad-person Team's rapid advance had stretched their support thin, forcing them to consolidate positions due to rear air raids. The 172nd Thousand-person Team couldn’t leave their posts easily, relying on sibling teams for support. The ill-fated hundred-person squad Pete mentioned had bad luck, inventorying the spoils from Boro Army positions, only to be “hit the jackpot” by artillery fire just moments later. The quick and decisive artillery coverage hinted at Moon People’s reconnaissance feeding information. After detecting the enemy’s shelling and radio signals, the 17th Myriad-person Team swiftly deployed artillery defenses. However, before they could counter-fire, the enemy ceased firing, likely having relocated. Pete had to concede, these adversaries were shrewd as mice; perhaps they had underestimated them earlier. But rectification wasn't too late. Upon regrouping, Pete was swiftly assigned a task to check the shell-hit allied position. They needed to verify the ally’s status while aiding the survivors to root out enemy reconnaissance. “Damn it…” Pete cursed as he glanced over the scattered battlefield but signaled his team to brace themselves as they moved forward to search. The rain intensified, accompanied by howling winds, escalating their search difficulties. They still had to vigilantly watch their surroundings as their presence wasn’t exclusive here. Mammoth Nation scouts could lurk nearby, or Boro soldiers might return prompted by artillery clues to reclaim leftover equipment. This was why the 172nd Thousand-person Team remained immobile; until the airship rejoined the front, caution was paramount. Approaching an artillery fortification, Pete was about to inspect it when a rifle muzzle suddenly aimed at his head. “Don’t move!” In the darkness, he saw a fierce eye, blood obscuring another. Noticing the high nose bridge, Pete released his grip on his rifle, indicating no hostile intent. “Friendlies.” Before he spoke, the shadowed man recognized Pete’s identity, lowering his gun and spitting blood-mixed spittle onto the ground. “Damn… just noticed it, which unit are you from?” “Hundred-person unit under the 171st Thousand-person Team,” Pete now noticed this agitated person was a centurion, outranking him by a tier. “171?” The centurion blinked, mumbling with furrowed brows, “Where are our men?” “Your men can’t attend to this now; they sent us to check… How many of you are left?” Pete succinctly replied. The centurion grimaced. “Casualties aren’t too bad… Nine dead, a dozen injured. The sanitary conditions here are awful, plus it’s raining. I’m worried they won’t hold on long.” Could they really only have nine dead? Pete skeptically eyed him, doubting he had verified it, but refrained from probing further. Instead, he responded promptly. “Get them to a nearby farm; we’ve established an operational base there with medical personnel. Once the rear supply convoy arrives, we’ll transfer them for proper care.” Upon hearing that, the centurion brightened up, readily accepting. “Alright! They’re all yours.” “What about you?” Noticing the centurion's lack of intent to retreat, Pete instinctively queried. A fierce glint flashed in the centurion’s eyes as he gritted his response. “…Those bastards bombed my brothers; it can’t end here.” The ally’s casualties were one thing, but it was humiliating too. A single artillery barrage potentially shouldered the entire day’s casualties for the entire Myriad-person Team by themselves. Without reclaiming their honor, he wouldn’t dare continue as a centurion! Pete wanted to caution him to stay calm, but judging by this guy’s resolve, he wouldn’t heed words from a mere decurion. “…You better be careful. I have a feeling the Alliance might already be here.” “Good, let them come!” The centurion smirked, patting Pete’s shoulder. “The wounded are in the artillery fort… they’re in your hands now.” With that, he climbed out of the trench into the pouring rain, bellowing orders across the battleground. "Anyone still able, get up! Those bastards finally stopped firing, so let's give them hell!" "Ooh ooh ooh!" "Let's fight them!" The battlefield reverberated with a spirited roar, as soldiers clad in body armor and exoskeletons emerged from the trenches, aggressively rallying towards the north. Their high-spirited shouts pierced through the thick curtain of rain, drifting towards the nearby fields. In the fields, "Conduit Dog" wore a disappointed look as he retracted his airborne drone and switched off the faintly glowing VM screen. "Damn, what a waste…” That artillery barrage might have only killed twenty to thirty people, averaging one kill per five shells—they could’ve been more effective. It would have been ideal if some artillery was still nearby. Judging by the route these big-nosed soldiers were taking, they seemed intent on heading north. A follow-up volley might have wiped out this hundred-man team. But with the artillery battalion in the mountains already relocated, all he could do was watch. Rising from the field, Brother Dog carefully skirted around the aggressive Willanter soldiers, heading towards Sulak County. It seemed a thousand-person team had moved there recently, and he planned to scout the area before logging off to assess the situation… … While the Southern Legion’s frontline troops cursed the bombardment, another world saw a jubilant scene unfolding on the "Wasteland OL" official website. It proved that people’s joys and sorrows are disconnected. Unlike the waiting and agony of the Willanters and Boros, players of "Wasteland OL" were eager to jump into the fray before the fight even started. Months ago, several big names on the forums were already predicting that a clash was inevitable. And now, with the restless legion materializing as expected, the "dog planner's" patience finally snapped into action! [Expansion Update: "Southern Barbarian Invasion"] [Description: The Southern Legion has established a puppet emperor, Akbar Xilan, to rebuild the Xilan Royal Court, launching an armed invasion of the Boro Province survivor factions under the guise of the Xilan puppet regime! This is not only a provocation to the wasteland's peace and order but also a betrayal of ancient agreements! The Alliance survivors will not allow the legion to expand east of the Great Desert under any pretext. If they dare to enter as mercenaries, we will show them the power of volunteers!] [How to Join: Register as a volunteer on VM and head to the frontline to participate in the expansion event. Expansion missions will be available on VM.] [Event Rewards: In addition to rewards for completing missions, points earned can be redeemed for more prizes after the expansion concludes. Stay tuned for details.] [Risk Warning: This event area has few save points and highly complex conditions. Players must be LV10 or above and have over 3000 contribution points to register.] [Currently Registered Players: 27,155!] To be continued...