Chapter 859 - This Game Is Too Realistic

### Chapter 859: Hunt for the Submarine The eastern front of Lion State was shrouded in roaring flames and dense smoke, while the other side, the West Polaro Sea, remained tranquil and serene. Three large cargo ships, heavily laden with goods, sailed smoothly over the sea, their majestic prows slicing through one wave after another. Standing at the edge of the deck, Henk inhaled the fresh sea breeze, his expression filled with ambition. His raised nose reminded one of the prow cutting through the waves. Without a doubt, he was a pure-blooded Welander, born in the illustrious and wealthy Triumph City. However, due to the city's overcrowding, he moved with his parents to the distant New Continent when he was young, to carve out new territories for the Welander people. His father was a centurion, and if nothing unexpected had occurred, Henk would have followed in his footsteps, becoming a glorious soldier and achieving military honors on the battlefield. But fate was not on his side. Despite his father's prowess, Henk was not cut out for military life. He repeatedly failed the youth army selection and reserve officer assessments. Especially the youth army selection. He didn't even make it past the first round, getting eliminated during the medical examination. His performance in various physical tests was mediocre, except in swimming. This proved that not everyone from a warrior lineage excels in combat. Despondent, Henk succumbed to self-indulgence, drowning in alcohol. Until one day, a friend from his youth training camp introduced him to a bottle of "Big Bird Spin Vodka" from the "Old World." It was a revelation—what had he been drinking before, mere horse piss? That spicy taste, with a hint of sweetness that could make one forget all troubles, enchanted him ever since. Other alcohols paled in comparison. However, this elixir originated from the distant Union, and even in Triumph City, acquiring it was not easy. The best sources were monopolized by the Eastern Legion. Though the production process and ingredients for this vodka weren't complex, the replicas from Triumph City always seemed lacking. Henk knew what those replicas missed—an intoxicating element that could make one forget all woes, sometimes almost like an illusion with its sweetness. Driven to satiate his new addiction, Henk pulled himself from despair. He crafted a still and experimented with brewing in his warehouse, refining the process until he managed to replicate that elusive sweet escape. The secret to forgetting one's troubles was within the "safe dose of methanol." In their pursuit of the purest vodka, the distilleries in Triumph City overlooked what the common Welanders truly craved. They didn't have the time to savor a well-crafted drink in posh restaurants. They needed something that could let them forget all their problems, even if it meant a splitting headache the next day. Cheap and cheerful, that was the key, despite the toll it took on health. Thanks to this “invention,” Henk became a notable figure on the east coast of the New Continent, turning vodka from an exotic import into an affordable option for the masses. Were it not for fate's intervention, he might have spent his life in the liquor trade, expanding his business and perhaps even exporting his "Little Chicken Vodka" back to the distant Dawn City, showing those Union folks his cleverness. Alas, selling alcohol was not lucrative enough. His "Little Chicken Vodka" enjoyed a brief success, but only for a time. The industry had little barrier to entry. If he could replicate Union products, others could certainly replicate his. Besides, it was much easier to poach his workers to Triumph City than from the Union—a boat ticket and a suburban Triumph City house would suffice. Faced with a business bottleneck, Henk, like many self-made Welanders, reluctantly turned his sights to less competitive yet promising industries. In the Legion, arms dealing was a perennial trade, earning the highest status among merchants. Coincidentally, at this moment, the esteemed Marshal opened another window for him. The Southern Legion was gearing up for war! Although, in official terms, this war was between the Western Lan Empire and various rebels, the mobilization of thirty ten-thousand-man mercenary corps was unprecedented in human history. The Union was also inevitably involved. It was anticipated that businesses, academies, the Great Rift, and all surviving powers from the Old World's east would join this conflict. The Southern Legion's local industry and logistics obviously couldn't sustain the war demands alone, and the Western Legion's expansion had hit a bottleneck, with surplus arms piling up in warehouses. At such a time, the Western and Southern Legions signed a tax-exemption agreement for military supplies. Sensing an opportunity, Henk promptly staked everything he had. No one reacted quicker than he did. Predictably, he would become one of the first New Continent merchants to strike gold in the Porcela Province, if you didn't count the big shots who jumped the gun. After establishing himself as the largest private arms contractor in Western Sail Port, he planned to market his "Little Chicken Vodka" to the local Welander soldiers. He trusted they would enjoy the irreplaceable feeling it brought. A few white birds came flying, circling above the deck, apparently looking for a place to rest. “Caw—” Listening to their undulating calls filled Henk with an indescribable joy. “Seagulls! Haha, it seems we're nearing land!” Beside him, the sunburnt captain grinned, holding back a remark. “Those are albatrosses, sir...and they seem to be mutated. Best not to tease them.” They were still over 20 hours from the Porcela Province, reaching the dock at the earliest by tomorrow noon. Seeing the excitement on Henk's face, the captain figured it was his first sea voyage, let alone distinguishing between an albatross and a seagull. Henk did not mind, laughing off the awkward moment. “Hahaha! Whatever they are, they’re my lucky birds! Go fetch some bread...make sure it's the nearly expired kind.” Saying so, he nudged his secretary, prompting the reluctant fellow into the cabin. The captain chuckled, finding this New Continent boss quite humorous and charming. It was said that people from the New Continent were like this, more cunning and sophisticated than Welanders from the "Old World." But he had never lived there, and all he knew was hearsay. This captaincy was referred to him by a Southern Legion merchant. He had only briefly stayed at a New Continent port before boarding this cargo ship bound for the Polaro Sea. The deck was peaceful, much like the calm sea. Relaxed sailors lounged against rails, basked in the sun, used beer caps as chess pieces to while away time, or planned their shore leave. At that moment, no one noticed a periscope silently breaking the water's surface, observing them intently before retreating below. Before the secretary fetching bread could return, Henk, about to urge him, noticed a series of bubbles frothing through the surf. Something large was rapidly approaching his cargo ship. Henk suddenly recalled a story shared by a seafaring tavern regular before he embarked. In the distant Polaro Sea and Southern waters, there was said to be a sea monster called the Laken. This creature, resembling a deep-sea dragon, could capsize thousand-ton cargo ships with ease. But Henk felt no fear. His three cargo vessels were over fifty thousand tons each and equipped with sonars to repel such monstrosities. Watching the "big fish" draw closer, he even leaned over the ship's rail, shouting excitedly. “What is that? A Laken?” The captain chuckled and walked over to Henk. “Laken wouldn't be interested in us; we've activated the sonar——” Mid-sentence, his expression suddenly shifted, and he shouted in horror at those behind him. “Torpedo!!!” This situation was unprecedented for him. Uncertain of how to respond, he instinctively grabbed the life jacket hanging on the railing, tossed one to Henk, and hurriedly donned another himself. Almost simultaneously, a deafening roar erupted beneath their feet. A torpedo had struck the side of the cargo ship! Against the devastating power capable of sinking a battleship, Henk's fifty-thousand-ton cargo ship was as fragile as a toothpick. He had no time to worry about the other two ships. He only knew that he was airborne, flipping over and landing with a splash into the sea. The development was so abrupt that fear hadn't even registered before he lost consciousness... --- Minutes earlier, beneath the sea. Inside the steely bridge of a submarine, a dozen uniformed officers focused intently on the projection before them. Twenty-four hours ago, Commander Li Minghui had issued the operation codenamed "Laken." They would be ghosts lurking beneath the Western Polaro Sea, targeting transport ships ferrying arms to Western Sail Port. Given the uncertainty of the enemy's true naval capabilities, this was the safest course. Not only could it diminish the Southern Legion's logistics, slowing their frontline advance, but it might also lure the Western Legion to escort their convoys, thereby revealing their true combat power. "...Target acquisition complete. Multiple 120mm field guns detected; the cargo onboard is confirmed as munitions," the observer at the console reported confidently to the captain. Expressionless, the captain nodded and decisively picked up the communicator to give the command. "All combat units ready! Send them to meet the Laken!" The reply echoed back promptly over the communication channel. "Roger that!" The crew of the attack submarine sprang into action, as if wound tight like the gears of a clockwork. The target was locked by sonar, the torpedo bay began flooding, and soon a black, chunky torpedo shot out like a submerged harpoon, racing towards the unsuspecting cargo ship. It was a battle devoid of suspense, as the enemy had no means of detecting them. They fired three torpedoes, all finding their marks without exception. As flames burst and iron slowly sank beneath the waves, there was no celebration within the bridge. The targets sunk weren't warships, and there was no victory to revel in. But neither would they regret participating in this action. Regardless of the reasons or methods, they had engaged in this war and were prepared to pay the price. Just like those standing there, they understood what lay ahead and the fate that awaited them should the enemy's warships find them... After confirming the target's sinking, the captain immediately commanded a dive. Coordinating efficiently, the submarine submerged to the ocean floor, disappearing as though it had never existed. Meanwhile, kilometers away on another fully loaded immigrant cargo ship: Hearing the distant explosions, Arman and his crew stood on the deck, stunned. "...What happened?" Hearing his boss's question, the captain beside Arman frowned, replying uncertainly after a moment. "Three explosions... could be torpedoes." "You can deduce that?" Arman looked at him, surprised at his competence. "What else could it be, a trick of some underwater creature?" The captain shrugged, giving a helpless expression. Seeing the concern on his boss's face, he offered a low-voiced warning. "We'd best not get involved... You know as well as I do, working for those big shots never ends well." Arman understood the captain's point, but he sighed and replied. "…The teachings of the Silver Moon Cult urge us not to turn a blind eye to those in need. Regardless, I must see if anyone survived. Of course, I won't ask you to risk yourselves; I'll just take a few willing volunteers." If there were survivors in the water, they had to be retrieved before they attracted the attention of sea predators. Predicting Arman's decision, the captain sighed, showing resignation. "I'd worry more if you went alone. I'll take a few to accompany you." Wasting no time, several diesel-powered lifeboats splashed down and sped towards the explosion site. Upon arrival, the sinking ship's bow had mostly submerged, leaving scattered debris and flammable liquid patches burning on the sea’s surface. Arman didn't know what cargo the three sinking ships carried, but was relieved there were no secondary explosions. Spotting survivors in the water, he quickly instructed his crew to haul them onto the lifeboats and retreated from the danger zone before the fire spread. The Southern Legion sought to contain the war within Porcela Province; the Western Legion aimed to profit silently from behind. However, events rarely unfolded as expected. Like the wreckage littering West Sail Port’s train stations and warehouses, or the tanks blown apart on the Lion State's central plains, the three sunken cargo ships and the military supplies worth millions of dinars were only the beginning. While Arman rescued the shipwrecked, Centurion Ryan's five-division force was already advancing menacingly toward Rebul County, only a step from Lion City. This area hosted rare hills on the vast plains, crisscrossed by tributaries of the Everflow Rivers, flowing into a freshwater lake called Sunrise Lake. Like Surak County, Rebul County was a fief of a noble lineage, though the Viscount there met a grim fate during the "King of Heaven's Uprising," beheaded by restless serfs and tenants. His lineage was nearly extinguished, only distant male relatives survived. After Yanush’s fall and Liberty Army’s rebranding into Boragora, the lands weren’t barren thanks to selling properties and estates. Yet fortune was transient. Just as the crops seemed poised to flourish, the Southern Legion marched in. Preparing to defend Lion City, Master Yodonovan commanded an army of 200,000, committing half to the frontline. These troops dug trenches and constructed fortifications, undoing much of the hard-planted fields, their crops largely destroyed. While compensations were promised, given in Boron currency, its value unknown, as was Boragora’s day's as a nation. The new Viscount Rebul, realizing the gravity, supported the southern soldiers without dissent, even having his retinue assist. In contrast, some landhold freedmen harbored discontent, but wisely kept silent. Rumor was the legionnaires received dinars in compensation, whereas locals got meager handouts of worthless paper. However, dissent remained marginal, with the majority supporting Abusseik. Especially among the military. That fellow was no saint. Cunning, petty, indecisive... all negative traits applied to him, yet he appeared more normal than Yanush ever did. Remarkably so. Boragora never lacked talent, yet bizarrely, the pinnacle positions seldom went to the sound-minded. Amidst this unity, crisscross pathways covered Rebul County’s hills. And trap-filled holes with no exit. Soldiers, armed and provisioned, entered without hesitation, ready to seal them through life’s ultimate sacrifice. Simultaneously, a second batch of Union supplies arrived at the front lines. Aside from RPG launchers and recoilless rifles, these new shipments included powerful metal hydrogen explosives and landmines. The latter, especially with adept deployment, posed a threat to the Legion’s Conqueror-10 tanks! At least, they wouldn't let the Legion take Lion City easily. --- Inside Lion City: Commander Yodonovan stared at the map on the command table, cigarette burning between his fingers, worry etched across his brow. He was once a subordinate of Yanush the King of Heaven. When Yanush sent troops to attack the Celestial Capital, he left Yodonovan in Lion City as a rearguard, or more accurately, to be sacrificed to the Legion's wrath. At the time, Yodonovan thought he was doomed, but unexpectedly, before the Legion could advance, Yanush was assassinated by reformist officers in the throne room of the Celestial Capital's palace. Subsequently, Abusseik, with the help of other Kings of Heaven, purged Yanush's old followers and rebranded the Heavenly Army as Boragora. Yodonovan, adapting to the prevailing winds, brought his forces to join the new regime, consequently receiving a promotion. However, to him, this "promotion" was akin to being sent to his death. As one of Yanush's former subordinates, he had little choice in the matter. In Boragora, as in the Heavenly Army, proving one's loyalty required a gesture of allegiance. He had his own to offer; without it, he wouldn't be accepted. Now, Abusseik tasked him with commanding the 200,000-strong army stationed in Lion State to hold back the Southern Legion's offensive. It was almost an impossible task. "…The Union's armored units are advancing toward us, and it is reportedly one of their elite corps. However, their numbers are limited, only a regiment strong." "In addition, there are two armored regiments from the Tiger and Panther armies, as well as a mechanized infantry division from Jingan Port... They've reached the southern side of Rebul County." A young officer, barely in his twenties, reported at a rapid pace beside the command table, yet this promising news failed to smooth the furrow on Yodonovan's brow entirely. Three regiments roughly equated to one division. There was no worry about the Union armored regiment, but the combat effectiveness of the Tiger and Panther regiments remained uncertain. Those forces might not be fully committed. Jingan Port's mechanized infantry division should follow the Union's orders, but they might be uncontrollable. After staring at the map for a long time, Yodonovan sighed. "Relying on outsiders is unreliable. In the end, we must depend on ourselves..." Steeling himself, he turned to the officers gathered around the command table. "No matter what, we have 200,000 troops, and the Welanders only have 50,000... This battle is on our turf. Even in death, we must hold the line!" Mammoth Nation’s approach was clever, but Lion State was no Dog State. With a million residents of Lion City at their backs, there was nowhere to retreat, and this battle was unavoidable. Reading the determination in their commander's eyes, the officers standing at the command table stood straighter, placing their right fists over their left chests. "Yes, sir!" To be continued.