Chapter 937 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 937: "Mission of Final Battle" Upon leaving the Glorious Institute, Harogen stepped into the car waiting down the stone steps and headed straight back to his residence. Without a moment's pause, he went directly to his study, activated the panoramic conference device, and contacted Commander Tyr of the Southern Corps stationed in Arvent City. As the holo-image shimmered in a pale blue light, displaying the half-figure of Tyr, Harogen's demeanor immediately shifted to one of respect, bowing slightly as he began his report. "Commander, Kayserling City has rejected our request to reopen the borders." Tyr spoke slowly, his voice deliberate. "Did the governor happen to mention any reasons?" "The reason is still the death compound. The Imperial Guard firmly claims they have solid evidence that the stolen genetic code has been used to create a gene weapon targeting the Vulnerans," Harogen hesitated slightly before adding in a low voice, "I feel that Commander Rayzer isn't lying... I'm wondering if we should also be cautious about this?" Though he trusted the intelligence capabilities of the Southern Corps, it was equally hard for him to believe that the Imperial Guard would make such claims without concrete evidence. Especially since his family was still in Arvent City. If the "death compound" truly existed, he couldn't help but worry about his family's safety... Commander Tyr fell silent, seemingly deep in thought, staring at Harogen without a word. Sensing the heavy atmosphere, Harogen tactfully refrained from disturbing him, but suddenly remembered something important. "...By the way, Commander Rayzer asked me to deliver a message to you." Commander Tyr finally stirred, his gaze impassive as he looked towards Harogen. "What did he say?" Harogen relayed the message truthfully. "He said... the Marshal is watching you." Upon hearing those words, Tyr's facial expression remained unchanged, but inside, he felt a slight shiver. But it lasted only a moment. He knew it was impossible. The Marshal had been dead for over a century; this fact was undeniably true. Trying to intimidate him with the name of a deceased man... A cold smile tugged at the corners of Tyr's mouth, a demeanor that sent a chill down Harogen's spine, as if facing a poised, waiting serpent. What had become of his esteemed commander? Countless perplexities swirled in Harogen's mind, particularly recalling the meaningful look in Commander Rayzer's eyes. He swallowed hard, attempting to voice his confusion, but his throat felt constricted, as if filled with cotton, rendering him speechless. Tyr offered no explanation, ending the uncomfortable topic with a curt statement. "I understand." Seeing that Tyr seemed intent on terminating the meeting, Harogen quickly spoke up. "I will make another effort... perhaps there has been some misunderstanding." "Very well." With a nod, Tyr showed no further acknowledgment, and the pale blue holographic image vanished from Harogen's study. It was evident that the Imperial Guard, through their intelligence networks, had detected something, hence their strategic maneuver. Though he didn't know how the intelligence reached Kayserling City, with the current situation, Tyr had little hope in resolving the issue through diplomatic means. However— If this group thought he would simply give up, they underestimated him profoundly. Southern Corps Headquarters. Tyr rose from his desk, moving to the window, gazing over Arvent City, a realm forged from metal and concrete. Every inch here was soaked with the blood of Vulnerans. Contrary to Notron City, famed for "conquest," this was the true City of Conquest! "The Southern Corps will not yield. Even if old allies have forsaken us, we will still march as a corps against the enemies of Vulnerans." He looked up at the sky, eyes fixed on the thickening clouds, resolve firm on his hardened, cold face. "The final victory shall be ours." The next course of action was clear. Without a trace of hesitation or lingering sentiment, he left his office, heading directly to Research Facility No. 68, not far from the headquarters. This facility was located at the heart of Arvent City, on the 68th floor of the "Tower of the World" building. The entire structure was encased in alloy, resembling a long blade plunging from the sky straight into the earth. A century and a half ago, survivors in Arvent City used remnants from the Prosperity Era to forge this metal skyscraper, transforming it into a "vertical processing center" for storing black boxes and other relics recovered from the Batoroa Province, hoping to recreate the imagined Prosperity Era. Eventually, due to practical limitations, this grand project was left unfinished. After the corps conquered Arvent City, they improved the building, successfully converting it into a military industrial complex integrated with production and research! Research projects conducted in this building were not limited to the "death compound" alone. Currently, the "death compound" indeed seemed to have the highest realization potential among all decisive weapons. Seeing Tier step into the laboratory, Martin immediately set aside his work and approached. "You're here? I was about to report to you. As per your instructions, 476 pathogens have been released. Once they reach Kayserling City, it's expected that all survivors will be infected, showing symptoms within 14 to 30 days… But are you really sure about this without the genetic code? It might be too late for regrets now." Even with the gene code, there was no guarantee that Vulnerans wouldn't be infected, but at least it wouldn't be as severe as with other survivors. Tyr shrugged off the inquiry unperturbed. "No problem. This was my plan all along... actually, this is even better." As Rayzer suspected, he delivered his words in a cold, unfeeling tone. Martin regarded the esteemed commander with scrutiny before sighing softly. "You're insane. Aren't you worried about becoming infected yourself?" But then again, even if this guy did contract the compound, he likely wouldn't die. Martin realized he'd asked a foolish, redundant question. Even if his organs failed, Tyr could replace them with bionic parts, or go into hibernation until a cure was found. While the virus was massively effective on a population level, its impact on individuals was quite limited. Because of this, his transmission model suggested the virus would ultimately be thwarted at the Ideal City. Most residents there had bionic organs installed, and the medical infrastructure was the most advanced on the wastelands. By then, it wouldn’t matter. Ideal City was invincible only alongside wastelanders; isolated, they were negligible. "My affairs are not your concern. We have other problems now." As expected, Tyr brushed off Martin's worries, ending the discussion in a single sentence. After a brief pause, he elaborated on the latest predicament. "We're at odds with the Imperial Guard. Kayserling City has shut its borders to us... I need to know if there are alternative methods to spread the compound without relying on Kayserling City." Hearing this, Martin's expression turned serious. He pondered for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s challenging… Kayserling City is ideal, even crucial.” Tyr pressed further. “What if we didn’t use humans as carriers? Perhaps birds, or fish—” Before he could finish, Martin interrupted bluntly. “Impossible. Outside is the wasteland; this is the Wasteland Era. Do you still think Batoroa Province is the same as three centuries ago, with thousands of daily flights?” The wasteland environment was rife with uncertainty, leaving few species traversing beyond their habitats. Those prone to migration vanished early in the Wasteland Era. Currently, humans were the only ones capable and motivated for long migrations. To spread the virus into the eastern Great Desert, Kayserling City was indispensable for their plan. Only there did the railway lead to the East Empire, and East Empire’s trade routes were the lone link to the alliance in the East. After Martin's explanation, Tyr nodded gravely, then slowly spoke. “It seems we must resort to that strategy.” Caught in thought, Martin glanced at him, curiosity piqued. “What strategy?” Tyr paused for a moment, then continued in a calm, almost cold-blooded tone. "The capacity of the quarantine zones has a limit. If we relocate the Vulnerans from the Batoroa Province to the Vulneran Province under the pretense of a 'pilgrimage to Kayserling City,' and provide them with enough ships to cross the Maelstrom Sea... even if Kayserling City mobilizes all its armed forces to maintain order, their defenses will be overwhelmed by sheer numbers." This plan would not only clear Arvent City of "useless population," but also minimize the city's losses during the crisis, increasing the Southern Corps' odds of victory in the final race. However, Martin was completely taken aback upon hearing this. Was this guy insane? To send the civilian population of the Southern Corps northwards, advancing towards the spiritual homeland of the Vulnerans! The extent of such madness was unparalleled! He thought his own ideas were radical enough, yet the commander surpassed him by far! Millions of the elderly, women, and children would leave their homes, with over half potentially falling victim to hunger, the cold, or accidents before the virus even took hold. Even though they had the blood of genetic warriors, these people were still human and not some alien species or mutants. The thought of such a hellish scene made Martin's shoulders tremble with excitement. "You truly are a genius..." Tyr showed no reaction to Martin's compliment. "Flattering." He had no time for hesitation or delays. After all, the "death compound" had already been released, and soon infected individuals would appear in the quarantine zones along Arvent City or the coastal areas of the Vulneran Province. Considering the proportion of Vulnerans present, there was no doubt some of them would emerge as cases. By that time, even those loyal to him within the Southern Corps’ leadership would gradually realize that the "death compound" impacts indiscriminately. The reason other races—especially the Boros—exhibit more pronounced effects during lab trials is merely due to the inherent physical advantages of the Vulnerans. Swap in a heightened immune system individual for the experiments, and there's a chance they might merely sneeze and move on; such results don't indicate much. Therefore, he had to ensure matters reached an irrevocable state before anyone discerned the true implications. Only this way could he prevent those shortsighted individuals from abandoning the course halfway... ... Time proved Tyr wasn't joking. The day after the Southern Corps' envoys failed to negotiate the reopening of the borders with Kayserling City, Tyr's personal guard took to the streets of Arvent City wearing armbands, initiating "Mission of Final Battle," a special operation, shouting through loudspeakers. Disturbed by the racket, a roughly 60-year-old man pushed open his front door. His name was Basil. Owing to a "brilliant tactic" by Tyr and Goryon, two of his four children had perished on the front lines of the Boro Province, with another still missing. Only the child who went to the New Continent was still living well. Others might not dare confront the guards, but he wouldn't indulge these lapdogs. Standing at his doorstep, Basil was about to vent his anger at the patrolling soldiers when one of them addressed him first. "Why haven't you left yet?" Stunned by the inquiry, Basil furrowed his brows. "Leave? To where?" The soldier replied matter-of-factly. "To attend Marshal Yulius's funeral, of course! The Marshal devoted his life to us; at this final moment, we should pay our respects." Seeing the soldier's dutiful demeanor, Basil's attitude softened as he muttered under his breath. "Marshal Yulius... We ought to see him off. But I have no relatives in Kayserling City. Going there would only be a burden. He would understand my circumstances. My partner and I will mourn him at home." Upon hearing Basil's reasoning, the young soldier chuckled. "There's no need to worry! Commander Tyr will arrange your accommodation and meals in Kayserling City, including providing a ship to get there." Skepticism lined the elder's face as he frowned at the young soldier. "Really?" The soldier replied without hesitation. "Of course! When did Commander Tyr ever lie? Oh, and if you insist on staying to show your loyalty, that's fine too. But with the war and the epidemic nearing... Surely you've heard? Arvent City will be under martial law soon." Basil looked at him incredulously. "This sudden? Is it an order from Commander Tyr or a consensus among the Southern Corps leadership—" "Does it matter? To me, it's the same." Seeing the old man still hesitating, the armband-wearing soldier urged him further. "If you're going, you should hurry. There are still buses heading to the docks. If you wait too long, they'll be gone." "Fine, at least let me pack," Basil grumbled, unable to resist, and closed the door, heading back to his bedroom. Watching her husband dig out the suitcase, his wife, well into her fifties, was filled with worry. She had been listening to the entire conversation downstairs and, by her seasoned instincts, felt that things were far more complicated. "Dear, I feel something's off..." The old man grunted. "Of course I know. Arvent City is about to undergo something serious." That young lad was too inexperienced to understand, speaking naively about "Commander Tyr never lies." In the name of Marshal Yulius, has Commander Tyr ever spoken a word of truth? He didn't bother arguing with that guy. The arrangement looked serious, suggesting Commander Tyr was making his move. Undoubtedly, someone had pushed him to the edge. "Then why are we packing?" his wife asked, moving behind him, her concern palpable. "I'm worried if we leave, we might not return." Still packing, the old man casually responded. "What else can we do? Stay? Don't be foolish; pack up quickly… I'll think if there are any relatives we can contact once we leave this godforsaken place." As the old man packed, similar scenarios unfolded in households across the city. The participating guards had no idea about the true objectives of the "Mission of Final Battle." They merely carried out their duties, fulfilling their directives. Each organizational unit functioned like a cog in a well-oiled machine. Some were responsible for mobilization, others for spreading rumors, and others still for persuasion and coercion. War and disease were approaching Arvent City! If you didn't want misfortune, you should attend Marshal Yulius's funeral in Kayserling City! This was expected behavior for the Vulnerans. They promised citizens reimbursement for travel expenses and arranged vehicles and ships to assist in reaching the opposite coast of the Maelstrom Sea. Only after Marshal Yulius's funeral would Arvent City return to normal. As for those who remained, they would face wartime restrictions and maximum harassment since the Imperial Guard lost the Vulnerans' genetic code, marking unprecedented times. Driven by war and epidemic fears or loyalty to Marshal Yulius, citizens of Arvent City voluntarily left their homes for Kayserling City, rendering the guards' persuasions unnecessary. Most Vulnerans had familial ties to Kayserling City's residents or were migrants from the Vulneran Province to the South. Following the fall of Yongye Port, many already considered leaving Arvent City. Due to these existing notions, upon hearing the Southern Corps' promises, they wasted little time preparing and set off quickly. Many even planned which relatives in Kayserling City to join upon arrival. Unbeknownst to them, Kayserling City's borders were already closed. And the transportation promised by the Southern Corps' leadership might be mere rafts without propulsion. Within just a day, one-fifth of Arvent City had departed, with the remaining four-fifths either in line or observing the scene. To meet transportation demands, the Southern Corps even deployed trucks from their camps. The exodus appeared as endless, serpentine queues stretching as far as the eye could see. Meanwhile, as hundreds of thousands of residents transitioned to the northern regions of the Batoroa Province, a force of 100,000 auxiliary troops was dispatched there as well. Their mission: to establish twenty camps, construct transportation for the migrating Vulneran civilians, and drive the reluctant ones across the sea. These tasks were, of course, not meant for the Vulnerans themselves. Under the constraints of morality and honor, there were instances where Vulneran soldiers, even those in the personal guard, would refuse orders from superiors. Such incidents had historical precedence and often resulted in significant upheaval. Thus, it made sense to delegate these responsibilities to other ethnic groups. They certainly wouldn’t hesitate in dealing with Vulnerans. Admittedly, the Southern Corps demonstrated an immense capacity for mobilization, their societal control unrivaled by Western Lan or the subsequent Boro Nation. Driven by a mix of loyalty and coercion, the Vulnerans of Batoroa Province migrated towards the expansive coastline like devout pilgrims. And they weren't alone; even some individuals from other races joined this mass exodus. Some were forcibly expelled, while others were terrified of the Southern Corps' propaganda depicting the alliance's merciless regiments. On the third day of "Mission of Final Battle," the first batch of "beach assault groups" was compelled aboard their vessels. Standing on the destroyer's deck, Malock's face drained of color, his eyes wide in disbelief at the sight of the rafts dotting the horizon. "Dammit..." Before him lay hundreds of boats, if not more! After the ferries proved ineffective, they resorted to a strategy akin to dividing into smaller groups. Even if he had the entirety of Kayserling City's airships submerged, it wouldn't stop this flood! These were Vulnerans, after all, sharing the same blood. He couldn't bring himself to open fire, sinking them. Let alone fire upon them, he’d end up rescuing any who fell overboard! "These maniacs... Are they seeking death!?" Malock swore incoherently, immediately reaching for his shoulder communicator, reporting the scene to the coastal defense fleet headquarters. The information laddered up quickly, soon reaching Kayserling City, and subsequently the Glorious Institute. Upon hearing of Commander Tyr's next move over the phone, the seasoned veteran’s eyes widened in disbelief, blurting out a curse. This man wasn't just flipping the table; he was on a frenzied rampage, resorting even to de-urbanization tactics! Thankfully, the two provinces were separated merely by a stretch of sea, just 200 kilometers at the narrowest point. If it were twice as wide, not one of these pawns would make it ashore; they’d all drown midway! Razer’s brow knitted as he clenched the chair's armrests, his sudden grip shattering them into pieces with an audible "crack." "This is genocide against the Vulnerans. We can’t let this man continue with such recklessness!" The visibly stunned governor was met with the chilling aura of the 172-year-old veteran, his voice colder than ever before. "Governor, declare war on the Southern Corps!" To be continued...