Chapter 853: The Fleet of Unknown Identity

Chapter 853: Fleet of Unknown Identity

On the turbulent sea, majestic warships were cleaving through the waves.

They were the fleet of the South Sea Alliance, and also the only organized maritime combat force on these waters.

The lead flagship was the cruiser Harpoon, which had earned great merit in the civil war.

Behind the cruiser, four destroyers followed in its wake.

Apart from the forces for homeland defense, the South Sea Alliance had dispatched nearly every warship it could muster. Even beyond the surface fleet, three submarines lay scattered and lurking beneath the waves.

The Alliance had once contributed significantly to the unification of the South Sea Alliance, and now that the Alliance was in trouble, the South Sea Alliance naturally stood by its brother, ready to go through fire and water.

Although the survivors on the islands of the southern seas had little interest in conflicts on the mainland, they understood well that the Legion’s ambition was not limited to a single province from the old era.

They would probe the limits of the eastern survivor factions step by step, exploiting the weakness of the Academy and the Corporation to advance steadily, squeezing the living space of the civilized world.

The South Sea Alliance would not let the Legion succeed. The Council knew deeply that helping other suffering survivors was helping themselves.

However—

The opening of this battle was far from optimistic.

Inside the bridge of the Harpoon, President Li Minghui, once again in uniform, stared at the signals on the radar and sonar screens, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“…Hmph, it seems we have trouble.”

Five hundred kilometers away, a full twenty signal sources matching warship characteristics flickered on and off.

These vessels were coated with anti-radar paint, clearly of no low technological level.

Not only that, but the moment they detected the enemy, the enemy had obviously also spotted their presence, cautiously keeping their distance and veering northeast.

Their intention was clear: to escort the transport ships plying between West Sail Port and Eternal Night Port.

Originally, according to plan, the South Sea Alliance fleet was to head to the sea lane between West Sail Port and Eternal Night Port to blockade the port and its surrounding waters.

But now, it seemed this matter was far from simple…

Li Minghui pondered for a moment, then picked up the communicator resting on the console and gave a crisp order.

“Launch reconnaissance drones!”

A reply came quickly through the communication channel.

“Aye!”

With the command given, the destroyer Reef sailing alongside raised its forward launch tube, and with a “pop,” a plume of white smoke shot out, firing a sword-shaped missile into the sky ahead.

The missile flew for a distance through the air, then unfolded its folding wings to either side, soaring like a petrel above the clouds, rapidly approaching the signal sources on the radar.

Inside the bridge, Li Minghui kept his eyes fixed on the twenty flickering signals on the radar screen, his hands braced on the central console.

Time ticked by, and the atmosphere in the bridge grew exceptionally tense.

War at sea was far more monotonous than war on land—there were no flashy tactics. Discovering the enemy could happen in an instant, and being discovered by the enemy could happen just as fast. A single mistake could turn the labor of ten thousand into scrap metal sinking to the seabed.

The weapon operator’s palms were sweating, but his clenched fists never left the console.

This war was not as simple as they had initially imagined—just blowing up a few fish in the Bohai Sea and returning home with medals.

Especially for them, this was not a battle to defend their homeland, but to defend someone else’s. If their final fate was to become fish food, it was hard to say whether their deeds would be remembered.

It was at this moment that these young men finally understood the feelings of their “big brother,” the Alliance, back then.

Betting their lives on a shared destiny was no easy task…

The drone continued flying forward for about several dozen kilometers, catching up with the trajectory of that fleet.

Li Minghui grabbed the communicator again and gave a steady order.

“Activate active illumination radar!”

With the command, the drone’s belly opened a hatch, releasing a fist-sized pod.

Electromagnetic wave signals radiated forward in a fan-shaped pattern, completely enveloping the more than twenty flickering signal sources.

But then, a scene that stunned everyone occurred.

The moment the echoes returned, the more than twenty flickering signal sources suddenly vanished from the radar screen!

“…Our drone has not detected any enemy vessels! Requesting further instructions!”

Astonished expressions appeared on every face. The officers in the bridge were all taken aback.

Including Li Minghui.

His pupils dilated for a split second, but quickly contracted.

“It’s most likely electronic warfare…” said the captain of the Harpoon, standing beside Commander Li Minghui, his brow furrowed.

Li Minghui nodded, grabbed the communicator, and continued giving orders.

“Turn off active illumination radar, switch to optical camera… Fly near the target and take a look.”

“Aye!”

An echo came through the communication channel, and the destroyer Reef, operating the drone, quickly complied.

After flying further through the sky for a distance, the reconnaissance drone soon approached the target area. And the result was exactly as Li Minghui had anticipated—the entire sea surface was empty, nothing but rolling waves.

At that moment, the enemy seemed to have detected their drone deployment, and the signals that had appeared on their shipboard radar also vanished.

Li Minghui’s brow remained furrowed. After a moment’s thought, he said.

“It should be submarines…”

The adjutant standing beside him swallowed nervously and asked anxiously.

“Should we send our submarines to take a look?”

Sending submarines ahead to scout was one of the standard procedures. Those vessels could retreat faster than destroyers, especially in deep waters—hunting down a submarine determined to escape was no easy feat.

But no sooner had he spoken than the captain of the Harpoon interrupted him without hesitation.

“Better not. This could be a trap. If I were their commander, I would definitely set an ambush nearby.”

Just then, the staff officer standing by suddenly spoke up.

“Is it possible… they actually don’t know where we are?”

Murmurs of discussion arose among the group.

Li Minghui thought for a moment, nodded, and said in a grave tone.

“I was just considering that possibility. The initial signal we detected was from passive sonar—it’s highly likely they deliberately used decoys to generate noise.”

And the reason they chose this method of probing was most likely because they were in the same situation as themselves.

Both sides knew of each other’s existence, but neither knew the other’s true strength.

But then again…

“This probing should count as a draw.”

It seemed there was always someone better, and beyond the sky, there was another sky.

It had to be admitted that this time, the opponent he faced was far more troublesome than Charas; relying entirely on the art of command to toy with others was hardly realistic.

Yet, this was not necessarily all bad.

A well-matched opponent would keep each other in check; the other side likely did not want an accidental clash either.

After all, even nominally, this was a war between the Xilan Empire and the states of the Boro Province.

Before the Legions tore off the mask and declared war on the Alliance, the South Sea Alliance's fleet could at most blockade ports, raid strategic facilities belonging to the Xilan Empire, sink a few supply ships—they could not possibly launch blatant bombings on the ports.

This war had not escalated into a full-scale conflict.

And as the supporting side, they had no reason to actively escalate this war.

“Tough... we'll have to see what our allies say.”

Li Minghui pulled a cigarette from his pocket, took out a lighter, and lit it.

There probably wouldn't be a fight today.

The other side was waiting for them to take the bait while trying to make them fire the first shot.

The staff officer frowned deeply, still pondering.

“The tricky part now is... we still can't determine whose ships these are.”

Li Minghui's deputy looked at him.

“Does it matter?”

The staff officer nodded.

“Of course it does... If it's the Western Legion, then we'd better watch our backs.”

Right now, in the entire southern sea area, there was only one destroyer and one submarine; aside from that, all they could rely on were the air force on Ring Island and those ground-based missile launchers.

But those alone were not enough.

The bridge fell into a brief silence, then the murmur of whispered conversations resumed.

Although the Eastern Legion had already reached a private agreement with the Alliance, the other two legions had yet to express their stance.

“...I heard the Western Legion is on the New Continent.”

“Mm... on the other side of this planet.”

“Has anyone been there?”

“Not that I recall... Whether starting from the east or the west, it's too far, with no supply points along the way, and the port's location is uncertain.”

“I wonder how they've developed...”

“If only we had a satellite to take a look.”

Watching the others talk, Li Minghui did not join the discussion, silently smoking instead.

The captain standing nearby was silent for a long time, then sighed and said.

“If only the 'Haiya' were still here.”

That had once been the South Sea Alliance's only battleship, and the only weapon designed to counter the Legion's airships... but the warmongering militarists within their ranks had turned it against their own people.

Yet, from another perspective, Vault 70 had indeed kept them building in isolation for too long.

Those airships built on starship cores were no longer the Legion's only reliance.

And they themselves had only just now stepped out of the island...

...

On the other side, at the forefront of the battlefield, the 17th Myriad under the command of Myriarch Olet had already taken Sulak County in the northwest of Lion Prefecture, opening a breakthrough to continue northward.

The defensive lines organized by Boro's First and Second Myriads were like paper—first pounded senseless by artillery, then encircled and cut off by the vanguard armored units.

The Southern Legion's specialty was artillery; armor was merely supplementary.

But even so, for Boro, which had hardly any tanks, the hundreds of "Conqueror X" tanks in the breakthrough direction could still be called an iron tide.

The first to enter Sulak County was the 171st Thousand-man Unit under the command of Chiliarch Ross.

In the local culture of the Boro Province, "Sulak" means "lion's head," and this surname was also the name of a major local clan, owning millions of mu of fertile land and tens of thousands of tenant farmers.

Ross did not know whether the surname "Sulak" came first or the strange slang "lion's head," nor did he care much.

As a conqueror, he only cared whether the locals cooperated with his conquest.

If they did not, he would not mind hanging that "lion's head" on the wall displaying trophies.

But intriguingly, when his troops entered the area, they met no resistance at all; instead, they were warmly welcomed by all the "Sulaks."

In the largest town of the county, a man about sixty years old led a group of people standing in the middle of the road.

He wore a luxurious robe, looking like an elder of the clan. His hair and beard were gray, his aged face filled with joy, as if he genuinely welcomed the Velantians who had arrived.

Seeing that these people were unarmed, Ross waved his hand, signaling the armored personnel carriers to follow the tanks into the town, while he got out of the jeep and walked with several officers to the old man.

Seeing the approaching Velantian officers, the old man tottered forward two steps, as if ready to kneel.

“My lord... you've finally come! Those Heavenly Kings have made our lives miserable!”

He was not lying at all; those under the Heavenly Kings killed nobles on sight, seized money and grain, and he had been so scared that he hid in the mountains for half a month. Only after hearing that Yanush was dead and the Heavenly King's army had scattered like monkeys from a fallen tree did he dare return with his family.

Ross did not care about what had happened here; he glanced at him.

“Are you the noble here?”

The old man forced a smile and quickly nodded.

“Yes... I am Cham Sulak, a viscount personally appointed by His Majesty. The area within a hundred li is all part of my estate.”

Ross did not waste words with him; he just gave a look to the officer beside him and tossed a list into his hands.

Looking at the stunned old man, the officer said succinctly.

“We are from the Southern Legion, invited by your Emperor Akbar to go north and help you suppress the bandits. Your Emperor demands that you fully cooperate with us, or face punishment according to national law.”

“Also, we need food for a hundred thousand people—mainly wheat flour, supplemented by meat, plus vegetables and fruits and other supplies. Please prepare them here.”

Hearing this number, Cham was startled, nearly collapsing to the ground.

“A hundred... a hundred thousand people?!”

Not only was he startled, but the "Sulaks" behind him were also dumbfounded, exchanging fearful whispers as if the world were ending.

Looking at these chattering mice, Ross impatiently pointed to the list in the old man's hand.

“There's a price on the list. Prepare as we require, and we'll pay you.”

Though they were often imitated by raiders, they were not raiders themselves.

For land of value, in principle they did not intend to destroy the existing production relations; they even spared a pittance from other colonies to buy off the locals.

Of course, after the war ended, they would recoup this investment in the future. And the local survivors would repay this momentary folly and brief sweetness with the blood and sweat of generations to come.

Hearing that these big-noses would pay, Cham finally breathed a sigh of relief. Color returned to his face, and he broke into a happy smile, bowing and scraping as he said.

“Rest assured! Our county is rich in products; we have no shortage of grain! There are other counties nearby; these supplies you need can definitely be gathered!”

Ross nodded, did not waste words with this fellow, sent him off to the side, and simply gave a few brief instructions about patrol duties to the men beside him.

The Legion's logistical supply lines had been ambushed by the Alliance Air Force, leaving the materiel originally destined for the front lines unable to arrive on schedule.

They needed to pause here to rest and refit, waiting for the logistics to catch up before resuming their advance.

Sulak County was a fine position, perfectly suited to serve as a transit hub for frontline supplies.

Perhaps they could construct a temporary port on the western coastline, relieving the logistical strain on Westsail Port.

Just as Ross finished assigning the tasks to his subordinates, his eyes caught sight of a group of bare-chested men and women kneeling by the roadside.

None of them were particularly old, all in their early twenties, and without exception, they were bound tightly with ropes.

Those fifty or so individuals resembled livestock tethered in a pigsty, their numb faces drained of all color; had they not still been breathing, one would have doubted whether they were alive at all.

Ross raised an eyebrow and glanced at Chamu, who followed closely at his flank.

"Who are these people?"

Seeing the Waylander inquire about their identity, Chamu immediately offered a flattering smile.

"My Lord, these wretched dogs are all Sky Bandits! They are a foul lot, even trying to incite us to fight against you!"

Sky Bandits?

Ross blinked slightly, taking a moment to realize the man was referring to the Heavenly King's Army, and then narrowed his eyes.

Come to think of it, this rabble still owed them a blood debt.

"Drag them out and shoot them."

"Yes, sir!"

The centurion standing beside him snapped a military salute, then led his men, brimming with murderous intent, toward the kneeling crowd.

Those people followed them submissively and, before long, collapsed amidst a volley of gunfire.

Thick plasma stained the soil crimson, as a row of living corpses became true cadavers.

In the distant fields hid a crowd of onlookers, some of them serfs tending the land, others tenant farmers from nearby manors.

Having never witnessed such a bloody spectacle, they watched with curiosity, their faces etched with equal parts terror and excitement.

The Waylander soldiers, finished with their shooting, dragged a few onlookers over, tossed them shovels, and ordered them to find a place to lay the corpses to rest.

Those people nodded in a panic, and without asking for compensation, began digging pits laboriously right on the execution ground.

Some even reached out covertly, using the cover of shifting earth to slip handfuls of blood-soaked soil into their pockets.

Taking in the full vista of these wretched souls, the Waylander soldier standing aside to watch could not help but curl his lip, his voice carrying a note of undisguised mockery.

"...Leaving this fertile land for them to manage is a true waste of talent."

Another Waylander soldier, cradling his rifle, offered a chuckling agreement.

"But nobody gave this land to them. If I remember correctly, this used to be a zoo, and they climbed over the mountains to scramble in themselves."

"Hahaha!"

"If I were their ancestor, I'd certainly regret it. Living like this, they'd have been better off dying in the desert."

To those wanton insults, the slaves digging the pits remained silent, yet they felt no resentment whatsoever.

The talk was of the remnants of the Era of Prosperity; what did that have to do with them?

Only on occasions demanding boastful display would they mention that their ancestors once hailed from the center of the prosperous world, including praising the immortal deeds General Lovell had achieved in the freezing snow, using it to mock how miserable the various tribes beyond the Zobar Mountains were, chased about by three-headed, six-armed mutants.

Yet at other times they would curse Lovell, curse the War Construction Committee for abandoning them, and hate the Era of Prosperity for leaving them not a single shred of inheritance.

Just as they would sometimes remember they were Bhairavans, and at other times draw a line between themselves and the Bhairavans or other breeds of rats.

Some people fashioned memory into boots to trample underfoot, all to walk further; others wove memory into clothes and trousers to wear, seeking a beautiful appearance. But these eccentric souls turned memory into a pillow, tossing and turning only to sleep soundly... and now, indeed, they slept soundly.

Standing to one side, Pete smoked a cigarette, taking no part in the soldiers' discussion, feeling only a sullen vexation in his heart.

He cared not a whit what these people's ancestors were like, much less to whom this land truly belonged; he only wished to quickly fight a real opponent.

Whether it was the Alliance or the Enterprise, let there at least be a decent adversary!

Fighting these unarmed people brought not a shred of pride to his heart; instead, it felt like a disgrace.

Crucially, that shining figure in the courtroom always lingered, impossible to banish from his mind.

Lately, he was plagued by nightmares, dreaming he had returned to that courtroom, only he stood in the dock, while the jury box behind him was packed with the dead.

Among them were Waylanders, and also others whose noses were not quite so high.

Though it was merely a dream, it still broke him out in a cold sweat.

Right then, the centurion's voice drifted from afar.

"Pete, finished digging yet?"

Snapping out of it, Pete hurriedly called back.

"Almost done!"

The centurion shouted again.

"Ignore those slaves, let them dig it themselves, fall in quickly!"

"Yes, sir!"

Answering the call, Pete dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it underfoot, swiftly leading his soldiers to rejoin the ranks.

A sharp-eyed slave nearby happened to spot the discarded cigarette butt, and the moment the men walked away, rushed forward to scramble it into his pocket, even fighting others over the concepts of "first come, first served" and "shares for onlookers."

That spectacle of rolling in the blood-red mire was both ludicrous and deeply moving.

Meanwhile, urgent telegrams were dispatched from the Heavenly Capital to Port New Galleon and various parts of the Bhairava Province, carrying the news of war to every inch of the four million square kilometers of land.

That very day, the *Survivor's Daily* in Port New Galleon rushed out an extra edition, and unusually employed a line of blood-red characters.

*A Brazen Invasion! The Southern Legion Declares War Without Warning!*

That dripping, vivid red looked exactly like the blood of those pilots and soldiers.

"This is truly intolerable!"

Sitting in his study, Ashin cursed furiously, slamming the newspaper violently onto the desk.

Rarely did he lose his composure so completely.

Yet at this moment, he could not suppress the burning rage in his heart.

He was not the only one angered; there were thousands upon thousands of others standing upright.

From the port district, Tulip Street, Knight Avenue... down to the reed marshes at the mouth of the Eternal Flow River, fury was written across every indignant face.

If some chose to bury their heads, there would bound to be those who unyieldingly held their chins high.

They, too, were Bhairavans.

And they were men who had awakened!

Standing on the street, Sunil cradled a textbook under his arm, looking with gratification at the youth amidst the crowd.

When he was sixteen or seventeen, he had enjoyed no such glory of commanding a hundred voices; if he remembered correctly, he would have been teasing seagulls at the pier or skipping class to bask in the sun.

He felt boundlessly fortunate for the choice he had made back then, boarding that ship bound for Port New Galleon to become a public school teacher, and by chance reading that essay titled *Red Soil*, bringing it into the classroom to share.

It was not some earth-shattering feat, merely a trivial matter that occurred after the afternoon nap.

Yet to this day he cannot forget the blazing light in the eyes of those youths, both boys and girls.

The hope that had just broken through the soil was sprouting at this very moment!

It was a seedling he had nurtured with his own hands—

"We have sent our emperor away, but the legions want us to kneel! Tell me! What is your answer!"

The youth standing on high roared hoarsely, and what answered him was a thunderous roar like mountains and seas.

"NEVER!!!"

That thin arm was raised high in the air, but he was not alone, for soon one after another, stronger arms were raised.

Among them were those with long sleeves, short sleeves, and no sleeves at all.

Five fingers clenched into fists, propping up a patch of sky.

"What shall we do—!"

"Fight them!!!"