Chapter 859: Submarine Hunting

Chapter 859: Submerged Hunt

The eastern front of Lion State was ablaze with seething flames and thick smoke, while on the other side, the West Borneo Sea lay tranquil and serene.

Three large cargo ships, fully laden, sailed steadily across the ocean, their towering bows shattering wave after wave.

Standing at the edge of the deck, facing the sea breeze, Henk wore an expression of smug satisfaction, his upturned nose as sharp as the prow cleaving the waves.

Without a doubt, he was a pure-blooded Vlandian, born in the Triumph City of boundless glory and wealth.

But because Triumph City was too crowded, he had followed his parents to the distant New World as a child, expanding Vlandian territory on new soil.

His father was a centurion; if fate had taken its course, he would have become a glorious soldier like his father, earning merits on the battlefield.

Yet, as luck would have it, a tiger father had a dog of a son—he simply wasn’t cut out for fighting, failing both the youth army selection and the reserve officer exams.

Especially the youth army selection.

He didn’t even make it to the second round, eliminated in the first physical exam, and among the fitness tests, only swimming barely scraped a pass.

It turned out that even a race born for battle didn’t have every member skilled in combat.

Disheartened, Henk once gave up on himself, drowning his sorrows in drink every day. Until one day, a friend from his youth training camp brought him a bottle of “Big Bird Spinning Vodka” from the “Old World,” jolting him from his stupor—

What horse piss had he been drinking before?

Its spicy kick carried a faint sweetness that could make one forget all troubles. After tasting it, he became obsessed, and all other drinks felt bland.

But this stuff came from the distant Alliance. Even in Triumph City, it was hard to come by; the best supplies were mostly monopolized by the Eastern Legion.

Though the manufacturing process wasn’t complex and the ingredients simple, the imitations from Triumph City’s distilleries always seemed to lack something.

He knew what those fakes were missing—the very thing that intoxicated him most: that faint, almost hallucinogenic sweetness that could make one forget all worries.

To drink better in the future, Henk temporarily shook off his lethargy. He first built a homemade continuous still, then tinkered with brewing in his own warehouse, refining the process... Unexpectedly, his efforts actually recreated that “forget-all-troubles faint sweetness.”

The secret to forgetting worries lay in the “methanol within safe limits.”

Triumph City’s distilleries were obsessed with perfecting distillation, pursuing the purest vodka and refining quality, but they overlooked what ordinary Vlandians truly needed.

They had no time to order a specialty cocktail in a fine restaurant, savoring its smooth, rich flavor. What they needed was something to forget all troubles, even if it meant a splitting headache the next day.

If it could be cheap too, that would be even better, even if the pleasure wasn’t healthy.

In any case, thanks to this “invention,” Henk became a moderately famous liquor merchant on the east coast of the New World, turning vodka from an “import” into something even common folk could afford.

If nothing went wrong, he might have sold liquor for life, expanding his business, even exporting his “Chick Vodka” back to distant Dawn City, letting those Alliance folks see his clever stroke of inspiration.

But unfortunately, fate had other plans—the profit from selling liquor was too low.

His “Chick Vodka” was popular for a while, but only a while.

Especially since this trade had low barriers.

If he could imitate Alliance products, others could imitate his.

And poaching workers from his distillery to Triumph City was far easier than poaching from the Alliance—a single boat ticket and a house in the suburbs of Triumph City did the trick.

Seeing his business hit a bottleneck, Henk, like most Vlandians starting from scratch, reluctantly turned his gaze to other less competitive, promising new fields.

In the Legion, only arms were an eternal trade, and their status was the highest among all merchants.

And as luck would have it, just then, the esteemed Marshal opened another window for him.

The Southern Legion was gearing up for war!

Though this war was nominally between the West Silla Empire and various rebels, thirty ten-thousand-man “mercenary armies” were rare even in human history.

The Alliance had unsurprisingly joined in.

And it was foreseeable that corporations, academies, even the Great Rift and all survivor factions in the eastern Old World would participate.

The Southern Legion’s local industry and transport capacity clearly couldn’t sustain the war’s material demands alone, and the Western Legion’s expansion had hit a bottleneck, with mountains of unsold arms piling up in warehouses.

Just then, the Western Legion signed a tax-exemption agreement on military supplies with the Southern Legion.

Sensing the wind, Henk immediately spotted the opportunity and bet his entire fortune on it.

No one reacted faster than him.

If nothing went wrong, he would likely be the first New World merchant to strike gold in the Boro Province—not counting those big shots who had already jumped ahead.

Once he became the largest private arms contractor in West Sailport, he would also peddle his “Chick Vodka” to the local Vlandian soldiers.

He believed they would love that addictive feeling.

And that would be a “roundabout way to save his distillery.”

A few white birds flew from afar, circling above the deck, as if wanting to rest a while.

“Caw—”

Hearing the melodious cries, Henk felt an indescribable joy.

“Seagulls! Haha, looks like we’re almost ashore!”

Walking up beside him, the captain, his skin sunburned to a waxy yellow, grinned and held back a retort.

“Those are albatrosses, sir... and probably a variant. You’d best not tease them.”

They still had over twenty hours of sailing to the Boro Province, not arriving until noon tomorrow at the earliest.

Seeing the man’s excitement, the captain guessed this boss was probably at sea for the first time, especially since he couldn’t tell an albatross from a seagull.

But Henk didn’t care, just laughed it off to cover his embarrassment.

“Haha! Whatever it is, it’s my lucky bird! Go get some bread... the kind about to expire.” With that, he shoved his secretary, who looked resigned, back toward the cabin.

The captain grinned, finding this New World boss quite amusing and witty.

He’d heard New Worlders were like that—smoother and more cunning than Vlandians from the “Old World.”

But he’d never actually lived there; everything he knew was hearsay.

A Southern Legion merchant had introduced him to this captain job, and after a brief stop at a New World port, he’d boarded this cargo ship bound for the Borneo Sea.

The deck was peaceful and serene, just like the calm sea.

Lazy sailors leaned on the rails, sunbathing, used beer bottle caps as chips for chess to pass the time, or planned where to have fun once ashore.

At that moment, no one noticed a periscope quietly rise above the surface, stare at them for a while, then silently retract.

The secretary sent to fetch bread hadn’t returned yet. Henk was about to go into the cabin to hurry him when he saw large bubbles rolling in the churning waves.

Something was rapidly approaching his cargo ship, and judging by its size, it was no small thing.

Henk suddenly remembered a story a sailor had told him in a tavern before boarding.

They said in the distant Borneo Sea and southern waters, there was a sea monster called the Kraken.

It roamed the deep like a dragon, easily capsizing cargo ships of thousands of tons.

But Henk wasn’t worried—his three ships were all over fifty thousand tons and equipped with sonar to repel mutants.

Watching the “big fish” draw closer, he even leaned his head over the railing and shouted excitedly.

“What’s that? A Kraken?”

Hearing this, the captain smiled and walked over to Henk.

“Laken won’t be interested in us—we turned on the sonar wave—”

Before he could finish, his face suddenly changed, and he roared in terror toward the rear.

“Torpedo!!!”

He had never encountered such a thing before, let alone known how to handle it, but instinctively he tore the life jackets hanging from the railing, tossing one to Henk and pulling the other over himself.

Almost at the same moment, a deafening roar erupted from beneath their feet.

A torpedo struck the side of the freighter!

Before the terrifying destructive power capable of sinking a warship, a mere fifty-thousand-ton freighter was as fragile as a toothpick.

With no time to even consider the fate of the other two freighters, Henk felt himself flying, his entire body tumbling outward, and with a splash he plunged into the sea.

The events unfolded so abruptly that he had no chance to feel fear before his consciousness went blank…

…

Minutes earlier, beneath the sea surface.

Inside the steel-grim conning tower, a dozen officers in military uniform stared grimly at the images projected on the holographic screen.

Twenty-four hours ago, Commander Li Minghui had issued the combat plan codenamed “Laken.”

They were to lurk like ghosts beneath the Sibor-Poro Sea, attacking the transport ships carrying munitions to West Sail Port.

Given the uncertainty of the enemy warships’ true strength, this was the safest approach.

On one hand, it would strike at the Southern Legion’s logistics, delaying their offensive; on the other, it would force the Western Legion to come out and escort, thereby exposing their real combat capabilities.

“…Target retrieval complete. Multiple 120mm field guns detected; the cargo aboard is confirmed to be munitions without a doubt.” The observer seated at the control console turned to look at the captain, speaking with certainty.

The captain nodded expressionlessly, without any hesitation, picked up the communicator, and issued the order.

“All combat units prepare! Send them to meet Laken!”

A chorus of echoes quickly came through the communication channel.

“Roger!”

With the order given, the crew of the entire attack nuclear submarine sprang into action like gears wound tight.

The sonar locked onto the target, the torpedo room began flooding, and then a black, thick torpedo was launched from the torpedo bay, like an underwater harpoon, stabbing toward the unsuspecting freighter.

It was a battle with no suspense—the enemy didn’t even have the means to detect them.

They fired three torpedoes, all of which hit their targets without exception.

Watching the explosion’s flames and the steel slowly sinking into the water, the men in the conning tower did not celebrate.

After all, the target sunk was not a warship; even winning was nothing to celebrate.

But that didn’t mean they felt any regret for taking part in this operation.

No matter the form or the reason, once involved in this war, one must be prepared to pay the corresponding price.

Just like those standing here.

They knew very well what they faced, and what fate awaited them if the enemy warships locked onto them…

After confirming the target had sunk, the captain immediately gave the order to dive.

With the coordination of all units, the submarine quickly sank to the seabed, as if it had never existed.

At the same time, on a freighter packed with immigrants, more than ten kilometers away.

Hearing the distant explosion, Yarman, standing on the deck, froze along with the crew beside him.

“…What happened?”

Hearing his boss’s question, the captain standing next to Yarman frowned, then spoke in an uncertain tone after a moment.

“Three explosions… could be torpedoes.”

“You can tell that from the sound?” Yarman glanced at him in surprise, not expecting the man to have such skill.

“Otherwise, what? Could it be something the aberrations made?” The captain made a helpless expression and shrugged.

Seeing his boss still looking uneasy, he offered a low warning.

“We’d better not get involved in this… You should know from experience, working for those big shots never ends well.”

Yarman naturally understood what he meant, but in the end, he sighed and said.

“…The Silver Moon Sect’s doctrine forbids leaving drowning people to die. No matter what, I have to go see if there are any survivors. Of course, I won’t ask you to risk it with me—I’ll just take a few who want to come along.”

If anyone was still alive, they had to be pulled out before the aberrations in the sea got to them.

The captain had guessed his boss would say that, so he made a helpless face, sighed, and said.

“I’d be even more worried letting you go alone. I’ll take a few men and go with you.”

Without much delay, several diesel-powered lifeboats were lowered from the ship and sped toward the waters where the explosion had occurred.

By the time they reached the destination, the raised bows had mostly sunk beneath the surface, leaving only wreckage and debris, mixed with patches of burning fuel floating on the sea.

Yarman didn’t know what the three sinking freighters were carrying, but fortunately, there was no secondary explosion.

After spotting survivors in the water, he immediately called the crew to haul them onto the lifeboats, then, before the fire could spread, they left the dangerous waters…

The Southern Legion wanted to confine the war within the Boro Province; the Western Legion wanted to stay behind the scenes and make a quiet fortune. But things don’t always go the way they hope.

Just like the wrecked train station and warehouse district in West Sail Port, and the blown-up tanks on the central plains of Lion Prefecture, the three transport ships sinking to the seabed, along with munitions worth tens of millions of dinars, were only the beginning.

At the same moment Yarman was rescuing his fellow countrymen from the water, Ryan, the commander of ten thousand, led five ten-thousand-man cohorts, advancing with murderous intent to Riedburg County, just a step away from Lion City.

The area had the few hills on the entire plain, with several tributaries of the Eternal River system cutting through, converging into a freshwater lake called “Sunrise Lake.”

Like Sulak County, this “Li County” was also the domain of a noble with a prominent surname, but Viscount Riedburg was not as fortunate as Viscount Sulak.

Back during the “Heavenly King Rebellion,” he was tied up and beheaded by a mob of rebellious serfs and tenants, leaving only a few distant male relatives alive.

Later, when Yanush died and the Heavenly King Army changed its banner to become the Boro State, his family line was finally preserved. They sold off some land and property, managing to keep the vast fields from falling fallow.

But the good times didn’t last.

Just as the seedlings in the fields were finally about to grow, the Southern Legion struck again.

To defend Lion City, Commander Yudono waved his hand and filled ten thousand of the two hundred thousand troops into the front lines.

These soldiers built fortifications and dug trenches, filling back in the crops that had barely sprouted, ruining most of the harvest.

Though compensation was promised, it was in Boro currency—no one knew what use it was, or even how many more days the Boro State would exist.

But the young Riedburg, who had inherited the title, was a man who understood the bigger picture. He didn’t dare oppose at such a time, and even led his household servants to help the soldiers.

On the other hand, some freeholders who had gained land were quite dissatisfied, but they wisely held their tongues.

They heard the Legion paid compensation in dinars, while this Abusek was stingy with his own people, fobbing them off with a few scraps of paper.

Still, the complaints were a minority. At least for now, most people still sided with Abusek.

Especially those in the military.

That man was no good.

Cunning, petty, indecisive—every negative description could be applied to him. Yet there was one thing that had to be admitted: he was more of a normal person than Yanush.

This was actually quite good—even rare.

The Kingdom of Bolo never lacked capable people, but strangely, those at the top were rarely normal.

Under this unity from top to bottom, crisscrossing tunnels soon spread across the mountains and fields of Redbull County.

And there were also those pits with only entrances and no exits.

Soldiers armed with weapons and dry rations plunged into them without hesitation, prepared to fill them with their own flesh and blood first.

At the same time, the second batch of aid from the Alliance arrived at the front.

Among the new equipment sent to the front, besides RPG rocket launchers and recoilless guns, there were also powerful metal-hydrogen explosives and landmines.

Especially the latter, if used properly, were already enough to threaten the Legion's Conqueror 10 tanks!

At least, they would not let the Legion easily take the Lion City behind them.

…

Inside Lion City.

Chieftain Yudonov stared at the map on the command table, a lit cigarette between his index fingers, his brows furrowed with worry.

He had once been a subordinate of the Celestial King Yanush, who later marched on the Celestial Capital and left him in Lion City to cover the retreat—or rather, to be the Legion's "scapegoat."

At that time, Yudonov thought he was doomed, but before the Legion could attack, Yanush had already gone ahead, assassinated by reformist officers in the Celestial Capital's palace hall.

Later, Abusek joined forces with several other Celestial Kings, purged Yanush's old followers, and changed the banner of the Celestial Army to that of the Kingdom of Bolo. Yudonov himself went with the tide, leading his men to defect to the new authorities, and was even promoted for it.

Although this promotion, in his eyes, was essentially no different from sending him to his death, as a former subordinate of Yanush, he had little choice.

In the matter of offering a "ticket of allegiance," the Kingdom of Bolo and the Celestial Army were cut from the same cloth. He too had his own ticket to present; only by doing so could he be considered one of them.

And now, the task Abusek had given him was to lead the 200,000 troops stationed in Lion Province to block the offensive of the Southern Legion.

This was nearly an impossible mission.

“…The Alliance's armored forces are heading our way, and reportedly they are one of the Alliance's elite units. However, their numbers are not large—only one regiment.”

“Besides that, there are two armored regiments from the Tiger Army and the Panther Army, as well as one mechanized infantry division from Golden Gallon Port… They have already arrived south of Redbull County.”

Standing beside the command table, a young officer in his early twenties reported rapidly, yet these good news did not fully ease Yudonov's furrowed brow.

Three regiments could barely form one division.

The Alliance's armored regiment was not a concern, but how much combat effectiveness the armored regiments of the Panther Army and Tiger Army would have was still unknown.

Those people might not be willing to go all out.

The mechanized infantry division from Golden Gallon Port should follow the Alliance's orders, but it was probably beyond his command.

Staring at the map for a long time, Yudonov sighed and said.

“Relying on outsiders is unreliable; in the end, we must rely on ourselves…”

Steadying himself, he turned his gaze to the officers standing before the command table.

“No matter what, we have 200,000 troops, and the Valiants only have 50,000… This battle is on our home ground. Even if we have to die, we must hold the line!”

The Mammoth Kingdom's idea was not bad, but Lion Province was not Dog Province after all. The million residents of Lion City were behind them; even if they wanted to retreat, there was nowhere to go. This battle was unavoidable.

Reading the resolve in their commander's eyes, the officers before the command table straightened their expressions and pressed their right fists to their left chests.

“Yes!”