Chapter 967: Ambition Turned to Ash

Chapter 967: The Annihilated Ambition

The flying axe blade, like a flash of lightning, struck head-on at the enraged Tyr.

"Seeking death!"

With a muffled roar, Tyr flung forward his right arm, covered in fungal carpet, and a dozen crimson tendrils shot like javelins toward Old Bai!

Seeing the red streaks about to hit his face, Old Bai calmly raised the bolter in his left hand and fired two pre-loaded airburst incendiary rounds.

With two bangs, the narrow space instantly erupted in orange-red fireballs!

In contact with the flames, the crimson tendrils were ignited by the concentrated fuel, withering visibly and burning into black charcoal!

"Ahhh—!"

Tyr let out a pained roar, the malice in his eyes intensifying as he clenched his outstretched right hand.

Crimson tendrils, like sprouts breaking through soil, grew from the floor, reaching for Old Bai's ankles like hands from a grave.

"You're asking for death! This is my domain—!"

Facing the tendrils coiling around his ankles, Old Bai paid them no heed and continued charging forward with long strides.

The steel boots thudded heavily on the ground; some thin roots couldn't even entangle before being torn apart by sheer force.

As for the thicker roots, they met the titanium combat knife attached under the bolter!

With brute strength and the power components of his armor, Old Bai quickly hacked the obstacles before him into pieces.

Meanwhile, the energy stored in the meltacutter axe was nearing its critical point!

Seeing the steel armor so close, Tyr's face showed a moment of panic.

For a human who hadn't fully mastered the "Gaia Force," juggling internal and external combat was indeed too much.

"Don't you dare! With your filthy hands! Come near me!"

Tyr let out a hysterical roar, and the crimson fungal carpet covering his body expanded outward like erupting magma, instantly twisting his human form into an indescribable mass of flesh.

It throbbed like a demon's heart, or chaos itself.

Such blasphemy...

Silent and stunned, Old Bai had only this thought.

Rather than him becoming the "Hive" or "Gaia," it was as if "Gaia" had become him.

After devouring his ambition, the non-sentient Gaia used a power unknown to human civilization to materialize his spiritual world!

If this thing continued to twist, it might become another kind of "Hive."

A hive no one had ever seen.

But it ends here.

"You talk too much!"

With a low growl, Old Bai gripped the meltacutter axe and swung it fiercely at the tendrils tangled like a net before him.

The howling axe blade, like a comet striking a forge, sent dazzling sparks bursting from the crimson flesh wall.

"Boom—!"

The immense force shook the entire lab, causing Tyr's body to stagger backward uncontrollably.

Blocked?

Seeing the "human tank" finally stop charging, Tyr felt a flicker of joy.

But that joy didn't last long, soon severed by the surging, blinding sparks.

"Ahhh—!"

The scorching plasma plume cut through the tendrils forming the flesh wall, showering his face with sparks.

That was plasma at tens of thousands of degrees!

A single spark the size of a thumb was enough to ignite the carbon-based matter on his body!

Tyr screamed in pain and stumbled backward, but unaccustomed to his legless body, he fell to the ground with a struggle.

Old Bai strode up to him, giving him no chance for last words, raised the meltacutter axe, charged it again, and slammed it into his face.

"Boom!!!"

The scorching sparks exploded again!

The molten lava not only blasted the flesh into slag but also cut through the alloy floor.

That "fire axe" was an anti-armor weapon; if it could cut through power armor, breaking through an alloy room was no problem!

Once, twice, thrice!

Old Bai, swinging the meltacutter axe, pounded a concave hole into the ground, blasting Tyr's transformed body into burning charcoal.

Without the brain to drive the body, the surrounding restless tendrils twitched like headless frogs.

Confirming Tyr was dead beyond death, with no neuron left, Old Bai raised the bolter in his left hand and swept a round of high-explosive incendiary rounds around.

Watching the twisted flesh vanish in the boiling sea of fire, he activated the power armor's air recycling system and finally let out a long breath of relief.

"Well... that should be the end of him."

Leaning the axe against the wall, Old Bai grinned, deactivated the various buffs from his strength talent, and slowly sat on the floor against the wall.

At least, the visible Tyr was dead.

As for the ghost hovering over the Varangians—the invisible Tyr—that was another matter.

But he still had faith in them.

Like Boulder City, they had the ability to self-correct and respected history enough... even if their history wasn't long, unable to trace back to the Prosperity Era or earlier like other survivors.

Just then, a crimson sprout emerged from the ashes, morphing into a round little tendril beside him.

Old Bai had just grabbed the axe when a weak voice came from the mimetic vocal cords.

"Ee-oo..."

Hearing the familiar sound, Old Bai's face showed surprise, and he loosened his grip on the weapon.

"Oh, your fruiting body is still alive."

Xiaoyu's main body was in Vault 404, probably the safest place on this planet.

The slime mold attached to the fighter piloted by Luoyu was just Xiaoyu's fruiting body.

"Ee-oo!"

The round tendril chirped energetically, like a dolphin in an aquarium.

But Old Bai hadn't been implanted with a biological interface, and his relationship with Xiaoyu wasn't close enough for "spiritual communion," so he naturally couldn't understand what it was saying.

"Haha, glad you're okay, but I can't understand you. If you're asking about Luoyu, he should be waiting for revival in Dawn City now."

The round tendril stood upright, swaying left and right like a mute gesticulating wildly.

After holding out for a long time, it finally squeezed out a halting sentence in Common.

"...Thank you... Tyr... is dead... Now it's me... who controls this body."

Old White stared at Xiaoyu in surprise, only then recalling that it could actually speak, though it rarely did.

After a pause, Xiaoyu organized its words and continued.

"This is not... our... Hive... It's... something... else."

So that was it.

A look of dawning comprehension crossed Old White's face.

What they had encountered was indeed not the Hive, but something else entirely.

As for how this thing had emerged, perhaps the Alliance's biological research institute could give them an answer.

"Share what you've found with Luo Yu; he'll pass it on to us."

After a moment's hesitation, Old White continued.

"By the way... can you retract those tentacles outside back into this building? Leaving those things on the street would be a real hassle—both in terms of explaining it and cleaning up the mess."

"Ee-oo!"

The round, glossy tentacle dipped downward in a nod, then obediently withdrew into the dark, ashen residue.

Watching the last scattered embers fade, Old White picked up his weapon, rose from the ground, stepped over the blackened charcoal littering the floor, and walked to the gaping hole blasted open by the anti-ship missile.

The tentacles that had writhed around the building had snapped like withered trees; in the distant, smoke-choked districts, the gunfire and cannon blasts had gradually fallen silent; and farther still, at the edge of the sky, the first light of dawn was breaking after the long night...

Pausing for a moment to savor the beauty of night yielding to day, Old White raised his index finger and tapped the side of his helmet, speaking in a clear, resolute voice.

"Calling Command, this is Old White..."

"Tyr is dead. I killed him myself."

"The war is over."

...

With Baldwin's surrender and the fall of the "Tower of the World," the last unit still fighting for the Southern Legion raised its hands and surrendered to the Alliance forces.

At the same time, the Alliance's flag fluttered atop the highest point of Avent City—the rooftop of the "Tower of the World."

The outcome was clear, and it had come sooner than anyone had expected.

The gloomy sky began to pale.

The first rays of dawn pierced the darkness, spilling over the smoke-shrouded concrete ruins.

Tyr was dead.

Augustus was dead too.

Including Tyr's confidants and those five-star-plus chiliarchs who had fueled the war.

Some were found dead by suicide in their homes, others in bunkers, or even at orgies.

Clearly, not all Valyrians regarded honor as life itself; at least the vermin around Tyr had no such concept in their minds—only winning and losing.

And likewise, not everyone had the courage to face defeat.

Rather than endure the victor's humiliation, it was easier to die. For them, the latter was the more acceptable choice.

But there were exceptions.

Take Dickens's superior, the Minister of the Southern Legion's Supreme General Affairs Department, Jeffrey.

This man was a four-star chiliarch, equal in rank to Augustus, only half a grade lower, overseeing the entire Southern Legion's logistics and military industrial production.

He had originally planned to commit suicide, even holding a cyanide capsule in his mouth, but in the end, fear of death kept him from biting down. Soldiers burst in and pinned him to the table, prying the capsule from his mouth.

That two-hundred-kilogram man was like a fat pig being dragged into a slaughterhouse; it took three men just to hold him down.

Everyone in Avent City was lean, even Tyr and Augustus, but he alone was bloated with fat.

His face flushed red, he still refused to give up, struggling against the hands restraining him, but it was futile.

The unit responsible for the arrest was the Valyrian Expeditionary Force's First Division. Following the soldiers into the room, Battalion Commander Kuruan walked up to Jeffrey's desk and tossed a wanted poster printed on a flyer in front of him.

"Mr. Jeffrey, you are under arrest."

Jeffrey strained to lift his head, glaring at the man standing before him, his face frozen in shock for a few seconds.

Panting heavily, he squeezed out a sentence through clenched teeth.

"...You are a Valyrian."

Kuruan didn't bother to hide it, speaking bluntly.

"Former centurion of the 34th Myriarchy. Thanks to you, after retirement I had the fortune to work at the customs of Evernight Harbor."

Jeffrey stared at him, breathing heavily, forcing out words from his fat throat.

"Then why did you betray us... Has the Southern Legion... wronged you in any way?"

Kuruan looked into his eyes and smiled.

"Have you ever heard of snake oil?"

Jeffrey froze for a few seconds, a look of bewilderment on his face.

"...What is that?"

"Something that lets people drown in sweet dreams. Some fall into it and never climb out, like ants drowning in a honey jar. And I was once such a man, even becoming your accomplice for a time."

"We were deceived and used by your ambition, doing things under Marshal Julius's banner that would make him ashamed of you, enslaving your own brethren in his name... You are all that kind of filth, and that's why you lost."

Kuruan leaned his hands on the desk, staring hard into Jeffrey's eyes until fear crept into the latter's gaze.

Only those with guilty consciences fear ghosts knocking at the door... and Jeffrey was undoubtedly such a man.

He might not have directly participated in any massacre or any sale of snake oil, but every ounce of fat on his body came from that bloody persecution.

He was the most sophisticated criminal, and also the most vicious—the poison he peddled was filthier evil than snake oil.

Looking at the pale-faced Minister Jeffrey, Kuruan withdrew his hands from the desk and nodded to the three soldiers holding down the fat pig.

"Take him away."

The three soldiers respectfully obeyed and escorted Jeffrey out of the office. This time, he offered no further resistance, his body limp as the three young Valyrian men held him.

Only as he passed Kuruan did the latter pause and add in a casual tone,

"As for snake oil, perhaps you should ask Minister Dickens of the Bharata Provincial Theater General Affairs Department."

"I think... you two will meet soon enough."

...

After the fall of the "Tower of the World," the Southern Legion's conference building also flew the Alliance's flag.

Including the hospital on Rongjun Road, including the War Department building...

As everyone had hoped, the war was over.

Survivors hiding in basements and cellars cautiously poked their heads out from the cracks in the ruins.

The gunfire and cannon blasts outside had vanished; the broadcasts no longer carried Tyr's hysterical shouts.

Instead, there came a voice they had never heard before—

“…Survivors of Avent City, survivors who have suffered the ravages of war, survivors who have been seduced by evil—your war is over.”

“Your supreme commander, Tyre, has been shot dead by the Burning Legion in his stubborn resistance and hysterical frenzy. Chief of Staff Augustus has taken his own life in guilt… that despicable bastard not only murdered countless children of families but also killed his own child and wife. We scorn such cowardice.”

“A man must answer for his own deeds. I believe we are not alone in thinking this; you feel the same, loathing the cowardly act of venting incompetence on one’s own beloved…”

“With that in mind, think carefully for your parents, your children, your lovers, your friends. Is it worth giving your life for two cowards hiding behind others, dying for an illusory glory, and leaving your loved ones to live the rest of their days in regret and pain… You are not just soldiers of the legion; you are someone’s child, someone’s husband, someone’s father—you are all living, breathing people.”

“We promise a fair and open trial for the criminals in court. Mistakes already made are not beyond redemption. We will always find a standard acceptable to both our societies and move together toward a brighter future.”

“I, the Consul of the Valiant Alliance, solemnly declare to you here—you may lay down your arms with dignity, and Triumph City will guarantee your safety from any infringement.”

For the vast majority of Valiants, Triumph City was both their spiritual sanctuary and their spiritual homeland.

Though Tyre had more than once ranted against the “betrayal” of Triumph City in the *Southern Legion Victory Gazette*, it could not change what was etched into the souls of the Valiants.

In the broadcast, the Consul of Triumph City not only promised to ensure the safety of surrendered soldiers but also pledged to provide food, medicine, and other daily necessities to the displaced refugees.

Although the broadcast was recorded by the Consul, it was played by the Alliance’s troops and had clearly received the Alliance’s endorsement.

Some survivors gradually left the cellars and those crumbling houses, guided by nearby patrol troops to centralized resettlement points.

There, tents transported from the Ravenca industrial zone awaited, along with instant noodles, sausages, and hot water.

As for why instant noodles—it was mainly because the large cooking pots had not yet been set up; only the water boilers were working, so instant noodles had to suffice for now.

Moreover, they were easy to distribute: one line for noodles and sausages, another for boiling water.

If someone wanted to queue again, it didn’t matter—the stuff wasn’t worth much anyway.

But while instant noodles were merely a makeshift meal for Alliance soldiers, for the survivors of Avent City, who had long lived under rationing, they were a rare delicacy.

Looking at the steaming noodles in their hands, those gaunt faces showed expressions of astonishment.

Some of the young soldiers forcibly conscripted into the army couldn’t help but shed tears.

They had never experienced the best days of the Southern Legion’s mess.

By the time rifles were handed to them, everyone’s bowl held only bread as hard as stone and black nutrient paste.

The sound of growling stomachs rose and fell across the camp. If not for the scalding hot water, those fifteen- or sixteen-year-old kids would have gulped down the noodles straight from the cup without waiting for them to soften.

In fact, some tried, but were stopped by quick-eyed players.

【Tomato Scrambled Eggs】 of the Burning Legion walked through the camp, banging a ladle against an iron pot, shouting at the hungry survivors:

“Eat slowly! There’s plenty of noodles and hot water! Tomorrow will be even better! Don’t stuff yourselves to death!”

Watching their naive wonder, clutching instant noodles as if they were treasures, he couldn’t help but recall a time long ago, when he was skinning mutated hyenas in Linghu Wetland Park.

In terms of table manners, these Valiants were much like the refugees they had picked up from the wasteland back then.

A Southern Legion chiliarch, with hair as messy as if he had just crawled out of a chimney, stood holding a cup of noodles in front of the boiler.

Looking at the Valiant Expeditionary Force soldier manning the water tap, he asked tremblingly:

“…Is this the last meal?”

He hadn’t dared to speak with the Alliance soldiers, finally finding a familiar face.

The Expeditionary Force soldier glanced at him and joked:

“Of course not. Grains, vegetables, and frozen meat are still at the port north of Bartoya Province. Until relief supplies arrive, you’ll have to make do with instant noodles for a few more meals.”

Instant noodles… make do?

The chiliarch stood stunned for a long time, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

How the hell could they fight this war?

Though he had never believed the nonsense in the *Southern Legion Victory Gazette*—like Stone City suffering famine or the survivors of Settlement No. 1 planning a rebellion—these guys’ supplies were ridiculously abundant.

The war was already over.

He believed the Alliance wouldn’t go so far as to put on a brave front just to deceive them. He could only lament how absurd Tyre’s lies were, that even he, a chiliarch, had almost believed them!

As the chiliarch stood there speechless, holding his noodles, a few players from the Skeleton Legion were chatting nearby.

【Construction Boy and Brick】 stretched, looking unsatisfied.

“So… it’s over just like that?”

【Edge Loafing】 glanced around and said bluntly:

“Obviously. Tyre’s dead, the Southern Legion high command is either dead or captured… the remnants are all here.”

At this point, the Legion had truly become a historical term, and a reborn Avent City would likely not want it back.

What should the Southern Legion be called now?

The ID “Valiant Alliance” had already been snatched by Battlefield Guy, and “Southern Alliance” overlapped too much with the South Sea Alliance—it lacked distinction.

Edge Loafing scratched the back of his head for a long time but couldn’t come up with anything, eventually giving up.

Let the Valiants figure it out themselves.

After all, they didn’t have to follow the Alliance’s path, as long as they didn’t stray back onto the wrong one.

Staring at the distant ruins, 【Outlaw】 wore a reluctant expression, as if mourning something.

“Damn it! These high-level players are ridiculous. I didn’t even get to see what the final boss looked like, and we’ve already won?”

【I’ll Die First】 laughed and patted his buddy on the shoulder.

“Don’t dwell on it. Participation matters! If you’re curious, go check the official website.”