Chapter 708: Retreating a Hundred Kilometers Is the Bottom Line for a Ceasefire

Chapter 708: A One-Hundred-Kilometer Retreat Is the Bottom Line for a Ceasefire

The battle at Claba Market had ended. Over a thousand Gray Wolf soldiers had laid down their weapons and emerged from their cover with their hands behind their heads.

They were grimy and dejected, most bearing wounds that had not yet scabbed over, their dust-covered eyes devoid of any glimmer of light.

If they had lost to the Alliance, they might have felt a little better. But looking at these militiamen, who could not even piece together a complete set of clothing, all that remained in their hearts was shame.

These militiamen had driven them from the north of Claba Market to the east, forming a long line at the market’s entrance.

The survivors watching from a distance saw this scene, and disbelief was written unmistakably on their faces.

“…His Majesty’s army has actually lost.”

“That was the invincible Gray Wolf…”

“And they lost to the Moonfolk.”

In truth, it was not just the Moonfolk.

The slaves in Rowell Camp were mostly Moonfolk, so naturally, this militia was predominantly composed of Moonfolk as well.

Devout believers stared blankly toward Claba Market, their lips murmuring to themselves.

“By the Sun-Bearing Divine Bull.”

This time, the heavens might truly be turning upside down…

As the approaching militiamen came into view, Chiliarch Satish’s face turned ashen. After a moment of inner struggle, he finally handed over his sidearm.

The radio had already been confiscated; continuing to resist would be pointless.

But to his surprise, the bare-armed man who took his pistol ejected the magazine and tossed the gun back to him.

“Run east.”

Satish was stunned.

“Wha—”

He started to ask what that meant, but the man fired a shot into the ground just in front of his boot without a word. The flying gravel and dust startled him.

‘Are you insane?!’

Satish stared at him wide-eyed, his gaze a silent question, but seeing that the man was not joking, he could only step back two or three paces, then break into a jog.

He ran from the center of the market all the way to the east, and no one stopped him along the way, until he saw the disarmed prisoners crowded at the eastern gate of the market.

What were they planning to do?!

Satish’s heart was filled with dread. Uncertainty about what was about to happen was far more terrifying than the fate of being captured.

The group of “Gray Wolves” standing at the eastern gate also stared at him in bewilderment, clearly not expecting to reunite with their commander after being taken prisoner.

Their confusion did not last long. A man carrying an LD-47 rifle walked up to them and, without a word, aimed at the sky and pulled the trigger.

“Rat-tat-tat—!”

The prisoners crowded at the market gate were like startled birds. The sudden burst of gunfire made them jump, and they instinctively backed away. The survivors hiding in the distance were also startled and scurried back into their homes.

The man grinned savagely at the prisoners, as if taunting a flock of terrified sheep. He pretended to aim the empty rifle at them, making “rat-tat-tat” sounds with his mouth in a feigned threat.

Watching the panicked crowd retreating, he deftly ejected the spent magazine, slapped in a new one, and with a click, chambered a fresh round.

The meaning of that action was unmistakable—

This time, it was real!

Without needing a single word from him, the terrified prisoners turned and fled, their backs to Claba Market.

Bullets whistled over their heads. The running prisoners had no time to think, not even to check if the person beside them had fallen. They simply fled, driven by the sporadic gunfire of the scattered soldiers, heading out of the settlement.

Meanwhile, in the center of Claba Market, Rasi contacted Fang Chang, who was far away in the temporary command post at the port, through the earpiece hanging from his ear.

“As you ordered, the prisoners are fleeing through the eastern gate toward the outskirts of the settlement. I’ve detached a century to follow them.”

A reply came quickly through the communication channel.

“…Received. Well done. I need you to take everyone else to the northern part of the settlement and await orders. Our troops will support your attack there.”

The plan had deviated slightly, but it was not beyond remedy.

Confiscate the prisoners’ weapons and let them keep running.

At worst, they could be captured again when they returned to their positions.

Rasi replied crisply.

“Yes, sir.”

Though intelligence indicated that an entire myriad was waiting in full battle array there, he felt no fear or hesitation.

Having already been through two battles, he knew very well who was truly invincible—not the Gray Wolf Army, not himself, but the “Iron Men” standing behind him.

As long as those Iron Men stood behind him, there was nothing to fear…

After the communication ended, he immediately summoned his chiliarchs and ordered them to lead their respective units northward as planned.

What the Alliance had provided them was not just various light weapons and ammunition, but also communication devices distributed down to the squad level.

Because of this, although these hastily assembled ragtag soldiers were still inexperienced in combat, the communication barriers between different command levels had essentially been removed. Their informatization rate was even slightly higher than that of the Gray Wolf Army, whose radios only reached down to the century level.

Even if an order was not entirely clear, it was just a matter of shouting a few more times.

At the very least, there was no longer a situation where a centurion could not find his squad, or a chiliarch did not know where his centuries were.

This single advantage already put them far ahead of most guerrilla forces, not to mention the automatic weapons shipped from the port…

At the same time that the First Corps of the Vengeful Alliance was withdrawing from Claba Market, in a three-story civilian house slightly south of the market center, a head was hidden behind a second-floor window, eyes peering nervously through the gap in the curtains.

Seeing the mob that had occupied the market pulling out, Prince Dilip slowly let out a sigh of relief, unaware that his back was drenched in cold sweat.

It seemed the Sun-Bearing Divine Bull still favored him.

Though he had unfortunately lost this battle, fortunately these foolish rebels had not conducted a thorough search of the entire market but had hurried off elsewhere.

Not only that, the cowardly Chiliarch Satish had not betrayed him, allowing his presence to remain concealed.

Perhaps…

He could slip away unnoticed while they were leaving.

The Alliance and those puppet soldiers might not even know he had been here…

Prince Dilip carefully moved away from the window and turned to discuss the matter with his retinue, who had been holding their breath in the room.

But before he could speak, he heard a fawning, ingratiating voice from downstairs.

“Yes, sir, it’s right here…”

…

North of Golden Harbor.

In an observation post covered with camouflage netting, less than a kilometer from the front line, Myriarch Manu stood holding binoculars, his face grim as he stared toward the distant urban area.

The shelling of the settlement had stopped. To cover that fool’s retreat, they had wasted nearly five hundred precious shells. Yet the silent city showed no sign of activity—he could not even see a single figure.

His adjutant stood beside him, watching nervously.

“Could something have happened to Prince Dilip?”

Manu gave a cold laugh, saying nothing.

If that were true, it would be for the best.

In comparison, he felt more pity for the five thousand or so of his own kin—brave lads who, if they had to die, should have died for something meaningful.

He hoped as many as possible could escape…

Just then, figures suddenly emerged from the morning mist, stumbling forward in disarray, with what sounded like gunfire chasing at their heels.

Manu’s pupils contracted; he instinctively leaned closer, his index finger quickly adjusting the telescope’s magnification to see farther.

“They’re our men!”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but soon he grew wary.

No!

Something was wrong!

Too many had broken through!

Hundreds of possibilities flashed through his mind, yet no matter which he considered, he couldn’t imagine the Alliance launching a counterattack against their positions with fewer than a thousand troops.

That was too fantastical!

The “Iron Fist” rocket launchers the Legion had provided them could even penetrate power armor!

Combined with the field guns hidden in the trenches, the leveled 100mm howitzers, and machine-gun fire, he was confident he could hold off even an armored assault.

But despite a thousand doubts, he prepared for the worst, grabbing the walkie-talkie on the radio beside him and shouting.

“All units, attention! Prepare for battle!”

The call to arms echoed through every radio, and the shrill alarm bells rang across the front line, tens of kilometers wide.

Battle orders cascaded from the thousand-man units down to the hundred-man units; soldiers hiding in shell-proof bunkers rushed into the trenches in groups of ten.

Those helmeted heads looked like mines buried in pits, with gleaming bayonets hidden beside them.

Yet here lay the problem.

The trenches were dug too deep!

And not just in one section—every part of the front line near the forward positions, spanning over ten kilometers, was too deep, with only a few slopes blasted by artillery offering access to the outside.

Even so, it was barely enough.

These trenches had originally been used only as shelters to limit artillery damage; no one had ever imagined the Alliance might break out from Jingarun Port.

Thus, no one had cared about this trivial issue; in fact, they were quite satisfied with these freebie trenches.

But now, nearly every Imperial soldier along the entire front faced an awkward problem—

Even jumping, they couldn’t see the people outside the trench, let alone aim and fire their rifles.

The machine guns and field guns, however, were unaffected, as their emplacements had mostly been dug by engineers.

But precisely because of that, their camouflaged positions had drawn the focused attention of Alliance support fire.

Almost at the same moment the routed troops fled the settlement, a series of whistling sounds passed over the heads of the Grey Wolves in the trenches.

Deafening explosions thundered across the positions, and raging shrapnel, like a violent storm, instantly swallowed several emplacements where gunfire flickered.

Watching the artillery barrage ahead, the routed troops outside the city wore expressions of despair, while the militiamen chasing them were greatly emboldened.

They seemed to see the despair burning in those flames!

What they had once feared was nothing but such fragile stuff!

Raxi felt a fire burning in his chest, just as when he had reached out to catch the pistol tossed into the crowd.

It was the flame of ambition!

The chance to make a name for himself was right before him!

He would become a new legend, and not just in the eyes of the Moonfolk.

Those “Iron Men” had already paved every path for him; all he had to do now was charge forward—

He would defeat the so-called invincible Grey Wolves!

“Charge with me!! Skin them alive! Show those beasts who belongs in a cage!”

He bellowed, his eyes bloodshot with excitement, firing his LD-47 rifle in bursts ahead.

He looked like he was on stimulants.

At his command, nearly twenty thousand militiamen with white bandages on their arms launched an assault on the positions outside Jingarun Port.

“Kill!!!”

The battle cries shook heaven and earth, mingling with the clamor of gunfire and artillery.

At the edge of the settlement, [Prop Master], lying inside the “King Crab” all-terrain infantry armor, watched the distant positions roaring with fire, a hint of envy on his face.

“Damn, when are we gonna pull off something big?”

[Corner Rat] beside him replied.

“Gathering this many players might be tough.”

Prop Master chuckled.

“Doesn’t have to be players, though.”

Corner Rat stared at him, stunned.

“You got a death wish?”

As the two chatted, Fang’s voice came through the comm channel.

“…What are you dawdling for? Our allies have already advanced; they need armored cover. Move it!”

Hearing this, both immediately straightened up and replied in unison.

“Yes, sir!”

At the same moment the temporary command post issued its orders, the Alliance forces scattered on the north side of the settlement also launched their attack.

Five “King Crab” armored units sped at full throttle toward the Grey Wolf positions, firing as they advanced; their twin 20mm autocannons roared out long streams of tracers, systematically targeting machine-gun and field-gun emplacements, each shot bringing a storm of blood and steel.

It wasn’t just the “King Crabs”—the Alliance soldiers advancing alongside them were the same, surpassing the Grey Wolf troops, who used Legion castoffs, by an order of magnitude in mobility, firepower, and protection.

As for the soldiers themselves, that went without saying.

Every man here was at least a second-stage Awakener!

The Grey Wolves buried in the trenches could only watch helplessly as their own firing points were dismantled one by one without infantry cover; the rifles in their hands were as useless as fire pokers, unable to threaten the charging masses.

A few struggled out of the trenches, trying to fight back with Iron Fist rocket launchers, but the nearly two-hundred-meter range was clearly beyond their effective reach.

Occasionally, a rocket shot out from beside the trench, hitting nothing, while the launcher operators drew heavy fire.

Concentrated gunfire pinned down those Grey Wolf soldiers trying to climb out of cover to return fire, and the relentless artillery kept their rear support suppressed.

In the observation post, Manu the Wanfu commander’s eyes were bloodshot, half from rage, half from terror.

The Alliance's armor was certainly fearsome, but there were only five of them!

As long as he could hold back those charging cannon fodder, the Alliance's force of less than a thousand men could never break through his position!

Yet what made him sweat with anxiety was that the soldiers on the distant positions seemed to have had their knees sawed off, each and every one burying their heads in the trenches and refusing to come out.

Unable to bear it any longer, he grabbed the walkie-talkie resting on the radio and roared at the chiliarch commanding the battle at the front line.

"What the hell are your men doing! Those beasts are almost at your faces, and you're still cowering in the trenches—open fire!"

The cacophony of artillery and gunfire came through the radio along with his voice, the chiliarch's tone tinged with a tremor.

"Sir... my men report that it's not that they don't want to fire, but the trenches are too deep—they simply can't see outside."

Hearing this, Manu nearly spat a mouthful of blood onto the radio and cursed loudly.

"Why the hell didn't you say so earlier?!"

It was too late for anything now.

The artillery had fallen silent.

Those cannon fodder who had charged out of the city, pursuing the routed soldiers who had broken through the encirclement, had already reached the front-line positions under his command.

At first, fierce exchanges of fire erupted, but after a few grenades exploded in the trenches, the Gray Wolf soldiers, who couldn't even raise their heads, soon abandoned their futile struggle. Amid the shouts and curses of the cannon fodder, they tossed their useless fire sticks out of the trenches.

The cheers of victory resounded across the battlefield—but alas, they were the enemy's cheers.

The collapsing front was like an avalanche; trench after trench fell like dominoes, conquered by the unstoppable cannon fodder.

Manu's eyes were wide and bloodshot, his bloodless lips as white as paper, and his hand gripping the binoculars wished it could crush the lenses.

He saw it with his own eyes.

Those proud sons of the Empire, with guns pointed at their heads, dirty-faced and hands clasped behind their heads, came out of the trenches in batches.

Disgrace...

An utter disgrace!

His men were being captured en masse!

And by a ragtag cannon-fodder unit that had just been formed!

Since the founding of the Gray Wolf Army, nothing so outrageous had ever happened!

Seeing that the tide had turned and there was no chance of recovery, Manu closed his eyes in despair.

At that moment, his adjutant burst into the observation post, gasping for breath.

"Sir, the Alliance soldiers have already charged up! If we don't leave now, it'll be too late—let's retreat quickly!"

Manu opened his eyes; his murky pupils no longer held the vigor of before, as if he had suddenly aged decades.

"You go," he said in a trembling voice, looking at his anxious adjutant.

The adjutant was stunned.

"But you—"

Before he could finish, his respected superior had already drawn his sidearm, aimed it at his own chin, and answered with action.

"Bang—!"

Red and white splattered together onto the camouflage net covering the observation post, along with the glory he had earned over forty years.

Though losing a battle wouldn't kill him, nor would being captured.

But he no longer had the face to go on living...

...

The battle outside the Golden Ganges Port settlement was finally over.

During this time, the Gray Wolf Army in the rear attempted several counterattacks, even deploying their only motorized units and modified vehicles, but before the Alliance's mechanized forces, that junk wasn't even fit to be toys.

Strength-type players equipped with power armor or exoskeletons could even fire 37mm "heavy cavalry rifles" from a standing position.

In that sense, though they lacked the size and defense of tanks, they were no different from ordinary infantry fighting vehicles.

The Skeleton Corps' "Chimera" wheeled infantry fighting vehicle had a barrel caliber of only 37mm, and even the ammunition was the same type.

After leaving nearly a thousand corpses, the reinforcements rushing to the front line were forced to retreat in disgrace, and thus a bizarre scene unfolded on the battlefield—ten thousand men were chased by less than a thousand, until the support artillery from the banks of the Eternal River opened fire, and only then did the pursuers stop.

The port's artillery positions fired a round of smoke at the already-captured front-line positions, covering the third and fourth hundred-man teams that had penetrated deep into enemy territory, as well as the militia led by Rasi, as they withdrew to the settlement in batches.

And what greeted them.

Was the cheers of the local survivors.

"Holy crap... are we fighting in Dawn City or Golden Ganges Port?!" The face of Lost Newbie was written with surprise, especially when he took a bouquet from a girl in a long dress—he even almost instinctively reached for his wallet.

The survivors living in the suburbs were mostly poor people without clothes, while those with clean clothes were at least middle-upper class citizens.

In other words, the survivors cheering their triumphant return were not just the paid poor from the suburbs, but even the citizens had come of their own accord.

On ordinary days, they would never casually leave their own living areas.

Besides the bouquets, there were also wreaths and garlands, and even more thrilling hugs and sudden kisses, which left the players feeling embarrassed.

The conservatism of different classes here seemed completely different. Seeing that the iron men seemed too shy to refuse, some passionate and unrestrained girls grew bolder, even whispering addresses in their ears during the brief moments of offering flowers and hugs...

But toward the militiamen with white bandages on their arms, they appeared much more reserved. Perhaps because of familiarity, or perhaps due to faith or some bad rumors, though they were still enthusiastic, they only sprinkled petals on them.

As for the survivors' "favoritism" in the settlement, Rasi, walking among the militia, paid no attention at all.

When it came to "iron man worship," none of the survivors lining the streets could compare to him, for he knew better than anyone how this victory had been won and from whom his power came.

The same went for the other militiamen; on the contrary, some who had long been slaves felt flattered by the petals thrown at them.

They clearly remembered how much these people had looked down on them before, and now the eyes looking at them were clearly filled with fear and reverence.

This spiritual pleasure surpassed all enjoyment.

Many hadn't even finished walking the road ahead, yet their hearts were already anticipating the next battle...

To savor the people's adulation and cheers a little longer, and to share more of the joy of victory with his subordinates, Rasi deliberately ordered his men to slow down.

But for the nearly ten thousand prisoners sandwiched in the ranks, this undoubtedly prolonged their torment and agony.

What people threw at them were not petals, but spit, mud, and even sharp stones.

Their hands and feet were tied with a rope, unable to dodge or even raise their arms to block, so they could only let all sorts of things hit their faces and chests.

Some fell to the ground, dragging a group of nine with them in a tumble, only to be roughly yanked up by the militiamen guarding them.

Numbness, humiliation, and despair were etched on every face.

Especially when the survivors' stones and mud hit them, their hearts held not just anger, but more incomprehension and bewilderment.

Why were these people treating them like this?

They had come on the Emperor's orders to save them...

Why refuse to be decent people and instead choose to be the Alliance's dogs?

...

Inside the port's temporary command post.

Looking down through the drone at those good brothers welcoming the cheers, most of the veteran players wore expressions of envy and jealousy.

Good heavens!

They had been commanding and coordinating for half the day, but these guys had stolen all the glory.

If they had known the enemy was this weak, they would have gone in with their gear on!

Staring at the screen in silence for a long time, Old Bai suddenly couldn't help but say.

“Don’t these people have any sense of shame?”

Fang Chang said succinctly.

“They have no concept of a nation, just like most survivor settlements in the wasteland. For the people here, concepts that are too advanced are not just ‘equality,’ but many other things as well. This so-called empire is actually more like a Brown farmstead that’s a bit larger in area and a bit more populous.”

After all, this is not any real country or region; analyzing it with real-world experience is like using 'watermelons are round, bananas and watermelons are both fruits' to deduce that 'bananas are also round.'

According to the public setting on the official forum, long before entering the Prosperity Era, this planet had already eliminated traditional borders and achieved a union of civilizations.

Rather than an empire that imitates the Legion in promoting racism, it is more like a theocratic empire that borrowed an outdated textbook from the Prosperity Era as its bible and some theories from the Verlanders.

Clearly, the rulers here are a bunch of 'clever' fellows. They collected the original text of 'Animal World,' improved and packaged it, and thus gave birth to a mishmash theory of 'a thousand tribes, a thousand gods.'

In name, a thousand gods protect the Boro Province, but in reality, those totem poles are all tied with iron chains. What has protected Boro Province for two hundred years is not 'Animal World' at all, but a natural mountain range and a desert left by war, and perhaps some strange little trinkets left by the first-generation survivors.

According to Ms. Han’s research, the Sun-Bearing Divine Bull was not always the chief of gods; before that, it seemed to be a moon goddess similar to the Silver Moon Goddess in the Luoxia Province pantheon. And this is the most direct reason why the Moon people suddenly fell from the top of the pyramid and became 'untouchables.'

Under such premises, it is unrealistic to expect the survivors of Golden Gallon Port to pledge loyalty to the Emperor like the survivors of Dawn City; they themselves are a flock of well-tamed sheep. From the first time he saw Rasi, Fang Chang understood that these people only wag their tails at those who seem stronger and bare their teeth at those who seem weaker.

Not to mention the artillery bombardment launched by the Gray Wolf Army on the urban area to cover the retreat of their allies, which completely pushed the local survivors to the opposite side.

Now those captured dogs in the water have been stripped of their equipment; expecting the locals to give them a kind look would require a miracle from the Great Horned Deer God.

Old Bai shook his head.

Not wanting to consider such complicated issues, he got straight to the point.

“The reinforcements from the Celestial Capital have been routed, and the three-phase operation plan is complete. What’s next?”

This war was really uninteresting, especially when he saw from the drone that an entire division of the enemy was being chased by their two companies.

In the River Valley Province, even raiders were more capable fighters than them.

Fang Chang said in a gentle tone.

“One accident is not enough, but three consecutive surprises, I think, are enough to sober up that arrogant local tyrant… if he doesn’t want to lose all his elite troops in a gamble he cannot win.”

This battle was won with great satisfaction.

It even exceeded his expectations.

Apart from the 1,241 killed in action, nearly ten thousand surrendered, and the Gray Wolf Army’s First Ten-Thousand-Man Unit was captured in its entirety!

Some were even captured twice in one day—once at the Klaba Market inside the settlement, and once again on the positions outside the settlement.

Besides the captured personnel, the weapons, ammunition, and supplies left on the positions were all carried back by the militiamen of the First Corps of the Avengers Alliance.

And what couldn’t be moved was set on fire.

After this battle, the Gray Wolf Army had completely lost the ability to continue attacking Golden Gallon Port. And that Wutuo Xilan’s lifeline was now in their hands.

As for that prince named Dilip, he was just a bonus.

“Don’t let there be another accident,” Old Bai teased in a relaxed tone. “Those guys never play by the rules.”

Fang Chang smiled confidently and said.

“Impossible. It’s clear that Wutuo is an amateur in every field, but there is one field where he is an expert. And now, this defeat is no longer a military or diplomatic crisis for him, but a political issue concerning imperial authority.”

Perhaps taking this opportunity to go up the Eternal Flow River and strike straight into the Celestial Capital would be a good idea; the empire might even disintegrate as a result.

But he had to seriously consider the administrator’s advice—do not actively escalate the situation.

Once the empire collapses and Boro Province descends into tribal warfare, not only will the Legion take the opportunity to expand its influence in the region, but some dirty things will also slip in amidst the chaos. And if the mess cannot be cleaned up in the end, the Alliance will lose the goodwill of some neutral factions.

This is obviously not worth the loss.

That emperor might not understand, but they, as the 'vassals' of the administrator lords, could not afford to be ignorant.

Moreover, even if they had the ability to punch through the empire, they had to consider the covetous Legion, the 'Unification Congress' taking place far away, and the Torch brewing a world-level threat.

Just as the group’s idle chatter shifted from the battle itself to post-war reconstruction and whether to start a Survivor Daily here, the command post’s radio suddenly received an unfamiliar telegram.

Fang Chang took the telegram, glanced over it quickly, and then handed it to Old Bai with a smile.

“See what I told you?”

Reaching out to take the telegram, Old Bai hadn’t even read the content when he caught sight of the headline and nearly burst out laughing.

“Imperial Ceasefire Notification to the Alliance”

“That Wutuo really cares about saving face.”

Fang Chang, however, took the telegram back nonchalantly.

“It doesn’t matter. The key is to first draw the ceasefire line. Golden Gallon Port and its surrounding areas are already under our actual control.”

“As for apologies and compensation, we can negotiate slowly. Even if we can’t reach an agreement, it doesn’t matter—it just makes it easier for us to support local forces and rebuild.”

With that, he looked at the NPC messenger who had brought the telegram and gave instructions.

“Reply to them.”

“Withdrawing one hundred kilometers is the bottom line for a ceasefire!”