Chapter 513
Chapter 513
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: The Greatest Creditor (3)
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[D -00:15m]
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[Expeditionary Force Main Body here. Supreme Commander speaking. Channel-1, Channel-2—enemy spotted at your positions?]
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[Aaah, what's with that corny channel one-two crap? Professor, how about BDSM? It's not like this op needs separate security anyway.]
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[BDSM is a bit of an embarrassing name, though.]
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[Kuhhuhuhu! Then why'd you name it that yourself? Professor, head of BDSM?]
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[I'm someone who's lived without regrets, but not hanging that bastard back then is something I'll regret for the rest of my life.]
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War is always something new.
[D – 00:07m]
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Static-
[No more chit-chat from this point on. Report target confirmation. Channel-1. Channel-2.]
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[Channel-2 here. Approaching head-on, and just eyeballing it, over 70 Triceratops tanks. Can't see shit behind 'em thanks to those filthy massive frontal armor plates.]
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[Channel-1 here. Circling around a bit later than those bastards—got eyes on their flanks. Shame they're not some tender missy's soft sides, but thick and sturdy like a 67-year-old Russian babushka. This side's a mechanized infantry division led by cyborgs. Won't be breaking through big with a flanking strike.]
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[Confirmed. We knew it'd be no easy fight. Attention, Dome and all allies, full forces—this battle isn't just some squabble between Dome and Raptor! It's the watershed that'll decide what kind of lives survivors get in our drying-up world from here on! We're fighting not for ideology, but for life! For survival, leaving what's precious behind—]
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For those who've grown so accustomed to it that it's like a second skin, war remains forever new because,
fear may dilute, but its meaning never fades. That's first.
[D – 00:03m]
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[Main body comms switching to comms officer for supreme commander security from now on. Prepare for engagement. Prepare for engagement.]
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[Aaah, been a while, huh? Nest, my stinking-of-rust hometown.]
[Huh? That fucker's gotta be there too, obviously. Word of warning, Vex—you go in first and take his head, you're dead meat. Gustav's mine.]
[What's that? Kill list? Man, you carry shit like that around? Even for an infiltration team, that's some Death Note bullshit....]
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[Look at us three, and Vex that bastard's the most vicious by far. Doesn't give meaning to killing. Just assigns purpose.]
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[I-I-I'm just good at gra-gravvity—]
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[Yeah, yeah. Kesselring, Gustav, whatever—let's all die pretty. Heading in first. Channel-2, commencing engagement.]
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[Tch. Don't fall behind, don't go too far ahead—meet back at the hospital as severe handicaps, yeah? -Guys!!! Gear up!!! “Yes siiiir!” Off to hunt some scrap-value junk monsters! “Wooooooh!”]
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Second, others face and vanish against the enemy by my side on different battlefields.
[D + 00:08]
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KABOOOM!
[Fire support! Fire support! That wasn't cover! Repeat—not cover! Enemy position crossroads! 35 heavy tanks! 38! 4....Gaaaargh!]
Static, staaaatic-
[Cyborgs—close combat impossible! They're walking overload explosives! Numbers, the numbers are too much!]
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[Channel-1! Raptor tankers are snipers with rifles the size of tanks! Guaranteed hits! Don't try lucky breakthroughs! Professor took all the main firepower alone! Main body! Equipment setup, support—what the hell's the holdup!]
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[Setup—com-ple-ted! But exos—consumed more than ex-pected—guidance power charge—still loa—]
Staaaaaaaatic-
[47....sector, uh....Rayden section chief here! Cyborgs....ambush! Protect the charging gear at all....defense....staaaatic-]
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[Our detachment cyborgs, main body, up to Sector 47—this can't be just Raptor combatants! These fuckers cyborg'd every slave and producer they had and shoved 'em in! They're fine dying together!]
[Channel-2! Professor! You alive! You fucking alive!!]
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Third, for seasoned survivors on the battlefield, greater responsibility falls than before, and thus they swallow even more unexperienced wars into themselves.
KABOOOOOM!!
The explosion erupting from underfoot slams dully into my lungs.
‘Was this really the right choice?’
PING! CLANG!
The instant the blast lifts my body, AP rounds like iron stakes slam into me everywhere.
‘Did my choice really have the value to drive all these people into unnecessary peril?’
SPLASH-!
My body, flung back by the impact—though battered to hell—measures the distance to the enemy that's grown again and sinks into doubt.
War is always new.
Always bringing new pain.
Static-
[HQ! HQUUAAAAAARGH!]
[No way to retreat.... It was premised on maximum speed penetration from the start! Grind our bodies to make an opening!]
[These cyborg fucks don't even know they're dying—?! Ugh, uwaaaaaagh!]
In war, standing in a position to make wrong judgments means piling field deaths by the ten-thousands atop your own.
DRDRDRDR, CLANK!
Wuuuuum-
Far off, behind the Nest that seems endlessly distant, the silo of the spaceship base opens.
Red support pillars rise first, followed by sleek metal bodies emerging.
“Next Space.”
Likely the last orbital vehicle left on Earth.
I had to admit it, watching it emerge after launch prep.
We got played.
Raptor's tactics are attritional, forcing mutual damage, and after a grueling fight, victory would probably go to Dome.
Meaning we'd all stay grounded.
The spaceship takes off, Gedroits gets what he wants, and one way or another, we become lab rats in his experiment.
The emerging spaceship foretold my defeat with its sleek black-and-white form.
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There was basis. Two bases to break through that 'Raptor Nest' fortress—swarming with living tanks—in the tight timeframe.
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‘This GG transport drone's hasty aerial photo—ain't that ammo stacked by the tanks?’
‘Fin-stabilized AP rounds? Those are anti-tank penetrators. Why the hell would Raptors use those? They ain't idiots. Did Raptor change their tactics manual after I left? Marshal Young, you plant some stink bombs on their asses or what?’
‘Even if so, no way veteran Raptors—tank aces each one—make that basic mistake. Peculiar....’
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First, intel confirmed approaching the Nest.
Fin-stabilized AP rounds—modern ballistae shoving iron stakes into tanks via explosive force—are highly penetrating anti-tank rounds. Considering Dome's main defenses rely on high-output shields, they're far less efficient than massive blast HEAT rounds that chunk shield power or magnetized warheads that scatter shield cohesion.
In short, ammo they'd never use, with scant stockpiles, was neatly stacked in the Raptor formation prepping for battle.
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‘Looks like the enemy tanks' top priority is me.’
‘In a fight this scale? No matter how strong you are personally? This guy's brain-fried from too many logins—got the axe now?’
‘Tactically inexplicable guess.’
‘Then why stack high-pen AP rounds? Exosuits are frame-walkers exposing pilots sans high-output shields; our infantry's high-firepower troopers with just squad shields. Vehicles got armor, but regular HEAT gives broader destruction. Only unit in our forces where anti-tank AP shines is that one. [Mutated Professor]. Heavy armor, high mobility, high firepower. Enemy actions always have reason; radical supply changes signal doctrine shifts. You all know this.’
‘....Sounds like dogshit, but makes sense.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Dogs eat grass too. Matches intel from Artists' Union pretty well. Current Raptor commander Gedroits obsesses over me weirdly. Everything centers on me; they're acting with me as reference. Dunno what WW3-level nonsense that mad genius is plotting, but high chance I'm the trigger. So that sudden ammo swap ties to me—plausible prediction.’
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Raptor: old-era military hardened by war, laced with drugs and brainwashing, ethics tossed—yielding 99% compliance.
Even a knife to the ribs, if ordered 'snipe 100m target,' they don't turn. Me as top priority means nearly every tank barrel tracks me till battle's end.
So I proposed restructuring: detachments + main body becomes detachment (BDSM) + main body + Professor (fire lure).
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‘It'll work?’
‘S-su-suicide, man....’
‘Self-sacrifice is noble, sometimes forced in war, but seems like dog death, nothing more or less.’
‘No, it'll work. At least till our main force punches through their killzone unscathed and wrecks their firepower.’
‘On what basis?’
‘My experience. From Artists' Union base to Raptor garrison—my mutating body closing faster than vehicles on foot.’
‘Mutating too fast, getting too strong. Anyone else, maybe not—but I've handled bodies this level before. I can calculate exactly its strength output and limits.’
‘So. Tough enough now to tank hundreds of tanks solo?’
‘Hey, I've smashed monster legions barehanded—even weaker than this—through castle walls of thousands of 3-ton boulders bodyslam-style.’
‘....Fuck off. Unrealistic.’
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Second basis: me. Precisely, Professor's ongoing mutation combat power.
‘This is overkill.’
I know my remaining time inversely scales with my body's power.
Breathing alone mutates it; pushing beyond human limits chunks nerves and muscles into mutations.
But that means stronger power exactly when time's short—in critical moments like now.
CRUNCH!
Tank vs. human: tank crushes on collision. Amid crumpled frontal armor oozing pilot blood, crew pops hatches, grenade bundles in drugged eyes, pins pulled.
KABOOOM!
Before grenades blow, concentrated barrage drops on tank, flash-incinerating them to charred human stains. To me flung aside, just dull lung-pounding shock. Unlike past stringy muscle mass, thick armor-clad body was numbingly solid.
PING! CLANG!
Prepared for such a body, but scant direct AP hits glance wildly off black armor curves. Not mine, but ingrained memory: Hyde's techniques—royal knight orthodox heavy armor mastery, honed in fiercest wars.
‘A bit more. Just a bit more strain, and I can wield one-man-army power on this field.’
Close-range: rip thickest heavies barehanded. High-speed tank line approach? Enemy reaction limits to 'stop it.'
Unless dumping all firepower, can't halt me now.
Fire on me? Binds ~70% tank fire; Dome main + BDSM detachment naturally seize advantage, smash Raptors.
Muzzles turn elsewhere? I charge front again.
‘Just get antidote before too late. Reach server room via Next Space ship before too late....’
Mutation's ticking-clock life squeezed to extreme yields power gap.
Overwhelming till engagement start—overturned by WW3 ghosts. Unlike us leaders lost, scattered via retirement, desertion, disbandment—they fought to bitter end, volunteering the slaughter yoke.
Thud- Thud- Thud-
Barrage like rain shrinking to hand-countable: the signal.
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