Chapter 131
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 131
Chapter Title: 13th Floor - Lv. 775 Lava Hammer Assault Squad (2)
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All wars don't end simply by blasting everything to smithereens with massive siege weapons.
Most wars boil down to fights over occupying territory, and holding that territory requires infantry.
That's why even in this era, the existence of infantry leads to close-quarters combat.
Just vitrifying the planet's surface clean leaves it worthless to everyone anyway.
Even the dimmest Greenskins fully grasped that fact.
In their common sense, war demanded rewards.
That's why the Empire deployed infantry too, mostly filled with trolls.
Trolls preferred simple, traditional methods—easy-to-swing weapons—over the headache of learning firearms.
For them, weapons like beam greatswords or rocket hammers were crafted.
Honestly, size-wise, those were more siege engines than weapons.
Trolls had been living siege weapons since the days they tamed and rode massive lizards long ago.
When they charged and collided, walls shook—and repeated blows brought them crumbling down.
Under the gods of war and savagery, trolls were the most feral and powerful.
The space age changed much, but trolls never lost their might.
Sneering at the slouching orc gunners and cowardly ogres, they charged with the oldest war faith of all.
A hail of bullets couldn't instantly kill their overwhelming five-meter mass.
Endure it, charge! Charge again!
Victory always waited at the end.
The Federation believed in victory without doubt, yet they didn't ignore the possibility of local defeats.
Melee combat was an area where the Empire clearly held the advantage.
Objectively, fleet power favored the Federation and its allies overwhelmingly.
The Empire barely held defense based on its massive planetary fortress.
The ogre commanders controlling the army weren't foolish; they strategically preserved the fleet.
Whenever trouble arose, the planetary fortress appeared.
Even with total air superiority, the Federation struggled to wipe out the enemy completely.
Thus, the Federation's planetary fortress began to move.
Originally built for defense, it wasn't designed for offense, but fanatics gladly endured the inefficiency.
It was total war from the start.
Everything in the Federation existed to seize glory in Chaos's name.
The only issue was time. Space was far too vast.
A planetary fortress's immense mass limited warp distance.
The energy required was staggering.
A month had passed since it started moving, yet it hadn't covered half the way.
The fleet front had stagnated.
In that time, the Federation and allies attacked the Empire's abandoned territories.
The Empire's terraforming tech was mostly plundered, but it worked fine.
Empire Territory A - B02 Planet.
Once plagued by volcanic activity, after a decade of terraforming, it now had a lush atmosphere and an ecosystem any nation would covet.
The Empire, craving only meat, used it for massive ranching, but in Federation or ally hands, it would become a breadbasket.
Major Spencer, watching the war while imagining that, sighed.
He quickly scooped it up before anyone saw.
The ground war dragged on.
To the Federation, the goddess was absolute, but they didn't ignore reality for faith.
All material value existed for the goddess.
They honed tech and amassed wealth for the day she returned.
The Federation's tech and forces were impressive.
But one crucial flaw held them back.
The massive trolls.
Goblins or vampires had no way to beat those natural beasts in pure ground combat.
In the old days, unarmed, plasma or lasers would incinerate them.
The problem: trolls adapted to the era and now wore armor.
Ancient histories recorded such units.
The Empire's elite shock troops showed terrifying power across countless battlefields.
Their terror etched deep into the then-small, weak Federation.
Countless tactics and strategies were devised to counter them.
None actually tested.
Still, Major Spencer believed the goddess's blessing would turn those savage trolls into ground meat.
He was wrong. The Empire had advanced its war tech too.
Their armor wasn't crude metal slabs anymore.
Advanced tech provided real protection against plasma and lasers—proper bulletproof suits.
Heat dispersed, light scattered. Magical principles vastly bolstered their tough vitality.
Stopping a troll whose face was fully protected head-on was exceedingly hard.
Thus, solid projectile weapons—superior in firepower to energy arms—were deployed.
Batteries opened fire.
The Federation army wasn't stupid.
They hadn't ruled out this mishap.
With deafening barrages, charging trolls flew skyward.
Some direct hits exploded.
But no barrage guarantees lethality across its full range.
Monsters that regenerated endlessly rose again if not killed outright, wounds or no.
Even direct hits that didn't kill instantly led to back-mounted tanks bursting, unleashing a miracle-like spring to revive the troll.
Not comparable to an Exile's miracle spring, but its development shifted battlefields.
Another shell barrage rained down.
Mass-deployed snipers opened fire too.
Some charging trolls suddenly toppled.
Railgun rounds pierced brains precisely. Instant death.
Trolls finally started taking cover.
Not hiding—spreading out, using barrages as smokescreens to charge.
And donning thick helmets that hid their faces.
Crude things blocking all but straight-ahead vision, but unmatched for preventing instant kills.
Sniper fire lost effectiveness.
Even if physical force snapped necks, they rose and ran again.
Judging it sufficient, Major Spencer ordered retreat.
Drones launched to cover the withdrawal.
Trolls roared in victory at fleeing goblins.
Five-meter regenerating muscle monsters wielded immense power even now.
Retreats began everywhere. The goal of exhausting trolls was met.
Casualties were one-sided.
Many dead trolls, few dead goblins.
For now.
Crisis struck.
Descent pods fell from all directions.
Black, massive tubes symbolizing the Empire.
Looking skyward, a ship hastily passed, dropping endless assault troops.
"Damn it! Weren't those trolls isolated?"
No support was supposed to come.
Was the Empire counterattacking? Why?
Intel said they were remnants holding out on the ground.
Ground legions specialized in mopping them up.
Minimal resistance, no melee range—just push and whittle away.
That should've ensured safe victory.
But battalions were suddenly isolated. Regiments too.
Especially protruding: Major Spencer's battalion.
His was the minimal blocking force.
Others were all artillery battalions. A deformed structure for troll extermination prioritizing firepower.
The major realized it was time to join the goddess.
Crying the name of Great Chaos, goblins tried to charge. In their final moments, plasma grenades to take at least one troll along.
The lead troll tensed.
Unlike ancient times, goblins could now kill trolls.
That caution nearly foiled the goblins' last stand.
The troll kept distance. Leg length difference prevented goblins from closing in.
Thrown grenades vanished into the glowing sword before ionizing the air with heat.
Out of options, goblins drew blades, charging to claw even a nail—only for a troll kick.
With a bang.
The troll's foot vanished.
Troll and goblins alike panicked. No clue what happened.
The flying foot shattered, spraying blood.
Regeneration began amid it. A tube from the back tank fed the mouth.
Near-immortality.
But suddenly, regeneration halted.
Massive blood volume floated up like mist.
Even regenerating vessel blood was seized by some strange force if it leaked out.
The troll collapsed. Balance lost from slow regen.
Its own blood engulfed it.
Burrowing everywhere. Piercing armor gaps, blood swirled wildly.
The blood-soaked troll thrashed.
The goblin squad leader gaped.
All in the Federation knew this.
Not a vampire? Still, none ignored the vampire clan guarding the Federation.
And at its pinnacle: the clan master.
The night lord wielding godlike authority.
Great Chaos's champion warrior.
Chills ran down his spine.
They always appeared on perilous battlefields.
"The Great Champion has descended upon the field!"
Light returned to other goblins' eyes. Their will unbroken, but defeat inevitable.
Yet not with Chaos watching directly.
The squad's youngest screamed cheers, charging.
They had to forge victory. No strategic retreats allowed on this planet now.
The comms trooper dropped his weapon, broadcasting the situation.
Before their eyes: the legendary Exile party of myth.
All comrades must know.
Artillery halted retreat. No thought of tactical gain or loss.
Artillery tried shoving barrels into charging trolls' maws.
Some succeeded, firing.
Even rage incarnate faltered under spirit pressure.
Major Spencer exulted too.
His relatively calm adjutant stopped the sword-drawing commander leaping from the command vehicle.
Only after pants yanked did the major calm.
Yes.
Great Chaos didn't want him yet.
Much left to do on this ground.
Flashy, but the troll's cause of death: suffocation. I could dominate regen near-null, but not overturn the field alone.
But we had other weapons.
Trolls don't use firearms well. Can't learn them.
Only remarkably smart trolls carry cannons matching their bulk.
I told the Girl.
"Go bite 'em all dead!"
"Grrr, woof woof!"
As always, solo action: me and the Girl.
Other party members formed up, joining squads.
Strictly, Exiles can't do much in army fights.
Once we appear, broadcast it everywhere, halt the berserk goblins' retreat.
"You lot! Charge the rear!"
Goblins charging us froze.
Yes. Not tactical retreat—just direction change.
Faces screaming "Truly the Great Champion!"
I kept prodding; goblins admired, dashed rearward.
Shockingly, the mysterious fame of Chaos's Champion worked on trolls too.
Trolls witnessing the blood wave sweeping everywhere lost will, began retreating.
Truly bizarre. Haven't goblins and trolls switched sides?