The Final Week (5)
To take a loss right out of the gate, before even fighting a proper battle.
And looking at the detailed Information Check that only reveals itself based on how long and how thoroughly you actually fought — the complete absence of any real intel told me just how swift and thorough the enemy's ambush had been.
The moment I saw that message in the command center, a groan slipped out of me on its own.
"Ugh…"
"What's wrong, Commander?"
"Nothing. It's just… the one who showed up this time doesn't seem like some random scrub."
This wasn't some newbie who'd owned good gear and still thrown it all away for nothing, the way the first PvP had gone. And it wasn't some clueless idiot who'd just shoved his way into my base without thinking, either.
The bastard who'd come knocking this time had prepared thoroughly enough to actually pull off a proper player raid — which meant he was a genuine veteran, someone who'd been grinding this game long enough to know exactly how to set one up.
"So he's one of those 'veterans' you talk about sometimes, Commander?"
"Yeah. That's about the size of it."
There was one silver lining, at least. From the intel I'd gathered on the surrounding expanse through Marianne's pirate fleets, nobody in this neighborhood — at least not at the time I'd received that information — had both the preparation to commit to a full-scale raid and the capacity to send a grand fleet of over a hundred ships.
Which told me the enemy wasn't some locust-swarm type who just stripped every base that looked soft. He was a predator-type raider — the kind who hunted down the tastiest prey. And to find that prey, he'd launched an ultra-long-range expedition from somewhere far, far beyond the territory the Pirate Coalition had been operating in around here.
Once that thought clicked into place, I could start piecing together the composition of his fleet as well.
"Hold on… you said the enemy fleet has more than ten cruisers, right?"
"Yes, though that's only the minimum."
"Then for a long-range expedition — where resupply and repairs are a pain — he wouldn't be running heavy armor like heavy cruisers."
"Oh?"
"He's probably running light cruisers as his main force, built around keeping the whole fleet mobile…"
I trailed off and pressed my fingers hard into my throbbing temples.
"Haa… this is going to be a real pain in the ass."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"I just figured out exactly how the other side's fleet is put together."
"Isn't that a good thing? Is there some other problem?"
"Plenty of problems. Their style is the complete opposite of ours."
I'd optimized my own fleet composition to minimize losses in both PvP and PvE, same as anyone would. But where that guy was running a so-called "evasion tank" build focused on mobility, I was built for pure artillery duels — shredding the enemy from long range while tossing cheap, easy-to-produce standard corvettes (no upgrades) in front to tank their fire.
If their fleet's evasion sat lower than our accuracy, we'd crush them. But if it was the other way around?
Then our fleet would fail to land a single hit at range, get closed on, and get torn apart. That much was obvious.
Griyanaar had recently used a kaiju's help to bolt giant monster eyeballs onto our ships' fire-control radars — accuracy plus five percent — but even so, it still felt like it wasn't going to be enough.
I sorted my thoughts and, through the still-open comms channel, issued Belial her orders for what came next.
"You listening, Belial?"
"Yes, Commander."
"When you make contact with the enemy fleet, do not engage them head-on. Avoid direct combat."
"Avoid, sir?"
"Yeah. Specifically, lure that fleet toward the base… and coordinate a pincer with Leonard's fleet standing by there."
"Understood, Commander."
Unlike other players, we had something that was essentially a trump card at this stage of the game. Same as last time, I decided to dangle the bait, reel their fleet in little by little, and let Leonard tear into them.
But contrary to my expectations, even as the fighting stretched into its third day, the enemy showed no sign of taking the lure.
"Commander, Belial has an additional report."
"…"
"The enemy fleet is also refraining from direct engagement with us. They continue to circulate through the resource zones, repeating raids and attacks."
Had that son of a bitch picked up on something from the look of our fleet? He just kept running a circuit tour of other people's resource zones.
"Commander, another resource zone just came under attack."
"…"
"That makes five resource zones rendered useless already. Our daily resource intake has dropped sharply."
At this rate, I was going to starve to death from stripped resources long before any reward points came into it. I resolved to stop dodging and fight the bastard properly.
"Take one destroyer as flagship, form small flotillas of ten light ships each, and send them out first to draw them in."
"Yes, Commander."
"Once you lure them into our main fleet, respond with long-range bombardment same as always. Got it?"
"Yes, understood."
"Yes, Commander♡"
The problem was the moment the enemy actually ran into our fleet.
FWOOOOOOM!!!
KRA-KOOM!
"Commander! Battleship-grade beam cannons firing from the enemy fleet!"
"…Damn it. So that's what they were."
I finally realized the enemy's concept wasn't a pure cavalry-style build that only invested in mobility. They'd abandoned defense entirely and poured everything into firepower and mobility — a mobile artillery fleet.
And with a composition like that, since I didn't have any tanking-type heavy cruisers of my own, the corvettes I'd mass-produced for tanking got wiped out in an instant under their firepower. The moment our cruisers were left exposed to the enemy's guns—
KRAAAANG!
BOOM!
"Aargh!"
—they gave my stationary, volley-firing fleet a thorough demonstration of what a hard counter actually looked like.
"Shit, Belial!"
"Yes, Commander!"
"Fall back immediately and reorganize the fleet!"
"Understood!"
In a preliminary engagement fought with no real intel, I'd taken considerably more damage than expected. And among those losses…
"AAAAARGH, MY 170,120 POINTS!!"
"P-please calm down, Commander."
…was the sinking of one Kanhel-class Light Cruiser I'd just bought from the event shop after steeling myself for the big purchase.
Ugh. My Kanhel…
The enemy's strength had been greater than anticipated, and on top of that, a string of consecutive wins had left me complacent. I'd been thoroughly, spectacularly screwed — and I could feel my mental state cratering toward total collapse.
But only for a moment.
Once I managed to claw my composure back, I figured the other side was almost certainly celebrating a decisive fleet victory right about now. This time, I'd catch them in the moment of overconfidence they were bound to fall into — and serve them a taste of their own medicine.
Meanwhile, at the very moment Icarus was withdrawing his fleet and beginning reorganization—
"Order the entire fleet to activate self-repair functions."
"Yes, Commander."
The player who had successfully driven Icarus's fleet into retreat gathered his expeditionary force at a nearby resource zone. Surveying the condition of the assembled ships, he let a small flicker of doubt show.
"We took more damage than I expected. Why is that?"
"The enemy fleet's accuracy was marginally higher than our own evasion rate."
"Oh?"
At his male adjutant's report, the commander nodded, then continued as he looked over his fleet — including a light cruiser with half its hull blown away, and ships bearing damage all across the formation.
"We stacked evasion gear to the gills and even slotted in a supporter to push it higher… and they still landed direct hits through all of that."
"That is correct, Commander."