Chapter 149
Chapter 149
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 149
Chapter Title: Styx Frontline
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Styx Frontline.
Styx Frontline.
Currently, six star systems were under alien assault, and with the front lines unstable, no one knew how much further they might expand.
This wouldn't change no matter how adequately the Alliance responded.
The key was to firmly secure the central point of the invasion routes and hold it at all costs.
Do that, and they could prevent the assaults from spreading inward.
Styx Frontline Commander-in-Chief Major General Libel knew this all too well.
To hold the front steady, he had concentrated the three regular fleets he'd brought with him in the Oceano Star System, where the assaults had first begun and were still hitting with the highest frequency.
"Damn alien bastards."
He ground his teeth repeatedly as he scanned the map.
Aliens were what he hated most in the world, a soldier who'd dedicated his life to exterminating them.
To achieve his goal, Major General Libel had studied aliens obsessively since childhood.
After commissioning, he'd analyzed their behavior patterns from his own firsthand experiences and even published lengthy papers on the subject.
His efforts had paid off—his anti-alien tactics proved effective.
Reaching the rank of major general at the relatively young age of 60 was thanks to that relentless drive.
"Now's the perfect time!"
Major General Libel had one constant assertion.
'Forward deployment.'
It was a doctrine.
He believed alien assault routes radiated outward from a single point, like water pouring from a funnel.
Trace them back, and you'd find the origin point, he argued.
Once past that origin, the routes fanned out like a funnel, growing wider. But if the Alliance concentrated all its forces at the funnel's mouth—no matter the strain—they could narrow every assault route back to one point.
In the Alliance's current desperate defensive posture, however, the strategy was practically impossible.
Alliance members agreed with the theory in principle, but attempting it meant abandoning all territories already breached by aliens—and no one had the stomach for that.
Major General Libel wasn't a fool, so he touted it only as 'theory,' never pushing too hard.
But the current Styx Frontline situation stirred different ambitions within him.
'Somewhere around here...'
The Styx Frontline now offered ideal conditions to prove his point.
If he could just push the front lines a little further forward.
Then he could focus the Alliance's alien assaults even more tightly.
And if fortune truly smiled, he might even eliminate the origin point itself, wiping out the aliens from the rear.
'It has to be somewhere around here.'
Unable to let the possibility slip, Major General Libel kept staring at the map.
"Aide!"
"Yes, Commander."
"When does the Golden Fleet arrive?"
"They reported starting operations in Antharogia eight days from now."
"Antharogia? Got it."
Major General Libel pulled up the profile of Leonard Monarch, the Golden Fleet's deputy commander and frontrunner for the next Superhuman Unit leader.
A talent he'd had his eye on since the Academy days.
He'd been stunned by the first report that came up through RTA Tactics.
He never imagined a 21-year-old kid could possess such profound insight into aliens and weave it into tactical plans.
Tactical acumen might have been lacking, but the way he pierced alien behavior patterns and devised operations left a deep impression.
'...Already a fleet commander.'
It wasn't just theory.
Leonard Monarch had racked up achievements that seemed like lies.
Conquering that many hatcheries in just seven months with minimal forces was unprecedented.
Earning his own independent fleet as recognition was impressive too.
It was the bare minimum—a pair of small warships—but achieving that in three years, including Academy time, was beyond excessive.
Even with Darmosa's support, it didn't diminish the shine.
"Golden Fleet. Fitting name."
Major General Libel looked forward to the day he'd meet him.
* "Drive out!"
"Entering Antharogia airspace!"
"No anomalies within observation range."
Led by the flagship, six ships emerged from astral space one by one.
"Engine status?"
"Yellow! All clear."
The engines held steady despite bearing the full load of the dimensional rift device.
Murdoch-class ships' superiority confirmed.
"Alien reactions detected in various spots across the planet."
"Not large-scale. Localized skirmishes."
"No follow-up assaults, it seems."
They checked the planet's status first.
It still hadn't fully recovered from the single assault ten days ago.
Probably because no planetary evacuations had been carried out.
With the Styx Frontline at the rear edge, things would stay like this for a while.
'Is that Black Yak's shipyard?'
High in orbit, at a safe distance, loomed a massive structure.
Zooming in revealed widespread damage.
Orbital facilities were relatively safe from aliens' ground-first tendencies, but only relatively.
A massive shipyard without dedicated defenses would struggle if properly targeted.
"They look busy."
"Not our concern. Communications with the garrison linked?"
"Yes. Bringing it up now."
The Antharogia garrison commander exchanged standard greetings.
He expressed hopes for great feats from the unit with the most superhumans, shared procedural intel, then cut the line abruptly, citing busyness.
"He must be swamped. Never imagined war hitting this sector."
Rear areas were seen as rotation spots for rest.
That commander had likely just relaxed after frontline duty when this hit—soul-crushing.
Plus cleanup kept him frantic, so it was understandable.
"The question is when the next assault hits."
"Yes. They're praying it's delayed as long as possible."
Once targeted, follow-ups were near-certain.
Just a matter of when.
For an Antharozia planet without proper wartime setup, it would be catastrophic.
'Lots of work ahead.'
Rear planets were once deemed safest.
Thus, anti-alien defenses and garrisons were minimal.
Antharozia was wracked by aliens that had burrowed underground during the assault.
Short on radar gear, they couldn't predict hatchery sites.
Not a huge issue, really.
Spotting alien activity and pinpointing hatcheries was my specialty—I could compensate for radar shortages while here.
The problem came after I left.
'How many superhumans to assign?'
Styx Frontline superhuman forces were thin.
About 30 military superhumans, but given the front's expanse, it was just for show.
When assaults intensified and hatcheries went active, the shortages would hit hard.
So I couldn't stay put.
I'd dispatch attached superhumans to key areas and chase hotspots myself.
"For now, we stay three days."
Bailey's side gig could wait.
"And real-combat evaluations."
I called Schepin and Rodrigo.
The Superhuman Unit wasn't official yet, but with 25 members, I'd given them senior roles.
Their experience and power could handle up to three hatcheries no problem.
"You called?"
"What's with the formalities all of a sudden?"
Schepin entered the bridge, feigning uncharacteristic seriousness.
"You're provisional captain now, aren't you? Can't be casual."
"Doesn't suit you. Superhumans won't care—keep it casual. Save formal for official spots."
Schepin glanced at me and Rodrigo.
Unable to hold out, she dropped the formal tone.
"Really?"
"Much better."
"Phew, thought I'd die. So, why'd you call?"
Relieved it was over, she rubbed her chest, grinning as she approached.
I briefed them on the operation.
Schepin got it first.
"Stick to urban areas mainly?"
"Carriers and troops will support. You'll scout terrain I designate mid-patrol for hatchery strikes."
"No issue. But what about you two?"
I'd assigned her 20 rookies.
To her puzzled look, I replied with mild arrogance.
"Like you said, provisional captain? Time to rest."
"Whoa, seriously? Just us grinding? What about Roze and Merdi then?"
"Think you can handle it?"
"............No." She shook her head, knowing better.
"They'll back you up if things get dicey."
Merdi and Roze were vice-captains.
Both 'provisional,' but they were top-tier anywhere—having them tag along for basics was nonsense.
With the unit grown, they deserved the status.
"Got it. Heading out."
Twenty-two superhumans split into two teams and deployed to Antharogia.
Backed by 1,200 elite troops armed to the teeth.
'Start with inspections, step by step.'
Unit size had ballooned over fivefold overnight.
From fleet assets to troops and armaments.
Not dire yet, but precisely now demanded thorough checks.
Bridge crew hustled.
They verified inter-ship links, filtered data into actionable intel, and reported.
New crew hands flew without pause.
I eyed Jim among them.
'Doing well.'
His station was bottom tier in the stepped layout.
Same apprentice insignia as others.
Placement ignored skill, but his attitude matched the eager apprentices.
"Frederic, check this sector's intel."
I passed him the Black Yak warehouse locations from Bailey Monarch.
"That's the 'side gig' spot, huh."
"Yep."
"All on the city outskirts. Awfully quiet."
Bailey Monarch was right.
If they planned to move them, it'd be bustling now.
'Situation worse than expected.' Music to my ears.
If they couldn't even bother, we'd have plenty to claim later.
I tuned it out and shifted focus.
"Captain, you seeing this?"
"Yep."
"Looks like pure primitive aliens."
Aliens evolving was common knowledge.
In the early days of war with humans, there were no 'standards.'
Hatcheries spat out wildly varied specimens with random traits.
Some effective, others total production wastes.
Change hit after a year.
Aliens standardized starting with Grade 1 threat Claws, then diversified.
All posed lethal threats to humans.
Over time, standardization hit higher grades, culminating in small high-grades for superhumans.
"Not fully primitive."
They did look like malformed mutants.
But closer inspection revealed commonalities with standardized types.
I knew why.