Chapter 150
Chapter 150
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 150
Chapter Title: Rift Assault
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‘Information exchange isn’t complete.’
Every alien has a mother body.
It’s the kind of entity that modern alien scholars call the ‘starting point.’ In the original story, it was called a Breeder.
And the Breeders of the newly emerged aliens in the rear are not the same as those in the front lines.
They’re entirely different individuals with independent wills.
Naturally, the aliens’ forms have to differ as well.
However, since Breeders can exchange information with each other, the rear Breeder can quickly catch up to the evolution the front Breeder achieved over a century of dealing with humans.
Right now, this is just the trial phase for that.
The rear Breeder will gradually alter its swarm based on the received data, steadily completing newly standardized species one by one.
‘Someday, I’ll have to take out a Breeder.’
It’ll be the first major task to liberate humanity from the aliens.
But with humanity’s current forces, it’s impossible.
Even the protagonist only managed it toward the end of the story.
In terms of time, it’s over twenty years from now.
Humanity as a whole needs to deepen its understanding of aliens and advance its technology.
Rush it prematurely, and failure—not success—will unfold.
“It does seem that way upon closer inspection. How peculiar.”
Frederick compared the observed aliens to existing species.
This issue is already sparking massive debate among scientists researching aliens.
In time, as they confirm the aliens growing more similar, they might arrive at reasoning close to the truth.
“There’s nothing special about their individual combat power. Our existing weapon systems are working fine.”
“Keep stacking the data. Focus on support.”
I deliberately created a tense atmosphere on the bridge, continuously checking basics and issuing orders.
After two days like that, the previously scattered bridge started to settle into order.
“Captain, we’ve received a dispatch from Lt. General Libel.”
The contents weren’t particularly noteworthy.
It basically said to come over once we were reasonably prepared.
“Lt. General Libel...”
I mulled over the name.
Commander-in-chief of the Styx front lines.
The man I’d clash with most from here on out.
Excluding hatchery matters, he held operational command, so souring relations would mean endless headaches.
“He’s evaluated as an ideal commander if you set aside his excessive hostility toward aliens. No one from the academies hasn’t heard of him. He’s led textbook-worthy operations so many times they feel routine.”
“Saya said he’s expressed strong fondness for our unit multiple times in public.”
“Is that so? Lt. General Libel isn’t known for such statements. That’s encouraging.”
Frederick rarely showed satisfaction like this.
He clearly held the general in high regard.
“Time to wrap up. Hand over defense duties for our assigned sector and...”
I figured four superhumans would suffice for Anthologia.
With 200 garrison troops for support and extra supplies, maintaining the front lines would be no issue.
But just as I was about to finish,
An intense energy wave rippled from far beyond the bridge viewport.
The bridge erupted in noise at the same time.
“Strong energy dissipation detected from ahead!”
“Alien sensors have hit critical levels.”
“Rift forming! Air raid incoming!”
Moments after the ship’s instruments reacted, visual anomalies appeared.
I issued orders before it progressed further.
“Fleet to battle stations. Align all guns and rapid advance on the rift.”
“Fleet rapid advance!”
Engines roared to life, sending faint vibrations through the hull.
We had to move fast to secure optimal firing range before the rift fully opened.
Soon after, the garrison commander requested comms.
-Leonard, fleet captain! It’s an air raid!
His voice brimmed with urgency.
“We’re already moving toward the rift.”
-We’ll join as fast as we can. Please do your utmost.
“It’s the least we can do as allies.”
He looked somewhat relieved at our swift response before the line cut.
“What’s the projected drop zone?”
“It’s quite wide. The garrison will likely get swept up.”
“Contact them to prepare as best they can. Halt all operations and concentrate forces. Provide every support possible.”
“Understood!”
I worried about the troops out defending the city.
No telling the raid’s scale, but it’d be a dangerous fight.
The silver lining: the rift’s position was some distance from the planet.
At this range, dropships would take about twenty minutes to reach the surface.
Longer travel meant more intercept time—advantage us.
‘Brings back memories.’
I recalled the air raid back at Cradle of Heroes Academy.
The rift had opened right overhead then.
Already thin atmosphere from the satellite location, plus proximity—it let most dropped aliens through.
But that was an exceptional case.
Without the Elohim Church’s schemes, no rift would’ve opened so close.
This one was farther out than usual, so if the raid wasn’t massive, our limited fleet could hold.
“Rift opening!”
Dark space split wide with a crack.
Glimpses of the glowing Astral Dimension leaked through the gap.
That detached realm suddenly felt like an endless abyss.
“All batteries, firing prep!”
“Firing prep!”
“Aiming complete.”
“Energy charge complete!”
“Initiating amplification sequence!”
Power from the engines flowed to the ship’s dorsal and ventral guns.
Normally, we’d condense and fire here, but post-refit, we routed through new amplification units.
Result: 160% of standard turret output.
“Alien readings spiking.”
“Primary drop!”
“Fire!!”
Guns blazed on command.
Eighty from the Murdoch-class flagship, twenty from the Sheila-class—100 total—unleashed volley fire.
Shells crossed 30km in seconds, slamming into aliens clustering to exit the rift.
Brilliant flashes oxidized them, vaporizing tens of thousands instantly.
“Keep firing, no pauses! Minimize aiming time. Missile load status?”
“Ready in twenty seconds.”
“Plasma missiles first, then cycle through.”
“Yes!”
Tens of thousands downed in the opener, but ‘mere’ tens wouldn’t halt the drop.
Raids dump millions per wave minimum.
Max haste still meant 50+ seconds between turret volleys.
Time like this called for stockpiled ordnance.
Plasma missiles led off.
Lower firepower, but vast blast radius—perfect for early drops.
One good hit could erase thousands.
“First salvo hits!”
Fireworks bloomed in succession.
Blue flame clouds bloomed thick in space, swelling under their own pressure before vanishing.
“Thirty-two rounds remaining.”
“Empty the racks!”
Alien numbers were insane.
Despite the barrage, some forced through the curtain, heading for Anthologia.
‘Not enough...’
The sight made my head shake.
Even a primary drop—that horde? Absurd for two small warships.
But we weren’t alone.
“Defense fleet opening fire!”
The defense fleet, positioned farther out, finally arrived.
A third the size of a regular fleet, but firepower dwarfed our golden unit’s.
Shells blanketed space, their blasts far fiercer, pulping aliens.
“99% of observed specimens eliminated!”
Ten minutes of combat wiped most of the first breakout.
Around 30,000 made planetfall, but friendly fire risks meant surface defenses handled it.
“Engine status?”
“Yellow! Nominal.”
“Secondary drop! Secondary drop underway!”
No sooner had we caught breath than more aliens surged from the rift.
Definitely more than the first.
Turrets spat nonstop once reloaded and amplified; launchers belched missiles relentlessly.
By the time I snapped to, we’d hit the fourth drop.
“Captain, some aliens approaching the fleet.”
“ID them?”
“No library matches.”
Fifth drop kicked off ship attacks.
First up: pinecone-bodied things with multiple faintly glowing cicada wings.
Attack methods unknown.
They swam space freely, closing on us.
“Wait till they’re close.”
Handling them meant retargeting turrets.
But that’d let planetary drops through.
So I held fire, opting for another approach.
“Creepy-looking bastards.”
Then the bridge doors parted. Merde and Roja entered, fully geared for combat.
“You’re here?”
“Want me to head out?”
“No—appreciate it, but we’re good.”
Flight units rated high-end Grade 3 at worst.
Even in numbers, manageable.
Merde could sweep them, but raid was early.
No burning jokers yet.
“Say the word if needed.”
“Me too!”
Watching them head to the bridge lounge, I turned back to the viewport.
Chaos reigned.
Wreckage and blasts cluttered screens dizzyingly.
“Surface status? Successful drops so far?”
“Around 400,000 estimated.”
“Fighting centered on defense points.”
Troops seemed fine for now.
Using the 1,000 combat bots we’d deployed pre-rift, they’d dug in to shield the city.
‘Should hold till raid’s end.’
Total drops so far pegged overall raid at about 100 million.
Current fleet could block with minimal losses.
Worry was the freshly stabilized surface turning to hell again—later problem.
Then alarms wailed.
Flight units now visually ID-able.
“Flights at 4km!”
“About 3,000!”
“Intercept missiles!”
Ventral tubes opened, spewing micro-guided missiles trailing white smoke.
They wove messy patterns through space, picking off closest flights.
But they didn’t drop in one hit, unlike expected.
Blasts made wings shudder, faint barriers blooming to blunt damage.
Cost us 3-5 per target.
“Resistant energy reaction! They have barriers.”
“Upper-end Grade 3 at least.”
Despite dumping all preps, ~300 remained.
They closed in, flaunting their grotesque forms up close.