Chapter 159
Chapter 159
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 159
Chapter Title: Just the Small Fry Left
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Only the small fry remain.
At this point, the city can handle them on its own.
“Heading to the city to rest?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Why? They treated us great.”
Merdi turned and looked up at the sky.
Right above the city, a battleship positioned outside the atmosphere was unleashing a barrage northward.
“I hate that kind of thing.”
“Where to?”
“North.”
Roze tilted her head.
She could tell Merdi had changed a lot since the incident on Yumaha.
Stricter with herself, maybe.
It wasn’t a bad thing, but she’d lost her easygoing side too.
“You’re not planning to walk there, right? I’ll come with!”
“Why are you clinging like this? Get off!”
Roze dashed over and hooked her arm through Merdi’s.
Merdi made one attempt to shake her loose but realized it was pointless and gave up.
“Hey, have you been to Uncle Sam’s place?”
“You mean the beauty salon?”
Sam’s beauty salon.
One of the new civilian specialists hired after expanding the living quarters.
“Yeah, that one! I went last time, and they’re amazing. They even gave me a head massage—so refreshing.”
Merdi’s eyes swept over Roze’s hair.
No clue when “last time” was, but it clearly hadn’t done much.
“I went yesterday.”
“Ehh, really?”
“I go almost every day.”
Roze had no idea she’d already been crowned top customer ages ago.
“Take me with you!”
“If you cut your meal time.”
“That’s impossible.”
Roze answered instantly and latched on.
Merdi had figured as much and ignored her, but Roze turned out more tenacious than expected.
“Then I’ll take you some other time, so clear your schedule.”
“Okay, okay.”
“But... never mind.”
She wouldn’t stick with it long anyway.
Roze wasn’t the type to frequent a beauty salon consistently.
Keeping up this level of looks without much effort meant her raw material was top-notch.
The martial arts keeping her body in peak condition helped, of course.
“What?”
“That you’d look way better all dolled up.”
“But it falls apart the second I move.”
A pack of aliens came charging at the chatting pair.
Stragglers dodging orbital fire.
They spotted the two approaching but the leader got caught in Merdi’s brain lightning before it could even bare its teeth.
Then shuttles rolled up from behind, laying down support fire.
“It’s Flint!”
Roze waved when she spotted Flint.
“Superhumans! Hop on!”
“How’d you get here?”
“We can’t slack off when you’re on the move.”
He flashed a grin.
Same old smile from the Metal Gear mercenary days.
Roze and Merdi boarded without protest.
“Leave these small fry to us and get some rest.”
“We’re fine.”
“You two are the flowers of our unit. Gotta keep you safe.”
Flint was one of the company commanders overseeing 200 troops.
Considering 200-man detachments for your standard 2-to-3-grade hatchery raids, it was a solid rank.
“Flint protecting us?”
“Don’t tease. I’m an instructor squad alum, you know.”
He wasn’t some pushover.
In Roze’s ranking system, he’d be red belt at least.
Severe wounds had cost him his left limbs—replaced with cybernetics—and weakened him, but Salmon Lab’s treatments had brought him back strong.
Roze’s training had pushed him beyond his instructor days even.
“Check this out.”
“Pfft!”
Roze burst out laughing at his bicep flex.
Merdi eyed the whole display with icy indifference.
Flint deflated, lowering his arm and clearing his throat.
“Ahem. No more intact cities ahead. Bombard the clumps, and you’ll keep spawning these small fry. Superhumans jumping in every time just burns stamina for nothing.”
“Then when do we jump in?”
“Gotta nab Wanggeon first. So guys like that one...?”
A massive alien erupted from the ground where Flint pointed.
Same breed as the one Roze had finished off earlier.
KABOOM!!
It charred to a crisp under Merdi’s ability before Flint could wrap up.
“...Uh, well. Nice shot.”
“Too strong this time. Doesn’t match the hype for its size.”
“Way easier if it doesn’t burrow.”
Roze nodded along.
“Strong one for a grade-4, though...”
Flint smacked his lips watching them.
“No word on the Beholder?”
“Why?”
“They say abilities don’t work on it. Worried you superhumans might be in over your heads.”
Beholder countermeasures were still up for debate.
“Lemon says wait for him to set the table. No sweat.”
“If the boss says it, then it is. But you look pissed, Merdi.”
“Ah, that’s...”
Roze snuck a glance at Merdi.
Some superhumans were getting role restrictions for the Beholder op.
Merdi included.
Just like Flint said—direct-damage abilities might not land.
“I’m not pissed.”
Merdi saw it differently.
“...Sorry I brought it up. You must be starving—here, snack on this!”
“Food!”
Roze grabbed it and dug in when an urgent alert pinged.
“Huh...?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Beholder’s on the move. Took out another battleship?”
The message spelled out trouble ahead.
*
“What kind of handling was that!”
BAM!
Colonel Rungen’s tantrum sent table items tumbling.
If I hadn’t swung by for work, I wouldn’t have dealt with his venting.
I soothed him and pored over the report.
“Not our screw-up. See here.”
“Hmm...”
Even the colonel simmered down once he clocked the situation.
Like I said—not on us.
“How’s this even possible...!”
“Beholder’s more versatile than we figured.”
We’d pegged the Beholder as passive so far.
Absorb attack energy first, then counter.
This pattern? Night and day.
‘Hive nest couldn’t do its job back then?’
Beholder came pre-loaded with attack energy.
No prior hits on it, so clear as day.
Energy fed from hive nest or rooting hatchery.
Take your pick. ‘One stored blast outpowers red-level.’
Murdoch-class and below? Max barrier won’t save ’em.
Even heavies risk it on two in a row.
Beholder hit like a truck.
“Can’t run ops like this.”
“Yep. Spread thin, it’ll keep pulling this.”
“Radar’s worthless too, so ori...!”
Beholder pulled it off ’cause we couldn’t fix its position.
Master of concealment.
No clue how, Union tech came up empty.
Not just hiding—faking us out.
Sensors lit up inside the hive nest, then boom—ambush.
‘Clumping drags the timeline, though.’
Plan was planet purge before main body strike.
Can’t keep rolling the dice on big risks.
‘Best-case went poof.’
Union aims: Shove off Uranus shadow, preserve strength.
Heavy losses? Success tastes like defeat.
“How often you figure it pulls that?”
“Needs to trek to hive nest turf—at least four hours. But don’t get comfy.”
“Why not?”
“Hidden hatcheries nearby? Could top off there.”
All options on table.
“Scrap the current op either way.”
“Agreed. Time to clump.”
Dense enough for sudden-dump attacks.
Planet sweep slows versus spread-out ops, but beats body bags by miles.
“Gotta crimp its wild swings too. Figure half-regiment minimum...”
Regiment clocks 900k tons displacement—call it ten ships bunched.
‘Eight for extra safety. Still no full dodge.’
Beholder twice picked soft small-fry targets.
First block or not, follow-up’s too tight.
No breather for fleet repositions.
‘Perfect block needs prep time.’
Then maybe intercept.
“Reclaim keys, then punch.”
“Not gonna be cake.”
“No choice.”
One day’s grind reclaimed sixty percent planet.
Snagged plenty defensive outposts mid-build.
Half trashed by aliens, half mint or salvageable—broken ones just need fixes.
Game-changers ahead.
“If we could track its moves, we could bait the attack...”
Any tricks?
Pondered deep.
‘...Might work?’
Idea sparked.
“Colonel.”
“Shoot.”
“Think we can track the Beholder.”
“...For real?”
Rungen blinked.
“Yeah. Test needed, but got potential.”
His face lit up some.
*
Beholder struck three more times.
Every three-four hours—pop out, blast, ghost.
Half-regiment clumps held, but next hit loomed any second.
“Ugh...”
Head pounding, I slumped into a seat.
Tracked for Beholder during all three.
Whiffed first two, nailed the last path—early heads-up.
‘Not cutting it...’
Horns maxed out strange senses.
Hive-mind vibes—feel aliens across wide swath, body-deep.
Aliens clearest, energy flows too.
Volleyed it on Yumaha once, pushing now for Beholder.
‘Tougher than expected.’
Not firing on all cylinders.
Half-planet watch zone, my ping tops 300 km.
Uptime short too.
Forced horn grind taxes brain—migraine hell.
Human hardware overload vibes.
‘Sharpening up with reps, though.’
Scanned the assault ship bay.
Beholder crew assembled.
Roze, Merdi, all elite.
“Ugh!”
Roze deep in something shady offside.
Snuck up.
“What you up to?”
“Eek!”
Roze whipped around, spooked.
“Lemon? Scared me.”
“What’re you doing?”
“N-nothing!”
Arm up to block my peek.
Hologram laughed that off.
Caught her face beaming between arms on the holo.
“...Mirror?”
“Beauty program.”
“Merdi!”
“Why so shy.”
Beauty program?
Roze?
Dubious stare got her pouting.