Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Empire's Counteroffensive
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The war between the two great empires guaranteed massive profits as a mercenary.
Neither nation paid me any upfront mercenary fees. Instead, I was the one footing the bill and deploying the troops, so on paper, it was a financial loss.
But money? That was something I had piled up to the point of rotting away anyway.
The real prizes were the side benefits from jumping into the fray.
I'd been most excited about snagging new genes by devouring living beings before the war kicked off, but that turned out to be a bust.
Maybe because they weren't organic lifeforms, but eating them felt no different from chowing down on an equal mass of rock.
I even dissected a few corpses I'd hauled back, but I couldn't spot any difference from straight-up machines.
Machines that think via metal, inorganic materials, and electrical circuits.
Talatullans that think via rock, inorganic materials, and psionic awakening.
To me, they seemed pretty much the same.
If anything, it was harder to wrap my head around how a species like the Talatullans even existed.
Anyway, with both main players in this war being inorganic races, I could write off any genetic gains.
The genes from the organic species serving the Holy Nation were at least somewhat decent eats.
But the biggest haul from mercenary work wasn't genes—it was tech.
When two sides slug it out, ships get wrecked left and right, shattering into debris that drifts through space.
Both the Holy Nation and the Empire scramble to recover those wrecks for enemy tech analysis, but they can't scoop up every last piece.
And in the vastness of space? Pilfering a few—or a lot—is child's play.
A few? Hell, whenever eyes were off me, I'd stuff everything into my camouflage.
Sure, it raised suspicions, but no proof.
I wasn't dumb enough to store them in the Treegalaon areas where normal people could wander.
If someone had the guts to board the Treegalaon and poke around in the camo themselves? I'd salute their bravery.
That specimen would end up just like the organic matter hiding in there.
So I'd tuck away the debris deep inside the Treegalaon, then haul it back to the kingdom.
Dissecting those ship parts taught me all sorts of tech.
"This technology is truly astonishing."
I dumped a camo full at the PATO Military Science Research Institute, and they couldn't stop marveling.
"I thought electromagnetic tech had hit its limits, but this shatters my meager knowledge. Thank you. The Union's tech will leap forward without a doubt."
"I'll bring more parts as I snag them."
"Please do."
Surprisingly, the Holy Nation's tech proved more useful than the Steel Empire's.
The Union had only had psionic awakeners for less than half a century, so their grasp on psionic tech was naturally shallow.
The Bahilila had been awakened longer, but as World Tree one-tricks, they weren't much help.
The Union barely trained a handful of awakeners for limited roles.
Then along came shields via psionics, ship engines powered by psionics, even star system comms over psionics.
In the psionic niche, the Holy Nation was peak advanced civilization.
Getting to chew apart their tech pinnacle—ships—and digest it? Of course it helped.
Enemy tech analysis is standard for any galactic nation.
Tech's a public good, right? Like an umbrella.
Leave it out, and someone else grabs it—no biggie.
If they come yelling for it later, hand it back nice and easy.
The rain's already stopped by then.
Those were the days, feasting on sweet plunder.
Why drag my feet on tech scavenging when I'd plunged headfirst into the war?
Because even without me, the conflict was slogging on forever.
The Holy Nation started strong, pushing with momentum.
Early war, they got steamrolled by the Empire's close-range weapons, but realizing ammo was finite, they devised counters successfully.
They pressed a steady offensive... until, at some point, it slowed.
Precisely: Win a battle, claim the star system, advance to the next.
"Tenacious bastards. Finally wiped them out."
"P-Priest. Empire reinforcements."
"What?"
Battles never ended.
Just when you'd think them all dead—bam, fresh fleet jumps into the system.
"Hot-off-the-press fleet delivery from a month ago."
The Empire churned out troops like a factory line—what else could it be?—endless waves defending systems.
Eventually, the Holy Nation couldn't sustain the attrition, abandoned the occupation, and fell back.
"Priest, missiles depleted."
"Defense corvettes are taking heavy losses. We likely can't hold the anti-air net much longer."
"Tch. Retreat."
Obviously factory-stamped, but it'd feel bullshit to the Holy Nation.
The Empire's endless fleets stemmed from specialized machine industry, but mostly their 'machine' racial traits.
Machines with electronic-circuit egos.
Meaning: Give 'em circuits, no body limits.
Peacetime? They look like any other race—familiar enough.
Wartime births? Straight-up warships from the cradle.
Crew? Unnecessary. Why need help moving your own body?
"Duke... it's been a year without sleep."
"When did shipyards ever get to sleep? Get back to work."
Even shipyards had personalities.
Just build the fleet—no conscription or assignments needed.
To the Holy Nation: endless unmanned ships flooding systems.
It dogged their advance, especially key spots.
Worse near the Gradiós Star System.
It linked Empire sectors for logistics, hosted their biggest factories and shipyards.
Ore poured in from across the Empire, belts and presses ran 24/7, spitting out machines.
I'd slip between those newborn machine ships, hit spots where Holy Nation intel said we'd win, snag loot.
Win or lose, Holy Nation pressed—so Corallak Mercenaries fought half-heartedly then bailed; Berilak Merchant Company charged hard for spoils.
Easy pickings.
Plus, Holy Nation and Empire guzzling minerals, Ozz, ships, mercs like mad.
WW1 made the US and Japan fat for a reason.
War boom is divine.
Berilak Merchant Company merc units were resting in Gradiós Star System.
'I' needed no mental breaks.
But bodies needed relief, and time to scout better battlefields.
Outside, another fleet ripped space to reinforce.
I knew the Empire stamped out machines nonstop.
Hard not to, with endless ships hyperjumping out.
Easy to imagine anyway.
But this batch was different.
Uniform sizes and styles before—now wildly varied.
Clean white-black schemes swapped for bold red-black.
Angular boxes became rounded new designs.
And there—that giant robot I thought died in Maximilian Star System.
"Count? You're alive?"
"Ah, Berilak Merchant Lord. Long time."
I'd half-expected it, but they'd revived his ego too?
No wonder the Holy Nation stalled.
How do you beat vets stacking experience, dying and reborn in this war?
"Glad you're safe."
"Died plenty. All thanks to His Majesty's grace."
"Truly miraculous grace."
"Aye. Nice reunion, but busy times—rain check?"
"Fight well."
This count gets my well-wishes how many times now?
This fleet smelled like honey, so I joined Berilak's mercs.
Empire taking this offensive seriously—gathering max reserves.
"This fleet is the first from revised production lines. Based on designs from analyzed enemy assets: Holy Nation laser batteries, psionic shields, rock hulls."
Ship-bodied folk still needed briefings, so ops talk in space.
Staffer on a station hologramming it—why not just vid call?
Ships clustered like primitives.
"This force should overwhelm Holy Nation fleets. Primary: Restore original borders. Secondary: Push to defensible Skotcha Star System, solidify lines."
"T-minus 30 days to ops start. Fleets, move to assigned positions."
The Empire's counterattack began.