Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: The Humanity of Machines
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“Enemy raid! Empire ships have appeared!”
“Hah, do they take us for fools?”
Since the war began, the Holy Nation had never viewed the Empire's desperate defensive struggles as much of a threat.
The Empire had only managed to halt the Holy Nation's advance after scattering countless heaps of scrap across the galaxy.
An offensive with that kind of firepower?
It was laughable.
That said, the Holy Nation's commanders weren't letting their guard down.
In a galaxy where anything could happen by tomorrow, complacency wasn't an option.
“Activate all fortresses immediately and prepare the fleet! I'll report to the Prophet myself.”
The invading Empire fleet was sizable, but considering their weapons couldn't pierce psionic shields and their defenses crumbled easily under Holy Nation cannons, dragging this out would be simple enough.
The commander figured they could hold out effortlessly until reinforcements from the home front arrived.
What this commander didn't know was that the Steel Empire was the second most adaptable nation in the galaxy.
Early in the war, they'd been pushed back relentlessly, but lately, no matter how many fleets they lost or lives they sacrificed, the Empire had defended most star systems.
And they could recover the vast debris scattered across those systems.
Compared to the Holy Nation, forced to retreat without salvaging supplies after endless battles, the Empire's analysis speed was inevitably superior.
Plus, the Empire faced no hurdles in swapping entire production lines to new blueprints.
Worker proficiency? What proficiency did machines need?
They just stamped out whatever the blueprints called for.
And so, the anti-Holy Nation ships were born.
The Holy Nation commander realized this the moment they exchanged the first salvos.
“Destroyers 21 and 88 hit! They're half-wrecked!”
Unlike past engagements, the Empire ships shrugged off Holy Nation fire with ease.
They advanced majestically, as if nothing had happened.
In stark contrast, the Empire's railguns dealt devastating blows to Holy Nation vessels.
“Too easy. I could grab a cup of coolant and still have time.”
As if all their prior defenses had been building to this moment, the Empire pressed forward without hesitation.
The Holy Nation, which had relied on overwhelming tonnage, lost its few advantages and was pushed back helplessly in an instant.
“Ozutlan preserve us.”
They twisted and turned with every trick at their disposal, but the harsh reality was undeniable: their current fleet couldn't beat the Empire.
The Holy Nation resolved to abandon the occupied systems and fall back to the border, fortifying defenses.
All but one.
Krunch. Groooan.
A ship charging in triumphantly crumpled effortlessly under an invisible force.
Ships affected by the Prophet's psychokinesis folded like paper and clumped together. He tossed them aside like trash into a corner of space.
“Looks like the priests have been slacking on their mental training. Unable to overcome a trial like this.”
“Prophet, we must retreat. At this rate, the Empire will encircle us via other hyperlanes.”
The Prophet, hearing his adjutant, radiated an aura suggesting displeasure, his expression unreadable.
The Holy Nation-Empire border featured multiple hyperlane routes converging at the Gladiios Star System, which they hadn't captured. Thus, Holy Nation fleets were dispersed.
All routes except the one guarded by the Prophet's main fleet were collapsing.
If the Prophet didn't retreat in sync with the others, encirclement by Empire forces was inevitable.
Even a Prophet's immense power had limits against endless Empire waves from both flanks.
“Retreat.”
With the Prophet's order, the Holy Nation withdrew in perfect order.
Soldiers left behind at star bases in each system, crying out their faith, tied down the Empire just long enough for a smooth pullback.
The war dragged on in this pattern thereafter.
The Holy Nation regrouped, leveraging powerful psionics to push the front.
But momentum stalled short of Gladiios.
The Empire, now prepared, shoved back.
Narrowing systems let clumped psionics halt the Empire.
Holy Nation regrouped again... an endless loop.
No decisive blow to end it all.
This flaw eroded both nations' strength day by day.
As the war hit 1, 3, 5 years, casualties mounted, resources burned at astronomical rates.
Since I was skimming some of those resources, it was nothing but good news for PATO.
The simple reason this dragged on without end: both still thought they could win.
Sure, they'd spent heaps, were spending more, and lost countless lives.
Yet resources, funds, manpower—all still plentiful.
What kind of power did these galaxy-spanning empires wield?
But even the mightiest fortress cracks eventually—and crumbles fast.
The Holy Nation cracked first.
Clorocchi, assault captain of the 37th Assault Unit under the Holy Nation 3rd Fleet's Planetary Assault Force.
Representative of the Scorrics tribe in the Holy Nation's Ozutlan Multi-Species Alliance and Kletchi's older brother, he boasted exceptional psionic talent. He'd enlisted early as a soldier for advancement but grew devout, becoming a true believer.
A sudden Empire ambush caught him mid-resupply after supporting fierce ground combat. No time to retreat fully.
“Chit-chit. This is bad.”
The Holy Nation fleet was already prepping to withdraw, and their supplies couldn't fuel all transports.
Run some ships with partial troops, or everyone digs in planetside to the last. Pick one.
Captain Clorocchi chose preservation.
In an endless war, saving even a few for the homeland's victory was right.
Bare rations meant the whole unit starving before fighting if they stayed.
Launch now, and they'd slip out with the fleet.
Devout warriors, ever ready to die for the Holy Nation, followed their captain planetside.
“Captain, it'll be fine. The Holy Nation will reclaim this soon. Let's hide till then.”
“Yeah. Chit.”
Botadidi Star System was originally Holy Nation territory, so planetary geography was familiar. Hiding spots? Easy.
Problem: endless occupations left the planet a wasteland.
Major cities, main battlegrounds, lay in ruins. No supply caches left.
Food. Food was the crisis.
Foraging surface-side? Orbital Empire ships would spot them.
Wait for night, search in darkness.
Toward evening, Clorocchi led his unit to ruins.
He'd visited thriving Botadidi before—a pleasure hub.
Even ruined, underground districts should sustain them awhile.
Clearing rubble at the largest building's entrance, they descended. Unfortunate: squatters.
“Empire scum!”
“Enemy spotted. Engaging combat protocol.”
Shing!
Both sides ammo-dry, they drew rifles as clubs, archaic swords, axes—cold weapons.
They lunged, paused realizing mutual scarcity. Stalemate.
Empire broke silence first.
“Not scouts. Looks like the Empire's retaken the system. Right?”
A machine, likely their commander, spoke.
Clorocchi didn't know Empire tongue, but a bilingual trooper translated.
Bullseye.
Behind: brush pens from woven plants, lubricant oil, primitive hand-cranked generator from ancient two-wheeler.
Stranded Empire remnants, clearly.
“Reinforcements finally? We'd love home, but you won't let us go easy.”
“Obviously.”
If these reported back, armed Empire assault teams would purge them.
Block that report. But delay favored the Holy Nation less—Empire held the system, would search for stranded citizens.
Fight and silence? Victory uncertain.
Equal numbers meant bloody melee either way.
Better swing than die idle...
As the captain pondered, Empire proposed:
“Let us go, and we guarantee your safety. Won't report to fleet. No need for blood.”
“Lies!”
Can't trust soulless machines.
“All hands, battle ready!”
“Wait. Think. You don't see us as people. But look at your followers. Their lives hang on your word.”
Undeterred by rising tension, the commander continued calmly.
“To send my kin home, I'd parley with beasts if needed. Species? Irrelevant.”
“...”
“Captain, devil's trick. Don't fall for it.”
“You know as commander. I must get these friends home too.”
Glancing at Empire troops, Clorocchi sensed tension, fear, hope—contra Holy Nation dogma of their soullessness.
No trembling hands or shifty eyes like organics.
But the vibe: battle-ready yet hesitant, hoping no fight.
Optics fixed expectantly on him.
Clorocchi decided.
“All units, stand down.”
“Captain!”
“Enough. Fighting here dooms us all. We bet on slim odds of survival.”
“Wise choice. We keep promises— we know honor.”
Machines left. Clorocchi's unit relocated, went underground.
He'd braced for betrayal, armed reinforcements.
Grateful no more losses in vain.
Astonishingly, the soulless machines honored it.
No assault teams dropped to hunt stragglers.
“Found in fleet wreckage. Thought you'd need it.”
“This...”
Even the desperately needed rations.
Enough to last long-term.
“Why go this far?”
“We'll call it a debt. War's for sky admirals. Ground rats like us scrape by like this, eh? Haha! Figure your boss spares me next time.”
Utterly human.
Too human for slaves blindly obeying a self-styled emperor.
Clorocchi reflected on the war.
Empire saw Holy Nation soldiers as people—offered surrender, took POWs.
Holy Nation viewed Empire as tools—destroyed all.
Did the Sirtish think likewise?
Botadidi fell back to Holy Nation. Clorocchi and unit rejoined fleet safely.
Days later, the Scorrics tribe declared withdrawal from the war.