Chapter 243
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 243
Chapter Title: Alma Alloi, Fifth Apostle of the Furious One
Alma Alloi, the fifth apostle of the Furious One, gazed down at the Lasdasil coast from the airship.
It was a close call.
The Demon God Yacheon's whirlwinds had chased right up to the tail of the airship carrying Alma, but they soon pulled away. Had the Furious One's power not concealed Alma's presence, those whirlwinds would have surely engulfed him.
As an apostle, he might have survived them, but Alma figured he would have ended up in quite a pathetic state.
'Just as the Furious One willed it.'
The Empire's coastal fortress had been completely obliterated.
The path to the Lasdasil ruins now lay wide open.
A barrage from the fleet rained down toward the coast.
On the southern beach, the concrete bunkers stacked in multiple tiers were now unrecognizable heaps of rubble. Atop them loomed the Sky Fortress.
The ground had collapsed beneath it, forming a massive hill, and the structures symbolizing the United Kingdom's history and civilization had all crumbled into ruins.
Yacheon's whirlwinds ravaged the area above, as if venting their fury.
'But the Demon God doesn't act on emotion.'
Yacheon seemed to have realized the Sky Fortress contained internal spaces that could absorb shocks. Even without knowing the exact details, it might have concluded some countermeasures were necessary.
Normally, a massive aerial assault would follow immediately, but Yacheon's whirlwinds had pinned down the legions beneath the Sky Fortress, keeping them from emerging.
'Ankarde inside reported that most of the forces survived the Sky Fortress's fall. So far, things are going as planned.'
However, the whirlwinds continued gouging the earth, almost as if searching for something hidden.
The legions ambushed within the Sky Fortress would have to exit through narrow passages. If their position was exposed, the casualties could be devastating.
'And Ankarde lacks patience. It wouldn't be surprising if they surged out at any moment. If we could just divert Yacheon's attention for a bit...'
Alma turned his gaze toward the United Kingdom's fleet.
A fierce close-range artillery battle raged with the Empire's warships.
Without supporting fire from the coastal fortress, the fight appeared evenly matched, just as before.
The difference was that the range had closed, and both sides had slowed their speeds, allowing for more accurate shooting and mounting casualties.
'Outnumbered, but holding a slight edge? The United Kingdom is pushing back the Empire's battleships.'
It had to be that way.
The Empire's warships didn't just have the United Kingdom's battleships as targets.
Their primary goal was the United Kingdom's transport ships, so they fired at distant transports only to be sunk by the main guns of nearer United Kingdom battleships.
'If the transport fleet manages to dock at the coast like this...'
Once near the shore, Yacheon's power would start taking a toll, but no god could cover several kilometers of coastline entirely.
The Furious One had calculated coastal losses at roughly 20-30%.
'That would leave us with about twice their numbers upon reaching the Lasdasil ruins.'
There were hasty fortifications and a significant Empire force along the path to the ruins, but superior numbers and equipment would make it a winnable fight.
Moreover, pushing deeper into the ruins would shield them from the United Kingdom's naval bombardment.
'After that...'
Even Alma couldn't predict precisely what came next.
Both the United Kingdom and the Empire had apostles serving as commanders.
But some had yet to reveal themselves.
Not every possibility could be foreseen.
Alma gripped the railing, turned, and addressed the staff officers.
"Shift the transport fleet further north."
One staff officer questioned.
"But that would make us more vulnerable to the enemy battleships stationed to the north."
"True. But the south has the Demon God's whirlwinds. Better to face their warships than let our ground forces get swept up."
The staff officer understood at once and relayed the order via signaler.
To secure a broader stretch of coastline, they needed to push the Empire fleet further north, and such sacrifices were anticipated.
"Urgent report!"
All eyes turned as the signaler rushed onto the bridge where the staff officers gathered.
The signaler announced.
"A rear transport has been sunk."
A staff officer at the bridge entrance snapped at the signaler.
"You climbed all the way up here just to say that?"
Another staff officer added.
"The enemy naval fire has divine guidance from the pantheon. It's eerie, but expect unnaturally precise strikes beyond predictions."
The signaler shook his head.
"No, that's not it. The sunk transport was at the fleet's extreme rear, still out of the enemy's gunnery range."
"Sunk there? How many exactly?"
"Well..."
The signaler hesitated before continuing.
"It's too far, and initial confusion among signalers means we don't have precise counts. With our airship squadrons tied up by theirs, no one could relay flag signals properly."
Alma furrowed his brow slightly.
Compared to the Empire's magic-based communications, flag signals were downright primitive.
The United Kingdom had bridged the gap through capability, but critical moments exposed the flaws.
Alma stepped forward.
"Turn the flagship around. I'll check personally. Where exactly, signaler?"
Alma assumed, like the staff officer, it was signaler error or a string of coincidences.
The Empire aimed to block transports, not engage in mutual fleet destruction, so splitting forces to strike the rear was risky.
'If they had forces for that, we'd have detected them earlier.'
But Alma had to accept his assumption might be wrong.
-...Boom!
Without warning, the keel of an abomination-class battleship snapped, splitting the vessel in two.
No screams could be heard, but panicked marines could be seen scrambling to launch lifeboats.
And it wasn't just one or two ships.
The immediately sinking vessels were reserve battleships held back against potential threats. Next came the transports.
Especially vulnerable were the rear transports, including massive wooden ships from a bygone era rivaling divine beast-class battleships. Meant to enter Lasdasil only after the coast was secured, now their escorting warships were vanishing.
And an even bigger problem loomed.
The sentries couldn't hide their bewilderment.
"No enemy warships in sight!"
Alma knew that too.
'Fired from beyond the horizon then? But no shells were visible...?'
Alma immediately summoned the Furious One.
The Furious One responded at once in the tongue of the gods.
Alma didn't know the exact meaning but had heard it enough to recognize it as an expression of rage.
The Furious One, Hegemonia, declared.
Hegemonia braced for a slight dip in faith points and explained.
Alma grasped two facts instantly.
The Furious One possessed foreknowledge of pre-existence technologies, and this was one such divine insight.
The second realization was more disconcerting.
Current technology offered no viable countermeasures.
With that, Hegemonia severed the private link with Alma.
Even if enemy tech outpaced them with no immediate counters, as a player, creation abilities made it possible.
In Lost World, overcoming such tech gaps via creations was common, and anti-submarine templates naturally existed.
Hegemonia could analyze the Empire's submarine tech and craft the optimal counter-creation in minutes.
'...But.'
It required faith expenditure.
Hegemonia weighed the faith from wartime production against the cost of this creation.
'It'll be tight.'
With that, Hegemonia assembled the creation's form and infused its abilities.
Secret forces like submarines were manageable.
Hadn't Hegemonia itself hidden troops inside the Sky Fortress?
Such surprises were standard in clashes of this scale. They wouldn't reverse the tide entirely. Only the incompetent panicked and failed to adapt.
Yes.
For now, it was fine.
But accumulating variables like this could unravel Hegemonia's second plan.
'Still within margin of error, barely.'
Yet if exceptions arose beyond scope, or apostle clashes went awry, the second plan would be irretrievable.
Hegemonia observed closely, then finalized the creation.
But Hegemonia sensed it too.
Nebula's variables wouldn't end here.
Aboard a United Kingdom transport ship.
Far across the churning sea, the Lasdasil coast came into view.
This wooden transport had once been a ship of the line mounting over a hundred guns mere decades ago.
Demilitarization stripped its heavy armament, adding steam engines and paddlewheels for conversion to transport duty.
Its size, suited for hauling siege engines, made it ideal for troops and supplies.
"Shadow under the water off the port side!"
The transport veered sharply, listing heavily.
Marines on deck and soldiers below—who couldn't even see—erupted in chaos.
Submarines exploding hulls from unseen depths with torpedoes felt downright supernatural.
"Torpedoes too fast! Can't evade!"
"Brace for impact!"
At the captain's shout, faces paled in terror—then a massive tentacle emerged, snatching the torpedo.
The tentacle hurled it away; arcing high, it detonated on reentry to the sea.
A voice boomed from below the surface.
Cheers erupted at the words.
Vik resembled a spiral-shelled ammonite, tentacles sprouting beyond its shell.
Capable of high underwater speeds, tentacle torpedo grabs, and shell-based ramming or torpedo defense, it was a player-favorite anti-sub template in Lost World.
The guardian Vik charged the lead Empire submarine.
Not advanced tech meant its bulkheads crumpled easily, seawater flooding in.
Compared to clunky current tech, Vik's fluid agility earned it the title "submarine hunter."
"Just as Lord Yacheon said, huh?"
A soft voice, but Vik's sensitive wave-detection organs—tuned like radar—picked it up.
Oddly, it came from beneath Vik, deep in submarine-hunting depths.
"Oh, you heard that. Anyway, just like Yacheon said. Hard shell, countless tentacles. Spot on."
Before Vik could ask again, bright light bathed it.
Vik's light-sensitive eyes, adapted for darkness, went blind momentarily.
"...Here I go!"
Something surged from below.
A "walking mech"—a bipedal war machine blending rubber and magic engines.
Often found in ancient ruins, nations like the Empire mass-produced variants, making it standard against giants, abominations, or monstrosities with high output and cryo-weapons.
Poor against tanks, though.
Vik had Hegemonia's "General Knowledge 2.0" module, but no underwater walking mech precedent.
And at nearly 9 meters—double the standard 4—it was huge.
Regaining sight late, Vik turned toward the blurry silhouette beyond the light.
The mech's center featured a glass canopy exposing the cockpit.
Oguri the Mad Toolbo piloted it.
"Take this! My fist!"
The walking mech's left drill arm spun, embedding into Vik's shell.