Venetian Red, Volume 11

 

 

Chapter 99 Ambiguous Allegiances

Despite heavy losses, with tanks stuck on the beach and high-grade military equipment discarded into the sea, thousands of lifeless bodies floated in the water as Wraith began the Siege of Karachi.

 

For a day, the Red Army had transformed a portion of Karachi into a burning hellscape, torching buildings and terrorizing trapped civilians. They deployed drones that mimicked the cries of babies, luring civilians out of their hiding places. As they ventured forth, the Wraith drones unleashed artillery strikes on their positions, creating complete chaos.

 

“Good... I will make the defending the righteous force proud. Continue the blood flowing!” Wraith grinned, reveling in the destruction.

 

The news reports were grim; violations and atrocities against innocent people filled the airwaves, and Light felt a simmering frustration boil within him.

 

“Damn it,” Light muttered, clenching his fists. “The Wraiths aren’t stopping. They’re just making this worse for everyone.”

 

Despite studying six religions, Wraith had learned nothing about being a good person. The Red Army advanced further, razing the northern part of the city, where floodwaters lapped at their ankles. The chaos was palpable, and the sight of soldiers trudging through the murky water only deepened Light's anger. Just as he was about to take action, a battleship appeared on the horizon, cutting through the waves toward Karachi.

 

“Pirates? Friend or foe?” Light wondered aloud, his heart racing. “Please don’t let it be backup for the Wraiths…”

 

As the pirates began firing at the Red Army’s coastal defenses, Monk observed, “They seem to be targeting both sides. Looks like they’re just here to profit off the chaos.”

 

"Profit," Monk replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This chaos is a goldmine for them."

 

“Interesting… very interesting,” Light remarked, a wry smile creeping onto his face. “They don’t care who wins as long as they can make a buck.”

 

“True, but this situation is getting out of control,” Monk said, concern creeping into his voice. “Luckily, our mountain stronghold is too fortified for their naval cannons. Still, it’s irritating to see some factions profiting from others’ suffering.”

 

Light nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding in Karachi. The Wraiths were gaining the upper hand, blockading the harbor and cutting off reinforcements. “It’s only a matter of time before they overrun the city,” he muttered, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

 

Suddenly, Monk’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Sir, you need to see this.”

 

Light turned, startled, as Monk pointed to the radar. “An aircraft carrier is approaching from nowhere, likely headed for the Gulf of Oman. It must be their flagship!”

 

“An aircraft carrier?” Light said, alarm rising. “That changes everything.” Monk shook his head. “Definitely not the pirates.” “Then it’s serious,” Light said, dread creeping in. “If it reaches the Gulf…” He grabbed the radio. “Get me the air force. We need to intercept that carrier.”

 

Half an hour later, a squadron of torpedo bombers soared through the skies, bypassing the battleship near Karachi. Monk observed, “It looks like the capital is prioritizing that carrier over the destruction of Karachi.”

 

Light frowned. “I guess that makes sense. The carrier could carry the main force of a country. But it also means they’re leaving our city and its citizens to suffer. I really hope that carrier doesn’t make it to the Gulf intact.”

 

As night fell, reinforcements arrived. Monk reported, “Sir, the capital has sent 10,000 regulars to your command.”

 

“Ten thousand? That’s actually… pretty damn good,” Light said, a glimmer of hope sparking in his heart. “Finally, we have a real chance!”

 

Monk nodded, but his expression darkened. “The challenge is the path itself. The flood has slowed both armies down, and this will be a city battle.”

 

“Damn… it’s the worst situation for a counteroffensive, especially in a flooded city,” Light replied, steeling himself. “But we have to take back that city. If we fail, the civilians will suffer greatly under Wraith tyranny.”

 

“Agreed. We could attack tonight or wait until tomorrow morning,” Monk suggested.

 

“Tonight it is. This war must end soon, no matter what,” Light declared, determination hardening in his voice.

 

Light pressed the button for the radio signal, his expression serious. “Soldiers! This is it! This is your time! We must reclaim this city before the Wraith army arrives and takes it instead! This is the most important move for all of us…”

 

As he spoke, he could see the resolve in their eyes. They were ready to fight, despite the horrors that surrounded them.

 

Monk nodded in silent agreement, and on the monitor, the regulars began their march toward Karachi. The city lay in darkness, the electricity shut down to prevent enemy coordination. Flames flickered in the wreckage, throwing creepy shadows everywhere.

 

the wraith forces are still busy on their warcrime activities. monks Estimates suggest around 150,000 wraith forces were still around the dense city of karachi. while light force under its command its was around 15000, a straight-up 1:10 slugfest. Not ideal.

 

But Light had a trick up his sleeve. He’d ordered 7,000 of his guys to dress up as Red Army, complete with IR markers so they wouldn't get friendly-fired. These undercover soldiers were now hitting the Wraith’s distracted forces hard, right in the city’s guts.

Monk’s crew racked up a serious body count that night, really shaking things up for the Wraith. His soldiers started getting jumpy, paranoid, even suspicious of each other. In a desperate move, Wraith ordered everyone to fall back to the coastal mall for a regroup.

 

Light could see the soldiers advancing on the monitor, the flood aiding their movement as the Red Army remained preoccupied with the fortress. “We’re almost there,” he thought, pushing through the mire of destruction. “We can’t give up now!”

 

As they reached the mall complex, the scene was nightmarish—water mixed with debris and lifeless bodies. The soldiers pressed on, determined to face the Red Army’s defenses head-on.

 

“Monk,” Light said, his voice steady. “Let’s lead by example.”

 

Monk drew his machete with a fierce grin. “Let’s do this!”

 

Light accepted the pistol and machete, his resolve firm. “We will not back down! The time to break the Wraith defenses is now!”

 

The soldiers, emboldened by Light’s presence, surged forward, ready to reclaim their city from the clutches of chaos. The battle for Karachi was about to begin, and they would fight with everything they had.

Light surveyed the massive pile of treasures before him, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. This is not good... he thought. If even a single enemy soldier survived, they would have enough wealth to fund reinforcements and mount a comeback. He had to ensure that the enemy had no chance to recover.

 

With a firm nod, he signaled to his troops. “Soldiers! Don’t waste your time looting! Focus on your task—eliminate the enemy! The wealth here doesn’t matter as much as finishing this battle!”

 

The monk relayed the message over the radio, urging the soldiers to remember that the treasures belonged to the people of Karachi. Some soldiers heeded the call, pushing forward against the Red Army, section by section, through the mall area.

 

Light observed the soldiers who followed orders well, but he couldn’t ignore the ones who didn’t. It’s hard enough to break through the enemy lines without dealing with looters, he thought. We can’t afford to let our guard down.

 

Hours passed, and the mall complex shook as the Mumbai pirates resumed their bombardment, targeting both the Red Army and the Shangri-La forces.

 

“The pirates are back,” Light grimaced. “They must not have expected our counter-offensive to succeed, or they’re just here for profit. Either way, we’re caught in a crossfire between two enemy forces.”

 

“Sir! They’re dispatching small boats from their battleship toward us!” the monk shouted.

 

Light’s heart sank. “That’s bad news. They’re either trying to reinforce the coastal area or set us up for failure.” He glanced at the monitor, watching the boats approach from the sea.

 

“Red Army is cornered,” the monk reported. “We can push forward, but those pirates could hit our flanks.”

 

“Exactly,” Light replied, frustration mounting. “We can’t ignore them and push forward; that would be too risky.” He looked back at the monitor, weighing the threats. “Tell the soldiers to attack the pirate boats first while the main force keeps pushing forward.”

 

The troops quickly positioned their machine guns toward the incoming small boats, ready to fire. As the machine gunners opened fire, they shot and moved away just in time to avoid the battleship’s cannon fire. A few boats sank, but many managed to launch their amphibious assault on the southern part of the mall.

 

“Oh man, this is bad,” Light muttered. “They didn’t expect some of their boats to survive. It’s a minor loss, but it’s also a mistake on our part. We need to eliminate them before they bring in more troops. I really don’t want this attack to fail and let the enemy regain their strength.”

 

Minutes later, the Red Army began loading their treasures onto the small boats, and suddenly, the pirates and Red Army stopped firing at each other.

 

“It looks like the Wraith and the pirates have struck a deal,” the monk observed.

 

Light raised an eyebrow, disbelief washing over him. “They made a deal? The Red Army is trying to flee with their treasures, aided by the pirates?” He shook his head, trying to process the absurdity of it all.

 

“Let’s just keep killing them all,” the monk suggested, “but their naval bombardment is still our main problem.”

 

“Agreed,” Light replied, anxiety creeping in. “If they keep launching missiles, we might get crushed in the crossfire. This is a tough situation.” He glanced at the monitor again, noting the intensity of the fight. The Red Army was slowly retreating, but they were still holding firm, especially with the battleship firing missiles at the mall area.

 

“We must act before they flee,” the monk urged. “What can we do?”

 

“No matter what, that treasure can’t leave this land,” Light declared. “If it does, they’ll use that wealth to reinforce their military strength and possibly take back the city.” He sighed, realizing the gravity of the situation. “There’s no choice. I’m going to let our artillery fire at those small boats. It’s the only way to ensure the treasure doesn’t leave.”

 

“Yes,” the monk agreed. “Our artillery may be less accurate, but with the laser target marking device, we can enhance our precision.”

 

“Exactly,” Light nodded. “We can’t let them escape with those treasures. It’s the only way to break their momentum and ensure they can’t recover quickly.”

 

The soldiers scattered across rooftops and behind buildings, preparing to target the small boats for artillery strikes. After a salvo of shells, many boats sank, while only a few managed to escape back to the battleship, their gold, gems, and artifacts sinking into the sea.

 

“That’s more than I expected,” Light said, a flicker of hope igniting. “They didn’t see that coming. But we can’t celebrate yet. The battleship still poses a threat, and the Red Army is still holding strong. Our artillery must continue firing on that battleship. We can’t give the enemy a chance to escape.”

 

As the battleship became aware of the danger, it turned away, leaving some pirates stranded in small boats. They raised white flags in surrender.

 

“They surrender just like that?” Light asked, suspicion creeping in. “That seems... suspicious. I’m not sure I can trust them yet. They came here to help the Red Army, but now they don’t want to fight? What are they really after?”

 

“Kill them all, sir?” the monk suggested.

 

“Yes,” Light replied, his voice firm. “Kill them all. They are the enemy after all.” He sighed, raising an eyebrow at the monk. “No matter what, we can’t let anyone escape with the treasure. Let the artillery and regular soldiers finish the job.”

 

The soldiers resumed firing at the small boats, turning the sea south of the mall into a graveyard of wrecks and floating bodies.

 

The sea was now littered with the remnants of battle. The attack on the boats had succeeded; the artillery and soldiers had eliminated most of them. Only a few small boats managed to escape to the battleship. The Red Army couldn’t leave with their treasures, but Light was left wondering if they would truly surrender or if it was all a ruse. Can I trust them to come in peace? Are they really surrendering?

 

As the remnants of the Red Army scattered throughout the city, the monk remarked, “We didn’t find any sign of the Wraith. He probably managed to flee to the city or escape with those small boats.”

 

“So he escaped with his small boat,” Light mused. “What do we do now? Should we leave the remaining small boats and finish off the remaining Red Army positions, or should we pursue the smaller vessels first? Or should we just wait and see if he really fled?”

 

“We’ve won for now,” the monk replied, gazing out at the sea from the damaged mall windows. “Kinda.”

Light stood amidst the aftermath of battle, a mix of relief and concern washing over him. “We’ve won... for now,” he declared, surveying the remnants of the Red Army. Their main force lay defeated, with only a handful managing to escape. The battleship had retreated, but the specter of the Wraith loomed large. “This isn’t over yet. We can’t just abandon this city and return to Shangri-La. Our mission is to stop the Wraith from conquering this land.”

 

The monk nodded, determination etched on his face. “We will get them next time.”

 

Light sighed, a hint of frustration creeping in. “So be it. At least we’ve managed to weaken them a bit. That should count for something... unless we let those small boats slip away.” He paused, the weight of their victory settling in. “But we mustn’t let arrogance cloud our judgment.”

 

As they lined up the captured Red Army soldiers, Light’s heart sank. Among them were children, some as young as twelve, alongside mercenaries and seasoned fighters. “What are they doing on the front lines?” he wondered aloud. “How did they end up here? Are the Wraith truly forcing these kids and mercs to fight?”

The monk placed a hand on Light's shoulder. "War makes monsters of us all,." He gestured to a recovered data pad. "We found this on one of the officers. It details an agreement between Wraith and the pirate captains. Loot sharing in exchange for naval support."

Light took the data pad, his brow furrowed. This changed everything.

The monk replied, “They call themselves the Free World Revolutionary People’s Army. We also uncovered clues about the pirates’ motives. It seems the Wraith managed to contact the pirate captains, striking a deal to share the loot in exchange for their naval support.”

Light’s brow furrowed. “So the Wraith is asking for a cut of the wealth in return for backing the Red Army? That’s a small price to pay for them.” He began to pace, contemplating the implications. “I can see why they’d make that deal. It might not be too late for us to negotiate under the same terms, but we need to break the alliance between the Wraith and the pirates.”

 

“Money can melt pride,” the monk suggested.

 

Light grimaced. “I don’t like the idea of appearing as someone who only cares about money, but it might be our only option.” He glanced at his weary soldiers, some still catching their breath after the fight. “They need rest. I’ll try to use my diplomatic skills to negotiate with the pirates.” He sighed deeply. “If that doesn’t work, I may have to resort to more... unconventional methods to sever their alliance.”

 

The monk’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “A nice idea. Just offer the pirates more money to bring back the Wraith’s head.”

 

Light’s expression brightened at the thought. “If they bring back the Wraith’s head, that would certainly shatter their alliance.” He looked out toward the pirate boats anchored nearby, their presence a reminder of the precarious situation. “They’re not far away... actually, they’re quite close.”

 

With renewed determination, Light nodded. “Let me try that!”

In the makeshift command center on mall, Light squinted at the monitor, an impending sense of absurdity hanging in the air. After several attempts to make contact, a flamboyantly dressed pirate popped onto the screen, his yellow attire clashing violently with the grim seriousness of the situation. “What do you want, monks?” he slurred, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

 

“Hello,” Light replied, his voice steady despite the surreal encounter. “I’m here to negotiate. You’ve fought alongside the Red Army, but is wealth really your only interest? I can offer you something better.”

 

The pirate chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic flair. “We want all the gold, but our main objective? Just being a jozen good pet.”

 

Light scratched his head, perplexed. “So you’re just being used? Can I really offer you more than they do? I can pay you even more than the warlord.”

 

“Nah,” the pirate said with a wave of his hand. “We’re not loyal to the Red Army. The Nation of Sea—that's our true overlord. You call it the Blue Nation.”

 

“Oh, interesting,” Light said, a spark igniting in his mind. “So the rivalry runs deep. How’s your relationship with the Blue Nation? Can you defy the Red Army and still be on good terms with them? If you can, could you pass along my offer?”

 

“I’m not in the mood to discuss my bedwetting stories,” the pirate shot back. “So let me be clear: you want Wraith’s head, don’t you?”

 

Light’s eyebrows shot up. “Wraith’s head? You mean the Wraith himself? You could bring it here?”

 

The pirate grinned devilishly. “Sure. Just a moment.” A few seconds later, he held up a glass jar containing a head—Wraith’s head, to be precise. It bobbed grotesquely, its pale skin and empty eye sockets a disturbing sight.

 

Light’s heart raced. “One million credits for that head?” He paused, weighing the absurdity of the situation. “That’s a lot of money, but… it’s Wraith. I don’t mind paying, but this deal feels a bit too good to be true.”

 

“I took his treasure, and now he’s dead to hell,” the pirate proclaimed proudly. “He can’t do anything to me. So, you like it, right?”

 

“Tempting,” Light admitted, his mind swirling with doubts. “But I think I’ll pay for it. One million credits for that head.”

 

“Good! I’ll send my men to drop it in a remote area. Just make sure your men bring the cash. Don’t be clever about it.”

 

“I’ll send my men with the money,” Light agreed, his mind racing with the implications. “But make sure that head isn’t a fake, and that the money is real. I don’t want any complications.”

 

“Understood. I’ll send coordinates soon. Sumbhajee out.”

 

As the monitor flickered off, Light was left in silence, grappling with the gravity of his decision. Had he really just paid a ridiculous sum for a warlord’s head?

 

“Why did they kill Wraith, I wonder?” one of the monks mused. “I feel bad for him, even if he was the antagonist.”

 

“I don’t know,” Light replied, frowning. “But selling his head like a trophy? Is that really the right thing to do? Do they think death is the only answer for a warlord?”

 

The pirate chose a meeting spot on a small island off Oman—Masirah Island. After a tense exchange, Light found himself holding the jar. He stared at the head inside, a grotesque trophy now sealed in glass.

 

“Finally, the transaction is done,” he muttered, peering into the jar. The sight was disturbingly creepy, yet undeniably significant. “I must return to my soldiers and share this news.”

 

“What will you do with that head?” the monk asked, curiosity piqued.

 

“I’ll bring it to Shangri-La,” Light said, his mind racing ahead. “My soldiers have captured some Red Army troops; we can use this as leverage to negotiate and put an end to this war.” He glanced at the jar again, the head lying lifelessly within. “It’s just… too creepy.”

 

The monk nodded knowingly. “Ah, to show real evidence of your actions, right? To earn more medals.”

 

“Yes,” Light replied, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “For the media coverage too.” He tightened the lid on the jar, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling creeping over him.

 

“Material acquisition is all people want,” the monk observed, a wry smile forming.

 

“That’s the truth,” Light admitted, gripping the glass tightly. The head’s empty sockets seemed to bore into him, a ghostly reminder of the life it once held. “But it’s just so disturbing…”

 

“Here.” The monk offered Light a bag.

 

“What’s this for?” Light asked, taking the bag.

 

“To make it less creepy,” the monk replied,

 

Light placed the jar inside the bag, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. “It’s just… a head. A dead person’s head. Nothing to be afraid of, right?”

in distant shore. the pirate then escort wraith. Sumbhajee, the flamboyant pirate, clapped Wraith on the shoulder, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Pleasure doing business with you, Wraith old boy! Tell Zion I said 'hi'!" He then turned and swaggered back to his ship, leaving Wraith standing alone on the beach.

Wraith dusts off his coat. "Right. Well, that was… anticlimactic."

then streach his arms, he murmured, more to himself than anyone “well. i think ofensive warfare is not my skill. lets go back to monopoly and sim city games” With a casual air, he turned and walked towards the waiting transport pod, his Amazonian Praetorian guards falling into formation around him.

 

Chapter 100 To the sky

 

After the stalemate on the Emerald league front, and set back of zion force fail to invade shangri laa,

 

Nara, Tetsuya, and her band of mercenaries set their sights on the Hejaz Caliphate—her grandfather's nation—seeking help.

 

They passed through the Zagros Mountains in Persia and finally reached the Black Nation, the Caliphate. The landscape was a lush green, with steep hills covered in vibrant vegetation. Thanks to climate change and advanced soil techniques,

What was once a harsh desert had been transformed into a controlled ecosystem, the result of generations of dedicated research into xero-agriculture (farming with less water) and bio-engineered flora. Towering wind farms dotted the higher elevations, providing clean energy for the region.

 

He popped his head out of the cupola, the wind whipping at his goggles, and looked up at Nara, who was perched precariously on the tank's turret, her hair streaming out behind her like a dark banner.

“so.. you a noble ?, how heck a noble wandering around like a homeless then become gladiator?”

Nara, unfazed by the precarious perch, pushed her own goggles up onto her forehead, the wind catching strands of her hair and whipping them around her face. She leaned down slightly, her expression a mix of amusement and weariness.

 “its.. complicated” she then pause a bit, wry smile playing on her lips. “Let’s just say my family’s… portfolio has diversified. Consider this a… field trip.”

Tetsuya snorted. “A field trip that involves dodging assassins and potentially starting a civil war? he sigh “alright. but.. i hope its not turn into a dramatic family affairs. or i will leaving you”

As they traveled through the region, they noticed that most of the populace were farmers and herders living simple lives. In each village, there stood a golden statue of a past messiah, a figure who had brought about a golden age for humanity for 40 years before passing away. Shortly after his death, World War III broke out, and the golden statues served as reminders of their former greatness.

 

Finally, Nara arrived in the city of Medina, a place that was both holy and advanced, with strict clothing regulations enforced—violate them, and you risk deportation.

 

“Tsk. Why should I wear a veil?” Nara grumbled as she adjusted her new garb, eyeing herself in the mirror.

 

One of the moral guards, a woman in a black veil, chimed in, “Well, can you walk naked in the street?”

 

“Of course not!” Nara shot back, confused by the silly question. “But in private, I can do whatever I want!”

 

“Exactly. Here, you can do what you want in private, but we value modesty in public,” the guard explained.

 

Nara sighed. “Yeah, I know. Wearing bling-bling on the street feels kinda... greedy, I guess.” nara remember her time on world adventure when still work with kassandra and panji. she know well people can kill by just jealously

 

The moral guard nodded, her tone lightening slightly. “Good. But just in case, you might need a reminder of where you belong, princess. You’ll be going to a moral school for a refresher.”

 

“NOOOOOOOO!!!” Nara shouted, her exaggerated reply echoing through the room.

later Nara emerges from the clothing dispensary, now clad in a full-length robe that feels like wearing a sleeping bag. "Ugh, I feel like a walking tent," she grumbles.

A Moral Guard approaches, this one sporting a stylishly modified burqa with built-in air conditioning and a small drone that hovers above her head, scanning for fashion faux pas.

"Greetings, citizen. Routine attire inspection," the Guard says politely. The drone zooms in on Nara's robe. "Interesting… vintage pre-Collapse design. However," the Guard adds, tapping a small control panel on her wrist, "current Caliphate fashion dictates a minimum of three decorative tassels and reflective piping for nighttime visibility. Please proceed to the nearest modification station."

Nara spots a nearby stall with a sign that reads "Tassels 'n' Things: Your One-Stop Modesty Shop." A wizened old man with a pair of goggles perched on his forehead gestures her over. "Need some bling for your burqa, sweetie? Got just the thing – glow-in-the-dark tassels, self-adjusting hemlines, even a built-in beverage cooler!"

Nara sighs. This was going to be a long day.

"When Nara returned from “school”, her cousin Bima greeted her. He was an Asian man with a long ponytail and a wide grin.

'Long time no see, Nara,' Bima said. 'Finally ready to settle down? Get married, have kids, instead of wandering around?'

Nara pouted, remaining silent.

Bima chuckled. 'Never mind. You're lucky our grandfather isn't mad at you.'

Nara nodded in agreement.

She then underwent a medical check-up. A scanning device surrounded her as she drifted off to sleep. Meanwhile, in another room, the doctor, a man in a white lab coat, adjusted his glasses and examined the scan results.

'It appears Nara's body is augmented with bioengineering and mutations,' he observed. 'She's practically a supersoldier. Someone has implanted a data chip in her brain. She also has limb implants, enhancing her muscle strength for heavy labor. However, this isn't natural. Ideally, no more than twelve implants should be used, as excessive augmentation can have long-term effects on her emotions.'

Bima's eyes narrowed. 'Back-alley doctor work? I'll smash his head in.'

The doctor tapped his pen against his lips. 'Highly unlikely. Even the most amateur implant merchants know the risks of over-augmentation.'

Bima scowled, studying the X-ray image of the data chip in Nara's brain. 'Let's find out who did this.'

Later, Nara underwent brain surgery to remove the data chip while she remained unconscious.

Bima held the extracted chip in his hand, then inserted it into a VR helmet. 'Alright,' he muttered, 'let's see what happened to her past.'

And with that, Bima was transported into Nara's childhood."

Bartok officer of scarlet moon mercenary ground in eastern wasteland, attempted to explain coordinates to a young recruit. Beside him, his seven-year-old daughter, Nara, mimicked the swing of an imaginary weapon. "Papa, watch this!" she shouted, launching into a mock charge, her stick held like a spear. Bartok watched, a fond smile playing on his lips.

Later, looking at an old photo of her parents, Nara asked, "Papa, Mama... why are we always moving? Why can't we stay together?"

Bartok knelt beside her. "Because of my duty, my little warrior. But no matter where we are, you'll always be my brave Nara."

Nara pouted. "But Papa, I miss you. I miss being your little ammo carrier."

Bartok chuckled. "And I miss your tiny footsteps chasing after the shells. But remember, you're strong and smart, just like your Mama. Maybe one day you'll write stories about us, not fight them."

Uter, the man with the steel mask, surveyed the artillery training ground from a distance. Beside him, Oboro, the man with the anti-material rifle, remained silent.

"That man… that corpse…" Uter muttered, a grim look etched on his masked face. "I still can't forget his face. The officers… they always held those lavish banquets at the bar. And that's when we strike."

Oboro nodded behind his mask. "Understood."

"Finally," Uter breathed, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "The long-awaited moment is coming…"

The Rusty Flagon was buzzing. "Congrats, Bartok!" a dwarf boomed, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Heard you're getting shipped closer to the front. No more of my 'special' brews, eh?"

Bartok grinned, rubbing his shoulder. "Look on the bright side, Borin. At least I won't have to hear about how we're marching on Europe with the Khaganate to crush those neo-nazis every five minutes."

"Hey! It's a worthy cause!" Borin protested, but his grin betrayed him. "Though... it is gonna be a long march."

A few hours later, the place was winding down. A couple of drunk officers stumbled towards the bathroom, only to find the door locked. "Someone's been in there for ages," one grumbled, banging on the door. "Hey! You gonna live in there?" Receiving no answer, he shrugged. "Forget it. Let's just go outside."

As they stepped out into the night, two quick bursts of silenced gunfire ended their conversation. Inside, the bar suddenly went quiet. A figure in a dark cloak, Uter, emerged from the bathroom – finally. He moved with a predatory stillness, drawing a wickedly curved blade.

Outside, Oboro's voice crackled through Uter's earpiece. "Perimeter secure. Inside targets are yours."

Uter stepped into the bar, the remaining patrons – mostly off-duty officers – staring at him in stunned silence. One officer, his hand shaking, pointed a pistol. "Stay back!"

Uter didn't break stride. A swift, almost casual flick of his wrist, and the officer slumped to the floor. The bar erupted. Gunfire flashed, tables overturned. Bartok and Borin dove for cover behind a sturdy oak table.

"Secret passage," Borin hissed, already feeling around for the hidden release. "Come on!"

Uter, a whirlwind of deadly motion, continued his assault. Officers scrambled for cover, some attempting to flee through the windows, only to be met with Oboro's deadly aim.

The carnage subsided, leaving Uter standing alone in the blood-soaked bar.

"I didn't find him… I didn't find him…" Uter muttered, his voice a low growl. "AAAAAAAAAHHHH!" He slammed a fist on the bar, shattering a bottle.

"Impossible," Oboro's voice echoed through the earpiece. "He's still there."

"Wait… I know where he is…" Uter growled, his rage barely contained.

They scrambled through the narrow passage as more shots rang out. When they emerged into the back alley, Scarlet Moon soldiers were already converging on the bar. "Captain Bartok!" a lieutenant exclaimed. "You alright?"

Bartok dusted himself off. "Yeah, just a little… lively in there." He glanced back at the bar, a grim look on his face. "Looks like someone didn't appreciate the party."

Later, near the training ground, a group of mercenaries relaxed by a crackling fire.

"Hey, Cung," one of them said to a young girl playing nearby. "Time for bed, little one."

"Shut up," Nara grumbled, kicking him playfully. "I'm waiting for Papa."

"Oh, the princess needs a hug to sleep, huh?" the mercenary chuckled.

Nara, unimpressed, stomped towards her tent.

From the shadows, Uter and Oboro observed the scene.

"Kill them all," Uter commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "No exceptions."

Oboro lowered his binoculars, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Kill the children too? That wasn't part of the agreement."

Uter, his face obscured by the remaining half of his mask, turned to Oboro. He removed the mask, revealing a horrifying visage – half of his face was a grotesque mask of scarred flesh, and his right arm was replaced with a chillingly efficient blade.

"Not just the officers," Uter rasped. "He destroyed Reich last army group. He ruined my life. He has to pay."

Oboro stared at Uter, a chilling realization dawning on him. "So, you're doing this for personal revenge?"

"Not just revenge," Uter snarled. "He destroyed everything. He has to pay."

"I understand," Oboro said, his voice flat. "But killing children… that's not in my contract."

"Just the guards," Uter said, his voice deceptively calm. "Then you can collect your payment."

Oboro sighed. "Fine. Job's a job."

Inside the tent, Nara snuggled into her pillow, a faint whimper escaping her lips. "Papa… why is it taking so long?"

Then, the screams began.

Uter, a silent predator, moved towards the tent, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "Jackpot…"

 

The next morning, Bartok found his guard slumped outside his quarters, a dark stain spreading across his uniform. He burst into the tent, his heart pounding. A single note lay on Nara's cot: I have your little princess.

Two days later, on the steppe, two women rode a motorcycle across the open plains.

"Time for a break," Shasha said, glancing at her companion.

Nara's mother nodded, pulling over. They dismounted and started a small fire. "Need to check in," she said, pulling out her comm device.

Shasha leaned against the bike. "Hurry it up."

Nara's mother climbed onto Shasha's shoulders, trying to get a better signal. The comm crackled to life, then immediately started ringing insistently. "Whoa!" she exclaimed, nearly losing her balance. "Sixty-nine missed calls?"

Meanwhile, in the desert, Hejaz sat beside his elaborately customized motorcycle, a figure resembling a secretary standing nearby.

"Sir, we have news," the secretary said. "Your granddaughter, Nara, has been taken."

Hejaz removed his goggles, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

Later that day, in a command tent, Hejaz's voice boomed. "Bartok is a fool. This is my operation now. I want commandos deployed. Find my granddaughter. Now."

Back at Bartok's temporary house, a group of men and women in black cloaks met with him.

"My name is Laila Amara," a woman in black said, her voice cool. "I lead Hornet, the special commandos. Your father-in-law, Mr. Hejaz, ordered me here. Show me Nara's last location."

Bartok, speechless, could only nod and lead them to the tent.

Laila removed her black glasses, revealing eyes that glowed red. "This is an infrared implant," she explained. "With this, I can see traces of her kidnapper." She stepped outside the tent, gazing intently at the distant valley. "Any signs? When was she kidnapped?"

"Two days ago," Bartok replied, his voice trembling. "At night."

Laila glared at him. "Why did you just say this morning?"

"It's my wife's fault," Bartok mumbled. "She just checked her phone this morning."

Laila sighed. "This will be difficult. The footprints are probably gone. Give me a map of this place, and don't interfere."

In a hidden cave near the valley, Uter laid the unconscious Nara on a table. "Okay, Bartok," he muttered. "If I can't get your head, I'll destroy your child." He pulled a small box of implant chips from his pocket, a chilling grin spreading across his face. He selected a chip at random.

Midday found the Hornet team approaching the cave.

"Ma'am, the cave is secure, and there are signs of movement inside," reported Hornet1.

Laila nodded. "Hafsa, Rustam, guard the entrance. The rest of you, go in."

The commandos moved cautiously into the cave, weapons raised. Finally, they reached Nara's room.

"We found the VIP," Hornet1 reported.

Laila scanned the room. "No traps. Good." She noticed Nara lying on the table, an infusion attached to her arm. "Look at this," she said, picking up an implant chip near the table. "This poor girl..." She examined a small scar on the back of Nara's head.

"Should we do something?" Hornet2 asked.

"Our mission is to bring the VIP to Mr. Hejaz, dead or alive," Laila said. "Nothing else."

The Hornet team began their return journey, carrying Nara carefully.

"Captain! They're back with Nara!" a mercenary shouted.

"What!" Bartok exclaimed, his heart pounding. "Where are they now?"

"They're already at the airport, Captain!"

"Bartok slammed on the jeep's gas pedal, racing towards the military airport. The gate guard, oblivious to the urgency, slowly opened the barrier. But Bartok didn't wait. He plowed through the gate, roaring, "Hey! Where are you going? Give me back my daughter! You won't take her from me!"

Inside, Laila spotted him through the plane window. "Hurry!" she cried, her eyes wide.

The plane began its takeoff roll. Bartok, in a desperate pursuit, sped alongside, yelling, "Hey! Stop it… Nara!"

Laila laughed uncontrollably, a mixture of fear and exhilaration. The plane lifted off, leaving Bartok in its dust.

Suddenly, a motorcycle roared onto the scene. "Awesom," the rider, Panji, grinned, his face obscured by a red shade. He braked sharply, leveling his rocket launcher at the plane. With a deafening boom, the rocket struck the aircraft, sending it careening off the runway.

Bartok skidded to a stop near Panji. "You idiot fool! You killed my daughter!"

Panji simply lowered his shades and grinned. "You're welcome."

Laila, clutching her injured head. while holding nara,she stumbled out of the wreckage.with some hornet survive. Panji and Bartok exchanged a grim look. "Mount up!" Bartok barked.

Panji hopped onto the jeep, his machine gun chattering. "Lighten up!" he yelled as a swarm of hornets descended. Bartok, riddled with bullets, continued to drive, crashing into a disabled aircraft.

"You okay, man?" Panji asked.

Bartok coughed up blood. "Do you think I'm fine?" he rasped, a grim smile playing on his lips. He stumbled out of the jeep and grabbed Panji's shirt. "Listen, give me that," he demanded.

Panji shook his head. "No… you'll die. You need a doctor."

"Just give it to me, damn it! They'll take my only love in this world!" Bartok roared.

Panji sighed and pulled a syringe of adrenaline from his bag. "Just… promise me you won't do anything crazy."

Bartok injected himself, the adrenaline surging through his veins. He could stand again.

Meanwhile, Laila, carrying the unconscious Nara, stumbled across the desert, while  by two hornets cover her back. Bartok, emerging from behind a boulder, opened fire. The hornets retaliated, but Panji flanked them, neutralizing the threat with a flurry of bullets.

Panji approached Laila, raising his gun to finish her. But then he saw Nara looking at him, her eyes is half lidded. aceppting her fate. panji looked at Laila, her veil slipping, revealing a face etched with terror. A pang of sympathy struck him. He knew they were just following orders. With a heavy sigh, he threw guns away from her, turning to leave.

As he walked toward the boulder where Bartok had taken cover, he saw him slumped against it, bleeding out. Bartok mumbled something Panji couldn't quite make out, his voice weak and fading. Nara, half-conscious, witnessed the scene, her unfocused gaze fixed on her dying father. In his final moments, Bartok’s eyes closed, his breathing ceasing.

Back in Medina, Bima removed the VR helmet, a heavy sigh escaping him. He glanced at Nara, still sleeping peacefully. He didn't know if she'd experienced the fragmented horrors he’d just witnessed, and he decided to keep it that way. He’d simply tell her the doctors had removed a dangerous implant, but that the beneficial ones were still in place. No need to burden her with the ghosts of her past.

That night, Bima relayed the bare facts to Hejaz, omitting the more gruesome details. He spoke of the implants, the kidnapping, the desperate fight. Hejaz listened in grim silence, his face etched with a mixture of grief and fury. When Bima finished, the old man sat in contemplative silence for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm. "She is my granddaughter. A princess of the Hejaz. She will be welcomed as such."

months later, November 2405. The Hejaz Caliphate was embroiled in a massive rebellion in Mesopotamia, led by Rashid, the Caliph's own nephew.

Rashid had transformed Baghdad into a floating city, a marvel of defiance bobbing atop the flooded plains, with a port connecting to the Persian Gulf. 80 years ago after the sea rising. they make this structure. The Hejaz army had to tread carefully, aiming to capture the city without turning it into a war-torn wreck.

 

Nara, upon hearing the news, felt a surge of fury. “Tsk... these rebels share the same ideology as my grandfather’s caliphate. I must help them!”

 

Hejaz, on the other hand, was having none of it. “The rebels must be eliminated immediately! How dare they attack our Caliphate? They’re not loyal to God, only to their own interests We must crush the!”

 

“But they’re rebelling against tyranny!” Nara shot back, gripping her bat tightly. “They want a better world, just like I do!”

 

Hejaz scoffed. “Their way leads to chaos! What will they achieve by overthrowing us? Only bloodshed! We are true believers, and I believe in hope and redemption—if we unite under one goal”

 

Nara’s rage boiled over. “You just want to control them! You’re using religion to enslave your subjects! You’re the tyrant here!”

 

Hejaz retorted, “Is that how you see my rule? My authority is divinely ordained! If they resist, they’re rebelling against God’s will! I will show no mercy”

 

Nara felt torn. Should she support the rebels, who might just be puppets of the Red Nation, or back her grandfather to help the Emerald League against the impending invasion? she then just mubbling a word“tyrant”

 

Hejaz, sensing the shift, lamented, “So you all think I’m a tyrant? I want to guide you to righteousness! If you resist, you’ll face God’s wrath”

 

Nara’s nephew, Bima, stepped in. “Enough, Nara! We don’t need your criticism right now. We’re at war; there’s no perfect nation!”

 

“You’re right,” Nara conceded, her focus shifting. “It’s war. My criticism isn’t necessary, and for now, I’m on your side, Bima!”

 

Nara was in a whirlwind of confusion. The rebel cause seemed noble, and she desperately wanted to help. But doubts crept in—was Rashid really any different from the Red Nation, merely a puppet in a different play? Her mind was a battlefield, and it was hard to focus on the war at hand.

 

Meanwhile, Laila lurked in the shadows, her black veil hiding everything but her piercing red eyes. A glowing implant adorned her forehead, and a robotic arm jutted from her back, giving her an air of both menace and intrigue. “Sorry to make you see me, but here I am,” she said, lowering her head.

 

later in operation room, One of the leaders of the Hornet group laila,

briefed the team. “The Elite Hornet of the Black Nation has landed on the border with the new Caliphate. Our mission? Take out Rashid and watch the rebellion crumble like a house of cards.”

 

Nara’s heart raced at the news. She approached the Hornet leader, her mind racing. “What if we eliminate Rashid? Can we negotiate with the rebels? They don’t seem like Red Nation puppets; they seem genuine.”

 

The Hornet leader raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s the plan. First, we take out Rashid, then we negotiate with the rebels who have pure intentions. We’ll unite against the Red Nation.”

 

Nara’s anger shifted to relief. “So we’re on the same page. But what if the rebels refuse to be our puppets? What if they want independence?”

 

The Hornet leader’s expression turned serious. “We must respect their independence, but as long as they’re safe and stable, it’s manageable. We can make it work.”

 

Nara pondered this. “But what if they rebel again after we get rid of Rashid? How do we stop them?”

 

“It depends on public support,” the Hornet leader replied. “If the people back us, the rebels can’t rise. If they do, we can use propaganda—paint the rebels as Red Nation puppets or stage a false flag attack. With public opinion on our side, we can handle the rebel leader.”

 

Nara was taken aback by the Hornet leader’s cold efficiency. “That’s... surprisingly effective,” she admitted, her heart racing. “But why do you fight against the Red Nation?”

 

Laila’s gaze softened. “I fight for justice for those oppressed by the Red Nation.”

 

Nara felt a connection. “Justice for the oppressed... I see. You and I aren’t so different after all.”

 

Laila nodded, understanding the shared purpose. “We both want peace and happiness for those who suffer. The Red Nation is the root of our problems.”

 

In that moment, Nara felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, together, they could forge a path toward a better future.

In the twilight of a war-torn city, the air crackled with tension as skirmishes erupted across the labyrinthine flyover highways. Hejaz shock troops clashed with Rashid's agile rebels in a deadly game of cat and mouse, the intricate network of elevated roads transforming into a chaotic battleground. Laser fire painted streaks across the sky, illuminating the chaos below.

The Hornet elite squad, a formidable force, was split into seven platoons, each launching a coordinated assault on Rashid's strongholds. The sudden attacks from multiple fronts overwhelmed Rashid's forces, plunging them into disarray. In a matter of moments, the Hornet elite squad secured Rashid's stronghold in the city center, their mission clear: capture the elusive leader.

 

As Nara and the Hornet leader approached Rashid's office, they could feel the weight of the moment. Inside, Rashid was hiding, his nerves fraying as he realized the elite squad was closing in. Grabbing his gun, he pointed it at the intruders, his hands trembling.

 

“Please put down your gun, Rashid! We’re here to talk, not to fight,” Nara urged, her voice soft yet firm, echoing the Hornet leader's calm demeanor.

 

But the Hornet elite squad advanced, weapons drawn, leaving no room for kindness toward a tyrant like him. The Hornet leader stepped forward, her gaze piercing. “You must surrender! You are the main cause of the chaos in this region. If you surrender, no harm will come to you. Resist, and you will die here.”

 

Rashid, desperate and cornered, quick-drew his pistol from the desk. The Hornet elite squad prepared to fire, but the Hornet leader raised her hand, commanding, “Don’t shoot! Let me handle this.” She approached Rashid, her voice steady. “Rashid, I need to know one thing.”

 

“What?” he spat, leaning against the glass window, his bravado faltering.

 

“Why do you want to rebel against Hejaz? Is there a real reason?” she pressed, her tone serious.

 

“I believe the world should unite under one banner,” Rashid declared, his eyes wild. “Look at the sky, Laila. How long will we remain stuck on this dirt sphere, fighting each other instead of exploring space? Zion promised me a spaceship, and yet humanity continues to strife.”

 

The Hornet leader regarded him with a sharp glance. “Your reason is admirable, but naive. How can you unite people with their own cultures, ideas, and religions? You can’t even solve the war in your own backyard. If you want to explore space, try establishing a peaceful world first. And why would you trust the Red Nation for a spaceship?”

 

“Because they are the only nation with the technology to do it! Our nation is still stuck in the Stone Age!” Rashid shot back, frustration evident in his voice.

 

Laila smirked, her expression laced with sarcasm. “And you trust the Red Nation because of their technology? Do you think their promises are genuine? They won’t help anyone without getting something in return—power. You’re just a pawn for them.”

 

“We’re all pawns for someone,” Rashid retorted defiantly.

 

“True,” Laila replied, a cruel smile forming. “But there’s a difference. They use pawns to gain power and discard them without remorse. I use pawns to overthrow the powerful. That difference will lead us to victory. Don’t be a useless pawn; become the king piece we need. Join us.”

 

“Do you think they will forgive me?” Rashid asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

 

“We don’t ask for forgiveness,” Laila said, her eyes cold. “We ask for your surrender. We won’t kill you; we just want to arrest you for justice. But if you choose to fight until the end, you will die. Choose wisely.”

 

“I’m a man,” Rashid declared, raising his gun once more.

 

In a flash, Laila stepped aside, evading the bullet. “Then you will die like a man,” she shot back, her gun trained on him, the Hornet elite squad following suit.

Rashid fired multiple rounds, the bullets piercing his own body, cracking the glass behind him. Yet, against all odds, he stood firm. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, continuing to shoot.

Rashid, bleeding but defiant, aimed his pistol again. "At least I'm trying!"

Laila chuckled. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. Almost makes me feel bad." She fired a quick series of shots, carefully avoiding vital organs. Rashid dropped to his knees. "Almost."

She approached him, kicking his discarded pistol away. "Med pod, now," she instructed the Hornets as they moved in. "And tell the doc to work his magic. I need this guy in talking shape. Preferably before he tries to shoot me again."

Chapter 101 The Shifting Stars

 

A week after the fighting, Rashid lay in a private room, the silence broken only by the low hum of a bio-regeneration. The walls were a soothing shade of pale green, and filtered sunlight streamed through a reinforced window, overlooking a meticulously maintained hydroponic garden of herb plants.

Laila entered, her presence a study in controlled calm. The contrast with the recent chaos was stark. "How are you feeling, Rashid?" she asked, her voice soft.

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The weight of failure pressed on him, a physical ache.

Laila sat beside the bed. The shift in her posture, a slight tilt of her head, suggested a change in the conversation's direction. "A question, if you're up to it."

Rashid’s eyes flickered to her, a flicker of curiosity battling with exhaustion. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Why the gun, Rashid?" Laila's voice remained steady, but a subtle edge crept in. "Against me? Did you truly think you stood a chance?"

"We had to try," Rashid whispered, his voice hoarse. His eyes didn't meet hers, a hint of shame in his averted gaze.

A faint smile touched Laila's lips. It wasn't a smile of amusement. "Courage. Or perhaps… desperation." She paused, letting the silence hang in the air. "There's one more thing I need to understand."

Rashid closed his eyes briefly, a subtle tightening of his jaw betraying his inner tension.

"You fought a losing battle against the Hejaz army. You knew the odds. You knew Zion's promises were… hollow." Laila's gaze held his, unwavering. "So why?"

"Zion said… a month," Rashid murmured, a faint tremor in his voice. He looked at her then, a desperate plea in his eyes, as if searching for confirmation, for a lifeline. "If we held for a month, his forces would come from the east."

Laila's smile this time was tinged with pity. "A month. Or perhaps… another week? It’s easy to believe what you want to believe, isn't it? Especially when someone offers you a way out. A chance at glory. But some promises… are designed to be broken." Her eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of steel entering her voice. The unspoken implication was clear: Zion had used him.

Rashid sighed heavily, the weight of her words sinking in. “War is an ugly gambit.”

 

“Indeed,” Laila continued, her voice firm. “This world is ugly, and war is merely a game of sacrifice for those who crave power. A brave soul like you is used as a pawn to further their ambitions. It’s like a really bad board game, except instead of losing plastic soldiers, you lose actual people. So I wonder, if you know this, why not stop playing before someone yells 'checkmate' and it’s not you?”

 

After a long pause, Rashid finally spoke, “Yes…”

 

A smile broke across Laila’s face, her eyes shining with determination. “So, will you quit and join us or not? I assure you, there is no trap in my words. I genuinely want you to join the Black Nation.”

 

“Reconciliation?” Rashid’s voice trembled. “There is so much blood that has been spilled already. How can I face the parents of those whose sons have died for me? How can I return to the Caliphate?”

 

“May I speak honestly with you?” Laila asked gently.

 

“Yes,” Rashid replied, his curiosity piqued.

 

“Can I tell you a secret?” she leaned closer, her voice softening.

 

He nodded, intrigued.

 

“You might think it’s hard to face the parents of your fallen comrades, that they will hate you for betraying the people they care for. But in reality, they will forgive you. They love you and will understand that you have a great vision. You fight for justice and peace,” Laila explained, her tone soothing.

 

Rashid closed his eyes, contemplating her words.

 

“Please, don’t make any more sacrifices. If you join us, there will be peace, and no more senseless war. We fight to save humanity. We both want the same thing: justice for this world, freedom, and equality for every race and gender. So, please join us for a better world, for the peace of the future,” Laila urged.

 

“Only for one request,” Rashid said, his voice steady. “Grant us autonomy and let me pursue my own space exploration projects.”

 

Laila considered his request, searching for a compromise. “We will allow you autonomy, and you can follow your space exploration projects as long as they benefit the Black Nation. But before we conclude our discussion, do you have any questions?”

 

Rashid shook his head. “No.”

 

“Then consider yourself a part of the Black Nation from this moment on. I welcome you to our team,” Laila declared, her voice filled with conviction. “We have much waiting for you, so get some rest and prepare for work. Remember, you are no longer a pawn but a knight fighting for justice.”

 

With that, a new chapter began for Rashid, one filled with hope and the promise of a better future.

In the dimly lit war room, Laila met with Nara, the tension palpable in the air. Nara's brow furrowed as she confronted Laila, her voice laced with frustration. “Why did you speak to Rashid that way? If we win the battle, why do you need to treat him with such care?”

 

Laila, maintaining a calm demeanor, replied softly, her eyes reflecting a hint of innocence. “He’s just a pawn, but a very brave one. He almost killed me, you know. I think we should spare him. However, we can’t let him join the Caliphate again. I made a deal with him—he can continue his space exploration as long as he joins us. If we win, we can use his expertise to build a spaceship.

 

laila eyes turn to distant “After all, space is the battlefield of the future. Besides, have you seen the parking situation down here? It’s a nightmare.”

 

Later, in the Hejaz office, the atmosphere shifted as news broke that Rashid had been captured. He demanded an autonomous government while still remaining a vassal of the Caliphate. Hejaz leaned back in his chair, contemplating the implications. “So, this is your offer? You want to live in peace, but still under my command? Hmm. Very well, I will agree to your autonomous government, but know this: you are still under my rule, only observed.”

 

Wazir placed a report on Hejaz's desk. "Your Excellency."

Hejaz scanned it, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Red Nation. Emerald League first, then us. Predictable." He tossed the report back onto the desk. "So, the True Horde has extended an invitation."

Wazir nodded. "Crescent Alliance. Golden Caravan mediating, as you requested."

Hejaz raised an eyebrow. "Alam, is it? Interesting. And who else has signed on for this little party?"

Wazir listed the factions, ending with, "...and a few mercenary companies. The usual rabble."

Hejaz leaned back, steepling his fingers. "So, everyone's eager to carve up the Red Nation. If we sit this one out, we'll be next on the menu." He paused, a glint in his eye. "An opportunity, indeed."

Nara, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "This Alam… is he up to the task?"

Hejaz shrugged. "The Golden Caravan seems to think so. And that's good enough for now."

Nara’s mind raced with questions. “Can we really trust Alam and the True Horde? What if they’re just puppets of the Red Nation, or if Alam has his own agenda?”

 

Hejaz sighed, “There are indeed many secrets surrounding Alam and the True Horde. His true intentions are still unknown, but there must be a reason why the Golden Caravan trusts him so much. Perhaps he is a puppet, a Trojan horse for the Red Nation—who knows?”

 

Nara turned to Hejaz, determination in her eyes. “I want to find out more about Alam and the True Horde. We must be careful with them.”

 

Hejaz nodded in agreement. “Yes, we must tread carefully. We don’t want to fall into their trap if they are indeed puppets of the Red Nation. Gathering information about Alam and the True Horde is crucial.”

 

Later, as Nara and Wazir walked down the hall from the throne room, Nara's time with Zion came back to her. An idea sparked.

"What if we dug up some dirt on Alam?" she suggested, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, just in case things go south."

Wazir stopped, turning to her. "What good would that do?"

Nara grinned. "Blackmail, Wazir. A little insurance policy."

Wazir closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head. "No, Nara. My grandfather built this nation on honesty. He started as a blacksmith, earned his reputation through hard work. We don't operate like that."

"But this is different," Nara protested. "It's geopolitics—"

"It's still tajjasus," Wazir interrupted gently.

Nara frowned. "Tajjasus?"

"Searching for someone's past misdeeds for selfish gain," Wazir explained. "It's…dishonorable. Our ancestors were trapped in a cycle of it before the Messiah came. Endless wars, the truth buried in the sand." He paused, a weary look in his eyes. "We fight with faith, Nara. We meet our enemies on the battlefield, not in the shadows."

Nara stifled a yawn. "Okay, okay, I get it. We're the good guys. We don't stoop to their level."

Wazir nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Exactly."

They continued down the hall, the weight of their decisions settling upon them. The game of alliances was a dangerous one, but they would play it their way.

As late November 2405 approached, Alam stood at the edge of the battlefield, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Red Nation was mobilizing its forces toward the Emerald League and the Shangri-La Confederacy. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of impending conflict hanging over the land. The True Horde, currently in a fragile truce with the Red Nation, was acutely aware of the signs indicating that an all-out war was on the horizon.

 

“Hohooh... my hand feels both cold and hot,” Alam mused,

 

“Sir, it’s understandable to feel conflicted,” Fang interjected, her voice steady. “The prospect of full-scale war is unsettling. We must remain clear-headed and prepared for any eventuality, while also striving to prevent the escalation of tensions.”

 

Alam nodded, his mind racing with strategies. “Yes, we will attack their Siberian base. It’s their own fault for overstretching their borders.”

 

Fang considered this, her brow furrowing slightly. “Attacking the Red Nation's Siberian base could be risky, but it might also be effective. They’ve left their flanks vulnerable. A coordinated assault could force them to split their forces, stretching their resources thin. It’s bold, but it could be dangerous.”

 

Alam closed his eyes, envisioning the battlefield. “I’m in the mood for Winter War 2.0... this one will be the last.”

 

“Indeed, sir,” Fang replied, her tone serious. “The situation mirrors the Winter War. The Red Nation is vulnerable, and now is the time to strike hard and fast. The outcome of our next operation will determine the balance of power in the region.”

 

As they walked, Alam approached a new monument honoring the unnamed soldiers who had fallen in the previous year’s battles. The statue, a fist raised to the sky, bore scars and bandages, a testament to the sacrifices made.

 

“This monument is powerful,” Fang remarked, following closely behind. “It honors the contributions of those who fought bravely for the True Horde. It serves as a reminder of the sacrifices necessary for the greater good of our empire.”

 

“Mhm... I wonder if my soldiers believe in an afterlife,” Alam pondered aloud.

 

Fang paused, reflecting on his words. “That’s a profound question, sir. Some may believe in an afterlife, while others may not. Regardless, the legacy of our fallen comrades will live on in the memories of their loved ones and in the accomplishments of the True Horde. Their bravery and dedication have paved the way for our empire.”

 

“Indeed. Go pray for them in your own way, even if you’re an atheist. We can all appreciate our current lives because of their sacrifices,” Alam encouraged.

 

Fang knelt before the statue, closing her eyes in contemplation. After several moments of silence, she rose, a serene expression on her face. “I feel a sense of peace, sir. It’s as if the fallen soldiers are watching over us, guiding and protecting us. I felt a connection with them, and I believe they appreciate our efforts to honor their sacrifice.”

 

“Good. In my belief, souls never vanish; energy is never gone. They simply transition to a different dimension,” Alam stated, his voice firm.

 

“I share that belief, sir. The soul is energy, and energy is transformed rather than destroyed. The fallen soldiers are with us in spirit, guiding us with their wisdom and strength,” Fang affirmed.

 

“Excellent. Now, I want dinner. I’m in the mood for noodles,” Alam declared, shifting the conversation.

 

Fang blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Yes, sir. I will arrange for some noodles to be prepared promptly.”

 

Alam chuckled, “Ah, it’s just hard to make you chuckle. But never mind; I appreciate you for who you are.”

Fang blushed slightly, her loyalty evident. “I am glad you appreciate me, sir. It is my duty and privilege to serve you and the True Horde. My loyalty is unbreakable, and I will not let you down, no matter what may come.”

“thanks” alam pat her shoulder. and squish it a bit. He turned to the north, his gaze sweeping across the dark horizon. that land… everyone wants a piece.. he think for himself. even if he able to recapture it. how long he  can hold it? A week? A month? Until the next hungry warlord comes knocking?. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Noodles first.

Chapter 102 Dragon Slayer

 

Zion returned to Central Asia, only to be greeted by a plague outbreak among his soldiers. They were riddled with PTSD and mental disorders, and he couldn't believe his eyes. “What is this? This can’t be happening! All men should be gearing up for the big push next spring!” he bellowed, frustration boiling over.

 

Meanwhile, one of Zion's loyalists, Keith, decided to take matters into his own hands. He formed a new department called the “New Vision Movement” and set out to every city in the newly conquered territories, including the old ones in North America. His mission? To burn any books related to mental health and sex. “These topics are bad for soldier morale!” he declared, convinced that soldiers were just making excuses.

 

“This is a free nation! A free country!” Keith shouted, rallying the townsfolk. “But you can’t talk about religion, study, politics, race, or sexuality! Anything else is freedom of speech! You’re free to discuss the optimal angle for stacking ration packs, or the proper way to polish your boots. That’s the kind of intellectual discourse we encourage!”

 

With that, he ordered a massive book burning in the town square, flames licking the sky as the old texts turned to ash. “Out with the old, in with the new!” he proclaimed, as the new ideology of the Red Nation spread like wildfire, demanding everyone prepare for total war.

Keith voice ringing out across the crowd. "These books preach weakness! They speak of self-doubt, of introspection! Such things have no place in a nation forged in the fires of war!" He gestured to a statue of Caesar. "Caesar demands strength! Caesar demands obedience! And Caesar demands victory!"

The crowd, mostly silent, watched the flames rise. Some wore expressions of genuine belief, others of fear. The burnings served a dual purpose: eliminating "undesirable" ideas and reminding the population of the consequences of nonconformity. Any soldier caught showing signs of "weakness" – anxiety, nightmares, even grief – faced not sympathy, but re-education, or worse.

At the Crescent Alliance base in Xian, Alam and Nkosi stood before a large monitor, strategizing for their upcoming offensive.

 

“I plan to attack Novosibirsk in early December. Are you with me?” Alam announced, determination etched across his face.

 

“Absolutely,” Nkosi replied, his eyes glinting with enthusiasm. “Striking at the onset of winter gives us an edge. The cold will hinder the Red Nation's response, and we can catch them off guard.”

 

“True, but they’re well-fortified,” Alam cautioned, his brow furrowed. “A tough battle awaits. If we succeed, we can isolate Zion’s forces in Persia and Central Asia.”

 

“Exactly. Cutting off their forces would be a major victory. We need a solid plan to execute this effectively,” Nkosi agreed, nodding vigorously.

 

As they reviewed the fortress layout on the monitor, Alam marveled at its unconventional hexagonal design, which allowed for mutual support among bases. “Impressive work ethic on their part. They built this quickly,” he noted.

 

“Indeed. But we can exploit their defenses. I like your idea of redirecting our attacks to keep them guessing,” Nkosi replied, a grin spreading across his face.

 

“Right. The best defense is a good offense. We’ll keep the pressure on them,” Alam said, his voice steady.

 

“How many troops and resources can we commit to this offensive?” Nkosi asked, his tone serious.

 

“We need to go all in. If we fail, we might not recover after winter,” Alam warned, the weight of the situation settling in.

 

“I understand the stakes. We’ll mobilize everything we have to ensure victory,” Nkosi assured him.

 

“Good. I’ll use every trick in the book. They’ll regret stepping into our territory,” Alam said, fire igniting in his eyes.

 

 

Later, at the training ground, Alam summoned his new generals. What started as a small group of seven had swelled to thirty-five, a testament to his growing command. He paced in front of them, observing their postures and expressions.

 

“Alright! One mind! One objective! One target! One soul! Repeat after me!” Alam commanded, his enthusiasm infectious.

 

The generals echoed in unison, their voices booming. “ONE MIND! ONE OBJECTIVE! ONE TARGET! ONE SOUL!”

 

“Good!” Alam declared, grabbing a machine gun. “I know all of you have basic military knowledge, but we need a unified military doctrine. Since you come from different backgrounds, let’s tailor our strategies. For example…” He pointed at a general sporting a furry hat. “You must order your men to fight hit-and-run.”

 

Then he turned to another, a stout general in a coat. “You should prefer a Fabian strategy. We have different approaches in battle, but cohesion is key. Initiative is important, but in this war, cohesion is priority.”

 

The generals nodded, absorbing his words. Alam was confident that they could achieve a unified doctrine, blending their unique skills into a formidable force.

 

“Now let’s sit in a circle,” Alam instructed, positioning himself at the center with the machine gun raised. “I ask you, besides killing the enemy, what else can this gun do?”

 

The generals pondered for a moment before one spoke up. “It can be used as a psychological weapon, striking fear into the enemy’s heart. The sound of gunfire can demoralize them, creating chaos and increasing our chances of victory. It can also serve as a communication device, with different firing patterns signaling our units.”

 

“Very good!” Alam exclaimed, excitement bubbling in his voice. “It keeps their heads down and discourages them from peeking out—unless they're stupid or brazenly brave! In this war, we’re going offensive. Training sharpshooters takes time, and pouring them into battle is costly. We’ll mix our tactical approach with detailed troop management because we might be in this for another year. We’ll assign conscripts with light machine guns to provide suppressive fire while our trained sharpshooters take out their firing positions. Our military doctrine will utilize machine guns not just to kill, but to flush out enemy positions and suppress fire. I’ve even designed a less powerful but cost-effective ammo for machine guns that will benefit us in the long run.”

 

The generals nodded, impressed by Alam's innovative thinking. “I’m not cruel enough to use young conscripts as mere bait—most of us are conscripts too,” he added with a chuckle. “With balanced distribution of better armor for machine gunners and overhauling our machine gun teams, our approach will be solid. Flash out and fire—FFF!”

 

Fang spoke up, “It’s commendable that you’re considering the safety of our young conscripts. Your doctrine ensures we minimize losses while maximizing the effectiveness of our machine gun teams.”

 

“Exactly! Now, classic debate—how do we take down enemy strong positions? Our artillery lacks the punch against their armor and sentries. We’ve learned this the hard way. We need new solutions,” Alam said, his tone serious.

 

Fang nodded. “Sir, may I make a suggestion?”

 

“Speak,” Alam replied.

 

“Instead of relying solely on artillery, what if we used unconventional methods? Infiltrators, sabotage, and psychological warfare could create disorder among their ranks, opening opportunities for us to attack. These methods require fewer resources and could be more effective.”

 

“Good opening, Fang,” Alam said, a spark of interest in his eyes. “I propose a new tech that could change the battlefield forever. I call it the Dirty Launcher. It’s similar to the mud launcher but contains bioluminescent material that generates intense heat without fire. It would make their positions uncomfortably hot, potentially overheating their weapons. Gunpowder could explode on contact with this... dirty substance.”

 

Fang’s eyes widened. “Whoa! That’s revolutionary! Not only destructive but also unconventional. The heat could render their sentries and pillboxes useless. Plus, it’s a cost-effective resource investment. I’m in awe of your creativity, sir.”

 

“Watch this,” Alam said, placing a machine gun in an open field and leading the generals to a safe distance, all wearing safety goggles. He opened a crate containing a weapon resembling a Panzerfaust from WWII.

 

The generals watched in awe as Alam aimed and fired. A bright green blast shot out, hitting the machine gun and disintegrating it in seconds. The generals stood speechless, their minds racing at the weapon’s power.

 

“This is our military secret. Don’t let even our allies know,” Alam instructed, his tone serious.

 

Fang nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. I assure you, the secret of the Dirty Launcher will remain with us. We will use it to ensure our victory over the Red Nation.”

 

 

 

 

Later, in the command center, a detailed holographic display of eight Zion bases in Novosibirsk filled the room with a ghostly glow. The base, nestled in the heart of Siberia, was a heavily fortified stronghold.

 

“Novosibirsk is indeed a heavily fortified stronghold,” Fang observed, his eyes scanning the visual. “Imposing walls, reinforced with steel, encircle the base. The factory sprawl’s gargantuan smokestacks belch steam into the sky, while freight trains snake through, unloading vital resources.”

 

Alam nodded, adding, “And the anti-aircraft batteries bristle with missiles, guarding their airspace. This is not an easy target.”

 

“Indeed,” Fang agreed. “The command center is humming with activity. They have a well-organized command structure, and the underground network provides secret escape routes. Their armored trains patrol the railways.”

 

“Let’s not forget their hexagonal layout,” Alam said, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Each base can support the others. Someday, we might need to copy their tactics if we dig in.”

 

“Absolutely. Their unique construction allows for mutual support and resource transport,” Fang confirmed. “We must study their placement carefully if we wish to attack successfully.”

 

 

Alam leaned back in his chair, contemplating the formidable Zion base displayed on the monitor. “Hmm… do you find any weaknesses, Fang?” he asked, his brow furrowing with determination.

 

“Yes, sir,” Fang replied, his voice steady. “I’ve identified several vulnerabilities. First, their defense grid is heavily concentrated on airspace, which means we can utilize our ground forces to penetrate or outflank them during the attack. Second, their command center is centralized and vulnerable; targeting this area could cripple their battlefield control. Lastly, while their underground network provides protection and escape routes, it could also be exploited if we block or collapse it.”

 

“Interesting,” Alam mused, a grin forming on his lips. “Ironically, their weaknesses are in the center. Normally, a fort’s strong point is at its core, but they’ve opted for an unorthodox layout. And yes, their underground network… perhaps we can send a strike team to infiltrate. They picked the wrong foe… heh.”

 

“I agree,” Fang nodded. “The underground network is their Achilles' heel. We can launch a combined assault with strike teams and ground forces to penetrate and attack their defenses. By sending the main force to target their command center and armored trains, we can break their backbone and cripple their defenses. This base is a worthy target for our next major offensive.”

 

“Good point,” Alam said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “If you were the Zion commander here, what would you do to enhance this base?”

 

Fang thought for a moment. “I would reinforce the defense grid with additional anti-aircraft batteries, increase the number of armored trains for secure resource transport, and strengthen the underground network with more checkpoints and traps to deter infiltration. Finally, decentralizing the command center would make it less vulnerable to an attack.”

 

Alam chuckled. “Decentralized is the way to go. Adding too many tools can be costly. If I were Zion, I’d enhance defenses in the underground tunnels and just place pillboxes and AA guns on the surface. Keep all the important stuff underground.”

 

Fang nodded in agreement. “That’s a clever approach, sir. By bolstering the underground defenses, you reduce the vulnerability of the command center. The Zion have set up impressive bases, but they’ve made mistakes. With our insights, we can exploit those weaknesses.”

 

“Exactly! War isn’t just about stacking weapons; it’s about management as well. So, my generals, who among you has fought a similar structure to the Zion’s?” Alam’s gaze swept across the room.

 

Some generals exchanged glances, unsure, until one stepped forward. “Sir! I fought against a similar structure during my previous war against the Zion. I led an elite strike force into their stronghold in Siberia, which had a layout like this base in Novosibirsk.”

 

“Really?” Alam raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So they haven’t improved anything? Interesting. Tell us your experience in attacking the base.”

 

The brave general took a deep breath. “I led a strike force of about 60 men into the Zion stronghold. We infiltrated their underground network through an old mine and ambushed their defenses in the tunnels. Using explosives, we broke through their defenses and engaged the Zion in close combat. It was fierce, but with our superior training, we managed to penetrate the stronghold.”

 

“And what was the outcome? Did you take the base?” Alam pressed.

 

The general nodded. “Yes, we managed to secure the base after intense fighting. Despite their defenses, we overcame them and pushed into the stronghold. The Zion fought hard, but in the end, our tactics prevailed. They retreated to higher ground, and we took control. However, the cost was high; we lost about one-fifth of our forces.”

 

“Wait, you said you saw the Zion up close?” Alam asked, leaning forward.

 

“Indeed, sir. I fought against them personally during the battle. I observed their uniforms, weapons, and armor firsthand. I even encountered one of their officers briefly.”

 

“Interesting! How did he escape?” Alam’s curiosity was piqued.

 

The general sighed. “Unfortunately, the officer managed to escape amidst the chaos. We were focused on fighting their defense force and didn’t anticipate his escape. He jumped out of one of the underground tunnels and rode away on a horse. We tried to chase him, but we were exhausted from battling the Zion. He was a skilled rider and disappeared into the night.”

 

“Ha! It sounds like a movie—a dramatic escape on horseback!” Alam laughed. “This is an important story you’ve shared. We must secure their secret tunnels and mitigate any escape attempts.”

 

The general bowed his head in agreement. “Yes, sir. We can’t let our opponents have such dramatic escapes. We need to focus our resources on the underground network to eliminate any possible escape routes.”

 

“What’s your name?” Alam asked, looking at the brave general.

 

The general hesitated for a moment. “I am Xiaoyi, sir. I serve the Wanderer Group as one of the generals of the strike force.”

 

“Xiaoyi… sorry for asking. I have a hard time remembering names quickly. So, Xiaoyi, I’ll give you the task of forming a breach division unit.”

 

Xiaoyi nodded with determination. “Yes, sir. I will form a breach division immediately and train them for the next offensive. One question, sir—what shall we call this breach division?”

 

Alam paused, contemplating. “Hmm… I need a punchy name. How about… Dragon Slayer?”

 

Xiaoyi’s eyes lit up. “Dragon Slayer! Yes, that sounds fantastic, sir! It embodies our determination to break through enemy defenses like a dragon slayer defeating a dragon. I’ll submit the proposal for naming our breach division the Dragon Slayer.”

 

“Excellent! The Dragon Slayer will be a key element in our campaign to take Novosibirsk. Are you ready for the duty, Xiaoyi?” Alam asked, leaning forward.

 

“Yes, sir! I’m ready. I’ll lead the Dragon Slayer division, ensuring we don’t give the Zion another opportunity to escape. With the strength and wisdom of the Wanderer Group, we will take the Zion stronghold and bring victory to the True Horde!”

 

Alam slammed his hand on the desk. “Keep sharp! Keep wits! Keep clear! We, the True Horde, will cut the Zion in half! For victory and our people!” He drew his sword into the air.

 

Xiaoyi and the other generals raised their swords, shouting in unison, “Long live the Wanderer Group! Long live the True Horde! Long live Alam the Conqueror!”

 

“ “Ahaha, don’t call me conqueror! That makes me sound like the antagonist in a story,” Alam winked, pretending to twirl a mustache like a classic villain. “Next thing you know, I’ll be tying damsels to train tracks! Let’s just stick to being the good guys, shall we?, But never mind—let’s get to work!”

 

Laughter erupted in the room as the generals saluted their leader and returned to their offices to prepare for the next offensive. The Dragon Slayer division was formed, and Xiaoyi was appointed as its commander.

 

As Alam observed Xiaoyi’s background, he recalled that the general was once part of the Phantom Cult—a secretive and extremist group devoted to the Phantom Priest and their vision of domination. It raised concerns; Xiaoyi might still have ties to the cult and its beliefs, warranting careful observation.

 

In mid-November, Alam watched as his forces of the United Crescent Alliance marched toward Novosibirsk.

 

“Gentlemen,” he called out, “if our allies in the Middle East and Asia join the attack, it will be World War IV.”

 

The combined forces advanced from different directions toward the Zion base. The True horde and the Crescent Alliance were working together,

 

This promised to be a colossal battle, a clash of empires unseen since the Great War.

General Yang. General Zhang and General Ali look at alam at distance. which they notice he more cheerful after his marriage with general baihu. or maybe he just coping again?

Zhang then look at other two “he always asking. how we prevent the ww4. but now he seems embrace it fully by join the orchestra “

Yang, shrugged, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He tapped a finger on the reinforced plating of his left cybernetic eye beneath his eyepatch. “i never see him as.. pacifist per say, he is my mentor of offensive tactic. Besides,” he added with a hint of a grin, “he never struck me as a man afraid of a good fight.”

Ali, watched Alam with a knowing smile.“The stories say Genghis Khan wept for every life lost, even those of his enemies. But he still conquered. Sometimes, a man does what he must, even if his heart isn’t in it.”

He paused, his gaze drifting to the vast array of troops and war machines preparing for battle. “Perhaps Alam weeps inside too. But the river of war has begun to flow, and it will not be easily diverted.”

 

 

 

Chapter 103 Playing the Game

 

The air in the Black Nation’s war room crackled with tension. Hejaz, Nara, and Wazir were gathered around a holographic map of Central Asia, their faces etched with concern. Alam’s forces—a formidable combination of True Horde soldiers and Crescent Alliance warriors—were advancing rapidly, a relentless tide sweeping across the contested territories.

 

Subject: Spy Report on Alam's Character

Date: [17 November 2405]

To: [Hejaz]

From: [Hornet Ginger hair]

Classification: Confidential

I. Introduction

As per the directive, this report provides a comprehensive analysis of Alam's character, focusing on his leadership style, strategic decision-making, and interactions with subordinates and adversaries.

II. Observations and Analysis

Leadership Style:

Alam's leadership style is characterized by a strategic and calculated approach to warfare, emphasizing the importance of manipulation, psychological tactics, and the use of deception to achieve military objectives. He demonstrates a willingness to employ aggressive tactics and make difficult decisions in pursuit of his goals.

Strategic Decision-Making:

Alam exhibits strategic acumen, making decisions that benefit the team and enhance their combat capabilities. He emphasizes the importance of conquest and the use of ruthless methods to ensure dominance and control.

Interactions with Subordinates and Adversaries:

Alam expects fierce and unyielding loyalty from his officers and soldiers, emphasizing the need for absolute commitment. He is cautious and diligent in handling potential spies or infiltrators among the ranks.

III. Conclusion

Alam's character reflects a complex and multifaceted personality, shaped by the realities of warfare and the pursuit of power and control. His leadership style, strategic decision-making, and interactions with subordinates and adversaries demonstrate a calculated and unyielding approach to achieving military objectives.

IV. Recommendations

Further surveillance and analysis are recommended to gain deeper insights into Alam's character and leadership style, as well as to anticipate and counter potential strategic maneuvers.

End of Report.

[Hornet Ginger hair]
[Carmelita]

 

 

Hejaz studied the report, intrigued by Alam's strategic prowess. "If he’s so strong, why is he mediating with the Golden Caravan? There must be more to his intentions than just peace."

 

Wazir replied, "The Golden Caravan is embroiled in a civil war. They might just be seeking unity amidst chaos."

 

Hejaz pondered, "A civil war? This could be our chance to ally with one side and gain an advantage."

 

Wazir continued, "We’ve also received intel that Alam plans to attack a Zion base. The True Horde and Crescent Alliance are pushing us to join the fight."

 

Hejaz frowned, "That’s suspicious. It could be a trap to lure us into a vulnerable position while they strike elsewhere."

 

Wazir raised an eyebrow, "What’s your decision?"

 

Hejaz sighed, "I won’t act just yet. We need more information before making a move. Let’s wait for their attack on the Zion base; that’s when we’ll be ready."

 

Wazir suggested, "Perhaps we could send a small contingent to assist the Emerald League, maintaining our neutrality while still offering support."

 

Hejaz nodded, "Agreed. We’ll send a hidden contingent to aid them without fully committing to the conflict."

 

Nara, observing the discussion, felt a spark of inspiration. "I have an idea to deal with Alam."

 

Hejaz leaned in, intrigued. "What’s your plan?"

 

Nara smiled, "We can trick Alam by playing dumb. If he thinks we’ve fallen into his trap, he’ll lower his guard. We can provoke him into revealing his true intentions."

 

Hejaz considered this. "That could work. Alam’s ego might blind him to our strategy. But how do we set this trap?"

 

Nara replied, "We can make him believe that Hejaz is weak and that he’s the true leader of the Black Nation. If he thinks he can easily conquer us, he’ll let his guard down."

 

Hejaz agreed, "Yes, if Alam sees me as a puppet, he’ll underestimate us. This could be the perfect opportunity to gather intel on his true motives."

 

Wazir added, "Your caution is commendable, but Nara’s past raises doubts. How can we trust her not to be a double agent?"

 

Nara, feeling defensive, responded, "I’ve fought hard for our nation against the Red Army. Why can’t you see my loyalty?"

 

Hejaz intervened, "Let’s not doubt Nara’s commitment. She’s proven herself. Nara, continue your work, and we’ll finalize this plan soon."

 

Nara nodded, determined. "I’ll show you all that I’m not a double agent. I’ll bring down Zion!"

 

Hejaz smiled, proud of her resolve. "Now, let’s refine our strategy to outsmart Alam."

Hejaz leaned back in his chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Alright, listen up. Making you a neutral figure means Alam will see you as someone outside the Black Nation. He won’t be suspicious, and that’s our ticket to getting him to let his guard down. But I’m sorry to say, it’s going to take us a bit longer to finalize this plan. I assure you, though, by tonight, we’ll have a decision.”

 

After a lengthy discussion, Wazir chimed in, “Nara’s dubious past might actually work in our favor. Her reputation as a mercenary could be the perfect bluff.”

 

Hejaz nodded, “True. But now we have to decide: do we go with this risky plan to trick Alam, or do we play it safe with a less effective approach?”

 

Wazir raised an eyebrow. “But remember, every action has consequences. If this bluff gets revealed, we could be seen as untrustworthy.”

 

Hejaz sighed, “You’re right. But if we want to win this war, we can’t just sit in our comfort zone. We need to take some risks. Let’s discuss this with the rest of the cabinet and let them weigh in. We need to be careful, though; the consequences of our choices are critical right now.”

 

Nara watched Hejaz speak, her impatience growing as she glanced at the other cabinet members debating the situation. She couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please, why wait? Every minute counts! The True Horde is gaining ground, and the Red Nation is gearing up for a massive assault on the Emerald League. We need to decide now!”

 

Hejaz considered her words. “You’re right. Let’s wrap this up and bring it to a quick vote. If the True Horde attacks, both the Crescent Alliance and the Emerald League will be on the defensive. This is the perfect time for the enemy to strike.”

 

With that, the vote was called. Hands shot up in favor of Nara’s plan to provoke Alam and reveal his true intentions.

 

Hejaz smiled, “Well, the verdict is clear. Most of us are on board with Nara’s plan. Now we just need to prepare and find the right moment to put it into action.”

 

Wazir turned to Nara. “So, what’s your vision? Do you want to meet Alam directly or use the intercom?”

 

Nara felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Alright then, we need to prepare and find the right moment.” She paused, considering her options. “Hmm... I have an idea, but it’s risky. What if I meet Alam directly? But first, I’ll set a trap to catch him off guard.”

 

Wazir nodded, “I see. Just remember, your mission is to provoke him and reveal his true intentions. Is he genuinely trying to repel the Red Nation’s invasion, or is he just masking a desire to conquer lands?”

 

Nara smiled confidently. “I understand the mission, and I won’t fail. I’ll make Alam fall into my trap and expose his true intentions. Even if it puts me in a risky situation, I won’t fail!”

 

Hejaz gave her an encouraging nod. “Roger that, Nara. We’ll keep you updated. You can meet Alam whenever you want. Just remember, don’t show any signs of weakness. Alam likes to provoke those he sees as weak.”

 

Nara nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The fate of her nation rested on her, and she needed to be strong. “I understand. I won’t let you down. I’ll meet Alam and provoke him to reveal his true intentions. I won’t fail this mission!”

 

A few days later, on November 20th, Nara found herself flying a spy plane across the Caspian Sea. Memories flooded back as she crossed the water, recalling her youth after graduating from the academy. She had run away from home and joined Panji in a port city, even getting chased by the coast guard.

 

As they flew east over the contested region of Central Asia, the pilot skillfully maneuvered the plane low among the canyons and valleys, dodging potential anti-aircraft fire. Below, she could see areas blackened from bombardments, a stark reminder of the ongoing conflict.

 

Suddenly, their plane was intercepted by a Red Army jet. The pilot executed barrel rolls and dropped flares to evade missiles. After a tense fifteen minutes of pursuit, the Red Army jet finally gave up, fearing the True Horde’s anti-air capabilities.

 

They landed at a True Horde airport in Xinjiang, and Nara quickly set out to catch up with Alam’s convoy. After hours of driving north, she finally arrived at his base. There he was—Alam, a man with long black hair and a jacket, slightly resembling Panji but with a darker complexion.

 

Nara took a deep breath, ready to face the challenge ahead.

Chapter 104 Building trust

 

Alam leaned back in his high-backed chair, crafted from polished darkwood reinforced with plasteel struts, sifting through Nara's dossier displayed on a holographic projector that cast a faint blue light across the room

“So, you’re a mercenary, a former Zion bodyguard who decided to betray them, and now you’re with the Emerald League? An ex-gladiator? Interesting woman for sure,

 

im too are connected to zion at my time with wanderers, but we are the vigilante and trying maintain order in europe. we not a mindless merc. so we are similar. but different..” he mused, a smirk playing on his lips.

 

“Yeah... so what?” Nara replied, crossing her arms, her expression unreadable.

 

Alam coughed lightly, trying to shake off the casual banter. “Nothing. I have limited time for games. What do you want?”

 

Nara took a deep breath, her demeanor shifting to something more serious. “I’m not here to play. I want to discuss something important. Can we talk?”

 

“Sure, go on,” Alam said, intrigued.

 

Nara stared at him intently, her tone becoming steely. “Tell me, are you fighting just to defend your nation, or is there another purpose behind this war?”

 

“Absolutely. The True Horde’s mission is to repel the Red Army. We won’t stop until they’re destroyed,” Alam replied, conviction ringing in his voice.

 

Nara’s expression softened slightly, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “So, you’re saying that all this time, the True Horde has been fighting purely for defense?”

 

“Exactly. My goal in uniting China is to strengthen our chances against them,” Alam said, his tone earnest.

 

Nara’s curiosity piqued, her voice growing calmer. “I see... but what if the True Horde succeeds? What happens if you manage to destroy the Red Army? Will you just retreat and call it a day?”

 

Alam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, no. World conquest is too much for me.”

 

A light giggle escaped Nara’s lips, her serious facade cracking. “So you really do just want to defend your nation, right? But what if the Red Army attacks? What then?”

 

“You have no idea,” Alam replied, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve been fighting them for about three years now, if you count the Blood Khaganate its dang 5 years “he take a deep sigh” We were once their vassals, but I rebelled. I refused to be a pawn.”

 

Nara’s surprise was palpable, her intrigue deepening. “Wait... I’ve heard about the Blood Khaganate. That’s the history behind it! So you did rebel against them?”

 

“Yeah,” Alam said. Just then, an officer approached to discuss a military operation, and Alam turned back to Nara. “Alright, I might write a book about it someday if Gott wills it. But for now, it’s not a good time for bedtime stories. Let me be clear: will you lend your power to defend the Emerald League?”

 

Nara’s excitement was palpable. “Well... I can... BUT! If I’m going to lend my power and fight for the Emerald League, I have conditions.”

 

Alam raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What conditions?”

 

“I want something in return for my power and my life,” Nara declared firmly.

 

“Yeah, I figured as much. You mercs don’t care about nations and stuff. Of course, we can pay you in gold,” Alam said,

 

Nara narrowed her eyes, her tone shifting to serious. “Gold? I don't care about gold. If I’m putting my life on the line, I deserve something more valuable.”

 

“Like what?” Alam asked, his curiosity piqued.

 

“I want something that can’t be bought with money. I want your trust,” she replied, her gaze piercing.

 

Alam raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Ha! Sure.”

 

Nara couldn’t believe her ears, her stern expression softening into a smile. “You mean it? You’re really going to give me your full trust?”

 

“Yeah, but I need to trust you too. Why did you betray Zion?” Alam pressed, his curiosity genuine.

 

Nara’s expression turned serious again. “The reason is personal... I have my own reasons for betraying them. I swear it has nothing to do with you or the True Horde.”

 

Alam leaned in, urging her. “But... just a small hint?”

 

She hesitated, then finally relented. “If you really need to know, let’s just say my reason for betraying Zion is tied to their actions. I can’t see them as a ‘good’ nation anymore. That’s all I can say.”

 

“Okay, good enough. But please, just a little more?” Alam asked, trying to glean more.

 

Nara shook her head, clearly uncomfortable with revealing too much. “If you must know, my betrayal was about personal issues. That’s it.”

 

Alam chuckled, a playful glint in his eye. “Did he flirt with you?”

 

“Who?!” Nara shot back, her expression hardening.

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Alam replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “How many troops do you have?”

 

“We have about 320 soldiers, including mercenaries. Most are on the frontlines fighting for the Red Army and Emerald League. We’re low on manpower, but our kinetic energy weapons give us a significant advantage. We also possess advanced cloaking technology, but deploying it effectively requires a larger team. It's the classic merc's dilemma: great gear, not enough bodies to use it,

Alam sighed heavily. “Not good enough. What about the Hejaz Caliphate? Are they joining the fray?”

 

Nara shook her head. “No. The Hejaz Caliphate is neutral now. They’re focusing on defense and don’t want to participate in this war.”

 

Alam pouted, frustration creeping into his voice. “Fools! The best defense is a good offense. Alright, I’ll send a contingent to help the Emerald League. Tell the Hejaz to stop being chickens.”

 

Nara chuckles and reply, "They're playing it safe. They don't want to get involved unless they have to."

Alam leaned back, studying her. "So, what you waiting for?"

Nara met his gaze. "I need to contact my team. a 24 hours for process, They need confirmation of my status."

Alam's eyes narrowed slightly. "A day? Why so long?"

Nara crossed her arms. "It's not a social call. It's about verifying my allegiance. They need to be sure I haven't been compromised."

Alam considered this for a moment. "Alright. But I'm not delaying my operations. You find me at the next base when you're done."

“Deal,” Nara replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll just hop on my magic carpet and fly over there.”

 

As Alam nodded and left, Nara quickly dialed Wazir. “Hey, I need to report back. Alam’s giving me a day to contact my team.”

 

Wazir’s voice crackled through the line. “Yes, but… wait, what’s this I hear about you playing dumb?”

 

Nara sighed, exasperated. “I told him I’d play dumb to trick him into revealing his true intentions. It’s a strategy, Wazir, not a Broadway audition!”

 

Wazir snorted. “You seem to be auditioning for the role of ‘Most Likely to Fail.’”

 

“Shut it, Wazir! I’m not going to fail this mission. I know what I’m doing!” Nara shot back, rolling her eyes so hard she almost saw her brain.

 

“Alright, just don’t mess it up. We need to know what’s going on in that thick skull of Alam’s,” Wazir replied, his tone lightening.

 

Nara hung up, muttering to herself. “Great, now I’m a spy and a bad actress. What’s next? A stand-up comedy routine?”

 

The next day, Nara followed Alam’s convoy – a mix of armored personnel carriers and horse-drawn supply wagons – through the frozen steppes, passing the skeletal remains of pre-Collapse cities and the more recent, hastily dug graves of the war.. “Welcome to the True Horde’s version of Disneyland,” she quipped to herself, shaking her head at the absurdity.

 

Finally, she arrived at Alam’s bunker, its one among the hidden pre-war bunker. “Oh, you! Have you made up your mind?” he asked, leaning back in his chair

 

Nara straightened up, her serious mode activated. “I’m not here for flirting, Alam. I’ve decided to join you and your nation to fight the Red Army. But I have conditions.”

 

Alam narrowed his eyes, looking like he was trying to solve a riddle. “You want to join the True Horde? Why the sudden change of heart?”

 

Nara flashed a confident smile. “Let’s just say I’m not interested in fighting for Zion anymore. I want to be on the winning side. And you, my friend, are going to win this war.”

 

“Ha! Typical mercenary logic,” Alam replied, smirking. “But you’ll be fighting in the front lines. Welcome to the True Horde, where you earn your rank as a private!”

 

Nara shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t mind working hard. As long as I’m on the winning side, I can accept that. Winners deserve to win, not losers.”

 

“Very good,” Alam nodded, looking pleased. “But I still want you to defend the Emerald League. I’m confident in my numbers up north, but since the Hejaz Caliphate is playing hide-and-seek, someone needs to help the Emerald League.”

 

Nara’s face fell slightly. “So, you want me to be the backup dancer for the Emerald League while you take center stage?”

 

“Exactly! You’ll be the star of the show!” Alam replied, grinning.

 

“Great, I’ll just wear a sparkly outfit and do jazz hands while fighting the Red Army,” Nara said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

 

“Just focus on the mission, Nara. You’ll do great,” Alam said,

 

As Nara couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m not sure if I’m joining a war or a circus, but at least I’ll get a front-row seat to the chaos.”

Nara stood in front of Alam, her heart racing like a caffeinated squirrel on a sugar high. “Okay... I can see it as an advantage now. At least I don't have to fight against the Red Army all by myself. I'm gonna admit, the Emerald League is very resourceful,” she said, trying to sound confident while her knees wobbled like jelly.

 

“Can I ask you another question?” she ventured, inching closer like a cat stalking a particularly juicy mouse.

 

“Sure, speak,” Alam replied, leaning back in his chair, looking like he was about to hear the world’s worst knock-knock joke.

 

Nara took a deep breath, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This might sound like a very strange question, but do you really trust me?”

 

Alam raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Mhmh... ah...” He then casually tossed her a revolver. “Shoot me.”

 

Nara’s eyes widened “A-are you serious?” she stammered, her hand shaking as she pointed the gun at him, half-expecting him to burst out laughing and say it was all a prank.

 

“Will you do it?” Alam teased, his grin widening.

 

“Y-yes... I will. But are you sure about this?” Nara’s voice trembled,

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Alam asked, feigning shock, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

 

Nara’s face paled, and she started sweating like a popsicle in the sun. “Are... are you sure about this? Do you really want me to do that? Because I will definitely do it if you insist!”

 

“Okay, just pull the trigger,” Alam said, barely containing his laughter.

 

Nara’s hand jerked, and the gun barrel inched closer to Alam’s body. Her finger hovered over the trigger l

 

“Ahaha... do it!” Alam encouraged, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation.

 

With a shaky breath, Nara pressed the trigger. The revolver went off with a loud bang, and smoke filled the air. For a moment, everything was silent.

 

Alam coughed through the smoke, a grin plastered on his face. “It’s a blank round! So, based on that event, you’re the type who can follow orders blindly. I kinda trust you as a soldier now.”

 

Nara blinked, her surprise morphing into a relieved smile. “So, you didn’t really want to get shot, huh? That was a test, and I passed!”

 

“True loyalists wouldn’t pull the trigger,” Alam winked, his tone playful.

 

Nara’s expression shifted to serious. “Hmm... you’re right. This was also a test about loyalty. I think I made the wrong decision about that. That’s why I hesitated.”

 

“No worries. You’re still considered a good... merc,” Alam said, his tone lightening.

 

“Good! I’m glad if that’s the case. But I’m curious—do you plan to keep using blank rounds for future tests?” Nara asked, half-joking.

 

“Perhaps... now, anything else?” Alam replied, his curiosity piqued.

 

Nara shook her head, but then her curiosity got the better of her. “No, not really. I guess that was all. But just let’s say... my heart is really beating so fast right now. I thought it was a real bullet until you mentioned it was only a blank round.”

 

“Haah. Ahaha... yeah, it’s normal. Everyone around me is beating their hearts fast. Now, see you later. I’ll send Hind to escort you back to the Emerald League,” Alam said, waving her off

 

“Okay, I understand. But... one more thing before we part ways,” Nara said, hesitating for a moment.

 

“Yes? What?” Alam asked, intrigued.

 

She took a deep breath, her confidence wavering. “In the future... if that opportunity comes, would you take me as your private guard?”

 

Alam’s laughter echoed through the room. “Ahahahah.. NO..”

 

Nara’s face fell, her disappointment palpable. “W-why?”

 

“Ahaha... you betrayed Zion for unknown reasons. You’re an untrustworthy figure,” Alam teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

At first, Nara was taken aback, but then she burst into laughter. “Hahaha... I know why you won’t do that for me! Because you can’t trust me yet, right?” She paused, putting her hand on her chin, deep in thought. “Hey, I’m curious about one thing now. How are you going to build your trust with me? Do you have some plan for that?”

 

“Perhaps. Only Gott knows... now farewell,” Alam said, his tone shifting back to serious.

 

Nara nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Goodbye, Alam. And good luck winning your war.”

 

As she left, she felt a swell of pride. “I can’t believe I just pulled a gun on my new boss. What a day!” she thought, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.

 

Later, when she reported back to Wazir, he raised an eyebrow. “I see... well, to be honest, Alam seems like a very unpredictable person.”

 

“I agree, Wazir... Alam is indeed one unpredictable person,” Nara replied, her smile still lingering.

 

“But... you still haven’t told me about your bait nation,” Wazir said, hesitating for a moment.

 

“Never mind. You did a good job, Nara. Safe fly,” he added, and Nara felt a rush of pride wash over her.

 

“Thank you, Wazir. I will do my best for my mission and report back here,” she said, her heart swelling with determination.

Chapter 105 Winter surprise

 

Alam's forces advanced swiftly across the winter tundra towards Novosibirsk, their mobile cities providing essential shelter against the harsh elements. The Wanderer Group was well-prepared, having trained rigorously for winter combat, while air and naval patrols ensured no reinforcements could disrupt their advance.

 

"Very well. Execute the plan," Alam commanded as the multi-pronged assault on the Zion base commenced. Ground, air, and sabotage units coordinated their strikes, overwhelming Zion defenses and capturing key positions.

 

“Good. Their base has become their grave,” Alam declared, as the True Horde pushed deeper into the stronghold, the Dragon Slayer division leading the charge.

 

“Pull the Dragon Slayers back; let the regulars finish the mop-up,” he ordered, confident in their imminent victory.

 

With one base captured, seven remained. Alam prepared for a potential counterattack, fortifying positions and setting traps. He ordered flamethrower units to the underground tunnel entrances, anticipating Zion reinforcements.

 

“Wait for it... Now!” Alam commanded, unleashing a deadly combination of gas and fire that engulfed the tunnel, creating chaos among the approaching Zion forces.

 

“Good. Set traps and hidden cameras. We’ll abandon this base and let them think they’ve won,” Alam strategized, planning to lure the Zion into a false sense of security.

 

In just four days, the Wanderer Group had captured two bases, showcasing the effectiveness of the Dragon Slayer division. As Alam convened a war council, he outlined their next moves, deciding to attack one base in the west with full force while staging a diversion in the east.

 

“This campaign is moving faster than expected. We must take the initiative and strike hard,” he urged, rallying his commanders for the final push against the remaining Zion strongholds. Victory was within reach, and the True Horde was determined to seize it.

Alam leaned forward, eyes sharp. "So, how many casualties have we racked up?"

 

The war council quickly reported, displaying the figures on a holographic tactical display: "Wanderer Group: 2,058 confirmed KIA, 574 MIA, and an estimated 1,100 wounded requiring immediate medical attention. Zion: 2,287 confirmed KIA, 812 MIA, and an estimated 950 wounded." The numbers were telling; the Wanderers were inflicting damage while keeping their own losses relatively low.

 

"Interesting," Alam mused, a smirk creeping onto his face. "The Zion forces are weakening. No more overwhelming numbers. Victory is within our grasp! Let’s keep the pressure on and take this region by New Year!"

 

Meanwhile, at Zion HQ in South Novosibirsk, Kassandra slammed her fist on the table, scattering holographic maps. "How is this possible?! They captured our stronghold in just four days! Where did their numbers come from?"

 

After a tense pause, she turned to Trickster, fury in her eyes. "Did you fake our troop numbers?!"

 

Trickster sighed, "We don’t have 16 million troops. We only have 6 million after the revolution. I inflated the numbers to boost morale for the Emerald League attack."

 

Zion's eyes widened at the revelation. "Only 6 million? This changes everything!"

 

Kassandra, furious, pulled her pistol and aimed it at Trickster's head. Zion's heart raced. "No!" he shouted, raising his hands in panic.

 

After a long pause, Kassandra slapped Trickster instead, holstering her gun. Zion let out a sigh of relief, but the tension lingered.

 

"Why are you so calm?" Kassandra demanded. "The Wraith campaign is a disaster! Our defenses are weak, and we’re on the verge of defeat!"

 

Zion remained composed. "A leader must stay focused. Panic won’t solve our problems. We need solutions."

 

Trickster interjected, shaking. "If we capture the Emerald League, we’ll secure the funds to continue! I’ve calculated it; we can win after taking their treasury!"

 

Kassandra nodded, "Then we must not fail in the next offensive. Zion, you need to lead our battered army to victory."

 

Zion contemplated the task ahead. It was do or die; they had to seize the Emerald League's treasure or face ruin.

 

"But first," Keith chimed in, "we need to get out of this region before the coalition encircles us."

 

Zion considered the implications. If the coalition surrounded them, it would spell disaster for their plans and the Red Nation's future.

 

Trickster leaned in, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Listen, I’ve deployed a game changer to hold Novosibirsk He revealed a monitor displaying a schematic of a specialized dispersal device connected to a network of underground pipes. The label read: “Project: Red Mist – Dispersal System v3.7. Payload: Aerosolized Neurotoxin Compound X-9.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy in the air. On the monitor, the harsh winter brought a somewhat peaceful white feeling, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

 

Further south, on the island of Madagascar, Cecilia—a girl in a ballet dress with a bun in her blonde hair—was buzzing with excitement. She was about to perform her first-ever concert, a peace concert. Cecilia was an idol of love, a beacon of hope who believed in peace and tolerance. As she sang and danced, her heart swelled with joy.

 

Meanwhile, Khawlah, a woman from the Crescent Alliance, returned from her duty to report on the latest war progress. She whispered, keeping her tone low as she spoke to key officials while the concert was in full swing.

 

After the concert, Cecilia let out a satisfied sigh. She knew she had given it her all, and that felt good. After a quick refresh, she put on an advanced mask that transformed her appearance from a white blonde girl into someone with tanned skin and black hair. She slipped on gloves and leggings, completing her disguise.

 

With her new look, Cecilia blended in with the people of the White Nation without a hitch. In a world spiraling into war and chaos, she was determined to promote love and unity.

 

She settled into a local café, enjoying the moment until a military parade rolled down the streets of the Holy People Council. Her heart sank as she watched advanced tech designed for destruction being shipped overseas. The pristine white tanks, APCs, and mechs were not just ordinary military equipment; the White Nation was a master of camouflage technology from the pre-war era. These machines could blend into any environment they were deployed in.

 

Feeling powerless in the face of such overwhelming force, Cecilia was lost in thought until someone tapped her shoulder. It was her friends. They recognized her despite her disguise, thanks to the data chips connected to her persona. It was Cecilia's birthday, and they reminded her to enjoy it and pray for a better world. For now, she would hold onto hope amidst the turmoil.

Chapter 106 Santa Gift

 

On the coalition side,  the combined forces of the Crescent Alliance and allied nations, soldiers from diverse backgrounds and cultures huddled together...

 

“We found American food!” one soldier exclaimed, proudly holding up a large pot.

 

“American food?” another asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

 

“Yeah! We found a American gladiator, and we cooked him,” he explained with a grin.

 

 

Alam, witnessing this bizarre scene, simply shook his head and strolled away, choosing to ignore the coalition soldiers' antics. He made his way to his war tent, reminding himself that despite their cannibalistic tendencies, the important thing was that morale was high.

 

Once inside, Alam removed his mask after inspecting the coalition soldiers. He took a seat at his desk, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “What do you think, guys? I feel a bit paranoid about our gains. It’s like we’re waiting for a surprise party that nobody wants to attend,” he mused, glancing around at his generals.

 

The generals exchanged uneasy glances, as if they were all in on a joke that Alam had missed. “Yeah, it’s suspicious. We’ve taken three Zion bases without much resistance. It’s like they rolled out the red carpet for us,” one general from the Golden Caravan remarked, scratching his head as if trying to figure out how to fold a fitted sheet.

 

Nkosi chimed in, “It’s definitely odd. They usually put up a fight. We should prepare for an ambush. Better safe than sorry!”

 

Alam nodded. “Right. Let’s split our forces. I’ll keep the pressure on while you guys guard our flanks. History shows that conquerors often trip over their own feet when they get too timid.” He gestured dramatically, as if directing a play about the perils of overconfidence.

 

Nkosi considered this, her brow furrowing. “Splitting our forces could work. We keep them engaged while staying alert for any surprises. It’s a gamble, but a smart one.”

 

“Exactly! And so far, no reinforcements from their side. They must be waiting for the right moment to strike,” Alam replied, a glint of determination in his eyes.

 

“Let’s keep the Crescent Alliance on defense while we push forward,” Nkosi suggested,

 

With the plan set, Alam turned to his generals. “Zhang, you secure my flank. Xiaoyin and the regulars, keep pushing. The Crescent Alliance will watch our backs. Victory is within reach!”

 

As they prepared to attack the next base, Alam couldn’t help but question the Zion strategy. “Why bother building so many bases if their defenses are weak? It’s like they’re inviting us in. ‘Welcome to our base! Please take a seat, and don’t mind the booby traps!’” He chuckled at the thought, imagining a Zion soldier offering him cookies while hiding a grenade behind his back.

 

With five out of eight Zion bases captured, the Wanderer Group was on the brink of victory. But Alam knew they had to stay sharp. “Alright, let’s keep the pressure on and take those remaining bases! No mercy!” He raised his fist in the air, looking like a motivational poster come to life.

 

The Wanderer Group kept pushing forward, closing in on the remaining three Zion strongholds. The Zion forces were on the back foot, and the Wanderers were determined to keep up the pressure. “We’re like a bad rash they can’t get rid of!” Alam joked, earning a few chuckles from his generals.

 

The Wanderer Group and the Crescent Alliance troops saw how their bullet trap paid off. The Zion were using their own explosive bullets to kill their own men, which further reduced their force. “Talk about friendly fire!” one general quipped, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

The Zion soldiers were starting to fear shooting their own guns because the bullets might be planted with explosives. “It’s like a game of Russian roulette, but with more paperwork!” Alam laughed, picturing the Zion soldiers nervously glancing at their weapons like they were ticking time bombs.

 

Fear had started to grip the Zion soldiers, lowering the morale of the remaining forces. The Wanderer Group and the Crescent Alliance troops were determined to keep pushing forward to the final three Zion strongholds and finally complete their mission to liberate the region from Zion control. “Let’s show them that we’re not just here for the snacks!” Alam declared, rallying his troops with a grin.

 

Alam got the news that they’d stumbled upon a giant red chamber right in the middle of the base they just conquered. “What’s this? A giant red room? Sounds like a bad horror movie,” he thought. The Dragon Slayer division was on cleanup duty, checking for any leftover Zion forces, and they were the ones who found this mysterious chamber.

 

“Hey, Xiaoyi,” Alam called up the division commander. “You ever seen anything like this before?”

 

“Not a giant red chamber, no. This is a first for me,” Xiaoyi replied, looking just as puzzled.

 

“Alright, let’s not get distracted. We’ll figure out what this thing is after we finish cleaning up this base. Focus on securing the area!” Alam ordered, and Xiaoyi nodded like a bobblehead.

 

But just as they were getting ready to mop up, the red chamber decided to throw a surprise party of its own—BOOM! It exploded, sending a thick red mist wafting across the base. “Well, that’s not good,” Alam muttered, watching the chaos unfold.

 

“Pull out the soldiers now! It’s a trap!” he shouted, panic creeping into his voice. The Wanderer Group and the Crescent Alliance realized they were in deep trouble. They tried to contact the regular troops inside, but it was like trying to reach a friend who’s ghosting you. No response.

 

They sent in a spy drone to check things out, and what they saw was straight out of a horror flick: the regular soldiers were going berserk, turning on each other like it was a free-for-all at a buffet. “What the heck is in that mist?” Alam exclaimed, his eyes wide.

 

 “Artillery strike! Now!” Nkosi yelled, her voice laced with urgency. “And tell them to aim for everything. If it moves, shoot it. If it doesn’t move, it’s probably a trap, so shoot it anyway.”

 

The order was given, and the sky opened up with a rain of destruction, obliterating everything in sight. “Talk about overkill!” Alam thought, watching the chaos unfold.

 

After the dust settled, they sent in a hazmat team to assess the damage. Survivors were still loopy from the red mist, and they had to wrangle a few of their crazed comrades for some serious investigation.

 

Back at the command center, Alam was trying to make sense of the situation. “Anyone seen anything like this before?” he asked, looking around.

 

Nkosi piped up, “Yeah, we’ve got two Zion bases left, and we’ve hit pause on our offensive. This red mist is spreading fast and turning our guys into berserkers. We need to figure out what’s going on before it gets worse.”

 

Alam turned to Khawlah, the Holy People’s Council rep. “I heard you guys have done some experiments in the past. Got anything that can help us?”

 

Khawlah nodded, looking serious. “We’ve got a biological and chemical agent that could counter the red mist. It’s a last-resort weapon, though.”

 

“Great, but let’s not go all-in on that just yet. If the Crescent Alliance wants to use it, don’t put my name on it,” Alam replied, feeling the weight of the decision.

 

“Agreed. We’ll only use it if absolutely necessary,” Nkosi confirmed.

 

With a heavy sigh, Alam said, “I’m pushing forward to capture all the bases in this region. The Zion forces are desperate and on the brink of defeat. I suggest the Crescent Alliance moves south to help the Emerald League. We need to split up.”

 

Nkosi nodded, “I’m on board. We should send some troops to assist the Emerald League while you finish up here.”

 

“Alright then, farewell,” Alam said, giving her a nod.

 

“Farewell, General Alam. May the Golden Caravan guide you,” Nkosi replied, a faint smile on her face.

 

As the Crescent Alliance officers packed up, Artak asked Nkosi, “Why aren’t you joining the others?”

 

“I can’t leave the Wanderer Group in this mess. They need my support,” she said, determination in her voice.

 

Artak frowned. “You don’t get it. Alam doesn’t trust you after you mentioned that weapon.”

 

“What? That’s ridiculous! The Wanderer Group needs me!” Nkosi shot back, her frustration bubbling over.

 

“Just saying, it’s a possibility,” Artak replied, shrugging.

 

 

Nkosi was taken aback, her heart racing with frustration. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious, Artak! The Wanderer Group needs me now more than ever! It’s ridiculous to think Alam would doubt me just because I mentioned a similar weapon. How can you even say that?”

 

Artak shrugged, looking a bit exasperated. “You still don’t get it? Just re-read Alam’s last message. Pay attention to his tone.”

 

Nkosi paused, chewing on his words. She went back over Alam’s message, and it hit her—he was definitely acting more cautious and less open than usual. “Okay, I see your point, Artak. His tone is different. I wonder what’s behind this change?”

 

“Who knows? But Alam’s got a point too. We need to back up the Emerald League. They’ve been taking hits from the Red Nation for way too long,” Artak replied, his expression serious.

 

Nkosi sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. “You’re right. The Emerald League really needs our help right now. I get why Alam wants to send troops south to help them push back against the Red Nation. Let’s get our troops ready to roll and support the Emerald League!”

Chapter 107 Mania Infiltrating the Red Mist

 

Alam and the other commanders looked over the soldiers affected by the red mist. It wasn't a pretty sight. The men were agitated, aggressive, and clearly out of it. They couldn't talk straight, lost in some kind of mental fog. The red mist was messing with their heads, big time.

“Doc, any chance we can fix this? Got any meds that’ll help?” Alam asked, sounding worried.

The doctor checked the soldiers over. “We might be able to treat them if we figure out what’s causing this and find the right antidote. Best thing is to quarantine these guys so it doesn’t spread. We also need to find out where this red mist is coming from so we can make a cure.”

Alam nodded, thinking fast. “Let’s keep pushing towards the Zion bases. But hold on…” He stopped, staring at the ground. The snow around them was bright red. Intel suggested it could be a crystallized form of the mist, or just some kind of red dye. Alam didn’t want to take any chances. “We need hazmat suits before we go any further.”

Out in the distance, the local wildlife was acting strange. Animals were attacking each other like crazy. Someone spotted a wolf eating another wolf. The red mist was affecting everything.

“We need to find out how they’re making this stuff and come up with an antidote,” Alam ordered. “Send the CAD team to investigate. We can’t just wait for this to go away; it’s slowing us down.”

Mei jumped at the chance to lead the investigation. The red mist was causing serious problems, and she was determined to find the source and a solution.

New intel came in through secure comms: The Red Army was taking over all the poppy fields in the areas they’d captured and sending them to fortified processing centers. Satellite photos of a facility near Kandahar, Afghanistan, showed weird red smoke coming out of the chimneys, and the heat readings were off the charts.

“Interesting,” Mei said. “If the Red Army is using poppies, they might be making the red mist from them. Poppies make opium, which could explain what’s happening to people.”

“Want to give it a shot?” Vance asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

 

“Sure! I’d love to give it a shot,” Mei replied, excitement bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

 

The CAD team  flew to the contested region of Afghanistan, a landscape scarred by heavy bombardments. Wreckage littered the roads, a haunting reminder of the destruction that had unfolded.

 

Setting up base near the poppy fields, just a few kilometers from the targeted factory, they prepared to investigate the facility. Caution was paramount; the area was still contested, and Red Army patrols lurked nearby.

 

Razor deployed a grasshopper spy robot to survey the surroundings. Equipped with a small camera, it allowed the team to gather intel while remaining undetected.

 

“Looks like that factory is suspiciously guarded,” Vance noted. “Too heavy for a simple drug factory.”

 

“Definitely,” Mei agreed. “They’re likely producing something more critical than just drugs. They’re employing local workers to extract the poppy plants. Let’s exploit this—bribe some workers to disguise ourselves.”

 

“Sounds like a plan. We can infiltrate the factory and get a closer look at the production process,” Kirk chimed in.

 

After successfully bribing some workers, the team disguised themselves and positioned themselves just meters from the factory, ready to begin their infiltration.

 

As they pretended to work, they moved toward a warehouse connected to the factory via a conveyor belt.

 

“Do you guys think what I’m thinking?” Vance asked, a sly grin spreading across his face.

 

The team looked on expectantly.

 

“Crate ride?” Vance suggested, pointing to a stack of boxes overflowing with poppy plants. “Conveyor belt to the factory. Razor, you’re on scanner duty.”

Everyone grinned. It was crazy, but it might just work. They clambered into a crate, hoping they wouldn't get squished. The conveyor belt jerked to life, carrying them toward the factory.

They bumped and jostled along the belt. When they reached the other side, Vance carefully poked his head through a gap in the wood. A couple of workers were heading their way. Time to improvise.

“Surprise!” Vance yelled, bursting out of the crate and zapping one of the workers with his taser. The other worker barely had time to blink before the rest of the team piled out and quickly took him down. Razor got to work on the scanner, bypassing the security system.

“Let’s move!” Vance whispered, leading them into the factory.

Inside, Razor plugged into the main computer, downloading files on other red mist factories. Finding those locations was key to shutting down the whole operation.

“Okay, sabotage time,” Vance announced. “Remember, we’re ‘fixing’ things. Act natural.” He grinned, and the team scattered, blending in with the workers.

They moved through the factory’s dim hallways, nerves buzzing. They were dressed in factory uniforms, which helped them blend in. Vance, always the one with the crazy ideas, gave them a wink. “Alright, team. We’re here to repair machines—perfect cover for some good old-fashioned sabotage!”

 

Razor, stationed near the entrance, was busy hacking the scanner to ensure they had a clean entry and exit. “Just let me know when you’re ready to make some noise,” he said with a wink.

 

Less than three hours later, the team had successfully disrupted the machinery, but Vance had a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Wait... we need to do something before leaving. How about the plantation itself?”

 

The others nodded in agreement. Disrupting the poppy fields was crucial, as it was the source of the plants fueling the red mist production. “Let’s poison the plants,” Mei suggested. “We can use weed killer on the water containers for the sprinklers. That’ll prevent further growth and cut off their supply.”

 

“Brilliant!” Vance replied, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s make sure this operation leaves a lasting impression.”

 

Just as they were about to leave, Razor provided intel that a high-ranking officer was scheduled to inspect the factory soon. The team exchanged glances, excitement and tension crackling in the air.

 

“Wanna give it a shot?” Vance asked, an enthusiastic grin spreading across his face.

 

“Yeah, let’s go for it!” Kirk chimed in, his confidence infectious.

 

They quickly devised a plan to ambush the officer while he inspected the containers on the platform. With plenty of cover available, it was the perfect opportunity to strike.

 

Hours passed, and the distant thrum of a military helicopter grew louder. “Looks like our guest has arrived,” Vance said, peeking through the foliage. A man in black dismounted, followed closely by a thin figure in a grey suit.

 

“Time for the ambush,” Vance whispered, adrenaline surging through him.

 

the CAD team  is take aim. then razor manage to hack the local camera.and manage to hear the figure conversation with his officer, and its facial indentification. the man was a weaver

 

"Sir, 534 out of the 46 insurgents are dead" officer said while his hand on the tablet

 

“Civilians are just combatants who didn’t enlist.” the weaver says, then continue

“It’s not a massacre It’s surprise peacekeeping”

 

Weaver The man in the grey suit began conversing with the others, moving closer to the team's position. Vance tightened his grip on his weapon. “Alright, take the shot only if you’re 100% sure you’ll get a direct hit.”

 

As the Weaver leaned against the fence, laughing, Mei took a deep breath and fired first with her silenced pistol, hitting him in the head. Kirk followed suit, landing a shot to the neck. The weaver stumbled, crashing into a container filled with chemicals.

 

“Quick and clean!” Vance exclaimed, adrenaline pumping as they quickly dispersed, not wanting to linger after taking down a high-ranking officer.

 

As they exited the factory, the atmosphere shifted; guards were on high alert, and the team had to maneuver carefully. They ducked into nearby vegetation, hoping to remain unseen until nightfall.

 

Weaver then somehow still survive but screaming on agony as his skin is steaming and melting“aghhh.. i wanna them dead!.. i im not joker damn it!”

 

Suddenly, barking echoed from the distance, and Vance’s heart sank. “They’re using dogs to sniff out our trail. It’s only a matter of time before they locate us.”

 

“Great,” Mei muttered, her brows knitting together. “What do we do?”

 

“Alright, we have a better chance if we spread out,” Vance said, his face grim. “I’ll create a diversion with a smoke grenade, then we regroup at the rendezvous point. It was a pleasure working with you all, including you, Razor.”

 

With resolve, he pulled out a smoke grenade. “Let’s do this!”

 

The team split, sprinting into the underbrush as Vance tossed the grenade, a cloud of smoke enveloping him and obscuring his escape. The barking grew closer, but he was determined to give his team a fighting chance.

 

As Vance dashed through the trees, he could hear the whir of helicopter blades approaching and the frantic shouts of soldiers. They needed to outrun their pursuers, and speed was their only ally.

 

Meanwhile, Razor monitored the team’s movements from a distance, anxiety gnawing at him. He silently prayed for their safety, a rare moment of vulnerability for the normally composed hacker.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Razor received an update from Mei and Kirk confirming they had reached their position. Relief washed over him, but Vance’s absence weighed heavily in the air.

 

Then, a crackling radio call broke through. “I’m getting shot. I lost my arm and fell off a cliff. I can’t contact you earlier because they’re right on top of me. Pick me up!”

 

Razor’s heart raced as he quickly responded, asking for Vance’s location. “Hang on, I’m on my way!”

 

When Razor found Vance, he was perched precariously on a boulder, blood pooling beneath him. “Stay with me, Vance,” Razor urged, quickly applying first aid to stem the bleeding.

 

“Heh… at this time, drugs are kinda good. If not, I’d probably scream like crazy,” Vance muttered, a weak grin on his face.

 

Razor tried to soothe him, but Vance’s eyes fluttered closed as unconsciousness took hold from pain and blood loss.

 

When Vance finally awoke, sunlight streamed through a nearby window. He saw Razor sleeping in a chair beside the bed. Content and safe, he took a deep breath, trying to keep quiet.

 

Minutes later, Mei and Kirk entered, accompanied by a nurse and a doctor. “So, doctor, am I going to lose my right arm?” Vance asked, his voice tinged with anxiety.

 

The doctor examined him quickly, then delivered the grim news. “The arm is severely damaged. Based on the X-ray, amputation is likely necessary. The surgery will be delicate and risky due to the injury and blood loss.”

 

Vance nodded, accepting his fate. “Alright…”

 

After the medical team finished their task, Vance turned to Mei and Kirk. “So, how did the mission go?”

 

Mei and Kirk reported their findings about the red mist, emphasizing the need for further research. Vance felt gratitude for their dedication and hard work.

 

As they shared a lighthearted moment, local news coverage on the TV caught their attention. The screen depicted the Red Army’s new general attacking the Emerald League, showcasing the use of the red mist during the assault on the city.