86--EIGHTY-SIX

Chapter Vol. 2 Ch. 6

"—This is the First Northern Area, First Forces 'Sledgehammer' calling all Processors. To all Processors."

The partner "Juggernaut" lying by the side was badly dented on the cannon and the armor, after having taken a clean impact from the Löwe that weighed in excess of fifty tonnes, it could not move.

The pilot managed to crawl out from the crushed cockpit, dragging his paralyzed right half as he came to an old bridge in the outskirts of the area. He leaned his back upon a wrecked stone pillar, and laid down weakly. He wanted to open his eyes, only to end up feeling utterly lethargic. The armor of wilted bone color was smeared with the blood oozing from his body, and was vividly clear even in the night.

“This is the leader of “Sledgehammer’, ‘Black Bird’.”

All members of the squadron had been eliminated.

It was likely that the other forces in the area were wiped out too.

Total obliteration.

The “Legion”'s specifications were far superior to the “Juggernaut”, and there was no comparison. Such ferocious enemy units attacked on an unprecedented scale, and they, weak in fighting strength, had no hope of survival.

But they fought. Behind them was the country that was not worth protecting, and there were no families awaiting their return.

But they kept fighting.

“Our battle has ended.”

Thus, that was the lone remaining pride of the Eighty-Sixers.

The light-nulfillying armor reflected no moonlight, and the heavy metallic body of a Löwe made practically no noise as it moved forward towards him.

Perhaps the enemy was unwilling to slaughter a dying mouse by wasting some rounds, for neither the terrifyingly powerful 12.7mm heavy machine guns nor the ferocious 120mm tank cannon were aimed at him. The Löwe leisurely moved forth with the arrogance of a carnivore, its massive frame taking up the entire width of the stone bridge.

He, unable to move anymore, could only lift his head towards this steel tank that was closing in, sneering.

He was speaking into the public channels, in a one-way communication channel, but he could sense that on the other end of the receiver, countless numbers of his fellow eighty-sixers were listening to him intently.

“To all the Processors who can hear this. To everyone who fought until the very end, and survived until the very end. We’ve finally–retired. Good work everyone.”

They lived on this hellish battlefield of no death, where there was no redemption or hope, that no matter how they struggled, death awaited them.

Once he said everything he had to, he cut off all communications, and tossed aside his headset. He then picked up the crude looking control device within his crushed right hand.

The Löwe passed the stone bridge, closing in before his eyes as he leaned haplessly on the stone pillar.

Five years ago. Back then, the commander of his first squadron was an Eighty-Sixer, a survivor of the Republic’s Orthodox Army who was thrown into the battlefield. The commander taught him how to fight, how to survive, and how to use this controller.

There were none of the white swines left who would do this.

His lips and skin were searing and cracking under the intense heat, yet the smile on his face was so hearty.

Never once should be succumb to despair, nor give up hope to survive, nor let hatred stain upon the pride in his heart.

Such were the rules he had imposed upon himself, and thus was he able to keep fighting till this day.

But at the very end, this line from him would surely be forgivable, no?

He saw the enemy unit raise its leg before him, and with a chuckle, he pressed the detonator.

This line was meant for the shameless, tragic white swines of the Republic who had given up on battling, shied away from reality, and neither knew how to resist nor choose to die this way.

“–Serves you right.”

It was most likely that most of them were ‘Black Sheep’. The “Legion”, with the brains of the dead implanted in them to overcome the state lifespan, were the masses of Eighty-Sixers souls the Republic left to die on the battlefield, not even granting them a proper burial.

The army of the Dead had returned home.

Amidst the crease in the fortress wall was on the verge of collapse, there appeared a light beyond the torrent of steel and the night.

It was a light caused by the optical sensors, cold and blue, a ghost light in a deep dark forest, leading people into an endless abyss.

The faint moonlight shows a vague silhouette. The shadow, massive as a skyscraper or a colossus, made it difficult to determine the actual range.

The front side of the shadow quickly rose. At the same time, the noise on the monitor was amplified for some reason.

Suddenly, she noticed.

Upon the devastated scene of the collapsed Grand Mur, there was a giant hitting it repeatedly, and finally crushed it.

It was a devastation, caused by a cannon strike.

A flash.

At that moment, the footage on the screen vanished, showing complete darkness. It was likely the camera..or the land where the camera was installed, had been blown away by the cannon.

The siren showed no signs of abating.

At that moment.

There was a unit the elites of the elites on the First battle zone of the Eastern frontlines had once encountered, but had to retreat. It was a brand new long ranged cannon with astounding fire rate and range beyond its contemporaries, pelting its strikes with tremendous power like a downpour.

“–Railgun.”

Lena muttered, and pursed her lips.

Her fellow countrymen remained unperturbed, sensing that there was a commotion, but not endangered in the slightest. She suddenly turned to leave the office, towards her control room. The heels of the military boots landed on the wooden land, resulting in anxious knocking.

The RAID device was giving off an illusionary heat.

“Lena! That siren was...!”

“Reporting in, your Majesty! The Northern battlefront...!”

“Arnett, Cyclops. Affirmative. –They’re here.”

She switched the Para-RAID to target every single unit that could be connected, and began to do so. Typically, a commander could only be synchronized with one unit, but this was certainly not enough. Thus, she had Arnett help out, and adjusted the Para-RAID settings slightly over a year.

The enemy was the army of dead souls, of the countless Eighty-Sixers the Republic had abandoned to die on the battlefield.

To resist them, they had to gather their fighting strength.

To keep on fighting.

To continue fighting in response to their final words, to survive.

“–This is “Bloody Regina” to all Processors on the Frontlines!”

Federation Military Alias, the Morphos.

One unit alone was enough to breach the Grand Mur, and the new “Legion” unit reduced the stronghold of the Federation military into dust. This footage, found in the collapsed military headquarters, was the first observed data of this particular enemy unit.