Chapter 38: The Charge

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Mordo ran his hand over the crystal saber he held. Its cold scales pressed against the blade’s searing spine, heat enough to scorch flesh. Yet though the Great Chieftain felt the pain, he did not find it unbearable. He felt that the strength of his ancestors was entering his body along with that burning sensation.

The saber had been forged by smelting the tribe’s greatest treasure—the legendary Fire-Scale Blade—with high-carbon crystal from another star. Mordo had therefore named it the “Fire-Scale Blade: Strong.”

There was no helping it. As the bravest and most formidable chieftain among the Sandfolk, he had not read many books. One had to be understanding.

Besides, the so-called tribal treasure, the Fire-Scale Blade, was actually a naturally formed slab of iron containing a certain amount of Firestar fragments. Chieftain Mordo refused absolutely to acknowledge this claim.

It was a sacred treasure bestowed upon the Sandfolk, upon the Red Lake Tribe, by the gods and the spirits of their ancestors! It represented the courage and glory of the Sandfolk! It was destined to become the divine weapon of the overlord of all the Sandfolk.

The overlord of the Sandfolk… What an honored goal! What a sacred future! What a glorious moment! It would be the age of the Sandfolk—and I will lead that age!

Mordo felt a wave of heat rise within him, as though the warmth had traveled from his hand into his body. He knew he was getting carried away, but he also knew that once the human city before him fell, none of those dreams would remain mere fantasies.

“Are you ready, my warriors?” the Great Chieftain shouted from atop a colossal Spear-Moke raptor.

“For Nuwa!” the Sandfolk riders shouted, raising their rifles and spears. Mixed among the raptor cavalry were, well, tank crews as well.

The Great Chieftain looked over the tanks with satisfaction, then turned his eyes to his elite guards and the bulletproof armor worn by the Blood Lake Guard. He hated the people of Earth, hated all humanoid creatures, and even hated every visitor from beyond the stars. But he had to admit that their weapons were genuinely excellent.

It was precisely because he now commanded twenty tanks, five thousand elite soldiers armed with rifles and crystal sabers, and a thousand elite Blood Lake Guards whose riders and mounts alike were equipped with extraterrestrial defensive armor that he had the authority to speak at the council of lords—and the confidence to attack Tulong Port directly.

Those short-nosed, scaleless monkeys had merely relied on their sturdy ships and powerful cannons! Now that I possess weapons of my own, why should I wait for those cowardly wretches hiding in their city-state to make preparations?

I will bathe this human city in blood! Their skulls will become the steps to my throne!

The Great Chieftain adjusted his specially made defensive armor, then glanced at his young son, Tutu. The Sandfolk boy wore a suit of red armor that concealed his face. A rifle was strapped to his back, and he gripped a saber with a long handle in both hands, though he was trembling faintly.

“Are you afraid, my son?” Mordo asked.

“F-Father, I-I wouldn’t dare, I…”

“Learn your first lesson, my son. Learn to overcome fear on the battlefield. All you need to do is find a living human, bite through his throat with your own teeth, drink his blood, and eat him! Then you will fear nothing! You will conquer your enemy, and you will conquer your fear!”

The chieftain patted his son on the shoulder and then paid him no further attention. He urged his raptor forward once more, galloping to the front of the formation. Raising his divine sword high toward the sky, he shouted to everyone:

“Today, we shall make soup from human blood! Lay waste to them, warriors of Nuwa!”

The Sandfolk riding raptors advanced amid the tanks roaring forward, gradually picking up speed. The charge was not led by Mordo alone, the foremost strongman among the tribal faction. More than a hundred thousand riders from over a dozen Sandfolk tribes charged as well, converging like a flood and surging toward Tulong Port from every direction.

Of course, how much chaos this created was impossible to say. The timing of the attack was far from coordinated. Soldiers from Tribe A blocked the advance of Tribe B. Tribes C and D lost their way, collided, and became entangled in the chaos. Sandfolk fired from raptorback to frighten the enemy, only to shoot their own people. Tanks crushed cavalrymen advancing beside them. Incidents like these occurred countless times.

Even so, after more than ten minutes of charging, Great Chieftain Mordo finally reached the walls of Tulong with his son and a small escort. There, they saw the hemispherical veil of light covering the entire city.

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By then, Mordo could not even find the commanders of his own thousand-man units, but the chieftain was not worried in the slightest. In any case, were there not armed members of his tribe all around him?

We have more warriors than there are humans in the entire city. How could we possibly lose? We only need to charge inside!

The Great Chieftain continued to rally his forces.

“Charge inside! Charge inside!”

He was not afraid of the veil of light that had withstood the fire of tank cannons. The Sandfolk’s allies had told them that such shields could not stop people. All they had to do was pass through.

“Pass through that veil and then open fire!” the Great Chieftain roared at one of the tanks beside him.

The tank began moving forward, its turret swiveling as it searched for a target. It found none. Instead, there came a resounding clang, and the cannon barrel slammed into Great Chieftain Mordo, who happened to be riding the highest and therefore presented the largest target.

The Great Chieftain lay sprawled on the ground, battered, dizzy, and shaken to his very core. More than anything else, however, he was utterly incapable of thinking. The other riders, including Tutu himself, were completely stunned as well.

The tank, meanwhile, remained entirely unaware of what had happened and continued moving forward.

Infantry-tank coordination was, in truth, a technical art. Yet far too many people simply failed to understand that.

“Boom! Boom!”

Anti-tank missiles that had come from somewhere tore through the tank, transforming it into a blazing fireball.

The Sandfolk remained dumbfounded until concentrated fire ripped them apart.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The various defensive weapons within the city began to unleash their power as well, creating explosions throughout the dense enemy formations. Every blossom of flame reduced more than ten Sandfolk warriors to ash.

Tutu’s raptor was dead. It took him a long time to crawl free from beneath the heavy corpse. Then, using both hands and feet, he crawled to his father’s side and pulled the upper half of his body upright.

Only then did he discover that his father truly had nothing left below the waist. He froze as though struck by lightning.

Mordo summoned the last of his strength and thrust the “Fire-Scale Blade: Strong” into his son’s hands. Then he extended one trembling finger and lightly touched his son’s forehead.

“Fight… for Nuwa…”

The Great Chieftain spoke his final words and breathed his last.

Tutu sat there in a daze, clutching the upper half of his father’s body. Explosions erupted around him. Energy bolts and physical bullets streaked past, yet miraculously, none of them wounded him.

After a long while, he slowly returned to his senses and tremulously closed his father’s eyes. Holding the Fire-Scale Blade: Strong, he stared at his father’s corpse with grief and fury.

Several minutes later, he tore his gaze away and glared angrily at Tulong City. Under the translucent veil of light, the city’s outline, the flashes of artillery fire, and the positions of the enemy were impossible to make out clearly. All he could see were points of light flickering incessantly, followed by the shriek of projectiles through the air and explosions blazing into the sky.

They resembled the bloodthirsty eyes of terrifying beasts hidden in the shadows, forever devouring the lives of the Sandfolk.

The chieftain’s son picked up his father’s treasured sword, seized a riderless raptor, and let out a crazed howl. Then he swung himself onto its back and fled at top speed in the direction opposite Tulong.

He did not even return to the main camp. He abandoned the battlefield entirely and disappeared into the boundless desert.

Tutu was not the first Sandfolk warrior to flee, and so he attracted no attention.

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The collapse of more than a hundred thousand riders nearly triggered a general rout. Fortunately, Grand Elder Herson had prepared for such a possibility long ago and had sent his most accomplished disciples to the field.

The famous Wind Fist, an awakened warrior regarded by the Sandfolk as the equivalent of a god of war, appeared before the fleeing troops. With a single punch, he summoned a vortex of wind that drew dozens of fleeing Sandfolk together and churned them into a mass of flesh and blood.

Even with psychics stationed among them, it took the various Sandfolk lords an entire day and night to finally bring their forces under control. By then, even the most aggressive chieftains understood that without heavy artillery, they could do nothing against that human city—not even if they brought another million soldiers.

The Sandfolk army withdrew in trembling fear and set up camp at a distance. For a time, no one dared make another move.

Lieutenant Colonel Eleanor Bonaparte, who had just achieved a brilliant victory in the defense of the city, was not particularly happy. She was furious with the standard urban defense system.

“Why do those four heavy ion cannons become unusable the moment the city shield is activated? Insufficient battery output? Ha! Passon? Isn’t that company a home-appliance manufacturer? They can produce military batteries too? Oh, because they paid sponsorship money to the Governor’s Office? If anyone said that in the navy, they would be facing a firing squad!”

“Why can all four fortress laser cannons fire only at airborne targets? Who designed this thing? What? The Northern Star Arsenal of the Alliance? Oh, a dual-purpose ground-and-air design would cost at least one-third more? So they bought cannons that could only fire upward?”

Eleanor threw her head back with a long sigh, rendered speechless by sheer exasperation. She had no kind words for anyone and simply sat in her office, fuming.

“Miss… Commander, I have good news.”

Major Dorset entered the room, saw that the young lady’s expression was grim, and quickly changed the way he addressed her.

“If you came to congratulate me on my victory, don’t bother,” Eleanor replied coolly, continuing to play with her whip.

“Actually, I did not. And there are two pieces of good news.”

“Oh?” Eleanor finally showed a trace of interest and looked at him.

“We have made contact with Captain Winter of the Hell Paratrooper Division. He and his men have already arrived at New Yumen!”

Eleanor’s eyes lit up and she rose to her feet. But then she thought of something, and her brows immediately drew together.

“Captain Winter? Only one company?”

How many did you expect? An entire division?

Major Dorset pretended not to hear and continued.

“In addition, Captain Winter says that he has also established contact with the surviving soldiers at Garrison Station Twelve.”

This time, Eleanor’s eyes truly began to shine. Smiling, she swept past the major and hurried toward the communications room.