Cappadocia's counterinsurgency ended twenty-one hours after the Nightblades fell from the sky.

There was no effective resistance, no tug-of-war on the front, no consultation, no collegial talks, no exchanges. For the Cappadocians, the boundary between life and death has never been clearer.

It's not a multiple-choice question, and there's no compromise in between. Surrender, or die, that's all.

Most of the rebels were reduced to slave labor, and the officers were executed, with a few exceptions. Several of the officers who spearheaded the Planet's Governor, Trust Rasbaya, were pardoned, and they were spared death, only to remain slave laborers.

Civilians have paid the price, and upon the arrival of the Ministry of War and the colonizer fleet, they will be sent to other planets to serve as pioneers to atone for their sins.

Get the most out of it?

Carlil shook his head, erasing the word from his heart.

It was not easy for him to adapt to his new environment, and while it was true that he had fully adapted to being an 'instructor', it was a different matter to be personally involved in the war.

Carlil would describe it as a vague labor ache that would erupt abruptly whenever he was about to forget it, alerting him to its presence.

"Old stubborn." With a low sigh, Carlil shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh.

There were two roads in front of him, one old and one new. It's not hard to choose, but if both paths are correct, how does he choose?

The close crew members were drawn to his laughter, but it didn't last long, as their immediate superiors reprimanded them in rather stern tones.

"What's there to see? Keep up the work! You lazy guys who don't want to move without anyone kicking your ass with your boots! ”

Carlil heard this, and his smile changed to a wry smile of slightly helplessness. Half a minute later, an old man with both legs replaced by bionic prosthetics walked up to him.

He had no hair, a bare head and a grotesque scar on his forehead. He was supposed to be strong, and the legacy of his past was still working tenaciously in this old body.

The old man's eyes widened and he glared intently at Carlil, who looked rude, but in fact, Gisbir Hasir, the captain of the Tridesia, looked at everyone like this.

He had a slight eyesight problem and was stubborn in refusing to have another bionic operation. So this has become his usual expression, which is quite laughable. For his crew, the old man was always daunting.

"Lord Carlil!" The old man shouted at him in a voice that was so loud that it bordered on noise. "Where are we going next?!"

"It depends, Captain." Carlil said. "We'd better wait for a reply from the war dogs before we make plans."

"Understood!" Captain Gisbill nodded with a shout, his voice still above the average of his life. After receiving the answer, he turned away without hesitation. Not only that, but he didn't even stay on the bridge.

Carlil saw his back in the distance, and knew in his heart that the captain was going to patrol his ship again.

Gisbir Hasir was a very traditional captain, so traditional that he spent several hours a day patrolling all the important parts of the Tridesia through the ship's elevators and lifts.

Sometimes he even volunteered to work overtime, and there were rumors among the crew that they had seen the captain wandering outside the engine room like a ghost during the scheduled break, constantly checking on it. That's good, actually, it's very good.

Carlil enjoys working with these old-fashioned people, who may have flaws of one kind or another, but they have things that the progress of the times cannot give to everyone.

It's more precious than gold, and it can't be acquired through exercise. You were born to have, you were born to have, you were born not to have.

The gold that should have shone has long since shone brightly.

With his head down, Carlil began to flip through his tactical manual.

Van Cleef was certainly not the only one in the legion who had tried to compile books over the past three years. It's just that his focus is not the same as Van Cleve's.

Van Cleef is trying to improve the tactics and tactics within the Nightblade so that they can have a good chemistry with other legions. Carlil, on the other hand, wrote new tactics in his playbook, and they were all born out of a battle over the past three years.

For example, they fought against a certain alien in the Hazy Star Field, which was extremely brutal and powerful, but the level of technology tended to be primitive, and it only operated on one planet.

The Nightblades spotted them, but didn't launch a full-scale attack in the first place. In fact, after withdrawing the scout troops, they caused a rain on the planet. Chemicals with a strong tear-jerking effect rained down from the sky and rained down on the race.

The torrential rain continued for a day and a night before it stopped, and by the time the Nightblades fell from the sky, most of the xenomorphs had already lost their mobility, and it would be a no-brainer to let them die. As a result, other versions of this tactic were developed.

For example, changing a chemical to a toxin that causes a person to lose sight but amplifies other senses, and uses it at night on planets that are unwilling to submit or rebel, and only after it has taken effect will the Nightblades be activated.

It only takes a few hours for the enemy to descend into complete madness. There are no taboos in war, and it may be disgraceful to use this method, but the Nightblades don't care.

In addition to this series of tactics, there are also a series of tactics that have nothing to do with fair duels at all, such as the rapid raid tactics against the jumping gang, and the stealth-sabotage-decapitation psychological warfare that are most beloved by the hunting squads.

However, that doesn't mean that Nightblades are only good at fighting those who can bully the weak.

Looking through their gaps, out of the corner of his eye, Carlil noticed a blue glow on the data desk in front of him. He took the first step to raise his hand and pressed it, and after the biometric recognition was successful, the mechanical sound prompt of 'there is communication' was belated.

The blue light converged, and a bust of Angron with his hands folded appeared in front of Karil. His image was a little blurry due to the distance, but that didn't prevent Carlil from seeing the blood stains on his body.

Noticing his eyes, Angeland explained, "I executed several nobles with my own hands. The scene was somewhat bloody. ”

Carlil nodded knowingly, not making any comments. Angelon didn't say hello and quickly got to the point. He spends a few minutes talking about the achievements of the war dogs, as well as a piece of news that Carlil somewhat unexpected.

"—I issued a war notice to the three remaining rebel planets, informing them that the Wardogs were about to join forces with the Midnight Blade to attack them. But they are willing to surrender unconditionally. The Nukerian said with a strange expression. They have only one requirement. ”

"What requirements?"

"Ahem," Angrand coughed softly. "They want the Eighth Army to stay away from them."

Carlil was slightly stunned, then laughed dumbly.

"It looks like our reputation has finally come to this point." He shrugged his shoulders with no shortage of self-deprecation. "Still, it's a good thing. If we continue to develop further, we may be able to one day bring a world back to order with just a few words. ”

"But don't you think that's a bit too much to pay, Carlile?" Angrand said meaningfully. Even from a long distance, he could only rely on holograms to communicate with each other, and the worry in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.

"For some things, cost is a meaningless word, Angrand." Carlil replied softly. "Everyone in the Eighth Legion is ready to realize that the eyes of others have nothing to do with us. We are blades in the dark. ”

"I respect your decision, but well, what about the civilians, of course, what about the other legions?" Nukeria's gladiator shook his head with a worried face.

"I've met a lot of people over the years. Not everyone agreed with the approach of the Eighth Army. In fact, some people who had never met Conrad had begun to think of him as some kind of terrorist. ”

Carlil's eyes narrowed silently.

"Hmm-" he nodded. Can you continue? If it doesn't bother you to confide their names. ”

"Your words sound strange," Angrand couldn't help frowning. "I'm just stating a fact, how do you act like you're trying to remember a few names?"

"I do have to remember the names, if you will." Carlil said noncommittally. "Rather than letting the contradictions intensify in silence, I think it's better to let them be resolved in communication earlier."

Angron was silent for a moment, he pondered, but eventually shook his head.

"I can't tell you who these people are, Carlile." The gladiator said with a little seriousness. "Although I do not agree with their thoughts and opinions, these words are exchanged privately after all. I can't be a whistleblower. ”

"I understand."

"Still."

Angron raised his hand thoughtfully and scratched his head. He turned, beckoned to someone out of sight, and had a quick conversation with the person.

Carlil waited patiently, without words. After a few minutes, Angrão, still frowning, turned his gaze back.

"Where are you going next?" He asked.

"If nothing else, I should go back to Nostramo."

"Ah, then that's going to be done—" Angron looked visibly relieved. "—You can drop by and I'll send you a coordinate. Good thing I went to Terra before I came to Cappadocia."

The gladiator continued to wave off camera, and couldn't help but complain, "Seriously, Carlile, do you think intergalactic communication is a bit too strenuous?" ”

"Maybe you can try a psionic call."

"Ah, no, forget it." Angron said bluntly. "I don't even want a navigator if it weren't necessary."

Carlil smiled and stopped talking. A few minutes later, he received a coordinate.

There is one more chapter, ten thousand tomorrow.

(End of chapter)