The Lahrs have a fleet.

Realizing this made Yago Savitarion feel a pang of discomfort in his heart—it's not like the Nightblades haven't dealt with aliens, but there are still a minority of races like the Lal who are even fully capable of building their own warships.

Fortunately, the fleet that came here was a confluence of three legions, and it was only a simple salvo and a quick blow from the destroyers that completely wiped out the fleet of the Lahrs.

Then the war began.

Familiar airborne, familiar bumps, familiar facing the first wave of enemy attacks. Sevita had expected that this would be done smoothly in the midst of difficulties as in the past, but what they were facing was not 'difficult', but a collection of difficulties.

"Move closer to me!" Sevita roared gloomily in the communication channel. 'I don't want to see anybody out of the team, stay in formation and push fast. We're going to join up with the rest of the squad at once. ”

His squad carried out his orders in silence. Sevita was at the forefront of the way, and his reflexes were surprisingly fast, faster than the average Astarte, so he always held the vanguard position.

Valtek and Karen Orfion followed him closely, ready to take on enemies that might appear out of Savita's line of sight. Behind them were Ramian, Vasagian and Balti Saar, three armed with explosive guns and in charge of fire cover.

The apothecary Vakendan Lyle and the silent Zarigras walked alongside, and at the back of the line were Anro and Nadras from Lensot—all black-haired, black-eyed pale men who were silent in battle, with the air of death from Nostramo.

Generally speaking, whether they speak or remain silent, their enemies shudder. But that doesn't work for the Lars, who are simply a bunch of tall, strong, nimble beasts with serpent tails and four arms.

The strength is infinite, and he can even tear through the terracotta armor with his own claws. It is even faster enough to dodge explosive bombs at a certain distance. What's worse is that they're not primitives, and their weapons are just as deadly.

If that's not a problem for you, listen to the sound of the waves.

Yes, the place where the Nightblades landed was a suspended city built on the sea - the Rals were able to move freely in the water, but the Nightblades were not. In the fight against such a dangerous enemy, if you are dragged underwater, you can be sentenced to death.

But Sevita was careful enough.

He always did, like now. As soon as the characteristic hoarse noise of the Lahrs rang out from the bombed ruins of their city, Sevita danced his chainsaw.

Two beasts with serpent's tails descended from the sky and pounced on him, one of whom he immediately cut off in the waist, and his head was drenched in blood. The other was powdered by Valtek with power gloves.

But that wasn't the end of the story, as the attacked team immediately scattered into the ruins, and their decision was justified half a second later, as the network of Ral firepower had poured in.

Dark green beams of energy were launched with their desecrated alien technology, constantly attacking Sevita and his team. The young but experienced Nightblade frowned, listening carefully for a moment.

From the dull sound of the Ral beams of energy, he captured the information he needed. Sevita turned her head to the side and gestured to the silent Zarigrass. The latter nodded silently and bent out of cover.

The rest of the men immediately poked their guns out of the rubble bunkers and began to use explosive bombs to attract the attention of the Rals.

Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, Zarigrass's voice rang out in the communication channel.

"There's one one left, Captain." He said hoarsely. "Do you want me to kill it?"

"No, bring it here." Sevita said.

He stood up, and the eyepiece began to magnify. Four hundred and seventy-two meters from them, Zariglas ran with a half-crippled Rahr in his hand.

There was blood all behind him, and the corpses of the aliens were scattered all over the place, a few of them somehow pierced by the sharp sections of the ruins, and the corpses were sliding down the sharp strips of shells.

Standard Zarigrath style, he enters the battle with cruelty that occasionally surprises Terra veterans. A few seconds later, a living xenomorph was thrown at Sevita's feet.

The others ignored it and continued to be on their guard, while Zarigrath borrowed a piece of cloth from the ruins and wiped down his power sword. Sevita thrust her chainsaw face down into the dirt and crouched down to look at the rall.

The latter had his head bowed, and on his insect-like head was a pair of dark, multifaceted eyes, shaped like jewels, wet. The jaw was cracked, and blood was dripping down the fanged mouth.

Sevita watched it carefully for a moment, then drew the battle knife from her waist.

He smiled inside his helmet without a smile and hissed, "Explain beforehand, I'm going to dissect you." ”

Tens of seconds later, a series of inaudible screams echoed above the ruins. Two minutes later, the screaming stopped, and Sevita's team left the ruins.

Behind them, the corpse of a Lahr, skinned and most of its muscles had been plucked, was hoisted and floated in the rubble in the salty sea breeze.

——

Van Cleef indifferently swung his right fist, slammed, slammed, slammed. After three strokes, the Lal who had jumped out of the shadows was completely dead, its face shattered into a mass of flesh by the company commander without emotion or sense.

Then, he turned, and the chainsaw sword in his left hand roared and sawed open the chest of the other alien. The thing howled in pain, four arms flailing wildly, tearing at Van Cleef's power armor.

It was only a dying force, but it caused a huge gap to bloom on the surface of the armor. Van Cleef frowned, his right hand brushed over his waist, and the battle knife slashed through it, slashing the thing head.

But this is far from the end, in fact, in the dark, sea-filled cavern, there are many more Rahrs screaming.

Unfortunately, the Nightblades are not afraid of the dark.

There are monsters in the dark, yes. But the monsters can only be them.

"Assemble, salvo." Van Cleef coldly gave two orders, extremely brief, but the Nightblades of the First Company responded to him with great speed.

The aliens howled, shadowed in the darkness, and they were greeted by the baptism of bombs. Flesh splattered, and flames erupted from the muzzles of the guns briefly illuminated the darkness and made the nightblades' midnight-colored armor even more eerie.

The suppression of fire lasted relentlessly and efficiently for four minutes and seventeen seconds, and the people of the Lal who had arrived from the depths of the cavern could not stop even a decent fire attack and died in vain.

Trampling flesh, Van Cleef ran over their corpses without emotion, and the flesh bloomed beneath the steel boots, turning into heterogeneous flowers. His chainsaw sword stopped roaring, and the Nightblades silently gathered together again, beginning to kill the aliens who had survived and gather the casualties.

The plan was generally successful, and the capital of the city of the Lal had already been taken down by them, and yes, their capital was this cave overflowing with seawater.

Van Cleef lowered his head and stared at the ground for a moment. The sea swayed, passively washing away the flesh from his steel boots, and the corpses of the aliens floated in the water, the flesh and blood scattered in a scattered, almost like a nasty mockery.

No amount of death will be enough to bring back any of the people I have lost.

The company commander raised his hand, slowly took off his helmet, and took a deep breath of air with a strong smell of blood. His adjutant came to him, covered in blood, and without saying a word, reached out and took the combat dagger from Van Cleef's waist and replaced him with a new one.

"Eleven victims." Morets whispered. "There are more wounded, we need to rest on the spot for a while, company commander."

"I know." Van Cleef responded calmly.

He didn't turn his head to look at Morec, the pair of eyes above his towering cheekbones staring into the depths of the cavern.

"Did you notify the original?" He asked briefly.

"Informed."

"What did he say?"

"He mentioned the funeral."

"None?"

"Nope."

Van Cleef turned his head with a rare smile on his face: "That means he's allowed us to move freely, Moletz." Rest on the spot and regain combat effectiveness. Twenty minutes later, the march resumed, and we were to slaughter all the remaining Lars. ”

He put on a helmet.

"—not a single one."

"Understood, company commander." The adjutant said mildly, rubbing the replaced combat knife with a whetstone hanging from his waist.

The voice was poignant, as if the dead were wailing.

——

Carlil gently stroked his fingers over the cheek of a rall, and blood bloomed. His opponent screeched back, his body stronger than his kind, already covered with multiple wounds, dripping with blood and terrifying.

Each of its four arms held a twisted blade, glowing with cold light and arcing, but it didn't really hit Carlil. The Ral cracked open its jaw in anger, its fangs bursting into the air, and the next second it pounced again.

The hatred was especially evident, and Carlil stared into its eyes, without mercy, but without any wave, he grabbed its head with his hand, and with a slight lift upward, the spine and the head were completely pulled out.

Carlil dropped it and turned to the other end of the ruins. The crumbling Coral Tower building is no longer what it once was, and no matter how much love the Lahrs once poured into it, it is now a ruin.

But what is it that destroys it? Is it bombing? No, it's a storm bird. It is one of the few Storm Birds still in service within the NightBlade, and at this moment, it is being burned in a fire.

"Instructor." A voice rang out weakly beside the storm bird. "I can't see you anymore."

"If you can't see it, you can get some rest." Carlil said quietly. "You've lost so much blood that it's normal to not be able to see, Casstas."

"Where's my squad?"

Carlil didn't answer the question, he just turned his head and glanced at the corpses he had carried to the Stormbird's side.

He didn't speak, and his expression was hidden behind the bloodless and tearless skeleton. Nightblade, named Casteath, understood something from the silence, and he smiled bitterly and barely moved his body.

Both of his legs were broken, as was one of his hands. It was the honor he had left to himself in the face of the attacks of the Lahrs, whose arc-wrapped blades were so deadly that they could tear through the terracotta steel.

The sturdy material used to make power armor turns into tofu when it goes on the battlefield, and anything can pierce it.

Castath's team was wiped out except for him, and their Stormbird was attacked by a beam of energy from the top of the coral tower, and then by a premeditated Lal attack after an emergency landing.

The aliens were deadly enough, and the ambush was led by three stronger Lal men. The members of Castath's team were either torn apart by the blades or roasted alive in the power armor by the beam of energy.

His survival was actually a matter of luck, and if it weren't for Karil wandering the battlefield like a ghost, he would have died long ago.

"Instructor." After a moment of silence, Castellus spoke again. His voice was still weak, almost like a whisper in the wind. "What should I do?"

"It's good to live." Carlil said that the cloak remained safely in place, inactive. Something flashed in his shadows, filled with the fresh smell of blood, and walked into the darkness with hatred and anger. "Your oath isn't over yet, Casstas."

Eleven minutes later, medical officers and pharmacists in troop carriers came and took him and his team. Carlil, however, remained where he was, not leaving. He lowered his head, and a blue light began to light up in his eyes.

It didn't appear like lightning as fast as before, but little by little it diffused out from the depths of the skeleton's eye sockets. The water on the reef shuddered, and a strong wind suddenly blew above the ruins.

The skeleton clenched its right hand little by little, and his shadow began to twist, boil, and even rise as if it were about to break away from him—and yet, just as it was about to reach a tipping point, the visions vanished without warning.

Carlil let go of his hand and turned away in silence.

Some forces have a price, and they need to be tempered

He must be temperate.

A staircase was already spreading under his feet.

It is composed of the blood of the enemy, the blood of the Nightblade. It is the hatred and unwillingness that swells on every battlefield, they roar in, praying to be fulfilled and held. Cast into a blade, stabbed into the murderer's chest.

Carlil didn't choose to accept it, and as always, he refused.

He wasn't going to step on that long staircase yet.

But it has a crown ready.

This chapter is 4k, and there are 6k, which is expected to be updated in the afternoon, and I will go to a table at noon.

(End of chapter)