82: Hospitality with a water pressure of 100 million Pa

The sea breeze blew against his face, carrying the scent of salt and tar.

C-19 stood at the edge of the temporary camp, gazing at the beachhead fortifications still burning in the distance—the flames danced in the night, dyeing the sea surface a dark red.

Thirty-seven hours.

Exactly thirty-seven hours had passed since the end of that ambush, yet his body still remembered the gravitational tearing of the Void Crusher.

Muscle fibers were stretched and twisted by an invisible force, and bones emitted faint creaks in the reverse gravity field; it felt like being grasped by an invisible giant hand and pulled in two opposite directions.

But now, that tearing sensation had vanished.

Not faded.

Vanished.

C-19 looked down at his left hand; there was originally a hideous scar on the back of it.

It was left three years ago on the ice fields of the North European Union, where a barbarian tribal chief had split open his armor along with his flesh using a bone battle-axe.

The wound had healed, but the scar remained—deep and hideous.

The scar was still there.

But that familiar feeling of something inside his body slowly collapsing had temporarily stopped.

C-19 clenched and unclenched his fist; he could feel the rhythm of blood flowing through his veins.

It was steadier and more powerful than before.

"Commander."

The sound of footsteps came from behind him—heavy, steady, and accompanied by the rustle of metal rubbing against soil.

C-19 did not look back. "Are the casualty statistics out?"

"They are out."

The newcomer walked to his side, holding an oil-stained data pad—it was Corvin, a Thunder Warrior from the Ural Mining Area and the most silent member of the legion. When he spoke, his voice was low: "Forty-seven killed in the Void Crusher ambush, eleven heavily wounded and lost combat effectiveness, and sixty-three lightly wounded who can continue to fight."

C-19 nodded.

He already knew these numbers.

Replenishments had been completed; seventy-three new Thunder Warriors had been filled into the vacancies of various squads.

Their genetic sequences were brand new, and their memories were blank, possessing only the most basic combat instincts and absolute loyalty to the legion.

In a biological sense, they were soldiers.

In every other sense, they were infants.

"How are the recruits adapting?" C-19 asked.

"Fine," Corvin said, offering more words than usual. "They can shoot, they can follow orders, and they can die—that's enough."

"Enough."

C-19 repeated the word, his voice dull.

He turned around to look at the interior of the camp.

The temporary fortifications were built with steel plates and reinforced concrete, distributed in an irregular hexagonal pattern.

Thunder Warriors gathered in small groups; some were maintaining weapons, while others were silently eating a grayish-brown nutritional paste that looked unappetizing but provided all the calories and protein required for combat.

No one spoke.

Not because of military discipline, but because there was nothing to say.

Everyone knew what they were about to face.

The coastal fisherman army was merely an appetizer, and the Void Crusher ambush was a cold dish before the main course; the real banquet had not yet begun.

The Mariana Deep Palace.

That name weighed on everyone's heart; no one wanted to mention it, but everyone was thinking about it.

"Is there any new news from Intelligence?" C-19 asked.

Corvin shook his head and then nodded. "There is, but it's useless."

He handed over the data pad.

C-19 took it and looked down at the text on the screen.

The cursor flickered on the crude display interface, each line of text struggling to describe something indescribable.

[Target Profile: Mariana Deep Palace]

Location: Mariana Trench, Pacific Ocean, approximately 11,034 meters below sea level

Construction Era: Estimated within 300 years after the Great Catastrophe, legacy of the Age of Technological Hegemony

Defense System: Unknown. Known deep-sea pressure is 1,100 atmospheres; conventional submarines' maximum diving depth does not exceed 800 meters

Garrison Size: Unknown. Presumed to be the main force of Sun Warriors and Nathan Doom's direct personal guard

Entry Method: Unknown

Intelligence Reliability: 14%

Fourteen.

C-19 stared at that number for three seconds.

"Fourteen percent reliability," he said slowly. "That means we know almost nothing."

"Yes, Commander."

"This is an eleven-thousand-meter abyss—we don't even know where the entrance is."

"Yes."

"And what we have to do is take a legion that has just been replenished with recruits down to that depth, breach a fortress that has never been breached, and kill a tyrant who supposedly holds hegemony over the entire Pacific Ocean."

Corvin was silent for a moment.

"It does sound a bit difficult," he said.

C-19 almost laughed—difficult; Corvin used the word "difficult" to describe this.

He handed the data pad back to Corvin and turned to walk toward the command tent in the center of the camp.

The air inside the tent was sweltering and humid, mixed with the smell of machine oil, sweat, and an indescribable burnt scent.

Several staff officers were gathered around a holographic projection table, discussing something in low voices; a blue ocean floated on the table.

In the center of the ocean was a constantly rotating three-dimensional model, a cross-section of the Mariana Trench.

"...The pressure gradient increases non-linearly from the surface to the deepest part; conventional armor will begin to experience structural fatigue at a depth of three thousand meters..."

"...Even the Empire's most advanced deep-dive vessels can only reach six thousand meters; anything further down requires special pressure-resistant materials..."

"...There is no supply chain for pressure-resistant materials; all of the Mars Foundry's production capacity is being used to support the Northern Front..."

C-19 walked into the tent.

The discussion came to an abrupt halt.

Everyone's gaze turned toward him—there was awe, expectation, and a trace of almost imperceptible fear in their eyes.

C-19 knew what kind of image he projected in their eyes: a war machine standing on the edge of life and death but never falling.

They didn't know that his genetic sequence was slowly collapsing, didn't know that every battle accelerated this process, and didn't know that he originally had less than two years of life left.

But now, the situation seemed to have changed slightly.

That feeling of collapse had paused.

He didn't know if this was temporary or permanent, didn't know who had done what, but he could feel his body being repaired by some force.

Not a complete repair.

But stabilization.

The speed of the collapse had slowed down.

He had time.

Not much, but more than before.

"Continue," C-19 said as he walked to the projection table.

The Chief of Staff cleared his throat and continued his report.

His name was Hector, a veteran with a gray beard and one of the few in the legion who understood engineering.

"As you can see, Commander, the location of the Mariana Deep Palace is itself the best defense. A depth of eleven thousand meters and a water pressure of one hundred million Pascals—it cannot be reached by any conventional means."

"How did Nathan Doom build this fortress?" C-19 asked. "How does he enter and exit?"

Hector was silent for a second.

"According to the historical records we have, the Deep Palace was built during the Age of Technological Hegemony as an existing deep-sea research facility—Nathan Doom found it after the Great Catastrophe and converted it into his own palace."

"So it has a ready-made entry and exit system."

"Theoretically, yes, but we don't know where the entrance is, what type of system it is, or what kind of authorization is required."

C-19 stared at the abyss in the projection—the blue appeared exceptionally cold under the holographic light, bottomless.

"What about prisoners?"

"The Void Crusher ambush left no prisoners; their pilots died when their cockpits were pierced."

"And the Sun Warriors' soldiers?"

"...Interrogations are still ongoing." Hector's voice was a bit hesitant. "Their genetic modifications seem to include some kind of anti-interrogation mechanism—we've already lost three captives."

Three captives.

C-19 closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Nathan Doom.

The name echoed in his mind.

He had never met this man, but he could feel something from the fanaticism of the Sun Warriors.

That absolute, irrational loyalty.

This was not something that training could mold, nor something that fear could maintain.

This was faith.

A tyrant hiding in an eleven-thousand-meter abyss could make his soldiers go to their deaths willingly.

"What did they say before they died?" C-19 asked.

Hector flipped through the documents in his hand.

"The first one gave coordinates, but we verified they were fake. That location is just an empty seabed. The second one said nothing and bit off his own tongue. The third..."

He paused for a moment.

"The third one laughed before he died."

"Laughed?"

"Yes, Commander—he said, 'You can reach the doorstep, but the door will not be opened for you.'"

The tent fell silent.

The holographic projection table emitted a faint hum, monotonous and continuous.

"They know we are coming," C-19 said, "and they don't intend to stop us."

No one responded.

Because everyone understood what this meant.

Nathan Doom had not deployed heavy forces along the coast, nor had he exhausted all efforts to stop the landing; the Void Crusher ambush was less a defense and more a test.

He was waiting.

Waiting for them to walk step by step into the abyss.

"The issue of the entrance," C-19 said slowly, "we must solve ourselves."

His gaze swept over the faces of the staff officers; these were veterans who had experienced countless desperate situations, but at this moment, their eyes all held the same thing: fear of the unknown.

"Pass down the order," C-19 said. "The entire army is to rest until 0600 hours tomorrow—at exactly 0600 hours, we will hold the final operational meeting."

He turned and walked out of the tent without looking at anyone again.

Night had already fallen.

The Pacific night sky was pitch black without starlight, with only the occasional flicker of flames in the distance.

Those were the beachhead fortifications still burning, and also the scars left by this war.

C-19 stood alone at the edge of the cliff, gazing at that bottomless, dark ocean.

The sea breeze blew past, bringing the fishy, salty scent unique to the deep sea.

Eleven thousand meters.

That was a depth humanity had never truly conquered.

Even in the Age of Technological Hegemony, the machines that could freely enter and exit that abyss were few and far between, yet what they had to do now was breach that palace sleeping in the darkness with their bodies of flesh and blood.

The door will not be opened for you.

The Sun Warrior's words echoed in his ears.

"Maybe not," C-19 said softly, his voice swallowed by the sea breeze. "But we will smash it open."

He turned and walked back to the camp.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

ps: I originally intended to start the battle immediately, but after some thought, I changed the setting. It felt a bit ridiculous to have a tally right when the boss was about to appear at the entrance, so I made some adjustments.

ps2: I originally had high hopes for this book, but the performance has been abysmal, and it hasn't received any promotion at all...