Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C69

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The crisscrossed trenches were littered with the bodies of soldiers. Some had their armor torn open by claws, their chests slashed, blood and internal organs spilling everywhere. Others were pierced by metal spikes, their bodies leaking cold blood like broken showerheads. Some had a gaping hole in their chests, revealing the crimson sand on the other side. Still others were decapitated; they died swiftly and cleanly, their blood boiled away by the high-temperature energy swords, leaving behind charred corpses split in two.

Armored vehicles and various weapons were scattered across the battlefield. Some bodies lay inside exploded cockpits, the red gore resembling the insides of spoiled watermelons.

Tilted tanks, tanks embedded in trenches, heavily deformed armed shuttles, and firearms and shell casings stained with blood filled the scene.

The front-line position had fallen, and the entire 2nd Company of the reserve support battalion was routed. Fewer than 20 survivors remained.

Tang Fang kicked aside a broken mechanical canteen at his feet, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield, over the ruined defensive structures, finally resting on the tall walls at the edge of the base.

Arroz approached from behind, holding a C-14 "Impaler" gauss rifle, while low, heavy breathing came through the communicator. "Let’s go. No need to be sentimental."

"Mm." Tang Fang nodded. If not for the starcraft system aiding him, he would already be a cold corpse buried beneath Planet 5. In turbulent times, there is no right or wrong, no cruelty—only survival. To avoid death, one must abandon weakness and confusion, pick up a gun, and fight, slaughtering any enemy who dares to stand in the way.

This wasn’t brutality or inhumanity—it was the survival strategy of the little people in chaotic times.

Peace? That was just the daydream of cowards, like the cheap white powder street thugs carried to numb themselves. Human rights? Like the socks of scholars and professors—respectable when worn, but easily discarded.

The Overlord's thick whip-like appendages descended, wrapping around Arroz and Tang Fang, and quickly ascended into the air.

Housen was rummaging through a wrecked command vehicle, hoping to find something edible—steaks, hearty soup, cookies, ice cream. Days of surviving on compressed biscuits had left his mouth tasteless.

Of course, steaks, hearty soup, cookies, and ice cream were just unrealistic fantasies.

He kicked away a pile of debris, revealing a small drawer, which he pulled open. Inside were a few old photographs, a diary, and a pack of "Mester" brand cigarettes.

None of these caught his attention—what truly drew his eyes was a small glass bottle deep inside the drawer. On the label was printed neatly: "Vodka."

"Haha... hahaha, I knew it." Housen's laughter was like swallowing eight Viagra pills in one breath—low and suppressed yet explosively powerful.

Just as he reached for the glass bottle, he suddenly paused, thinking of Arroz, the old smoker. With a sly grin, he grabbed the pack of "Mester" cigarettes and stuffed it into the storage box behind him.

When he reached out again, grinning widely to grab the bottle, suddenly, a whip-like appendage descended from the sky, unceremoniously wrapping around his body and pulling him upward.

Watching the vodka-filled glass bottle drift further and further away until it disappeared from sight, Housen felt resentment welling up inside, nearly bursting into tears.

"Tang Fang, you bastard, give me back my vodka..."

Housen's mournful curses echoed through the communicator, lingering endlessly.

Tang Fang didn’t understand how he had offended Housen. Could it be that the brute had developed a phobia about being stuffed into the Overlord's belly?

"Housen, shut up. Keep yelling, and I’ll shove you into its ass."

With that, Housen’s curses abruptly stopped. Being stuffed into the Ventral Sacs was already disgusting enough—into its anus? HOLY MOTHER. How could he ever face anyone again?

Tang Fang had no time to care about Housen’s grievances. As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned his attention to the system space.

The losses in this battle were significant: five zerglings, two marines, one marauder, and one roach.

Three of the five zerglings were killed by high-powered sniper rifles, and two by grenades. Both marines fell to sniper fire. The marauder and the roach were taken down by the 120mm cannons on either side of the wall.

The current combat units and resource stockpile were as follows:

Zerg: Drone x1, Queen x8, Spine Crawler x5, Roach x7, Overlord x6, Overseer x3, Zergling x4, total supply 33/74.

Terran: SCV x1, Marine x9, Marauder x11, total supply 32/82.

Protoss: Probe x1, Zealot x8, total supply 17/42.

Resources: Minerals 2285, Gas 6150.

The previous battle had been a surprise attack, allowing them to easily rout the Silverwing Tempest Infantry Division’s reserve reinforcement company. This battle, however, was a tough siege—not only defended by the 2nd Company of the 3789th Division, but also backed by multiple layers of defensive fortifications. To take this hard nut with only a 10-population sacrifice was already commendable.

The position had fallen, the defensive structures were destroyed, and the entire logistics base was exposed like a peeled peanut, completely vulnerable.

The next steps should be much simpler—whether to cook it in a pot, boil it in water, or peel and eat it raw, all decisions rested with him.

"Arroz, here." Housen walked over with a sour face, throwing a pack of cigarettes in front of Arroz.

Arroz glanced down and laughed. "Housen, where did you get this?"

Without waiting, he eagerly pulled one out, lit it, took a deep drag, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. "Hmm, cigars are strong. Occasionally switching flavors isn't bad."

"You have your main course and dessert, damn it. I’ve been busting my ass and got nothing." Housen glared ferociously at Tang Fang. "It’s been over half a month since we left Planet 5, eating this garbage every day, my mouth tastes like nothing. Finally found a bottle of vodka, and before I could grab it, he pulled me up."

Arroz laughed even harder. "Housen, don’t worry. When we escape, I’ll definitely treat you to a drink."

"Drink my ass. You poor bastard, what will you treat me with?" Housen shot him a sideways glance, muttering angrily.

As a death-row inmate awaiting execution, the Empire had already confiscated and nationalized their assets, freezing their bank accounts, leaving not a single penny. Treat? With what? Robbery or selling oneself?

Arroz chuckled, slowly lying back and comfortably leaning against the soft muscle tissue inside the Overlord’s abdomen, savoring the rich aroma released by the tobacco.

Housen pouted, turning to look at Tang Fang, who was just opening his eyes, his eyebrows slightly twitching. "We’re here."

"Huh?" Housen tilted his head, looking through the transparent vesicle at the logistics base buildings below.

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