Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C70

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"Communications officer, immediately send an emergency order to all units on the eastern front to retreat and reinforce us. Also, recall the western front, northern front, and the detachment that flanked behind enemy lines. We must defend the base at all costs. The decryption process is at a critical stage and cannot fail." Hu Qing, who had just finished speaking with Francis, spoke with a face as dark as thunderclouds.

This strategist, known for his calm demeanor akin to a scholarly general, revealed a look of panic for the first time.

It was no wonder. Not only had the major battle planned for days later erupted ahead of schedule, but the acidic vapor zone had also undergone some strange mutation. A new Epsilon relic had emerged, escalating the conflict to involve even the space fleet.

On Planet Namie’s barren soil, three battlefields had been carved out—one along the equator, one south of it, and one north. While Francis focused on decrypting the ancient technology, Edward, lacking both bravery and tactical finesse, left the burden of commanding the combat forces squarely on Hu Qing’s shoulders.

If it were just Wilder Lester’s “Silverwing Tempest Infantry Division,” Hu Qing would have had confidence in facing them head-on. But then came an unexpected blow—a mysterious force that crushed the enemy’s reserve reinforcements like brittle twigs and dismantled his carefully laid plans with overwhelming power.

The frontline fell, defensive fortifications were obliterated, and the garrison scattered. Yet they still didn’t know where these enemies came from, who they were, or what their purpose was.

Faced with such an adversary, how could anyone remain calm? How could they not feel fear? How could their resolve not waver?

Confidence stems from strength; without sufficient strength, what confidence remains? Hu Qing had always been a man of wisdom. And because he was a composed and astute thinker, he refrained from reckless acts born of rage.

The communications officer hesitated, his gaze lingering uncertainly on Hu Qing.

The "balloon" was now hovering directly above them. Would issuing orders to recall the troops now even make a difference?

"Chief of Staff," another staff officer dared to interject, "the recent 'Hunting Operation' mobilized nearly all of our base's forces. All we have left are a group of third-tier clerical soldiers..."

Hu Qing understood what he meant. Without enough firepower to hold off those terrifying foes, they wouldn’t last until reinforcements arrived.

"What about the fire control center? Since the defensive structures are destroyed, tell them to step up. They must hold the enemy back at all costs."

"Yes, sir." The communications officer let out a small sigh of relief and quickly relayed Hu Qing’s instructions to the fire control center.

With that, Hu Qing exhaled deeply, his eyes scanning the large screen where the "balloon" had already entered the base. A sharp glint flashed across his eyes as he murmured, "An ancient saying goes: To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill."

……

Returning to the base once more, Tang Fang couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed dramatically. Fate’s jokes were often absurd. Last time, he’d come here as a lowly frontline soldier dependent on others for survival. This time, however, he returned as a debt collector demanding payment in blood.

Arroz and Housen disembarked from Overlord’s whip-like appendages, standing on either side of Tang Fang like twin guardians.

The welcome ceremony was grand—and grim. So solemn that the holographic sky projected onto the dome overhead turned into a somber shade.

At the entrance of the command building, Hodgson slowly emerged from cover. His helmet obscured his expression, making it impossible to read his emotions.

"Who exactly are you?"

"Debt collectors…" Tang Fang’s voice echoed flatly through the public channel.

"Debt collectors?" Hodgson furrowed his brow. The response caught him off guard. What did he mean by “debt”? Whose debt? His own? Or someone else’s?

He didn’t recognize the powered armor worn by Arroz and Housen, but there was no mistaking that Tang Fang wore a suit of “Guardian Knight” armor. If Tang Fang spoke the truth, who owed him this supposed debt?

"Who owes you? Can you tell me?" Hodgson wasn’t foolish. Even if he lacked intelligence, his strong willpower would compensate. After all, shrewdness was a trait every nobleman needed.

Hu Qing’s orders were clear: stall the enemy, uncover their origins and objectives, and avoid provoking them unless absolutely necessary.

Though Hodgson didn’t know where the other enemies had gone, his cautious nature as a noble kept him steady. Despite facing only three opponents, he showed no sign of underestimating them.

Of course, if useful information surfaced during their conversation—or if reinforcements arrived—the elegant and noble Hodgson wouldn’t waste time exchanging pleasantries with such despicable traitors.

Betraying Emperor Colcrav Stuart, defiling the honor of the sacred "Celtic" sword, and slaughtering imperial comrades—such scum deserved nothing less than death.

An old Eastern proverb came to mind: “Sleeping on brushwood and tasting gall, sharpening a blade over ten years.” Hodgson suddenly felt a spark of inspiration. What he was doing now reminded him of an ancient tale of resilience and cunning—like a chess player sacrificing pieces only to orchestrate a grand comeback. Yes, that analogy fit perfectly.

Tang Fang remained silent, a faint smile hidden behind his helmet. He absentmindedly touched the left shoulder of his powered armor, where a soldier’s serial number used to be printed—but now it was worn away beyond recognition.

What Hodgson could think of, Tang Fang had already considered long ago.

"Looking for this?" With a cool tone, Tang Fang tossed a square metal chip onto the ground before crushing it under his heavy boot.

"Huh?" One of Hodgson’s soldiers staggered, letting out a startled gasp. From the sound, it was a woman.

What Tang Fang had crushed was the built-in sensor chip of the powered armor, responsible for distinguishing friend from foe, aiding in positioning, and responding to requests from the command center’s remote computers. In essence, it was a backdoor program embedded in the microprocessor of military-grade powered suits, capable of retrieving important data stored in memory, communication content, and biometric information within a certain range.

Hodgson’s face hardened. This guy was too clever, leaving no loose ends.

Noble thinking left Hodgson momentarily at a loss. Looking up at Tang Fang, he felt like a tiger trying to bite a turtle—no way in.

With the serial numbers worn off and the sensor chips destroyed, the only person likely to guess Tang Fang’s identity was Francis, who had orchestrated that fake reconnaissance mission. But so what? Even if Francis guessed correctly, would he dare speak up? Unless he wanted to die. Causing the empire to lose the battle on Planet Namie out of selfish ambition carried a responsibility grave enough to warrant execution ten times over.

Just then, Tang Fang spoke again. His voice remained measured and unhurried, yet its content struck Hodgson like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his insides.

"If I’m not mistaken… you’re stalling for time, aren’t you?"

TLN: First milestone reached, 100 chapters completed.

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