Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C83

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She swore she’d told him everything—everything she should have said, and even things she shouldn’t. Including how terrified she’d been, so much so that she couldn’t even hold a weapon—a fact that felt like an unbearable humiliation for someone who had once sworn allegiance under the banner of the "Celtic" Holy Sword.

“Lieutenant Katherine,” Alfred began, his voice cutting through the silence, “think again. Is there anything else you want to add? Why did everyone else die while you alone survived?”

“I… I really don’t know. At the time, I—I panicked and fainted…” Katherine’s voice trailed off. Partly because Alfred’s icy gaze made her squirm uncomfortably, but mostly because admitting this felt like betraying the oath she’d taken years ago upon graduation—an oath now stained by shame.

“So, are you suggesting those men suddenly grew consciences? Or were they so captivated by your beauty that they decided to spare your life?” The sarcasm in Alfred’s words would typically be accompanied by a sneer, yet coming from him, it carried an eerie detachment, as though he were reciting some mundane report. To Katherine, however, it felt like a dagger prying open her ribs, carving out each syllable of You’re lying with cruel precision.

“I…” Katherine opened her mouth but found no words to defend herself.

Why? Why had they let her live? Was it because of her looks? Her body? But they hadn’t touched her. A sudden pang of conscience? Then why had Susan, Ye Dan, and Eloise—all equally defenseless women—perished without mercy?

Just as she struggled to make sense of it all, the door burst open. A visibly agitated messenger rushed in, leaning close to whisper something into Alfred’s ear.

“What?” Alfred barked, his usually stoic composure cracking for a moment. His lips twitched slightly, and disbelief flickered in his eyes. “Let’s go—to the bridge.”

“And what about her?” the messenger asked, gesturing toward Katherine.

Alfred narrowed his eyes slightly. “Have someone escort her to fleet headquarters. Something about those unknown enemies feels connected to her—even if not directly, there’s still a link worth investigating.”

“Yes, sir,” the messenger replied promptly.

With that, Alfred turned and strode out of the room, leaving behind a nervous messenger and a shell-shocked Katherine staring at each other in stunned silence.

“I am… connected to those enemies?” Katherine thought, convinced Alfred must have lost his mind. The idea was absurd. Her being associated with those attackers? For heaven’s sake, it was laughable—if it weren’t so horrifying. Yet when pressed to explain, she found herself at a loss. Colonel Edward at least had surveillance footage proving his innocence. What did she have?

………

Alfred reached the bridge in record time. As soon as the doors slid open, the flashing images on the central screen hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Mountains crumbled, the ground split apart, and massive fissures stretched north to south across the horizon. It was as though some ancient beast from the depths of hell had awakened, stretching its arms and tearing open pathways to damnation.

The steel dome had already retracted, revealing rows of tanks, armored vehicles, and missile launchers all aimed at the Epsilon ruins nestled within the chasm. Special ops teams had been deployed, ready to storm the structure with artillery support while the Tiger Shark Squadron’s warships loomed nearby, prepared to unleash relentless firepower the moment any threat emerged.

To everyone present, the enemy seemed cornered, trapped like rats in a cage. Death was inevitable. Against the full might of the empire’s space fleet, no army could survive. Those three individuals—mere pests—might cause temporary chaos, but they wouldn’t last forever. Judgment Day was upon them.

The Thunder Fleet—the pride of Prince Walker Stuart, the steadfast guardians of the "Celtic" Holy Sword—would crush any obstacle in the empire’s path. Faced with such overwhelming power, the small band of rebels challenging imperial authority was nothing more than a swarm of insects awaiting extermination.

This was the belief shared by every soldier in the 3789th Division. As far as the Thunder Fleet was concerned, a ragtag group of fewer than fifty fighters posed no real threat. What kind of waves could such a tiny force possibly create?

But then, without warning, the unimaginable happened. Silent and swift, it began near the pit housing the Epsilon ruins. Smooth slopes collapsed in an instant, triggering landslides that radiated outward like lightning bolts. Several special ops teams caught mid-descent tumbled helplessly into the abyss, their screams echoing until they vanished into the darkness below.

Soldiers stationed around the basin looked on in confusion, only realizing what was happening when tremors shook the ground beneath their feet, sending many sprawling. “An earthquake! It’s an earthquake!”

Cracks spread upward along the circular ravine surrounding the ruins, chunks of rock crumbling like poorly constructed buildings. Tanks tipped over, rolling down slopes before disappearing into shadowy voids. The sight sent shockwaves through the vehicle operators, who reversed engines instinctively, desperate to escape. But the rising fissures moved faster, intertwining and reshaping the terrain. Some sections of the earth rose; others sank, creating isolated islands amidst the devastation.

On most worlds, islands might symbolize safety. Here, on Planet Namie, they represented death. Perhaps calling them islands wasn’t entirely accurate—there were no waves, no oceans. Reality, however, delivered a brutal slap, as fiery rivers of molten lava surged forth, glowing crimson with the stench of sulfur and saltpeter. Violent and chaotic, the lava danced like a mischievous spirit, tossing vehicles aside with ease.

As cracks widened and magma surged, the scene resembled a divine ritual etched onto the planet’s surface—a sigil of death drawn by gods themselves.

Communications channels erupted into chaos. Soldiers stranded on the islands cried out for help. Those engulfed by lava screamed in agony. Those fortunate enough to escape barely had time to catch their breath before the widening fissures chased them further, swallowing everything in their path.

Above, the sunlight of Tranquil Star spilled gently across the surface, soft and serene as always. But below, Planet Namie stood in stark contrast—a child throwing a tantrum in its mother’s arms, except this tantrum came at the cost of thousands of lives.

A geyser of magma erupted, swallowing a Saber-Tooth anti-armor vehicle whole. Moments later, a blinding flash illuminated the area—a fuel depot detonating in a fiery explosion. Molten lava surged forward, flowing through repair shops, barracks, and finally igniting ammunition stores. Chain reactions combined with escalating earthquakes transformed the battlefield into a living inferno.

Staring blankly out the viewport, Alfred felt his blood run cold. How had it come to this? Why had Planet Namie, which should have been lifeless, suddenly awakened, raging like a temperamental dwarf from myth?

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