Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C84

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The communications officer’s words snapped Alfred out of his thoughts. He glanced at the towering structure of the Epsilon ruins—like a solitary mountain peak—and barked out his command: “Leave two frigates to monitor the ruins. All other vessels, deploy every transport ship and shuttlecraft we’ve got. I want you to do everything in your power to save those soldiers from the 3789th Division.”

“Yes, sir,” the messenger acknowledged before hurrying off.

Alfred sighed deeply, his eyes skimming over the intelligence reports that had been compiled for him. A sinking feeling settled in his gut.

What he saw outside the viewport wasn’t just happening at the 3789th’s base—it was unfolding across the entire planet. From the northern hemisphere to the southern, from the Arctic to Antarctica, this was no ordinary seismic event. It was a cataclysmic earthquake on a scale rarely seen, one that threatened the very fabric of the globe itself.

In the face of such apocalyptic disaster, priorities shifted. The excavation of the ruins, or even the pursuit of Tang Fang and his group, had become secondary objectives. Saving the men of the 3789th Division now took precedence. Even Lieutenant General Austin couldn’t afford to bear the shame of abandoning his own soldiers to die. After all, the ruins weren’t going anywhere—they didn’t have legs to run off with. And as long as enemy forces were pinned down by the remaining frigates, they wouldn’t be escaping Namie anytime soon either.

Still, despite bracing himself for the worst, Alfred couldn’t have imagined what was truly coming. This wasn’t just an earthquake—it was the end of days. For Namie… and perhaps for them too.

A geyser of molten magma, dozens of meters wide, shot skyward like a fiery fountain. In moments, it reduced a passing shuttlecraft to slag before continuing its ascent. Like some garish woman in scarlet red, her movements wild and unrestrained, the magma collided passionately with the aft section of a dogfish shark-class frigate. The superheated flow, reaching temperatures of 1500 degrees Celsius, surged forward like a tidal wave, sending the frigate spiraling through the air like a runaway kite. It smashed into the port side of a tiger shark-class destroyer, erupting in a massive fireball.

The explosion tore a gaping hole in the destroyer’s hull. The sudden pressure differential sucked crew members out into the chaos—one by one, their horrified faces visible for only a split second before they were flung into the inferno. Some landed amidst cascading explosions from nearby ships; others disappeared into the relentless eruptions of magma. Many plummeted to their deaths below, their bodies smashing into unrecognizable heaps before being roasted into grotesque shapes resembling multicolored pizza rolls.

Within a hundred-kilometer radius, even the narrowest fissures had widened to ten meters or more. Rivers of molten rock churned like an angry ocean, lashing against the crumbling tectonic plates. Beneath the surface, solid ground melted away entirely, leaving behind scattered islands of jagged stone adrift in a boiling sea of magma.

The intensity, diameter, and energy output of these geysers kept growing stronger. As Alfred stared at the scanner readings showing energy levels climbing exponentially, his heart sank further. Was this really just an earthquake?

Before he could finish the thought, another column of magma erupted into the sky. Its speed approached supersonic levels, and its destructive reach stretched terrifyingly wide—hundreds of meters across.

Bright white flames licked along the starboard side of yet another frigate, engulfing half its body in molten fury. Then, with the force of a baseball bat swing, the magma sent the vessel flying.

...

In less than twenty minutes, Planet Namie was already teetering on the brink of collapse. Destruction continued to spread, death followed close behind, and orbiting satellites streamed endless casualty reports back to headquarters.

Most survivors of earlier battles hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy a sip of hot tea, a taste of whiskey, or even a drag of a cigarette. They’d barely closed their eyes when fate snatched them away in the planet-wide quake. Life, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

---

Inside the conference room aboard the Zeus, flagship of the Thunder Fleet, Austin sat surrounded by his advisors.

He remained silent, his brooding silence broken only by the occasional twitch of his eyebrows—a sign of the turmoil brewing beneath his stoic exterior. His staff, meanwhile, sat frozen, none daring to speak.

Retreat? Return empty-handed? The Walker Stuart Royal Fleet—the pride of the empire—had gained nothing but instead lost an entire marine division. How many people would mock them behind closed doors? How many heads would roll because of this failure? Even Austin knew better than to think he’d escape unscathed.

Such an outcome would be unacceptable not only to Prince Stuart but also to Emperor himself. To slink home with tails between their legs might preserve fleet strength, but the leadership would undoubtedly face a purge. Lives mattered, sure—but so did careers. Who among them wanted to step up as the sacrificial lamb?

Stay put and ride out the storm? Faced with such colossal geological upheaval, who could guarantee the safety of the ruins? Moreover, after reviewing the preliminary reports sent back by the geological survey ships, everyone harbored an unsettling suspicion. But under Austin’s icy glare, no one dared voice it aloud.

“General, the data compilation is complete,” said the young intelligence officer stationed in the corner. He barely breathed as he spoke, keeping his tone low and submissive.

Austin didn’t turn around. “Send it over.”

“Yes, sir.” With a flick of his finger, the officer activated the holographic projector embedded in the center of the conference table. A series of graphs materialized midair, accompanied by energy fluctuation data from Namie and assessments provided by leading geologists.

As the attendees absorbed the staggering figures displayed before them—radiation levels increasing exponentially—every pair of eyes widened in disbelief.

How was this possible? In mere minutes, the energy output from Namie’s core had skyrocketed tenfold. It was as if someone had injected over a hundred high-yield fusion bombs directly into the planet’s heart.

Namie was ancient, its radioactive elements largely depleted over eons. Yet here it was, resurrected like an old man given a jolt of adrenaline, bursting back to life with ferocious vigor. If the current rate of escalation held steady, there was only one inevitable conclusion: Namie would implode, torn apart by the sheer violence of its reawakened core.

Beads of sweat formed on Austin’s forehead, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. His anxiety was palpable, far surpassing anything he’d felt during battle.

“Well?” he finally said, breaking the tense silence. “What are your thoughts?”

“Sir, we need to retreat. There’s no saving Namie.” After a brief pause, a grizzled officer stood up slowly. It was General Rodio, the fleet’s deputy chief of staff and one of Prince Stuart’s most seasoned advisors.

Austin took a deep breath, then turned toward the trembling intelligence officer. “Any changes in Namie’s status?”

The young man hesitated, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks like marbles. Whether from nerves or the alarming rise in numbers, he stammered out his report: “Y-yes, General. The values… they’re still climbing. Nearly doubled… in the last minute alone.”

“What? Doubled?” Gasps filled the room. In just sixty seconds, the situation had deteriorated twice as fast.

No one present dared cling to false hope anymore. Namie wasn’t a prize worth fighting for—it was a ticking time bomb strapped to their waists, liable to detonate at any moment.

“General, don’t hesitate. We must withdraw,” urged a chorus of voices. “If we delay much longer, the entire fleet will be caught in the fallout. By then…”

They trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air. Everyone understood.

“Transmit my orders,” Austin said, his voice hollow. “Tiger Shark Squadron is to return immediately. All other squadrons are to regroup and initiate withdrawal protocols.”

With that, he slumped back into his chair, drained of all energy.

Around him, his officers exhaled audibly, relief washing over them.

Meanwhile, aboard the Divine Revelation, flagship of the Saint Violet Fleet, a similar scene played out in the bridge command center.

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