Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C186

Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.

Thank you.

Everyone from Otaku Translation

Chapter 186: The Final Battle of Krotan (Part 13)

The sky darkened as shadows blotted out the light. When the special forces looked up, they saw strange four-legged creatures descending from above. A faint blue glow pulsed across their crystalline surfaces, casting an eerie light over their faces.

“E-enemy reinforcements?” The thought barely formed before a silver sphere flashed in front of them.

“Pop.” A soft sound, and then the sphere detonated on impact, unleashing torrents of electric-blue currents and shimmering metallic particles. The deck’s metal structure crumbled like it had been bitten by some ravenous beast, collapsing into a massive void.

The soldiers at the forefront didn’t even have time to scream. In an instant, they were vaporized, reduced to nothing but pure energy. Temperatures soared to thousands of degrees, incinerating everything nearby. The combat robots’ metallic frames melted like snow under the summer sun, pooling into glowing red liquid. As for the luckless humans caught in the blast, their flesh evaporated, bones disintegrated, and bodies collapsed into ash.

Those who survived could only tremble in horror, their scalps tingling and limbs shaking uncontrollably. But the battle showed no mercy. A particle beam sliced through the air, reducing every human and machine in its path to dust.

There were also mechanical constructs with glowing orbs embedded in their abdomens. Their beams swept across the deck, cutting through anything in their way. Molten debris rained down, burning holes through the ship’s structure.

Four beams converged around the central plasma cannon of the mothership. With a swift rotation, the massive weapon—tens of meters long—was severed like a head rolling off a body. It crashed onto the deck with a thunderous roar, causing the entire vessel to shudder.

This was slaughter, plain and simple—a one-sided massacre. From the moment appeared on the deck, the fate of the mothership was sealed.

By now, ’s face had turned ashen. His once-pristine complexion now resembled a peeled tea egg, mottled with dull gray hues. On the auxiliary monitors, flames engulfed . Mushroom clouds billowed into the sky as carriers capsized and ships sank. acted as strategic bombers while served as high-yield explosives. Thirty-five Widow Mines had been dropped into the fleet cluster, their chain reactions obliterating nearly fifteen kilometers of the naval base.

Two entire fleets—nearly 100,000 personnel—were wiped out in mere minutes. Less than thirty percent survived. Schools of carnivorous fish leapt from the water, feasting on the charred remains of flesh and organs that rained down.

The sudden airstrike shattered the First and Third Fleets’ attack plans and crushed their morale. Smaller escort vessels fled in disarray, racing southward like frightened animals.

The detonation of thirty-five kiloton fusion bombs obliterated the port entirely. Two mighty fleets, once proud and formidable, were reduced to smoking ruins.

Aldrich slumped back in his chair, sweat pouring down his face. The carnage on the deck continued unabated. On the holoprojection of the ship’s structural integrity, red zones representing damage spread rapidly, consuming the upper levels of the mothership.

The newly arrived quadrupedal machines and disc-shaped units wreaked havoc beyond comprehension. Each strike inflicted catastrophic structural damage; each cut destabilized critical systems. By now, most of the deck was in ruins. Only a few hangars and elevators remained functional. Primary and secondary weapons, landing decks, radar arrays, satellite communications—all were rendered useless.

To put it bluntly, this so-called mobile fortress was now little more than a toothless tiger, all bark and no bite.

Still, compared to , Aldrich’s flagship was in relatively better shape—for now. The second carrier had already begun its descent into oblivion.

An explosion had gutted Skíðblaðnir II’s engine room, igniting the reserves within. The blast radiated outward from the ship’s waist, shattering the propulsion ring. Four thrusters flickered erratically as the colossal vessel tilted dangerously to one side. Shockwaves shattered windows, spewing flames and scorching winds that hurled debris, machinery, and screaming bodies out into the void.

Countless aerospace fighters slid off the runways, plummeting like hailstones onto the snowy plains below, smashing into twisted heaps of metal.

It was over. Everything was over. A 200,000-strong armored army routed by fewer than 20,000 rebels. The aerial combat force nearly annihilated, leaving only four hives without aircrafts. The First and Third Fleets decimated, their remaining warships pitifully few. Skíðblaðnir II was moments away from crashing, and it wouldn’t be long before Skíðblaðnir I followed suit.

What had seemed like an unstoppable juggernaut—a combined arms operation with land, sea, and air superiority, bolstered by orbital fortresses like the Skíðblaðnir-class carriers—had ended in humiliating defeat. The rebels had suffered less than half their number in casualties. The missile base’s surface structures were sixty percent destroyed, but its underground facilities remained intact. Meanwhile, the government forces had lost everything—their pride, their honor, their very existence.

Aldrich clenched his teeth, glaring at the central screen with bloodshot eyes. Veins bulged on his forehead as he watched a rebel commander—a vanguard, judging by his demeanor—step onto the deck. Under the cover of the quadrupedal machines, the man advanced steadily toward the bridge.

Above the deck, several balloon-like bio-ships hovered. From their ranks emerged grotesque multi-eyed beasts, one bearing a lone figure upon its back. The man stood tall, gazing down imperiously at the doomed mothership below.

He was clearly the leader of these mysterious yet overwhelmingly powerful alien forces—a human, a man with yellow skin and dark eyes.

“Who are you? Who the hell are you?!” Aldrich roared, his voice dripping with rage and hatred. His expression twisted into something feral, resembling a starving wolf confronting its nemesis on the frozen steppe.

If both sides had been evenly matched, Aldrich would have had absolute confidence in securing victory. But deep down, he knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. Reality was merciless, offering no room for “what ifs.” Life couldn’t be rewound or replayed.

Perhaps that man would capture him and hand him over to . Or perhaps he’d simply blow Aldrich’s head off with a single shot, leaving the once-mighty Governor of Krotan—a , revered and feared by countless people—to rot in the Arctic wilderness. His corpse would become food for polar bears and wolves, torn apart and defiled by beasts.

Neither outcome was acceptable. How could a nobleman of the Empire bow his head to a band of rebels? This body, feared and admired by so many, could not be desecrated by animals.

Please vote for this novel at

https://www.novelupdates.com/series/carrying-the-bases-of-starcraft/

If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.

Tier 1: 10 Advance chapters

Access fee $3.00 Monthly