Chapter 144: The Aftermath

The scent of burning pitch and pulverized marble hung thick over the central boulevard of Port Solis.

An armored convoy rumbled through the ruin, leading a steady column of heavy machinery up the steep switchback roads toward the high acropolis. At the head of the formation, an M1A2 Abrams main battle tank crushed shattered masonry beneath its sixty-ton steel tracks, pushing collapsed stone columns aside like dry twigs. Behind it came three armored Humvees and a pair of heavy tactical transport trucks carrying combat engineers, surveillance equipment, and crates of modular satellite arrays.

John Smith sat in the passenger seat of the lead Humvee. His tactical helmet rested on his lap, his dark hair ruffled by the draft entering through the partially opened reinforced window.

Beside him, Colonel Richter gripped the steering wheel with calloused hands, his eyes constantly scanning the jagged silhouettes of half-collapsed roofs and cracked archways. In the rear seat, Elenore held an M4A1 carbine across her chest, her thumb resting on the safety selector, her sharp eyes tracking every shadowy crevice along the cliffs.

"Engineering companies have completed the first security ring around the dockyards, sir," Richter reported, his gravelly voice cutting through the deep vibration of the diesel engine. "Two Patriot missile batteries are being unloaded from the amphibious transports as we speak. By midnight, our air defense umbrella will extend fifty miles inland. Nothing flies over this coast without our say-so."

John didn’t answer immediately. He stared out the glass at the city below.

From this height, the full scale of the bombardment was laid bare. Port Solis was no longer a city of marble and myth; it was a grid of blackened craters, smoking timber skeletons, and cleared transit lanes demarcated by bright orange tape. In the large public plazas, long rows of olive-drab canvas tents were already rising. Thousands of imperial citizens, tagged with plastic wristbands and stripped of all edged metal, sat quietly in enclosed holding pens under the watch of heavy machine gun positions mounted atop sandbag revetments.

"Casualty reports from the lower wards?" John asked quietly, his tone flat.

"Civilian dead are estimated between three and five thousand, primarily from building collapses during the initial barrier breach and secondary fires," Richter answered bluntly. "Imperial garrison casualties exceed ninety percent. We’ve recovered over twelve hundred intact enemy bodies from the coastal forts alone. The rest were simply caught in the open when the five-inch naval batteries swept the parade grounds."

"They chose to stand beneath an active target zone," John said. There was no pleasure in his voice, but there was no remorse either. "They believed an immortal being would catch the shells for them. Faith is a poor substitute for concrete."

Elenore leaned forward slightly from the back seat. "Commander, the interrogation team at the docks has already set up in the temporary medical shelter. The three heroes—Ayanokoji, Kenji, and Miyuki—are still heavily sedated. The field doctors ran basic diagnostics on them. The physical trauma is severe. Kenji has multiple rib fractures and a punctured lung. Ayanokoji’s left tibia is splintered, and the girl’s spiritual pathways are completely fried from mana exhaustion. The doctors say it’s a miracle the blunt force didn’t crush their skulls."

"They have S-rank constitutions," John remarked, his gaze lingering on a collapsed triumphal arch as the Humvee rolled underneath its cracked keystone. "Their biological thresholds are reinforced by system stats. Even without their weapons, their bodies can withstand stresses that would turn an ordinary human into paste. Keep them locked down in tungsten. When they regain consciousness, I want to know everything they remember about Viona’s command network."

"Do you think they were acting on their own will?" Elenore asked, her voice tinged with a faint note of hesitation. "During the parley... the way they moved, the way their eyes looked. It wasn’t like facing soldiers. It was like facing a puppet."

"It doesn’t matter," John said cold as ice. "A bullet fired from a machine kills a man just as dead as a bullet fired from malice. Phillip is in a body bag because of them. When the time comes to settle that ledger, excuses won’t change the outcome."

The convoy crested the final steep incline of the acropolis road.

Here, at the highest point of the coastal plateau, the royal palace complex had once commanded an unobstructed view of the entire bay. Now, the magnificent outer colonnade was nothing more than a jagged row of broken teeth against the gray sky. Half of the grand terrace where the S-rank champions had made their suicidal last stand was sheared clean off, collapsed down the cliffside into the surf below.

At the center of this devastation stood the Grand Cathedral of Solis.

The cathedral was the oldest stone structure in the province, a monstrous edifice of solid white granite and reinforced basalt that had withstood centuries of wars. Its massive stained-glass rose window had been shattered into millions of colorful fragments by the supersonic shockwaves, and two of its soaring bell towers had been clipped by cruise missiles, leaving them jagged, smoking stumps.

Yet, the central nave remained intact. Its thick, arched stone ribs had defied the naval overpressure, standing defiant amid the surrounding sea of rubble.

The convoy came to a halt in the outer courtyard.

Before the engines had even shut off, a squad of Delta operators vaulted out of the escort trucks, weapons held at high-ready, fanning out in a wide tactical semicircle to secure the massive bronze doors of the sanctuary.

"Clear right!"

"Clear left!"

"Breaching team set!"

Richter stepped out of the vehicle, racking the charging handle of his shotgun. "All clear, Commander. Building is structurally sound, but watch your footing. Lots of unexploded shrapnel and falling masonry."

John stepped down onto the shattered flagstones. The sea breeze here was fierce, whipping through his dark hair, carrying the sharp tang of cordite and the cold, metallic smell of the ocean. He adjusted the collar of his uniform, unbuttoned his sidearm holster, and walked toward the yawning entrance of the cathedral.

Behind him, Richter, Elenore, and six heavily armed operators fell into a tight diamond formation.