This is the American military's capture plan: lock the Black Death Emperor in a cage, then pack up the whole thing and drag it away.
But then, with a thunderous "BOOM!!!", the charging assault boat suddenly came to a halt.
The assault boat abruptly sank into the sea, and then, right in the middle of the ship, a massive explosion erupted. Flames shot sky-high, sparks flew everywhere—the boat was like a biscuit, cleanly blasted into two burning chunks of scrap metal. More than seventy percent of the crew were dead or wounded.
All this time, the multinational conflict had been brewing, but everyone kept their actions restrained and tentative—never firing directly at each other. Those Chosen Ones who died could be written off as outside mercenaries; nobody really cared. But now, for the first time, a bona fide American warship had been sunk by a foreign power.
This is a military act. This is a political act. In terms of international law, this is an act of war.
The powder keg for a world war is ready to blow at any second.
"Damn it, those Russkies really dared to make a move!" General Ross had mentally prepared for a direct confrontation, but he was still burning with rage. What infuriated him even more than the act of war itself was the fact that the assault ship got hit so precisely: "Our assault boat has a super low profile and uses a full stealth prism design. With those Russian buckets of bolts, how could they possibly lock onto our ship so accurately?"
Modern warfare isn't World War II anymore—recon, targeting, stealth, guidance, that's the real cutting-edge stuff. This unassuming assault ship was actually equipped with the most advanced anti-targeting tech in the U.S. Navy, but it still got sunk in one shot. Does that mean the enemy can easily lock onto any American warship? If that's really the case, the entire Pacific Fleet is in extreme danger.
"What are those electronic warfare teams doing? What about the aerospace units? And the hackers?" It was the ease with which core tech got countered that Ross couldn't stomach—it was downright shocking. He suddenly glared at Parfice Zade, his eyes full of pressure: "Did you sell the microwave radar to the Russkies?"
As far as he knew, only the Zade Family's latest generation of microwave radar could make all previous tech obsolete. Just like the augmented reality device in the command center—it could display the battlefield so clearly and from every angle, something no other military company had ever produced. It's world-class black tech, totally unmatched.
Even now, with brutal fighting raging among Chosen Ones nearby, the alloy crate’s flotation pods were wrecked. But the heavy crate still floated on the sea, refusing to sink—like some invisible force was holding it up.
Parfice felt a hunch and kept barking orders: "Load Black Death Emperor’s route. Load his physical specs."
Beep—the Strategic AI spat out the answer. Seeing it, Parfice pursed her lips, her sharp face turning even more severe.
The answer was clear: no matter how the world fought or moved, that emperor in the cage never changed his pace. Sniping, dragging—none of it mattered. To Black Death Emperor, the alloy cage was just air. He kept moving forward, ignoring the chaos around him.
Parfice took a deep breath, realizing the world’s situation was about to take a sharp detour.
Meanwhile, the Midway battlefield had hit peak carnage. The multinational navies had dropped all pretenses and were trading real shots, the boom of cannons rattling everyone. A ship loaded with a directional magnetic field tried everything but failed—the alloy crate just trembled and kept drifting forward, totally uncaptured.
"What? The magnetic marker didn’t work?" General Ross’s brow furrowed so much it nearly tied itself in knots. He snorted, "Looks like the cargo inside wants to fight back—got a death wish, huh! There’s no way out but getting caught by us. Go! Launch Operation Ocean Knight!"
Two 7,000-ton destroyers thundered in, flanking the alloy crate. Wild gunfire rained down, mowing down any foreign Chosen Ones who couldn’t escape. The destroyers extended two thick alloy cables, ready to finish what the assault ship couldn’t.
One move shakes everything. As the destroyers closed in, every navy started showing their cards. Nobody would let Black Death Emperor fall into U.S. hands—it’d send the power balance into freefall. So, nobody backed down.
The military clash was about to spiral out of control.
At the same time, far beyond the rolling waves and endless sea—east and south, behind the war’s front lines, behind the massive carrier battle group, more than two hundred kilometers away on a deserted island—an outrageously huge gun was raised.
This weapon was so bizarre, nobody would even call it a gun. Its shape was nothing like a regular firearm. First off, it wasn’t handheld—it was mounted to the ground. Three meters tall, 1.7 meters wide, 4.4 meters deep, with a base like a cannon turret. The intricate, sci-fi patterns all over it were jaw-dropping.
A nine-meter 'barrel' was mounted on the base, extending both forward and back. But it wasn’t even a barrel—just two parallel rails. To call it a gun was a stretch; this war machine looked more like a railgun fixed atop the island’s highest point.
But no matter how wild it looked, at its core, it was still a gun. The operator didn’t use any instruments—no radar, no satellite help—just pure skill. He was a tall, lean man in his thirties, his right arm fused with the weapon, the barrel’s aim shifting with his will. He looked downright impressive.
"So it’s really happening." Behind the man, a well-dressed white guy got the news from the front. He took a deep breath; what he’d do next was basically treason, but he didn’t hesitate: "We can’t start a war over something this ridiculous. America doesn’t need to fight the world over this. The President’s being naive—this nonsense has to end."
He looked at the man and said coldly, "You have one job—take out the early warning interceptor ship. If you knock out the radar, our air defense will be crippled, and the other countries’ missiles can blow that troublemaker to bits. World peace stays intact. By the way, our congressman spent fifty million dollars on you—hope you’re worth it."
"Worth it? Hahaha, pretty boy, do you know who I am?" The man’s glance made the white guy shiver. "I’m Gaia Blackshot—top thirty on the Heavenly Ranking, number one gun in the wind and clouds!"
The base lit up with dazzling energy, mysterious and sci-fi patterns crawling over the gun’s body. The multi-stage power system ramped up, and an electric arc crackled between the rails, turning deep red. Even a regular person would feel their skin tingle from the massive energy pouring out.
"Invincible Black Death Emperor? What arrogance!" The man licked his lips, his eyes blazing with fanatic light—like nothing, not even the curve of the earth, could block his ambition. "I’ll use your head—the world’s number one—to build my throne!"
Buzz—a dark red field erupted on the Pacific island. Winds howled, tearing through the clouds.
He was sure—this shot would go down in history.
He was sure—this shot would change the world forever.