"High-energy reaction! High-energy reaction!" The shrill alarm echoed through the aircraft carrier's bridge. The monitoring officer, looking tense, shouted, "Satellite detected a high-energy light spot—fifty-five kilometers out, intensity level four!"
An intensity level four reaction is already considered highly dangerous—it could inflict fatal damage even on the carrier itself. The U.S. Navy Commander barked, "Is it a ballistic missile? Initiate preliminary interception immediately!"
With the U.S. military's air defense and missile interception capabilities, as long as early warning is in place, the success rate of stopping missiles is very high. So, although the origin of this sudden attack was unexpected, the U.S. Navy Commander wasn't overly worried.
But this time, the attack was nothing like what he was used to.
"No, it's not a ballistic missile—the target didn't ascend, it's flying at ultra-low altitude!" The efficient monitoring officer didn't wait for orders and responded with the best action: "Here's the satellite image!"
To handle this tense situation, the U.S. spent a fortune adjusting satellite orbits, deploying no fewer than fifty spy satellites for round-the-clock surveillance of this sea area. Thanks to this massive aerospace force, the military could "protect" the Black Death Emperor from long-range attacks. This time was no exception—the satellite surveillance feed was instantly projected onto the carrier's bridge.
But one look at the surveillance image—even the battle-hardened U.S. Navy Commander couldn't help but frown, muttering instinctively, "What on earth is that...?"
The U.S. Navy Commander was surprised, but General Ross, far away, was even more astonished. He had a clearer view—not just surprised, but genuinely shocked.
On a deserted island more than two hundred kilometers from the battlefield, a burst of intense light suddenly erupted. In the high-altitude view, a white light spot shot out from the island, speeding along its path. It might look small, but on this massively scaled map, it was still a clearly visible highlight—bright enough to blind anyone nearby.
In the direction the light spot was heading, a swath of low, thick cumulonimbus clouds was ripped open, leaving a long gash. The island's highest peak, serving as the launch base, had a whole foot and a half of earth scraped off by the recoil.
Parfice Zade immediately spoke up: "Strategic AI, calculate the attack speed."
The Zade House's Strategic AI has off-the-charts computing power and information-gathering capabilities, and soon returned a nearly accurate answer: approximately 16,000 meters per second.
When that result came in, General Ross's eyes nearly popped out. He wanted to double-check to see if he'd miscounted the zeros, or misread the units. But no matter how he looked, the answer was the same—about sixteen kilometers per second, almost third cosmic velocity.
That's third cosmic velocity!
Are you kidding me? At that speed, if you fired it into the sky, it could break free of the sun's gravity and shoot right out of the solar system!
"What the heck is this thing?!" That white light spot instantly made mincemeat of the electromagnetic railgun the U.S. military had been working so hard to develop—General Ross was practically roaring.
Wait a second—white light spot? General Ross jolted, suddenly recalling those shoulder-mounted energy guns and knockoff Predator wannabes he'd seen in the Zade House's secret lab a while back. Could the Zade House finally be unable to dodge responsibility this time? General Ross's expression turned gloomy again.
But now wasn't the time to dwell on that. This attack was moving at forty or fifty times the speed of sound—there was no way the U.S. military could intercept it, all they could do was hope for the best. At such speeds, even two or three grams of matter would be lethally destructive; if the mass were any larger, it was simply unimaginable.
The only question was—who was it attacking?
Parfice Zade remained calm and efficient: "Strategic AI, confirm the attack target."
The Strategic AI instantly marked the light spot's projected trajectory on the holographic map. The line stretched west, then further west, skimming just twenty kilometers past the carrier battle group. General Ross couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief—if the carrier had been the target, the U.S. would have suffered massive losses.
But the trajectory kept heading west, straight toward the battle zone. Since they still couldn't pinpoint the light spot's exact path, it was impossible to say which side—or which ship—was the intended target. Still, General Ross had a gut feeling: this attack from behind U.S. lines was definitely up to no good.
And while the Strategic AI kept updating its predicted course, the light spot flashed past the carrier group in just the blink of an eye.
"Look! Look at the sea!" The Black lookout on the carrier yelled at the top of his lungs—he could already see it with the naked eye. Not because he had eagle eyes, but because that attack was just too shocking, too dazzling.
Way off in the distance, where sea met sky, it was like someone had flipped a switch—a blinding arc of light streaked across. In the next instant, a white haze shrouded the horizon, as if a giant white crayon had smudged a misty streak along the sea line.
The sheer distance warped human senses, but the fleet immediately received signals that the ocean currents had been disturbed. That white light spot kicked up waves bigger than the Qiantang Tide.
General Ross understood that an attack moving faster than first cosmic velocity had to be angled slightly downward at launch. Thanks to Earth's curvature, that white light spot had to pierce the sea first and travel underwater for a long stretch to hit a target two hundred kilometers away.
If such a deep layer of water and so much friction couldn't slow it down or throw off its aim, then this white light spot would be the most powerful conventional weapon known to humanity—hands down.
Who owned a weapon like this? And who was it pointed at? General Ross's face turned to iron as he racked his brain for answers.
But this wasn't the time for pondering—at nearly forty-eight times the speed of sound, that light sphere wasn't giving him any time to think, and neither was the ever-changing battle zone.
In the Midway battle zone, the captains of the various warships had just received word from command about the light spot when something else violently yanked all their attention back.
It wasn't the looming World War III, nor the multinational naval coalition going full throttle. Sure, those were headaches and took up plenty of energy. But compared to what was happening right now, all that seemed trivial.
Blaring alarms rang through headquarters, echoed on every ship's bridge, and buzzed in the ears of every decision-maker.
"What?!" "No way!" "OH, MY GODDDD!!!!"
Whether it was frontline troops, monitoring operators, frontline commanders, mission directors, or General Ross behind the holographic display—everyone, in that instant, stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed, minds totally blank.
Boom—a massive splash exploded right around the two destroyers on Ocean Knight Assignment, some blasts even sent the ships billowing black smoke. Several countries had opened fire directly on the U.S., not just Russia—others had joined in too. But no one cared about that now, not even the ones who'd just attacked.
Everyone was staring at the crate being towed behind the destroyers—everyone was dumbstruck.
Dry mouth, ringing ears, dizzy eyes, frozen breath—everyone was petrified with shock.
On the aircraft carrier bridge, the U.S. Navy Commander was dumbfounded. He snatched off his navy cap and couldn't hold back a furious outburst: "What-The-F, U, C, K!!!!"
What everyone saw wasn't anything else—it was the result of Operation Ocean Knight. The two destroyers had been charging ahead through gunfire, confidence sky-high, when suddenly, both ships came to a dead stop.
It was like crashing into an immovable mountain—the two massive destroyers just stopped dead.
The superalloy steel cables went taut, the destroyers' bows yanked up by the tremendous force before slamming back down, sending waves crashing high. The engines at the stern revved like mad, churning the sea into froth, pumping out raw power. But that cubic crate just kept moving forward, slow and steady, not changing its pace one bit.
That speed was exactly the Black Death Emperor's walking pace.
The scene was just too shocking, too surreal—everyone who witnessed it was struck speechless, as if plunged into a deep nightmare.
Ever since the Black Death Emperor headed east, people had imagined a thousand different scenarios, ten thousand possibilities—but nobody had ever pictured this.
What did I just see? The person in that crate held back two warships by sheer force alone?!
Is this still Earth?
Is this still the world we know?
This can't be real. Am I having a nightmare?!
"No, that's impossible, that's impossible—!!" Even the Chosen Ones closest to the scene forgot to keep fighting—everyone just stared dumbly at the superalloy crate, instinctively denying everything they'd just seen.
They knew the Black Death Emperor was Heavenly Ranking Number One, but had no idea what that title really meant. Sure, they'd heard Number One had to be some kind of badass, but nobody ever said the "badass" was literally the Bull Demon King kind of badass!
But the facts were right there—no point in pinching themselves. The two destroyers, originally sailing in a wedge formation, couldn't hold their course under the massive pulling force. Like toys being dragged together, with a dull, screeching twist of metal, they were inevitably drawn toward each other. At this rate, they'd smash together and both sink.