Chapter 216: Chapter 216

Chapter 216: The Battle of Jiang Gorge — Flooding the Continent!

In the central region of the Southern Continent, at the Great Wall’s A5 Pass, stood the Apocalypse Sect’s flagship city — Oracle.

Inside the grand cathedral, under the watchful eyes of the gathered crowd, the fifty-five-year-old Conrad slowly walked toward the communication room.

During the walk, a young Combat Deacon glanced up at him with flickering eyes and asked softly,

“Is it about to begin, Lord Conrad?”

Conrad turned back and gave a faint nod to the young man before him.

“Yes,” he said in a deep voice. “Be ready, young one.”

In the territorial war of the Southern Continent, the three major human organizations had each dispatched a commander of their own.

The Apocalypse Sect sent Archbishop Conrad.

The Titan Throne sent General Albert, a T4-level commander.

The Iron Oath Brotherhood sent Elite Elder Morton.

After entering the communication room, Conrad activated the device.

Before long, the faces of Morton and Albert appeared on the screen.

The three gazed at one another and nodded slowly.

“This time, I hope we can work together seamlessly,” said Conrad. “Let’s completely destroy the enemy’s continent-level fortification.”

The current situation of the Great Wall was grim.

After the Giants’ expansion, more than half of the passes had fallen, and vast portions of the wall had been demolished.

Restoring it to its former condition in the short term was utterly impossible.

At present, only five defensive passes remained.

They were A3, A5, A6, A9, and A13.

The human mobile city forces had already gathered at these five locations.

Once the three commanders gave the order, they would advance in full formation toward the Canyon Zone.

At the frontlines of the A6 Defensive Pass, the Apocalypse Sect’s Level 1 Mobile City, Holy Sword B41, stood ready.

On the deck, George and Feller both lit a cigarette at the same time.

Feller was the Middle-aged Deacon’s name.

Indeed, they had met once again.

After the war in the Western Wasteland Continent, George had been promoted — jumping from Low-ranking Combat Deacon to High-ranking Combat Deacon in one leap.

Having survived, he eagerly wrote to his parents, but their reply was filled with worry.

By right, after his promotion, George should have served his confinement for smoking.

Yet, whether by fortune or misfortune, since humanity was preparing to launch an assault on the Canyon Zone, he was once again conscripted.

The forces from the Western Wasteland Continent had reached the Great Wall swiftly by riding Mobile Islands.

Taking a drag, George looked around the deck of Holy Sword B41.

With the Apocalypse Sect’s heavy investment, this Level 1 City had been upgraded to a Level 3 Combat Configuration.

On the battlefield, it would unleash astonishing combat power.

“This war… the intensity should be high, right?” said Feller.

“Is that so?” George blinked.

After a moment’s thought, he asked,

“Mr. Feller, what exactly are Level 3 Monstrous Civilizations like?”

Feller pondered for a moment before answering.

“Extremely powerful. Terrifying beyond words.”

As he spoke, a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“We’ll see for ourselves soon enough.”

Their conversation ended. The two exchanged glances, eyes showing faint confusion.

In a situation , at the brink of war, what exactly were they supposed to do?

So, in silent understanding, both exhaled a ring of smoke.

Amidst the gazes of everyone on the deck—

When a Disciplinary Deacon walked past them, George was no longer as flustered as before.

He took a cigarette and lighter from his pocket, tilted his chin toward the man like a seasoned smoker.

The man did not flare up but politely declined instead.

Saying so, he stepped closer and gently patted George’s shoulder.

“Live on, young man.”

After the Disciplinary Deacon left, George and Feller exchanged another look.

“Feels like I might’ve led you astray,” Feller sighed.

A few minutes later, the troops officially marched toward the Canyon Zone.

As the central southern area of the Southern Continent, the Canyon Zone was vast and closely connected to the Great Wall.

Several hours later, George finally caught sight of it.

This Level 3 Zone possessed a terrain of extreme complexity — practically a three-dimensional labyrinth.

The main gorge branched into countless tributary chasms — some hundreds of meters wide, others so narrow that one could only pass sideways.

The elevation changed dramatically; one moment, one might be walking upon flat sandstone terraces, and the next, facing a hundred-meter cliff. What appeared to be flat riverbeds were, in truth, sheets of treacherous quicksand.

The rivers of the Canyon Zone were not water, but liquid beasts imprisoned within the mountains — wild, furious dragons of the earth’s veins roaring through the gorges.

Some currents formed vortex-ridden underflows, some burst from cliff gaps like sky-hung waterfalls, while others were compressed into narrow channels less than ten meters wide, forming super-currents moving at speeds of over ten meters per second.

“Are we really going to fight in such a complicated environment?” George thought silently.

This time, humanity had only deployed Level 1 Mobile Cities upgraded to Level 3 configurations.

Only Level 1 cities could move through the Canyon Zone — Levels 2 and 3 could not.

As for the land, sea, and air combat forces:

The Aerial Forces — including fighter jets, reconnaissance aircraft, bombers, and helicopters — could move freely in the skies.

The Naval Forces could deploy Level 3 speedboats, mini-submarines, and amphibious light assault tanks.

The Ground Forces, however, were wholly unsuited to this battle — the terrain was simply too complex.

A few hours later, George saw their objective — the Surging Tide Super Dam.

The colossal structure stood like a divine blade hammered into the earth’s crust, severing the rampaging Rage River and dividing the world into two halves — downstream lay the fertile lands ruled by Monstrous Civilizations, while upstream stretched a thousand-kilometer-long artificial inland sea.

As a continent-level fortress of the monsters, the Surging Tide Super Dam was not merely the pinnacle of hydraulic engineering, but a full-scale defensive war fortress.

Through the binoculars handed by Feller, George clearly saw the weapons deployed across the dam.

Hundreds of close-range heavy cannons embedded in its surface.

Vertical missile silos.

Dual automatic fortress turrets.

Countless Level 3 Cannons and Level 3 Autocannons.

At this moment, George’s unit was only a few kilometers away from the dam — yet the distance was insurmountable, for the enemy had deployed innumerable forces in defense.

Just as George was about to speak, the battle began.

On the distant horizon, faint points of light flickered like awakening stars.

In the next instant, the dim morning sky was ignited by surging fire.

Hundreds of missiles soared simultaneously, their blazing white exhaust trailing webs of smoke — as if divine flames were painting wild strokes across the sky.

The missile swarm broke through the clouds; their solid-fuel engines left behind cyan glows that spread across the heavens like a ghostly aurora.

These were the missiles launched by humanity — their target: the Surging Tide Super Dam.

But the Water Tower had already activated its missile interception system.

Countless interceptors roared skyward from their launch silos, their engines spewing blinding blue-white flames. The supersonic shockwaves around their bodies formed Mach rings in the air.

They met the missiles midair, bursting into a rain of orange-red fireballs.

The shattered fragments of intercepted warheads fell like a shower of burning metal upon the earth.

George barely had time to breathe when the horizon began trembling once more.

At first, it was a faint hum — like the wings of countless hummingbirds.

Then, it grew into a thunderous, continuous roar.

A cluster of light points appeared suddenly.

Looking closely — they were hundreds of enemy aircraft, forming a massive attack formation.

At the vanguard flew the fighter squadrons, in precise fingertip formations, their sleek bodies gleaming in the morning light, engines trailing pale blue fire.

At the center were the bomber squadrons — airborne behemoths with broad triangular wings, twin vertical tails trembling slightly in the air currents. Inside the cabins, monster pilots operated with skilled precision.

Higher still, dozens of electronic warfare aircraft cruised in sweeping wing formations.

At the same time, humanity’s Aerial Forces appeared from another direction to intercept them.

Both sides clashed — a fierce air battle ignited across the sky.

Watching the tangled fighter formations, George felt unease grow in his chest.

A firm hand gripped his collar — Feller again.

“Don’t lose your nerve right from the start, boy! Trust our comrades — they’ll win the sky!” he shouted. “Our focus is down here, on our own battlefield!”

As he spoke, he pointed toward the distant horizon.

“Look! The enemy is already here!”

George turned his head to look back.

From the distant horizon came a low, rumbling roar.

Countless Monstrous Mobile Cities were advancing forward.

As the attackers, the Human Mobile Cities launched a massive barrage of Smoke Shells to cover their assault.

But the monsters already had a countermeasure prepared.

On the dam’s platform, several colossal mechanical devices began to rise slowly.

These were the Mist-dispelling Machines, known as “Storm Breathers”, made of bronze gears, black-iron fan blades, and steam cores.

Each Storm Breather stood over a hundred meters tall, its fan blades forged from refined steel, resembling the outstretched wings of a great eagle.

As the steam valves opened, gears meshed, and the blades began to turn slowly.

At first, they wheezed like an old ox catching its breath—then roared with thunderous might.

The steam cores howled, releasing high-pressure jets of air from bronze pipes, driving the gigantic blades into faster rotation.

The thick fog that blanketed the battlefield dissipated in an instant.

Without the cover of fog, the battle on the river’s surface intensified to an unimaginable degree.

With a deafening roar, the Holy Sword B41 surged forward.

And what it faced—was a Ghoul Mobile City.

At the first sight of the monstrous city, a thought flashed across George’s mind.

“This must be a Mobile City powered by industrial waste, rotting flesh, and some sort of foul magic.”

The Ghoul Mobile City’s armor plating was pieced together from compressed white bones, bloody flesh, and riveted iron plates, covered in blood-stained bolts and rusted steam vents.

It had neither hull nor propellers—only six auxiliary legs made of decayed flesh and scrap metal, which propelled it agilely across the river’s surface.

From its towering cast-iron smokestacks spewed not black smoke, but an eerie yellow-green vapor.

The entire deck was paved with crushed bone and scrap metal. Steam pipes tangled across it in chaotic webs, occasionally venting bloody mist.

The Ghouls on deck were grotesque fusions of metal, bone, and flesh.

“Are all Level 3 Monstrous Civilizations this grotesque?” George muttered to himself.

More than that, this Ghoul Mobile City gave him an uncanny sense of familiarity—just like when he had faced the Zombie Civilization.

What he did not know was that many years ago, the Wasteland God, Lord of Bones, had once chosen the Ghoul Civilization and bestowed upon them the power of Flesh Technology.

But their performance had been disappointing, and ultimately, the Lord of Bones abandoned them.

The forsaken Ghoul Civilization gradually decayed in the years that followed—its cities, its creatures, and even its people.

Now, both sides’ Mobile Cities began maneuvering across the river, exchanging volleys of fire.

Just like the Zombie Civilization, the Ghouls’ cannons were grotesque fusions of flesh and machinery.

Their barrels were assembled from pale spines, their inner walls coated with corrosive membranes. Each shell they fired was a compressed sphere of flesh, filled with plague gas or acidic fluid.

The Ghoul Gunners’ right arms had been transformed into Hydraulic Shell Pushers, allowing them to load ammunition directly into the chamber.

After a fierce exchange, the Holy Sword B41 finally destroyed the Ghoul City.

George had played a crucial role in the fight—

he operated the Level 3 Autocannon on deck, relentlessly raking fire across the enemy Mobile City.

After the enemy was annihilated, the Holy Sword B41 accelerated again.

By now, the battlefield had descended into total chaos. Mobile Cities clashed back and forth across the river, their weapons weaving curtains of death.

Everyone was moving. Everyone was firing.

Soon, the Holy Sword B41 met another enemy—a Level 1 Monstrous Mobile City.

When George saw it clearly, he froze once more.

Its city armor was made entirely of dense stone, its surface veined with writhing stony arteries that oozed viscous petrified slime.

Its chassis had no treads or wheels—only hundreds of stone limbs resembling centipede legs. Its core structure was formed of layers upon layers of fossilized bones and obsidian.

The entire city was a hybrid of flesh and mineral, crawling across the water like a stone centipede.

And the monsters on its deck—were Gargoyles.

Their bodies were sculpted from stone, their exteriors sheathed in weathered rock-like shells etched with deep cracks. Their twisted faces hovered between human and demon—prominent cheekbones covered in petrified keratin, golden vertical pupils flickering in their sockets. Their jaws could dislocate like serpents, exposing interlocking layers of sharp teeth.

On their backs unfurled enormous wings, and from their spines extended thick, powerful tails.

“This must be a Level 3 Monstrous Civilization!” George thought.

Before he could react, the Gargoyles on deck spread their wings and swooped toward the Holy Sword B41.

Their bodies were incredibly tough—bullets only chipped them slightly, unable to pierce through.

As one after another landed, the deck battle erupted.

The crew of the Holy Sword B41 roared and fought back.

Yet the Gargoyles were not only resilient but immensely strong.

One grabbed a row of railings beside it and ripped them off effortlessly, swinging them like whips toward a gunner manning a Heavy Machine Gun.

The gun barrel bent into a right angle under the blow, and shards of metal pinned the gunner against a wall.

Another Gargoyle used its tail to coil around a cannon, wrenching it clean off its mount. The rotation gears shrieked, ejecting components like popcorn.

Under George’s horrified gaze, one Gargoyle advanced directly through the barrage of Level 3 Autocannon fire.

It grasped the gun’s frame, tearing it from its base. The cannon bent like a toy in its hands, hydraulic oil gushed from the torn pipes, igniting blue flames across its stone skin.

Then, it turned to face George.

Its face was expressionless.

As stone creatures, Gargoyles’ faces were eternally fixed in their inhuman grimace—no frown, no twitching lips, no shifting expression. Every sharp edge was frozen in permanence.

The eyes embedded in their sockets neither narrowed in excitement nor flickered with rage.

When destroying cannons or tearing apart bodies, their faces remained completely unchanged.

And that, precisely, was what made their calmness and brutality so chilling.

Those motionless faces were far more despairing than any twisted expression.

They served as a reminder to every human present: what they faced in this battle were not beasts driven by frenzy or fury, but flawless, emotionless killing sculptures.

George pulled out his firearm and fired wildly while retreating.

Only one thought filled his mind.

“Should I abandon ship now? But I can’t swim!”

As a world-class organization, the Apocalypse Sect maintained unified management protocols for its Mobile Cities—including mandatory evacuation drills.

Just as George thought the deck could no longer hold, something unexpected happened.

A group of combatants lifted devices resembling fire extinguishers and sprayed massive clouds of gas at the Gargoyles.

The moment the gas touched their surfaces, the Gargoyles’ nearly indestructible bodies dissolved in half.

“What in the world is that?” he exclaimed.

“It’s the Titan Throne’s specially developed Dissolution Spray, made to counter Gargoyles!” Feller shouted back from nearby.

The Gargoyles remained eerily calm, as if life and death were irrelevant to them.

George was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he noticed a shadow enveloping the entire Mobile City.

He looked up—and froze again.

From above, gigantic Gargoyles were diving down, each two to three hundred meters tall, their colossal bodies like mountains.

Their target—were the Human Mobile Cities upon the river.

They descended like colossal artillery shells.

The human Mobile Cities immediately launched more Smoke Shells and began evasive maneuvers.

Even so, several were struck directly.

At the instant of impact, the force was equivalent to a million tons of TNT—shattering the city armor like eggshells. Buildings collapsed, steel plates and pipes warped and burst, and boiling white steam surged through the cracks, melting the walkways into rivers of molten iron.

The shockwave tore through every layer of the city, even destroying its hull.

When the remains hit the river, the giant Gargoyles raised their fists and pummeled what was left until nothing remained but wreckage.

Nearby Mobile Cities quickly loaded Titan Throne’s premanufactured Dissolution Shells and fired.

As George fought on, a distorted shriek pierced from above.

He looked up and saw several warplanes trailing black smoke—some human, some monstrous.

They twisted like dragonflies struck by invisible hands, their wings snapping, spiraling into the clouds below.

The sky had become a burning graveyard, the wreckage raining down like steel hail.

The Human Aerial Forces ultimately triumphed, seizing air supremacy over the battlefield.

The surviving fighters and bombers dove down, bombing the enemy positions and attacking the Surging Tide Super Dam.

Seeing this, George could not contain his excitement.

“Mr. Feller! We’re going to win!” he shouted joyfully.

Feller, still firing, turned his head and nodded slightly.

“Then celebrate, kid,” he said. “We’ve survived again.”

As countless shells exploded at the center of the dam, that iron mountain spanning heaven and earth let out a sound of mourning unlike any before.

The concrete walls were shattered, and a rift hundreds of meters wide tore open across the middle.

The exposed steel bars hung limply; unbroken cables whipped violently in the wind, cracking like thunder.

And the 150 billion cubic meters of water stored in the reservoir were finally unleashed.

At first, it was only a thin white line—but within seconds, it swelled into a towering wall hundreds of meters high, cascading downstream at terrifying speed.

As the dam completely collapsed, the floodwaters surged onward in waves over a hundred meters tall— and the vast regions downstream were swallowed whole by the rolling deluge.