Chapter 105: Boarding Battle

Qian Ye was also deeply moved, and the two fell into a brief silence.

The colossal landing fleet soared through the虚空, encountering several small-scale attacks during the ensuing journey. These attackers, however, were far inferior to the spider-demon fleet’s combat prowess displayed in their first engagement. The imperial escort fleet repelled them all effortlessly, leaving the renowned Third Imperial Fleet strangely absent, as though lost in the abyss of the void.

However daunting, several waves of attacks still cost the invading armada more than ten transport ships and the lives of数千 brave souls laid to rest in the cold void. Yet losses on the Ever-Night side far surpassed the Empire’s. By daybreak at last, no further attackers would appear.

The prolonged journey seemed endless—even Qian Ye’s swift escort vessel had refueled once before the elusive Terra Fluctus appeared distantly at the horizon of sight.

From the bridge windows, Terra Fluctus initially appeared no larger than the tip of a fingernail. In truth, this enormous floating landmass could host at least seven provinces. Despite visual contact made, the entire fleet still navigated another half-day before reaching the outskirts of the Terra’s domain.

Pointillistic flames occasionally bloomed from the ink-dark void afar; they were explained by Zhao Yuseng to mark the ferocity of battles between Imperial squadrons and Ever-Night naval coalitions. Every flare signaled the detonation of a warship—an explosion bright enough to rival stars. At this distance, even the naked eye could witness the explosion’s glow, but for the likes of frigates and medium class craft, only those with extraordinary perception such as Qian Ye could glimpse their demise.

Even so, Qian Ye counted over ten explosive lights within a brief timeframe—the engagement’s carnage undeniable.

Just then, signals blinked from the lead Imperial ship. Warning bells erupted throughout the frigate, as the captain bellowed over comms with guttural urgency: “Battle stations! All hands! We’re storming the contested airspace — brace for immediate hard docking into Terra!”

Inside the frigate came sudden upheaval, crew leaping into action the moment downtime ceased. While Zhao Yuseng strode to the captain’s side and stared outward into the vast void’s maw, Qian Ye departed the bridge, heading for the open deck artillery station—a locale more fitting his abilities.

The formation held precariously by the vast Imperial fleet dispersed instantly like a frightened avian cohort as the formation scattered across void-bound transit. At this moment, nearly all the heavy freighters had pushed ahead to keep pace with fighter speeds, revealing their performance limits—where the lead vessels still kept up, trailing vessels sluggishly resembled their old forms: clumsy cargo ships with minimal upgrades.

The gun station had seen only minimal repair since the blast, marked deeply by remaining fissure patterns. Qian Ye, gazing beyond it, could already witness scores of Ever-Night warships—like blood-scents sharks surging to converge into prey upon sight.

Behind this hunting school lurked Imperial vessels unswayed into a reckless chase, merely prowling in and about like wolves around a flock—snapping opportunistically. A few moments later, three Ever-Night floating hulls were reduced to flaming wreckage amidst fleeing debris—but alas; despite trimming their foes, countless aggressors still closed relentlessly down unto the landing convoy.

Imperial forces erupted into even greater disarray. Freight captains screamed imprecations against Imperial Navy support overhead, struggling in vain maneuvers in desperation to avoid these carnivorous packs. Others hopelessly released dense vapor clouds, attempting stealth in an impossible space. The void bears neither cover nor concealment for vapour trails; what could they avail?

Yuseng, far indeed from one complacent watching, executed a swift maneuver to intercept as she zeroed upon a lone vampire warship, surging forth headfirst into her mark. Despite its elegant length surpassing that of the Zhao frigate by a large margin, this sleek beauty, undeniably of a cruiser-class destroyer rank, proved no matter of concern as Yue Ying fearlessly advanced with ferocious defiance of standard wisdom—one preaching fleet war caution even she once voiced to him in training. Yet in actuality, none matched her tempestuous fury on-field.

The enemy craft roared as two turrets from its foredeck spat dual massive bolts at distances still thousands away. The salvo flaring from bow came swift and wide left to right, clearly designed strategically aiming to trap escape through lateral options. A demonstration of the pilot’s precision and mastery beyond the ordinary. But even this cruiser, maintaining its closing acceleration, would hold massive short-range superiority once in striking range where heavier armor plus superior point-firearms dictated clear disadvantage for a fragile frigate. This, however, wasn’t all—the vessel could proceed into boarding melee; their marine complement and ranking personnel far superior.

Nonetheless, this ship represented one exception in which the odds tipped. Qian Ye alongside Zhao Yuseng on board ensured that even the arrival of a battlecruiser—or dreadnought—wouldn’t decisively secure enemy advantage in such brutal confrontations.

Under Yuseng’s calm yet dynamic control, the frigate danced agilely through volleys that came increasingly thickening upon hull metal. Yet in these twists, distance thinned. Opponent, closing faster still, ceased its bombardment of destructive potential in favor of boarding intent.

Qian Ye lined his sights on critical nodes of the enemy vessel thrice—yet understanding her design, let slip a perfect mark or two. These salvos lacked a killing stroke. Perhaps too provocative, risking enemy aggression over capture. But soon enough:

The frigate danced, but too suddenly found anchorage clamps launched to entangle it—multiple thick steel chains locked down tightly tugging its resisting engines toward forced contact—locking in an embrace alongside their enemy.

Across the dock hatch’s threshold appeared a gleaming curved blade’s edge. As if carving with surgical grace through metal seams in the air-lock door—it cleanly dismounted the whole assembly in a single rotation that sent crashing inward, crashing to the inside decks hard with an almighty clang.

A stoic Elder vampire stood there, aristocratic hauteur written deeply along with the seal marking on his cravat identifying him as a Viscount; dozens of his warriors clad in layered armor and wielding large axes in one hand flanked his shoulders. These warriors, shields raised to defend every entrance point, loomed like bastions in the confined hallway within.

The vampire Viscount strode aboard confidently. Contemplate and scorn dripping in tone: “Slay weapons—immediate surrender granted; survive within servitude under the protection of my ancestral halls. Resistance, and none will be left alive to bury your corpse.”

The ultimatum was not to finish:

He froze mid-sentence, suddenly his wide eyes betray a dawning terror.

Down the length of the corridor emerged a calm silhouette: Zhao Yuseng advanced leisurely, leveling the formidable ‘Kai Shan’ directly between those cold aristocratic shoulders. Pure force built upon the barrel’s edge so intense, even his immortal essence trembled involuntarily.

Unhurried, yet too rapid to register—her aim struck! As the gun fired, death’s whisper crackled forward. In a heartbeat, the lead vampire prepared motionlessly. He struggled. Each foot felt like buried, trapped in an abyss. At long last freeing his limbs in the metaphorical quagmire; the shot met and exploded into his waiting heart before he completed a step’s evasion.

An eruption erupted upon that frigate’s wall—blazing into the ship with a thunderclap—a hole gaping now where Viscount once stood. Another tore likewise through the attacker vessel’s flanks where boarding contact anchored tightly alongside.

Yuseng wasted no opportunity. Several blasts in a furious succession ensured complete annihilation before halting the barrage, satisfied.

Beyond where void storm currents dispersed across scorched halls, little remained at dock. Blood splattered wreckage and broken panels surrounded where the vampire Viscount once proudly stood—now his upper torso vanished amidst mangled remains. Surrounding this area lay dozens of his warriors, mangled, destroyed like dry leaves to wildfire. Their armor, their axes—naught remained to guard them from the power Kai Shin’s blast wrought especially effective within tight corridors where shock waves multiplied tenfold.

Far behind, onboard the vampire cruiser’s deck—a commanding Captain lazily reclined, sipping crimson vintage alongside his battle plans, seemingly disinterested in this seemingly small affair of a boarding raid. According to records, these frigates usually housed nothing above the ninth-tier warriors—a top-grade commander at best was not worth concern. His subordinate, a veteran of the family—one second son ranked as Third-grade Viscount—had been dispatched along with an entire complement of sixty elite close-quarters boarding veterans.

Hence came sudden explosion—shuddering across decks, rocking his glass spilling his precious wine across tailored garments ruined by a most unexpected tremor.

Cursing loudly: “Blessed damned!”—Raging as he sprang from seat.

Storming forth hastily to view the viewport just as his heart faltered upon realization.

“What devastation—by our ancestor—is upon us?!” Tremors shook not from rage, but from his clenching fingers unable contain shaking horror of realization—staining once-fine attire further drenched wine upon him unobserved.

At that moment behind him, a chilling voice rang clear:

“In essence. He simply dared anger those who should remain untouched.”

“Who dares—!?” Whiling in a swift pivot, his breath caught sharply; the entire forward bridge exploded inwards in shards upon glass—the silhouette entering appeared almost like wraith gliding over windless fields, landing within like a blade sheating within its scabbard.

The gold wine glass clanked heavily on cold floor.

Every inch of him trembled, shivered—natures from ancestral veins screaming in terror from some ancient instinct he barely repressed. Just for an instant—it felt as if beholding a sight most feared of vampire hierarchy—an image of some Prince walking the dark void.

Qian Ye simply stood unmoving, regarding the Captain silently.

Around stood fallen the bodies—seven, eight perhaps—in chaotic postures. Each fell without him realizing or seeing precisely when; how or when remained unfathomed.

He stood in his gaze, a steady eye growing deeper, bottomless fathoming. And in its gaze, vampire blood pulses, flows, secrets stripped naked bare. No veil could hide from sight so penetrating:

“A second-class viscount… It must be a while since I last took such a match seriously.

“State your name properly—as you address me—VIscount Phorres!”

“Phorres, as in merely a second viscount—I dare think no lesser title commands ‘Lords’. Not standing opposite your supposed peer.”

Enraged now:

“I defy the shame brought upon upon my old blood! The House of Phorris demands restitution by blood!”

The captain lunged sword flashing mid-advance:

“On your knees and bleed me my vengeance!”

Yet Qain’s eyes upon the vampire were… strange. Unfathomable.

As if through his own heart of emotions he tried grasping something just out of reach. Perhaps pity?

Perhaps grief?

Perhaps even lamenting something far deeper than mere life extinguished.