Chapter 123: The Military Exercise Concludes

Just then, a high-speed fighter jet streaked across the sky. At its velocity, no anti-aircraft warship could possibly intercept it. The aircraft appeared to be piloted by two individuals, one of whom wore a black military uniform.

The jet dove straight toward the battleship *Monarch*, descending to such a low altitude that even anti-aircraft cruisers could have targeted them at close range. Suddenly, the aircraft’s hatch blew open, and the emergency ejection system activated. The pilot in the front seat was launched into the air. His parachute deployed, but the moment his descent slowed, the soldier cut the lines. Given his momentum, he sustained no injury upon impact. He landed directly on the deck of the *Monarch*, drawing two pistols instantly. He opened fire, cutting down the sailors who had spotted him. It was a classic espionage infiltration technique—extremely dangerous, but lethal if successful. Only agents from the United Kingdom’s MI7 were capable of such a feat. Yet, in this system, no such high-level spy should have existed; the only possibility was that it was one of the commanders participating in the exercise. But what commander would risk entering such a place?

The reality, however, was that this soldier moved through the *Monarch*’s deck as if he were walking through an empty room, cutting down sailors with ease. The mere AI guarding the ship was no match for him. Astonishingly, the ship's alarms never sounded; it was as if no one had noticed the intrusion. The soldier navigated the vessel with practiced familiarity, reaching the exterior of the command center in under five minutes. Considering the *Monarch* was 300 meters long, 40 meters wide, and stood over 10 meters above the waterline, this speed was remarkable—even a sailor intimately familiar with the ship might not have navigated it so effortlessly.

The soldier kicked the door open, his pistols flashing as he dispatched everyone inside. The only one left was the Scottish commander, Prince Kevil. "I didn't expect you to show up in person. I thought you would shoot me from afar!" As Prince Kevil turned, he faced the man he had been anticipating most.

"Hmph! Of course I would come myself to finish you off!" The soldier removed his black cap. It was indeed Crown Prince Trexi. The curious thing was why he would risk this himself. His words were clearly a pretext, or perhaps it was simply that the princes of the United Kingdom were destined to kill one another.

"Your artillery is indeed fierce, I admit. With someone like Kohl on your side, this war was impossible to win from the start. Compared to your Chief of the Royal Academy of Sciences, ours is nothing. To modify a standard 381mm cannon into something so powerful... I have to hand it to you." Prince Kevil’s tone sounded like that of a man admitting defeat, though his right hand remained restless.

*Bang!* Trexi’s pistol blew Kevil’s head apart. "We can talk later; I don't want to linger in such a dangerous place." With Kevil eliminated without mercy, the exercise was halfway to its conclusion, though the other deputy commander remained.

On land, General Cromwell was reluctantly ordering his troops to attack when he sensed Prince Kevil had been executed by the Welsh. However, this was not the end. In truth, he was not the other deputy commander; his own death would have been meaningless, serving only to collapse the current offensive. The "all-out attack" was merely a ruse. The real deputy commander was still back at the Scottish base. It annoyed Cromwell that someone else could replace him, but anyone capable of earning Prince Kevil’s approval was no lightweight. As a former heir to the United Kingdom, Prince Kevil had adopted a philosophy similar to that of the historical Hitler: the state does not support the useless. He employed only those with genuine ability. Regardless of ambition or character, as long as one possessed the talent, one could be part of the Kevil faction.

Yet, what General Cromwell could never have anticipated was that the Scottish base was already a sea of flames. Per the system’s design, all bases were coastal—a setup that made them highly vulnerable to naval bombardment. Although the fleet heading toward the Isle of Man lacked heavily reinforced artillery, the short distance meant they could easily blanket the base with fire. The loss of the *Monarch* was a crushing blow. Upon receiving the news, the Scottish forces lost all will to fight, paralyzed by fear and war-weariness. When the Welsh troops landed, the defenders surrendered, having realized they were facing an enemy capable of defeating their most invincible warship—a power comparable to the mighty Galle Empire.

Until now, the United States had not dared to station any troops along its coast. Years ago, after they blocked the founding of the Galle Empire, the Empire had retaliated, destroying every coastal base and annihilating their navy. The United Kingdom had been skeptical of such power, but after witnessing the Welsh offensive, they finally believed: it was truly possible to defeat such an invincible battleship in a one-on-one duel.

"Military exercise concluded! Victor: Wales!" As the main building of the Scottish base was reduced to rubble, the notification appeared in the *Commander* system. The game was over.