Crystal Mine

Although it seemed somewhat redundant, Augustus issued a cease-fire order once the gunfire had completely died down.

Augustus led Raynor and several soldiers from the first squad down from the train tracks; the riddled assault cavalry scout vehicles were covered in unrecognizable limbs and gore. This was the first time these recruits had witnessed such a bloody scene, and even Augustus, who had been mentally prepared, found his expression darkening.

"That was a beautiful ambush." Raynor felt his stomach churning.

"Go see what's in that truck." Augustus forced himself to ignore the psychological and physical discomfort as he inspected the damage to the scout vehicles, only to realize that unless they could find water to wash away the remains and repair the shattered engines and fuel tanks, these vehicles would be of little use.

The driver of the truck at the end of the assault cavalry convoy had also been hit by stray bullets and shredded into pieces. Augustus walked to the rear of the truck and, with Raynor and several soldiers from the first squad, opened fire into the cargo hold. After emptying two magazines, he opened the cargo door under the cover of the others.

"How many crates?" Raynor slowly lowered his electromagnetic rifle and joined Augustus in inspecting one of the metal containers.

There were five such massive metal shipping containers in total, stamped with the KM logo. They were over eight and a third feet long and five feet wide, reaching Augustus's waist when lying flat on the ground.

Each metal container was secured not only by a combination lock but also by fingerprint and genetic scanners. They were incredibly sturdy and heavy; Augustus and Raynor struggled for a long time without being able to budge any of them.

"They're safes, high-priority government strategic supplies." Augustus found a few lines of text on one of the containers: "Origin: Raffin Brothers Vein. Destination: A starport on the moon of Brutus, Moria."

"I'm guessing gold, or something else valuable. Those Kel-Morians never do anything unless there's a profit in it," Raynor said.

"Raffin Brothers Vein... I've seen that name in the news. These must be Ardien Crystals, crates full of Ardien Crystals." The corners of Augustus's mouth curled upward uncontrollably.

"That's worth a hell of a lot more than gold." Raynor and the other recruits exchanged joyful smiles, though they still didn't fully grasp what this meant for them.

"All of this combined is worth about two million Federation Credits," Augustus said, then sat down heavily on a crate filled with crystals.

"Holy shit!" Raynor and the recruits let out a cheer of amazement. Harnack and Josephine hugged each other, looking far happier than they had when they first realized they had won the battle.

In the world of StarCraft, high-purity crystal ore was not only a hard currency more precious than gold but also the cornerstone of Terran human industrial and technological development. Refined crystal minerals were high-quality raw materials used to forge weapons, build combat vehicles, spacecraft, and interstellar warships.

These precious and expensive crystal minerals were the most important resources in the entire Koprulu Sector and even the galaxy, serving as strategic assets highly valued by all human regimes.

It was precisely for the control of these resources that the war between the Terran Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine had erupted.

"But we won't get a cent of that money," Augustus said, pouring cold water on the jubilant soldiers.

"We have no channels to sell these crystals; we have to turn them over to our superiors. Then, if the officer in charge of captured supplies happens to have a conscience and writes us up in a report, maybe we'll each get a small bonus. If this were filled with cold hard cash, that would be a real fortune."

The cheering vanished in an instant, and the soldiers' enthusiasm for the containers plummeted.

"Ah, those fat cats really ought to give you a medal, Augustus," Raynor joked. "Not only did we wipe out an assault cavalry squad, but we also delivered a massive fortune to them."

"That's exactly what they'll do," Augustus replied dryly.

"This truck should still be functional. I reckon it can carry thirty people without a problem." Raynor pulled his gaze away from the crates. Like many of the recruits, he had felt the urge to claim these crystals for himself when Augustus mentioned the figure, but almost simultaneously, he felt a deep, genuine disgust at his own greed.

Raynor couldn't help but think that if he had that money, his family's farm could pay off the debts incurred by soaring fuel prices and cover the fees for the operating permits the Terran Confederacy forced every farmer to buy. After paying all the taxes, the Raynor family could live a stable and prosperous life.

But that was just a fantasy. Old Raynor had told him the meaning of "justice" countless times, and his mother had taught him since childhood that a person should rely on their own hardworking hands to earn what they deserved.

With Augustus as their example, the soldiers managed not to lose their composure.

"Check if those scout vehicles are still drivable. If not, we'll just have to cram more people into the truck. If there's no word from command, we need to leave here as soon as possible." Augustus walked out of the cargo hold and signaled for the other soldiers on the platform to come down.

Although the soldiers above hesitated at the sight of the gore and scattered limbs, they looked at Augustus and eventually climbed down, their faces pale as they cleared the remains of the assault cavalry, gathering the weapons and cleaning the blood-stained vehicles.

The temporary squad leaders came over to report casualties to Augustus. It was clearly an exceptionally successful victory, as not a single recruit in the platoon had suffered even a minor injury or scratch by the end of the fight.

Just then, Omo rushed down from the platform toward Augustus. Augustus had previously assigned him to look after the wounded and monitor the radio transceiver.

Augustus could only pray in his heart that Omo was bringing good news.

"The Pride of Boke command center sent a message five minutes ago. The closest unit is a scout company, designation 3423. Command says they will arrive in fifteen minutes at the earliest," Omo panted as he reached Augustus.

"Thank God," Raynor sighed in relief.

"How is the critically wounded soldier? And Lieutenant Warfield?" Augustus asked.

"Lieutenant Warfield is the same—unconscious, but still breathing." Omo's face fell. "The critically wounded man isn't going to make it. He's passed out several times, and I'm worried he won't wake up the next time."

"Jim, you handle the cleanup and reset the perimeter," Augustus ordered, then followed Omo back to the waiting hall where the wounded were being kept. Only Zander remained there, surrounded by a pile of rummaged-through medical kits and boxes.

"Squad leader, I couldn't save him." Zander's eyes were wet. He knelt before the critically wounded soldier on the stretcher, unable to stop wiping his eyes.

"You are neither a doctor nor a savior. You did your best, Zander. It was those damn Kel-Morians who took him, not you." Augustus knelt on one knee beside the soldier who had already closed his eyes, his young face remaining calm.

"Did he say anything in his final moments? I want to know his last wish."

"He said he was dying. He said he was turning into a snowflake, and the wind from his hometown was carrying him away." Zander wept as he spoke. He was so kind and sensitive that he found it hard to bear the pain of losing a comrade—even if they had never spoken a word to each other before today.

Zander Marks was born in the slums of Tarsonis and grew up there. Because he had never attended school, he was practically illiterate. Yet, despite this, Zander had not become cold and indifferent like others in the slums; on the contrary, he still loved the world.

Augustus's aristocratic classmates often referred to people from the slums as "scum," but he never thought that way. He believed that one's background could never determine the virtues a person possessed.