The Naming of the Night
Return countdown: 66:00:00.
6:00 a.m.
Outpost Base was a complete mess. The runway was cracked with dense fissures, like the broken bed of a dried-up river.
The airships that had not managed to take off were wedged crookedly in the cracks, with minor nobles and soldiers hiding inside, too afraid to move.
As dawn gradually broke, bird carcasses and enormous wild boars shot dead by Outpost Base lay everywhere across the ground.
It was tragic. Truly tragic.
Once the minor nobles confirmed there was no danger, they crawled out of the airships one by one and silently looked around.
Everyone felt the relief of having survived a disaster. Thank goodness they were still alive!
But how had Outpost Base held out?
Just yesterday afternoon, when Marquis Borton started redeploying the airships and rearranging the berth numbers, everyone had complained bitterly.
They had been perfectly fine where they were. Why keep moving them around? Wasn't that just making trouble for everyone?
It had taken roughly seven hours to finish rearranging all the berths.
But during the attack early yesterday morning, if the A-class airships had not taken off in time, if the combat-capable airships had been picked off one by one from the very beginning, then this base truly would have fallen.
Wherever the Giant Dynasty attacked, not even grass remained. By then, perhaps none of them would have survived.
If Outpost Base had still been the old Outpost Base No. 9, they would all have become dust in history.
That had been fucking close!
As the minor nobles watched the Outpost Base soldiers sedate, capture, and imprison the six injured giants, they immediately erupted in cheers.
They had survived the disaster!
It was then that news from outside arrived: Forward Base No. 6 had fallen.