It only took a few days before the first attacks started.

  One convoy was ambushed by two Cult Nascent Soul Lords. The convoy happened to be guarded by a friendly Nascent Soul Lord as well as a Dreadnought, so the attack was repelled. Both sides disengaged without any Nascent Soul casualties.

  The outposts were less fortunate. Several were overrun within the first week, the Oblivion Cult forces systematically destroying the pipe network that channeled spiritual Qi back to Garrison Boston.

  There were far too many Tier One Spiritual Veins to guard. Rather than spread themselves too thin, Boston Command ordered a strategic withdrawal; abandoning the vast majority of outposts to consolidate around defensible positions.

  The outposts were modular, designed to be packed up quickly. Leo and his squad ran mission after mission arriving with empty containers and returning with critical equipment, ready to be redeployed at nearby Bases.

  Within two weeks, the controlled territory had dramatically contracted. What remained was a network of twenty Bases guarding important Foundation Establishment spiritual veins, plus a handful of extremely secure tier one outposts.

  The logistics had completely transformed. Where hundreds of different convoy routes once operated daily, now only about a dozen ran. Each convoy had grown massive, consisting of thousands of transport trucks guarded by over twenty dreadnoughts and multiple Nascent Soul Lords.

  Merit pay now stood at three times the baseline amount, and Boston Command promised Purple Heart draft exemptions to anyone injured in an attack.

  Most drivers refused to go anyway.

  The convoys, which had once been filled with students from high schools and colleges across the Northeast, became increasingly staffed by draftees and professional soldiers. Volunteers grew scarce.

  Command even ordered almost all High School and College ROTC students into the Catacombs to fill the sudden need for manpower.

  ---

  Leo was cultivating when the sound tore through the transport, a wailing shriek that bypassed thought and went straight to the spine. Red emergency lights flooded the cabin, painting the walls in arterial crimson.

  He was on his feet before conscious thought caught up. Muscle memory.

  Combat alert. Maximum priority.

  The others were already moving. Vivian was already in the cockpit, her glasses reflecting the strobing lights. Matt climbed down from the hammock, and Tom rose from his own cultivation.

  They converged in the main cabin without speaking. The tactical display dominated the center of the room, a holographic sphere showing their position relative to the convoy.

  Three thousand transport semis. Twelve thousand trailers. Thirty Dreadnoughts. All of it represented by tiny blue icons crawling across the map.

  The convoy commander's voice cut through the alarm.

  "All units, this is Convoy Lead. Boston Command has issued a sector-wide Emergency Protocol Seven. I say again, Emergency Protocol Seven. Friendly convoy under imminent attack. All Dreadnoughts will deploy forward as reinforcements. Transports execute orderly withdrawal to Base Charlestown. Acknowledge, over."

  Emergency Protocol Seven.

  Leo had memorized all of the Emergency Protocols. In Protocol Seven, their transports would retreat to the nearest base, together, unprotected, while their entire defensive screen raced off to save someone else.

  At least Emergency Protocol Seven was an orderly retreat. Each semi would still hold onto all their cargo trailers.

  "Calculating retreat vector," Vivian called from the cockpit. "Seven-minute window to complete the turn. Outer ring takes longer."

  The three thousand semis of the Convoy were arranged in concentric circles, each hauling four trailers. They all needed all needing to reverse direction without colliding. The innermost vehicles could pivot quickly. The outermost had to swing wide, carving enormous arcs across the wasteland.

  The tactical display updated. Thirty blue triangles detached from the convoy's protective shell and accelerated toward the eastern horizon. The Dreadnoughts.

  "They're all going," Tom said quietly. "Every single one."

  Leo watched the triangles shrink as they raced toward the distant battle. The convoy's entire defensive screen, gone in seconds. Whoever was under attack needed them more.

  "Thirty fucking Dreadnoughts." Matt swore. "That's 360 T4 drones. What needs that kind of response?"

  The transport lurched as Vivian began their turn. The steering responded sluggishly, the combined inertia of the semi and its four loaded trailers fighting against the change in direction. Then they were moving, joining the vast wheeling motion of thousands of other vehicles.

  Tom's tablet chirped. Then again. Then a cascade of notifications.

  "My group chats are going crazy," he said. His face had gone pale in the red light. "Hang on. Let me..."

  Tom was actually the admin of their Class Group Chat. He muted everyone.

  [Exeter Class of 2029 - Boston Catacombs]

  Sergeant Wheeler: Message me if you are on the 'Kenway-Allston' Convoy.

  Sergeant Wheeler: Reinforcements are on the way, my convoy just sent 30 Dreadnoughts. All available T4 combatants in the theater are heading your way.

  Tom frantically tapped away at his phone, his fingers moving across the screen with desperate speed. His face had gone ashen, the red emergency lights making him look almost corpselike.

  "They were on the Kenway-Allston route," Vivian whispered from the cockpit. Her voice was barely audible over the alarm. "We were considering taking that route."

  Matt's hands gripped the edge of the tactical display console.

  "Yeah. Ten times base merit pay." He swallowed hard. "Good thing we listened to Jimbo."

  Leo felt something cold settle in his chest. The Kenway-Allston route.

  He remembered Tom showing him the numbers just last week, practically salivating over the merit potential.

  It was the most dangerous route currently operating. Twelve hours of driving through some of the most isolated territory in the Boston Catacombs, connecting Base Kenway to the distant Base Allston.

  The route passed within three hours of a subterranean exit point. A direct invasion corridor from the underground catacombs below, where the enemy Obsidian Cult forces could emerge with minimal warning.

  Jimbo had warned them to stay clear of routes like those.

  Tom's phone buzzed continuously as he worked. The Exeter class chat was reorganizing itself in real time. Messages flooded in, then stopped. Speaking privileges revoked. The channel locked down into emergency mode.

  Twenty names appeared at the top of the channel, pinned in place. Twenty students from Exeter Academy, Class of 2029, currently aboard the Kenway-Allston convoy.

  Each name had a small indicator next to it. Green for alive. The color reserved for the alternative needed no explanation.

  The channel continued to climb as more observers came in. Friends and family of the twenty students poured in. Word had spread quickly.

  The students were spread across three transports. The Exeter Gilead Transport, sponsored by and named after its young master team leader, carried a full team of eight. The Exeter Mars Transport, similarly sponsored, carried another eight.

  A third transport, an high school ROTC team, carried four Exeter ROTC students alongside students from other high schools.

  Two names received speaking privileges. Both mechanics. Leo understood why immediately. During combat, everyone had to be on top of their game at all times. Only mechanics had moments where their hands were free.

  They soon announced themselves via voice chat.

  "This is Private First Class Marcus Bell, mechanic serving with the Exeter Gilead Transport."

  "This is Private First Class David Kim, mechanic serving with the Exeter Mars Transport."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  David Kim continued, "Boston Command has issued Emergency Protocol One. We have jettisoned our cargo trailers and are en route returning to Base Kenway."

  Emergency Protocol One. Protocol Seven was an orderly retreat. Protocol One meant abandon all cargo and run.

  "Boston Command has indicated that reconnaissance drones buried near the Allston subterranean exit point reported over a hundred Nascent Souls and over five hundred Gold Cores have emerged to intercept us."

  "Boston Command has taken control of the convoy. We are eight hours away from Kenway."

  "Pray for our souls."

  The transport fell silent. The alarm continued to wail, but nobody seemed to hear it anymore.

  Matt broke first. "A hundred Nascent Souls." His voice cracked on the number. "A hundred. That's... the entire Boston Catacombs field of operations has fewer than a hundred Nascent Souls."

  Tom's hands had stopped moving. He stared at his phone like it had transformed into something venomous.

  "Thirty Dreadnoughts," he said slowly. "We sent them thirty Dreadnoughts. But we're over a day out. Must be cascading reinforcements across the entire theater."

  Leo had fought one weakened Nascent Soul. He even had empty jade stamps in his pocket that could prove his merit.

  But Leo couldn't comprehend fighting a hundred Nascent Souls, each with their own unique domain.

  Leo had studied all thirty-five possible Nascent Soul domains and knew them like the back of his hand. The army ambushing the convoy could field three of almost every type, all working in concert, synergizing with one another.

  "This must be the largest attack since the Treaty of Great Restraint," Matt said in horror. "Maybe the largest attack ever in the Boston Catacombs. Pre-treaty, the Oblivion Cult would never have assembled a force like this. It would have been too vulnerable to nukes."

  Vivian had gone very quiet. She sat motionless in the pilot's seat, her hands resting on the controls but doing nothing. The transport continued its turn on autopilot, following the retreat vector she had programmed minutes ago.

  Leo looked at her. Her face was blank, emptied of expression.

  "Vivian?"

  She did not respond.

  Tom checked his phone, scrolling through the pinned names. His eyes stopped on one.

  "Ivy Xiu," he said softly. "Exeter Mars Transport."

  One of Vivian's few friends at school. The green indicator next to Ivy's name glowed steadily. Alive. For now.

  Marcus Bell texted the group chat.

  "Boston Command reports our force composition: 3,000 T4 transport trucks, 25 T4 Dreadnoughts, and 15 Nascent Soul Lords."

  Matt let out a long breath, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

  "Fifteen Nascent Soul Lords." He leaned back against the console. "That's way more than usual. Boston Command must have expected an attack."

  Tom looked up from his phone. "What do you mean?"

  "Standard convoy escort is maybe five or six Lords at most. Fifteen means someone in intelligence flagged this route." Matt's fingers moved in the air, calculating.

  "Each Dreadnought has six Gold Core level drone operators. Each operator has lifebonded with two T4 Drones, with one of the two serving as backup."

  Leo followed the math. Twenty-five Dreadnoughts. Six operators each. One hundred eighty drone pilots total.

  "This means the convoy can deploy one hundred fifty T4 drones at once." Matt's voice had steadied, falling into the familiar rhythm of tactical analysis.

  "Four T4 Drones can hold off one Nascent Soul Cultivator in a defensive engagement. If you include our fifteen Nascent Soul Lords, that means we have about fifty-three equivalent Lord level power."

  "Fifty-three versus one hundred." Matt nodded slowly. "Those odds are survivable if you just have to retreat. The semis and Dreadnoughts themselves can't do much to the Lords directly, but they can certainly slaughter any Gold Cores that get close."

  A flicker of hope. The convoy had teeth. The enemy outnumbered them almost two to one at the Lord level, but defensive fighting favored the defender. If they could maintain formation, keep the drones coordinated, buy time until reinforcements arrived...

  Vivian shook her head.

  "The Oblivion Cult's Divine Child."

  The transport went silent. The brief spark of optimism guttered and died.

  Of course. With an attack of this magnitude, the Divine Child would be present to personally lead the charge.

  This Divine Child was a direct descendant of the Oblivion Cult's Eternal, the Tier 6 Void Refining cultivator who ruled unseen somewhere in the depths of the Boston Catacombs. All Divine Children were cultivators that carried a fragment of an Eternal's divinity.

  The gap between Nascent Soul and Void Refining was vast beyond comprehension. Even a sliver of that ancestral strength, inherited through bloodline, transformed an otherwise ordinary cultivator into something divine. A Divine Child radiated divine pressure that would incapacitate all Gold Cores and below instantly.

  Mateo Thandril, a Divine Child that Leo faced at the high school playoffs, had not yet manifested his divinity at the Tier One Qi Refining realm. Yet even then, the boy had been a monster. Now the convoy was facing a Tier Four Nascent Soul cultivator with his bloodline fully awakened.

  "From what I heard," Tom said quietly, "Boston Command expects that ten Nascent Soul Lords will be reqiured to hold off the Divine Child. Drones will be useless against him."

  Tom's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then projected the screen onto the tactical display.

  "Someone in our class made a simulated tactical overview. I pinned it in the channel."

  The holographic display flickered to life, showing a rough map of the region. Three blue icons represented the convoy transports, moving in tight formation along the Kenway-Allston route. A mass of red indicators pursued from the north, the subterranean exit point marked with a pulsing warning symbol.

  Two additional clusters of blue icons appeared at the edges of the map. Base Kenway to the East. Base Allston to the West.

  "The location of the convoy and reinforcements are top secret," Tom said, "but it's easy to make an educated guess based on travel speeds and published response times."

  The simulation ran forward. The blue convoy icons crawled toward Kenway. The red mass gained ground steadily.

  A timer appeared in the corner of the display.

  PROJECTED INTERCEPT BY DIVINE CHILD: 1 HOUR 47 MINUTES

  Leo watched the simulation play out. The convoy reached a point roughly six hours from Kenway when the red indicators overtook them. The blue icons stopped moving.

  The reinforcement waves appeared next. Blue arrows extending from both bases, converging on the convoy's projected position.

  KENWAY REINFORCEMENT ARRIVAL: 2 HOURS 51 MINUTES

  ALLSTON REINFORCEMENT ARRIVAL: 3 HOURS 12 MINUTES

  The gap was clear. The convoy would be intercepted within two hours. Reinforcements would begin arriving roughly an hour after that.

  One hour. The convoy would have to survive on their own for one hour against a hundred Nascent Souls, five hundred Gold Cores, and a Divine Child.

  Leo studied the tactical display, tracing the convoy's projected path with his eyes. The blue icons moved steadily east toward Kenway, directly into the path of the pursuing red mass.

  "Why doesn't Command order the convoy to run directly away?" He pointed at the map. "Head toward Allston instead. Or angle perpendicular to the Divine Child's approach. Buy more time before intercept."

  "Maybe they are," Tom said. "After all, this simulation is just our guess. But Boston Command probably wants to threaten an encirclement. Or attempt one."

  "An encirclement?" Leo asked.

  "Think about the map." Tom expanded the tactical display, pulling back to show the broader region. More blue indicators appeared. Base Kenway sat at the edge of a cluster of bases. Base Allston stood alone, isolated at the far end.

  "Kenway has three supporting bases. Allston has nothing." Tom traced the distances with his finger. "If the convoy retreats toward Allston, they're running into empty territory. The Divine Child could pursue at leisure, pick them apart piece by piece, and maybe overrun Allston itself."

  "But the encirclement," Tom continued. "If Command can draw the Divine Child closer to Kenway's defensive network, they can bring overwhelming force to bear. Converging reinforcements from multiple directions.

  Even if they are hours away, they can threaten to cut off paths of retreat."

  "The Divine Child would have to choose between pressing the attack and risking being surrounded, or breaking off pursuit."

  "They're using the convoy as bait," Matt said flatly.

  Tom hesitated. "They're using the convoy as an opportunity. The Divine Child committed a hundred Nascent Souls to this attack. That's a significant portion of enemy strength in the entire Boston theater. If Command can catch them in a bad position..."

  Vivian watched the display in silence. Her eyes tracked the blue icon labeled EXETER MARS TRANSPORT as it crept forward, pixel by pixel, trying to escape the approaching red tide.

  ---

  The tactical display in their transport had transformed into a command feed, piped directly from Boston Command's observation network. Satellite imagery, drone reconnaissance, and scattered sensor data painted a picture of the engagement zone in real time.

  Now that the enemy was in divine sense range, there was no need for secrecy.

  The class chat pinged.

  [PFC Marcus Bell - Exeter Gilead Transport] "Contact. Divine Child has arrived with full force. One hundred enemy Nascent Soul domains detected. We are surrounded."

  The tactical display updated. The Oblivion Cult had organized its Forces into three distinct formations, each with a clear tactical purpose.

  Seventy Cult Nascent Soul Lords formed the primary assault group, their domains overlapping into a massive wall of hostile territory. They advanced directly toward the convoy's central defensive formation, where five friendly Lords and one hundred fifty T4 drones waited.

  Twenty-five Cult strike teams spread across the flanks. Each team consisted of a single Nascent Soul Lord accompanied by twelve Gold Core cultivators. They moved in coordinated patterns, angling toward the exposed transports outside the protection of the Convoy's T4 power.

  A third formation trailed behind the convoy. Five Cult Nascent Souls leading two hundred Gold Core cultivators maintained a steady distance. They made no aggressive movements, content to follow in the convoy's wake.

  "Three-pronged strategy," Tom said quietly. His voice had gone flat. "The seventy Lords pin down our defensive assets. The strike teams crack individual transports. And that rear formation..."

  "They're here to clean up. " Matt finished. "Any transport that falls out of formation, any vehicle that gets disabled by the strike teams, they swarm it."

  Matt zoomed in on the convoy's formation. The blue icons had reorganized in response to the encirclement.

  "There." He pointed at a cluster of ten indicators pulling away from the main body. "Ten Friendly Lords breaking off. They're moving to intercept the Divine Child directly."

  The ten blue triangles accelerated toward a single red icon at the center of the enemy formation. The Divine Child. Even on the tactical display, that icon pulsed with a different intensity, marked with warning symbols that the others lacked.

  "Ten Lords to hold one target," Matt continued. "They're not fighting to win. Their job is to keep the Divine Child occupied, prevent it from approaching the convoy."

  "Is the divine child really that much of a problem?" Leo asked.

  Matt's jaw tightened. "The problem isn't his personal combat strength. His divine blood lets him manifest a divine domain. That's the signature ability of the Deity Transformation realm, a full stage above Nascent Soul, and his bloodline gives him access to it early."

  Leo had heard of the divine domain. Every Nascent Soul Lord could project a domain, a zone of influence where their cultivation reshaped the environment around them. But a Deity Transformation cultivator could augment that domain with divine power, flooding it with the weight of their divinity. Any Gold Core cultivator or below caught inside a divine domain would be instantly incapacitated.

  If that hit the convoy, every drone operator, every transport crew, every cultivator who wasn't a Nascent Soul Lord would drop.

  Matt pinched the display, pulling the view tight on the convoy formation.

  The remaining convoy forces coalesced into a defensive formation at the center of the encirclement. Five Nascent Soul Lords anchored a tight hemisphere, their domains interlocking to create a unified defensive barrier. One hundred fifty T4 drones swarmed within that protected space, their movements coordinated by the operators housed in the Dreadnoughts below.

  The Dreadnoughts themselves formed the core of the formation. Twenty-five massive war machines, each carrying six drone operators whose lifebonds allowed them to control the T4 combat units. Boston Command had made its priorities clear.

  Protect the drone operators. Maintain T4 combat capability. Everything else was expendable.