The Tycoon's Odyssey

Chapter 407 407:Naval Warfare[IV]

In the grand, ornately decorated office of the USL President, Malcolm sat behind a polished mahogany desk, his expression grim. His fingers tightened around a classified folder marked with bold red letters:

PRIORITY: OPERATION REQUIEM.

The tension in the room was palpable. His Chief of Staff stood nearby, silently observing Malcolm's reaction.

"Is this a joke?" Malcolm finally broke the silence, his voice sharp and low as he glanced at the document.

The Chief of Staff flinched slightly. "No, sir. This is a direct order from the Federation Command."

Malcolm shut the folder and leaned back, his jaw tightening. "Failing to apprehend Evan despite deploying our forces—our most advanced assets—was already humiliating. And now they expect us to escalate further by deploying a full payload over the Devil's Triangle?"

"Sir, the reasoning provided—"

Malcolm cut him off, his tone icy. "The reasoning is clear enough. Evan has grown into a global threat. If we fail to neutralize him now, he'll become unstoppable. This man... this rogue... he doesn't just want to escape. He wants to conquer. If he survives, there's no doubt in my mind that he'll turn this world into his kingdom."

"I know all that bullshit when the boy in talk didn't even want to escalate things but we are hell-bent on going after him and unsettling the world."

The chief of the staff swallowed his saliva after hearing this.

The President hesitated, rubbing his temples as the weight of the decision bore down on him. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Authorize the strike. But mark my words—if this fails, the Federation Command will have to answer for it."

_____

Near the Devil's Triangle, a vast assembly of naval fleets from the world's most powerful nations had converged, forming an ominous armada. The surrounding waters were eerily still, shrouded in a dense, lingering fog that seemed to hang like a shroud over the horizon. The air was heavy with tension, the only sounds coming from the hum of engines and the occasional crackle of radios.

Onboard the USL Vanguard, Admiral Jonathan Reeves of the USL Navy stood at the command bridge, his eyes scanning the misty expanse through binoculars. "This place gives me the creeps," he muttered.

Beside him, Admiral Hiroshi Takamura of Daxia nodded grimly. "The Devil's Triangle has always been a place of mystery, but today, it's the stage for a global showdown."

Further along the deck, Admiral Sergei Ivanov of the USR watched his men prepare the missile launchers. "We need a coordinated strategy," he said in his thick accent. "If we all fire separately, we'll waste ammunition and give Evan's ship time to adapt."

Reeves turned toward him. "What do you suggest?"

"A sustained barrage," Ivanov replied firmly. "Continuous missile and artillery fire from all fleets until their shields collapse. He might have advanced technology, but nothing can sustain endless firepower."

Admiral Pierre Moreau of the European Union frowned. "That's assuming his shields are limited. What if they regenerate?"

Hiroshi interjected. "Then we find a weakness. His ship is massive—it must have blind spots—less protected areas. We target those."

As the admirals debated strategies, a sharp alarm pierced through the air and warning lights began to flash on the bridge.

"Incoming signal!" a radar operator called out. "Evan's ship is approaching!"

Admiral Reeves grabbed the microphone, his voice steady despite the growing tension. "All hands, battle stations! Prepare to engage!"

Through the fog, the faint silhouette of Evan's ship began to emerge, its glowing plasma thrusters slicing through the mist like a beacon. The atmosphere grew electric as the ship loomed closer, an imposing presence that sent shivers through even the most seasoned sailors.

Reeves tightened his grip on the microphone, his voice steady but firm. "Fire at will!"