The Conspiracy of the Elites - Chapter 427

6TH day of the war.

Inside the Spartan Presidential Villa now was a scenario of solemnity and silence, but outside was the exact opposite as the fierce war pushed by the Mocans kept raging on.

At the main underground shelter where most of the diplomatic leaders hid, anxiety, fear, and anger were the main feeling as these men of power vented in different ways.

After battling unrelentingly for 6 days with the same intensity and ferocity, it could be said that the Spartan defense was already dwindling.

During this duration, tens of thousands of soldiers already died from both sides but neither side cared about the loss as one side was prepared to protect their home while the other side was adamant in invading.

At this moment, the dome-shaped defense structure protecting the Presidential Villa already revealed cracks in different places. It won’t be long now till it was destroyed completely.

After repeated bombardment by the Mocan warships, not only the physical damage but the defense structure’s energy reserves were already at the point of being depleted.

Putting outside the tons of millions of credits already lost in the form of war resources, the recorded high-grade soldier deaths on both sides was staggering.

Despite the mutual destruction, the fact remained that the Mocan republic had the advantage in this war.

This was not the first time that the Spartan republic has been pushed to such a brink in the invasion wars, the only difference was that the country’s most important war trump card was being held back by an injury.

After confirming his mental state again, a blood-shot-eyed Clark took hold of his spear again as he stormed into the battlefield to fight for his country.

After 6 days fighting in the war, with little to no rest in between, it was inevitable that his mental state would become unstable.

Despite all these, he did not waver in his conviction to battle. He originally thought that his hatred for the Mocan republic diminished a bit, but this war successfully brought back all the extreme emotions that he was suppressing.

Right now, if he had the power, he did not doubt that he would annihilate the Mocan republic to oblivion without batting an eyelid.

During these 6 days of constant fighting, he’s seen his comrades die so much that he was already numb to it. Despite being numb to it, the pain was still real and very much there at the back of his mind.

The thought of the innocent civilians that were also dying angered him more, it made him feel like he would soon lose control.

The only way that he’s found to control himself and barely keep his mental state intact was to fight and kill more Mocan soldiers. The more he killed, the calmer he felt.

As he fought, he could feel himself breaking invisible limits to enable him to draw even more power from his body but he didn’t pay much attention to it.

At this moment, the war was already brought to the doorstep of the Presidential Villa. Just one more push and the last defense would be breached.

This made the Spartan soldiers including Clark even more frenzied, but it did little in changing the situation as the sturdy offensive of the Mocan army continued penetrating deeper.

…

Inside the Presidential Villa, at one of the biggest mansions, a man stood at the balcony attached to the highest point of this mansion as he cast his gaze down at the ongoing battlefield.

At times, he would look down at the field battle where soldiers died in the thousands and blood flowed like rain. At other times, he would look at the sky where the warships ruled.

All the warships that participated in the battlefield already suffered damage of various degrees, most especially those of the Spartan army, but they were still functional and participating in the war.

That was their nature, they were ships made for war.

Despite the chaos, fire, and destruction, the man’s eyes seemed like binoculars as they penetrated through all the random chaos to see through everything.

Every Mocan soldier that died was imprinted in his brain, every inch of ground that the Mocan army pushed forward was imprinted in his brain.

With his hands behind his back, President Leonidas sighed.

From his position, he could feel the intense emotions being exchanged on the battlefield, the madness, the pain, the hatred, everything converged together and he could only sigh in reply.

He received reports every hour of the situation all over the country, so he knew of the casualties and everything that happened.

He knew of the death plague that was already sweeping through his country, and this was about to force him to make a difficult decision.

He opened his hands and looked down at the letter that was inside it, this was the letter from the Mocan President demanding him to surrender. He clenched his hand and squeezed it.

Then, he closed his eyes as a lot of memories flashed through his mind, memories of pain, love, family, military, and war.

After he completed touring through all the memories, his eyes flashed open. They were no longer filled with indecisiveness; a certain sharpness came back to them as lightning seemed to slither through them.

He ordered without turning back. “Get me my sword”.

“Leonidas, you haven’t recovered completely”. An elderly man who seemed like a scholar came to the balcony as he advised softly.

He wanted to say more but seeing the look on the President’s face, he held back on what was originally in his mind and instead decided to say something else.

“This may be a plan by the Mocans to sound out your condition, and they may have already planned out an assassination attempt against you”. The old man expressed his concern.

“If you die, Sparta will be as good as a low-grade country. Why don’t you call Roland, he can help?”

The President chuckled on hearing that as his sharp gaze became slightly blood-lust-filled. “I’ll rather remain injured than to call that fellow for help, besides, I already recovered enough to engage in such a war”.

“Don’t worry, if the situation really calls for it, I’ll call him though I doubt it would develop to such a realm”.

“What of surrendering?” The old man was clearly not placated as he asked carefully without much hope. “You know it’s not exactly surrendering, we’ll just give them some compensation and that is all”.

“With that, the deaths can stop”.

Hearing that, President Leonidas turned to look at his mentor with narrowed eyes which made the latter frown a bit.

Before he spoke again, he calmly retrieved his exotic sword from the robot that was hovering before him. He expertly wore a thick war armor, put all the necessary gadgets in the armor before taking a deep breath.

He finally turned to look at his mentor again.

“We can’t surrender”.

“Why?”

He took a deep breath. “This is Sparta!”