Nuclear missiles howled across the skies above North America, carrying a deadly countdown.
In five minutes, every missile would scour the cities of central North America.
Each of the largest modern strategic nuclear warheads possessed a yield measured in the tens of megatons. According to predictions from MOTH's Disaster Control Center, every missile would generate a fireball covering approximately twenty square kilometers. Everything within the fireball would be effectively vaporized.
The radius of severe blast damage could reach two thousand square kilometers. Under extreme overpressure, reinforced concrete structures would be heavily damaged or demolished outright. Within that range, the mortality rate approached one hundred percent.
The radiation radius was even more terrifying—up to five thousand square kilometers. Within that area, exposure to five hundred rems of ionizing radiation could prove fatal within roughly one month. Even those who did not die directly from radiation would face a fifteen percent chance of later succumbing to cancer.
The MOTH soldiers stationed across central North America had to detonate the missiles before they descended—otherwise, the destructive power would level the entire region.
The Strategic Center had already provided real-time positioning data and transmitted marked coordinates to every MOTH squad.
But what was the use of having coordinates?
Setting aside whether the missiles' attitude-control rockets and inertial navigation systems were still functioning—did they even understand how high a nuclear detonation occurred?
Two thousand meters.
At two thousand meters above ground lay the optimal detonation altitude—the point at which a nuclear weapon's lethality was at its peak.
That was where the thirty-six-second window came from.
To minimize ground impact, interception and detonation had to occur at no less than three thousand meters above ground. Only then could the blast shock and radiation damage be reduced as much as possible.
Which meant every MOTH squad had to fire from at least forty-five thousand meters away.
The furthest effective range of the live-ammunition sniper rifle SVLK-32S "Dusk" was only eight thousand meters.
As for the latest laser sniper rifle, Thunder Curse, though more powerful, factors such as current weather conditions, beam attenuation, and atmospheric scattering meant its effective range was likely even shorter than that of conventional rifles.
Yet the Engineering Division of MOTH had indeed equipped Ato's squad—and several other Special Operations Unit teams—with beyond-visual-range sniper rifles.
Electromagnetic rail sniper rifles.
Beyond-visual-range rifles capable of reaching forty-five thousand meters.
Ato could not help but feel fortunate that Dr. Newton had become the division head. The Engineering Division had truly stepped up. In the past, their equipment had been merely passable—neither terrible nor impressive. But against Honkai, it had always fallen short.
Dr. Newton was not only the goddess of researchers.
She was also the goddess of frontline soldiers.
With the goddess' blessing, the pressure at the Honkai frontlines had eased considerably.
"Assignments are complete. Our squad is responsible for the missile above Nermark State."
Ato mounted the electromagnetic rail sniper rifle onto a fixed platform and connected it to the fighter jet's nuclear-powered energy module.
"There are nine nuclear missiles in total. We have five rail sniper platforms. The remaining four will be handled by other MOTH squads."
One of his teammates looked astonished, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"We're really going to detonate them by sniping? Intercontinental ballistic missiles travel at Mach twenty-six. That's ten times the speed of sound."
Ato replied coldly, "At least we're not sniping the Herrscher of Wind..."
His teammate fell silent.
Ato calmly adjusted the rifle's settings and conducted a test aim.
The intelligent beyond-visual-range scope automatically calibrated distance and captured moving objects through networked data. But it demanded an extremely high level from the user. The data shifted rapidly, and the shooter had to calculate continuously during the process—or even the slightest deviation would result in failure.
At forty-five thousand meters, the smallest error meant a complete miss.
His teammate flipped through the thick manual while inputting parameters into the rail sniper system. Although the rifle could connect to the aerial laser guidance network, many values still required real-time calculation and manual entry.
Staring at the complicated data, his teammate muttered, "It'd be nice if a computer could handle this. No human brain can keep up with a weapon like this."
Of course, a fully automated version was still under development. The fact that they had managed to create a beyond-visual-range sniper rifle at all was already extraordinary. The greater the range, the precision required increased exponentially.
"Shh—"
Ato signaled for silence to avoid disrupting his concentration.
Every second now was critical. He had to adapt to the electromagnetic rail sniper as quickly as possible. Any trace of unfamiliarity could result in interception failure.
In that moment, Ato was focused and composed.
It was as if he had merged with his surroundings.
His face showed no fluctuation, only a cold and unwavering aura—like an immovable monolith.
[Target acquired!]
Thousands of kilometers away, the missile was concealed within the camouflage of the sky. But beneath the intelligent scope of the rail sniper, it had nowhere to hide.
Ato drew in a deep breath and made a minute adjustment to the barrel's angle.
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept over him, whipping his hair and clothing violently.
He did not flinch.
He merely adjusted his posture slightly, recalibrated the target, steadied his breathing, and prepared to fire.
Sixty thousand meters...
Forty-five thousand meters!
In that instant, Ato felt as though he stood at the center of the world.
Everything around him was under his control.
He pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The sniper rifle erupted like thunder. The electromagnetic round, trailing a blue tail flame, shot forth like lightning—tearing through the sky at a speed invisible to the naked eye, racing toward the distant target.
Because this was beyond-visual-range sniping—and the missile was still outside the atmosphere—the result could not be directly observed. The target Ato had aimed at moments earlier was merely a virtual projection calculated by the computer from layered data analysis. He had not truly seen the missile's movement.
Two seconds stretched endlessly within his senses.
He did not dare breathe.
He waited.
First, a brilliant pink radiance flashed across the missile's surface.
Then four massive fireballs ignited in the sky.
Only then did Ato finally release the stagnant breath trapped in his chest.
His teammate, equally drained of strength from tension, stammered, "S-succeeded..."
"You actually did it. You really did it, Ato!"
Ato's eyes flickered, but he said nothing.
He simply patted his teammate on the shoulder and walked slowly back into the fighter jet.
From his chest pocket, he took out an oval pendant and gently opened it.
Inside was Blanca, dressed in a light blue blouse, smiling tenderly.
In her arms, she held the infant Griseo.
"I did it..."
Blood trickled from the corner of Ato's mouth as he lowered his head.
He pressed a trembling kiss to the pendant, choking back tears of emotion.
"I survived again..."
To keep himself calm, Ato had bitten through the tip of his tongue, forcing clarity upon his mind.
He had not held any hope for that shot either.
The moment he felt the sudden gust of wind, he understood.
Wind speed and direction—factors inseparably tied to sniping precision—were not on humanity's side.
They were the wicked servants of the Herrscher of Wind.
With wind interference, even the finest sniper humanity had ever produced could not accurately strike a target.
Much less a hyper-velocity intercontinental missile forty-five thousand meters away.
Interference with the shooter, interference with the rifle, interference with the bullet—or even direct interference with the missile itself—any of these could have ensured the round would never hit.
Detonating even one missile was already extraordinary.
There had been nine.
Yet despite knowing all this, Ato had revealed none of it in his expression.
On the battlefield, he was a soldier.
And soldiers had no need for useless emotions.
They only needed to know what had to be done next.
Fortunately, the goddess of fortune had smiled.
Against odds of one in ten thousand, a miracle had occurred.
A miracle belonging to humanity.