Outrage of the Ancients (LitRPG Apocalypse)

President Lane

The fifth challenge had managed in an afternoon what the first four had failed to do in four months.

Completely crushed Europe.

Oh, there were still plenty of survivors, lots of infrastructure, and so on … but the capital cities of the continent had been crushed. That was where many of the battles of the Second World War had been concentrated, so that was where the Continent Boss had thrown most of its minions.

Berlin, Paris, and London were mostly rubble now, and his ability to communicate with the US' allies abroad had been reduced to basically nothing.

And Washington was soon to follow, with the exact span of time depending on the exact interval in which the Challenge summoned monsters representing events from further back in history, so the city would have to be evacuated by the time some monstrous representation of the British of the Revolutionary War trashed the city once more.

Also, he needed to get some historians to do an investigation into the past so he could predict the location of any future historical monsters.

But, for the most part, he needed a new way to control spawns, not just predict them.

It wasn't like using an ancient as a "lightning rod" would work anymore, even though they had one.

Back in the 20th century, General George S. Patton had claimed to have reincarnated many times throughout the course of history, since the dawn of mankind, in fact, and which had been proven to be one hundred percent correct when he had, in fact, shown up as one First Lieutenant Johnathan Miller, USMC.

And then they'd stationed Miller fifty kilometers outside of DC, ready to pull down all manner of hell down on his position … and obliterate them all.

As it turned out, none of that had happened, though thankfully, the continental United States hadn't been hit too hard in the last century, which hadn't resulted in anything over the rank of Raid Boss mucking about.

The single worst "loss" had been the complete annihilation of Pearl Harbor Naval Base. And sure, that would have been bad … except that the whole place had been abandoned months ago so that the vessels stationed there could be pulled back for coastal defense, and there had been precisely zero reasons to abandon the base's personnel.

Silver linings, however small they were …

Overall, the simple fact of the matter was that capital cities were generally major targets in warfare, and when those wars played out once again under the power of the System, they apparently tended to get the short end of the stick.

Seoul, for example, was apparently in a similarly terrible state as London, while twin Nation Bosses called "Hyperion Avatars" were tearing their way across Japan, having originated in the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Or rather, they had been, as they'd been stopped just outside Nagoya, where the ancient imperial blade, the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, had seen light for the first time in hundreds of years when the shrine it had been kept in had been destroyed.

This blade, known as the grass-cutting sword, was one of the Three Imperial Regalia of Japan, said to have once belonged to a god, and capable of controlling the very wind, had been used to tear apart the monsters by one of the shrine's priests.

Or so Lane had been told, though with global communications in the state they were presently in, certain details might have gotten lost or misconstrued along the way.

All in all, the main "plan," as it were, was to relocate the government to the Cheyenne Mountain complex and keep working from there, should it become necessary.

His eyes swept across the situation room, taking in every detail of the place he'd practically been living in for … well, for what felt like years.

The screen showing a world map on one wall, covered in red lights indicating problems, small indices explaining whether the issue was a Nation Boss, Continent Boss, a swarm of lesser foes, or simply an area so utterly obliterated that they had no earthly idea just what had done the damage.

Things were mostly fine in the US for now, but then again, most of their fights had been abroad in the near past.

The opposite wall, which was typically used for video conferencing, now dark and empty.

The corner that typically held the coffeepots, covered in dark splotches that hadn't been cleaned up in days, everyone too busy to do so, and a trashcan overflowing with paper plates and cups, far too many of the regular ceramic versions having gotten broken along the way, be it by accident or out of frustration.

And there, in the center table, a list was scrolling past, supplies available and supplies needed, until statuses, important locations held and lost, and every other scrap of information that could possibly be needed to coordinate a war, all automatically updating under the effect of his [Know Thyself] Skill, while [Know Thy Enemy], also one of his abilities, helped out on the world map … or at least the section showing the United States.

More numbers flashed into existence periodically, indicating the boost given by [Wartime Footing], and in yet another column, [Tangible Morale] granted insight into this normally nebulous portion of command.

It was, as expected, piss-poor.

Not only had this war come out of absolutely nowhere, but it was also constantly threatening every part of the nation. There were no "frontlines" that someone could defend, secure in the knowledge that those behind you would be safe as long as you held the line.

And while the power of [Morale Boost] let him not only conjure a moment of relief for some of the more beleaguered units but also warp time itself to grant the men and women fighting enough to enjoy said relief, that Skill could only be activated a handful of times a day, and it was everyone who needed a break.

Yet even so, without the Skills, things would doubtlessly have been incomparably worse.

A whole lot of very powerful Skills, from one very special Class.

[Living Symbol: Uncle Sam]

Not just a variant on the regular "President of the United States," but the president, the most idealized version possible, in every way imaginable.

It was a highly unusual Class, in more ways than one.

He'd actually even gotten a proper description of everything, including future Skills, and free choice about which order he obtained them in, allowing him to become the ultimate wartime leader … so long as he had the Class, that was.

Because it also came with a few caveats. Firstly, he'd only keep it so long as he remained in office; if he managed to get himself impeached, lost an election, or simply hit his term limit, he'd lose both the Skills and the Levels he'd gained in this particular Skill.

Secondly, if the crisis ended and the aftermath was largely cleaned up, irrespective of his status as POTUS, he'd also find himself depowered.

And thirdly, the System also explicitly warned him that monkeying around with the first two clauses to hold onto power in any way, shape, or form would also cost him access.

That last one might have stung … but people already thought the worst of politicians. A magical construct having similar feelings barely even registered.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Even so, knowing what was coming down the line helped a lot with planning. He even knew what his Ascendant Capstone would be, even if it was still fourteen Levels away, as that one could only be obtained at Level 50, regardless of what games he could otherwise play with the order of acquisition.

[Ascendant Capstone: Leader of the Free World]

People, especially those outside the US, would likely disagree with that title, were he stupid enough to share the name of that particular Skill, but that part didn't matter; the important part was the mechanism of its function.

If he died, it would let him die … and then it would resuret him elsewhere, in any place there were people that were either American, or upholding the values of truth and justice, though "the American Way" was pointedly absent from the Skill description, which was probably for the best, considering how many people disagreed with the American version of capitalism.

Most importantly, however, the Skill would also extend its protection to those around him.

All in all, assuming he actually got that Skill by the time he got hit personally, he'd be fine; he'd just find himself somewhere else.

Of course, even if the United States as a whole still existed by that point, there was no guarantee that the people he found himself around would listen to him. Though his being in charge wasn't a requirement for his support-type Skills to work, leaving him standing there, passively improving things without much agency on his own part.

But he supposed that was to be the fate of any politician who survived during a System Apocalypse: becoming a living buff totem.

And, at any rate, for now, he was still here, still in the hot seat, coordinating the response to this disaster in every place he could reach.

Unfortunately, even with all the power at his fingertips, both political and magical, sometimes, all he could do was watch and wait. Where the only contribution he could make was heroically resisting the urge to give orders purely to feel like he was doing something, even though the only thing he'd have achieved was distracting the people doing the actual work.

This was one of those times.

So …

"I'll be taking a nap in the sideroom," he announced as he rose to his feet and crossed the bunker to the small "apartment" that he'd lived in for the past month. "If anything happens, wake me."

Of course, he wasn't actually tired, so it was doubtful as to how much good it would do, but if he waited until he actually felt like sleeping and then something went wrong … Lane knew how stupid sleep deprivation made him. The last thing he wanted was to have to make important decisions in that state.

***

Temujin

This would be the toughest battle yet. Not simply due to being the fifth in an escalating series of challenges, but as a matter of fundamental fact.

Simply put, even if their actual intelligence and tactical acumen weren't increased to the expected levels, these were effectively humans, in appearance if not mindset. And just like that, morale changed from one of the countless issues that needed to be paid attention to into a major concern.

It was, as the modern people would say, "simple psychology." When fighting human-shaped enemies, morale would work the normal way in inter-human warfare. If the enemy was confident and projected enough power … then a demoralized force would break and retreat.

His people had been fighting for months, but against inhuman monstrosities they were constantly tearing chunks out of until said monsters eventually collapsed … exhausting but doable, helped along by the surge of satisfaction granted by leveling.

People-shaped foes … that would be different. They'd be as irrationally aggressive as their more monstrous compatriots, but that would come across as confidence in many situations, rather than stupidity.

It was a common phenomenon, well recorded even in recent times, and quite easy to find thanks to the modern devices he was rapidly learning to use to their greatest possible effect.

Russian soldiers managed resistance even after being gassed while not having access to gas masks, their sheer appearance chasing off a vastly superior German force in the First World War.

An occasion where a small German force shattered the French lines while outnumbered twenty to one simply because, when pouring into the trenches, it hadn't been obvious that they were, in fact, a tiny group that had managed to breach the defenses. The defenders had simply run.

Or the entire story surrounding the Devil Dogs, the United States Marines. They told themselves they were the best, they comported themselves as though they were the best, and using that iron discipline and nigh-unshakable morale, they'd become the best.

At least until Temujin had returned and reforged the Mongolian people into the hordes of old, fast as lightning, moving as one, unbreakable.

But even these men may break when confronted with an enemy who looked like they should be beatable but would never stop, right up to the point where they were finally slain.

Not to mention the internal problems … his return and subsequent taking up of the mantle of leader had prevented much of the political instability currently hitting the rest of the world, but it hadn't negated it entirely. And supplies were beginning to be a problem.

Personally, he had enough Skills to upgrade his subordinates' bows, if they had them, to the point where they could match or even supercede modern firearms in battle, meaning bullets running out wouldn't be that much of an issue … but that just meant it would be an even more massive problem when they ran low, or even out, of arrows.

Also, food for the horses, gasoline for the cars, repair materials for, well, everything, and so on, and so forth.

Not to mention the things that simply got on nerves directly. The Chinese were still angry at him for simply for existing; the Russians had been making noises about him doing … well, it wasn't entirely clear what exactly they'd wanted him to do, except that it had stopped after Moscow had been obliterated by a sentient blizzard near the end of the Fourth Challenge.

And then there were certain Western-educated individuals who'd started to make both their presence and opinions more and more known as they lost their fear of him, suddenly choosing to become the monster far too many foreigners had made him out to be.

He was always welcoming of scholars with new information, new knowledge, new perspectives … but this wasn't that.

These people were whiny, without perspective, and lacking anything even remotely resembling usable skills, endlessly harping on about how, perhaps, the demographics of his army and staff could be adjusted, to "be more representative," something which Temujin had felt was deeply insulting.

As if he'd deprive himself of capable subordinates purely because of where they were from, or what they had between their legs.

Sure, there were certain morons who did that, especially abroad … but that didn't happen here.

Because the only thing he discriminated against was stupidity.

All in all, if this fight had been against anything other than man-shaped foes whose formations would never break until they were slaughtered to the last, he would be feeling very confident right now.

But since that was exactly what they were facing right at this moment, he'd have to settle for a solid, regular, confident.

***

Sundiata Keita

For the longest time, he'd had a hard time grasping just how bad the colonizing nations had been, how destructive the meeting of cultures had wound up turning out.

Hell, he'd barely ever even so much as met a European, or an Arab, for that matter, outside of the very, very occasional visitor from afar, come to visit for trade.

Proper "connection" had come much later, and been one of the major factors that wound up leading to the collapse of the empire he'd built … or at least so he'd been told, his grasp on what had happened between his supposed death, centuries ago, and the here and now was shaky at best.

Yet if the wave of … of something he could only describe as ivory-colored shadow, deep and suffocating as it swept across the landscape, was in any way representative of the real thing, then everyone outside of the New Mali Empire was exceedingly lucky he'd only returned now, rather than a hundred years ago.

As it was, if anyone, including another ancient, made a move towards reinstating any of that … he wouldn't feel responsible for whatever state they wound up reduced to afterwards.

But that would only ever be an issue if he and his survived the incoming threat as it bore down on the city of Zerzura, the phantom oasis that he had found himself connected to on a truly fundamental level.

Even as the first people opened fire with ranged weapons, he simply watched. And waited.

Only when the inverse shadows began to boil up the outer walls did he act, a simple exertion of will taking the entire city and everything within … and simply moving it.

Ten kilometers away, Zerzura reappeared, almost as though it had been there the entire time, the white substance still clinging to the outer walls even as it dissipated amidst a chorus of ghostly howls.

… the original plan had been to let the enemies of this latest wave "breach" the defenses sufficiently to be teleported with the city, at which point he would relocate Zerzura and thereby deprive them of reinforcements, destroy them all, and then wait for the remnants original force to reach the new location. In essence, he'd wanted to force a defeat in detail. But he supposed accidentally tearing whatever that had been in half worked too.

And it had certainly impressed his subjects a lot more than a simple act of proper strategic planning, judging from the cheers that could be heard from all over.

[Emperor of the Dimensional City Lv. 63 -> Emperor of the Dimensional City Lv. 64]

[Skill Boost gained]

He wondered how long it would take to bring Mali back into a state where it could compete with other superpowers. And, perhaps more importantly, how large it would be by that point.

Certainly, picking a fight with the European Union over that, or Charlemagne, for that matter, would not be worth it, especially not considering the current situation … but all of Africa was open and in desperate need of proper leadership.

He'd united disparate groups of people to form a mighty empire before; there was no reason he couldn't do so again, especially with modern communications at his fingertips and a capital that could move across the continent in the blink of an eye.