CHAPTER 855: CHAPTER 855: THE BEGINNING OF CHAOS

Western front of Poluo Province, Sulak County.

Upon returning to the operational base, Peter first settled the wounded and then reported to his superiors about the friendly forces that had been hit by artillery.

The matter was originally concluded, and he was about to head back to the camp to sleep when gunfire erupted in the north of Sulak County. He had to lead his men to the assembly point and board the armored troop carrier parked at the farmhouse entrance with the Centurion.

Sitting in the open-top troop carrier, a group of young men were eagerly rubbing their hands.

"From the sound of gunfire, it’s at least a hundred-man team."

"...Mostly it’s the Mammoth Nation’s Resistance! I heard those guys are elite, equipped with the United Federation’s exoskeletons."

"We have those things too."

In the Great Desert, although there were no shortages of battles, there were basically no hard battles to fight.

Especially since the 17th ten thousand troops led by Olet were stationed at Evernight Harbor.

There were air forces, artillery, and shallow water heavy artillery boats supporting the coastal areas, and the opponents they faced were either rebels of the Indigenous People with pipe rifles or the gray-skinned mutant tribes.

Many of the young men didn’t even see where their enemies were, winning as soon as the artillery stopped.

As for the mutants hiding in urban ruins, they generally wouldn’t go looking for trouble with those people unless necessary.

After all, conquering the inland land of the Great Desert was not profitable. Although the Army thirsted for land under the sun, it didn’t want every piece of it.

Anyway, they finally got the chance to face a decent opponent, and both the common soldiers and their officers felt eager to try.

While the group was discussing it, a slightly older old soldier suddenly frowned.

"...This gunfire sounds familiar."

Peter also sensed something was off.

This gunfire, which had been going on for quite a while, seemed to come from their own weapons.

"Maybe it’s Poluo Country’s routed soldiers, or maybe it’s Mammoth Nation’s guerrilla team... hard to say."

Though the Mammoth Nation’s army was built to the United Federation’s standards, they also had some equipment seized from the Grey Wolf Army.

The gunfire rattled, pfft-pfft, for about twenty minutes, finally stopping just before they arrived.

"The engagement is directly to the north! Get off! Everyone, move quickly!"

Stopping in front of a forest, Peter led his men out of the vehicle, walking through the woods toward the direction of the gunfire to provide reinforcement.

After running for about two hundred meters, Peter finally reached the destination, only to find the battle was already over.

In the dense forest lay over a hundred corpses scattered all over.

Their deaths were extremely gruesome, many riddled with bullets, even throats slit, and beside these people lay some Ripper Rifles, PU-9 submachine guns, and other weapons.

Just as he guessed, this unit was using Army’s equipment.

The Centurion who had entrusted injured to him earlier was standing nearby, recognized Peter at a glance, and walked over with a grin.

"You’re late, we already took care of it ourselves."

Realizing this Centurion took the initiative to speak with him, Peter glanced at the bodies on the ground and casually asked,

"Who are these people?"

"Probably a guerrilla team, the ones providing fire coordinates for those artillery...damn." The Centurion spat on the ground, looking still dissatisfied.

There were Poluo corpses here, but also some from the Weilante people.

"What’s your status?"

"Not bad, but we also lost about a dozen brothers... Of course, they lost more."

Peter didn’t speak, glancing down at the face mixed with mud and blood, feeling somewhat familiar.

At that moment, his Centurion also arrived with others. The allied Centurion immediately left his side and started chatting brightly with his superior.

The battle was over, and everyone was relaxed, yet Peter noticed the allied soldiers still wore tense expressions, showing no signs of vengeance being satisfied.

Feeling puzzled, he glanced again at the seemingly familiar face on the ground.

And then it hit him where he had seen that face before.

It was that afternoon.

He was watching a group of haggard people wielding shovels, burying those said to be compatriots of the Heavenly Army.

Peter’s Adam’s apple moved, and as if spellbound, he squatted down, looked at one of the likely tenant farmers, and reached to search his pocket, indeed finding some blood-stained dirt.

It was indeed those people!

Silent for a long time, Peter quietly wiped the blood and dirt from his hands, then retracted his hand.

As he stood up, he noticed a nearby allied soldier watching him warily.

"Good job."

Matching the young man’s gaze, Peter patted his shoulder, said nothing, and turned to leave.

He didn’t doubt the righteousness of war, nor did he feel it necessary to seek justice for a bunch of wretched guys, but he felt stifled and confused about what it all meant.

At that moment, his commander finished his cigarette and ended his conversation with their ally’s Centurion.

"...Thanks, because you guys took out those nearby eyes, we’ll finally be able to sleep soundly."

"Haha, you’re welcome, your reinforcement was also very timely."

After exchanging pleasantries, the Centurion gestured for his men to return to where they had disembarked.

Before getting on the vehicle, Peter walked to his commander’s side, speaking in a low voice.

"Those people didn’t seem like Mammoth Nation’s recon troops... Who sends a hundred-man team for reconnaissance?"

Even if there were hundred-man teams specifically tasked with reconnaissance, it wouldn’t likely be the whole team sticking together,

He spoke very tactfully, not intending to expose the ally’s mistake as fake merit. He was mainly worried about letting real scouts slip through, which would cause huge trouble.

However, as soon as his words fell, the officer beside him gave him a meaningful look.

"Peter, everyone makes mistakes, especially in this pitch-black darkness; it’s inevitable to see things wrong... We’re in this together, we’d see each other constantly, you know what I mean?"

Facing the officer’s gaze, Peter involuntarily held his breath.

He wasn’t exactly a newbie anymore, having spent some time in the camp, yet found himself completely clueless.

Suddenly, he thought of the rookie he had grabbed by the collar.

After quite a while, Peter nodded slowly, still holding his breath.

"Understood... I’m just worried there might be other reconnaissance units. After all, if we lower our guard and those people discover our deployment in Sulak County..."

Upon hearing this, the officer smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"That’s for sure; there’s definitely not just one reconnaissance unit around us. We just hooked a big fish; if I were them, I’d certainly come here to see if there’s any new stuff—"

Before he finished speaking, gunfire erupted from the direction of central Sulak County.

Both were startled upon hearing the sound.

This time, the gunfire wasn’t entirely from the Army’s weapons; it was mixed with some "Alliance-like" sounds.

Soon, the Centurion’s expression turned peculiar.

"...Looks like our fish has also been hooked."

...

In some sense, the Centurion’s guess was indeed correct; stationed in Sulak County, the 171st thousand team actually hooked a big fish.

At a granary in a farm in central Sulak County.

An entire hundred-strong team surrounded the warehouse tightly as a Centurion wielding an assault rifle stepped forward, aggressively shouting.

"Surrender! You’re surrounded!"

Listening to the shouting from outside, The Old Dog glanced at his LD-50 Carbine gun and then at the densely packed bullet holes on the wall, feeling a chill down his spine.

"Damn! Are these Weilante people cheating?!"

After guiding the friendly artillery fire earlier, he thought he’d take a look inside Sulak County, but he didn’t expect the situation to be bigger than he imagined.

Without satellite navigation, with the drone out of power, and with the farms and fields looking similar, he wandered around and got lost, forgetting his way back and stumbling upon Weilante patrols.

He initially thought they were locals, planning to ask for directions, even greeted them.

When they saw each other, both sides were dumbfounded.

Realizing he asked the wrong person, The Old Dog was the first to react, bolting away.

The other side was initially stunned seeing him flee but quickly reacted, grabbing their weapons and chasing after him.

A fierce firefight broke out between the fields and woods.

With the Army having night vision equipment, while he had only a carbine with just two magazines, he was inevitably defeated rapidly, throwing away the VM and the drone, and forced to hide in the granary.

In a desperate situation like most trash players, his instinctual reaction wasn’t to blame his skills but to claim the enemy was cheating.

However, saying these now was pointless.

He was now struggling with whether to "destroy all evidence" himself or get killed by the plot, going out to get captured.

Rationally analyzing, the latter might have higher returns, maybe even get to spy on the Army’s frontline deployments.

Of course, the most crucial was that he had been operating with Eagle, having not saved for several months.

If he died and lost two levels, it would be bloody losses!

Seeing the scout hiding in the granary making no move, that Weilante Centurion exchanged glances with the nearby Centurion, then pulled out an incendiary from his waist.

Just as he was about to pull the pin and toss it inside, a rifle flew out of the granary.

"I, I, I surrender... surr..."

Damn.

How do you say surrender in United Human language?

The Old Dog walked out from the door with his hands on his head, helplessly realizing he forgot the word.

Several Weilante guards at the granary’s door exchanged peculiar expressions with one another.

"Is this guy out of his mind?"

"...Could it be a trick?"

Sending this thing as a scout?

Is the Alliance lacking personnel?

Apparently, the Centurion thought the same, but this wasn’t the time to discuss that.

He signaled with a stern face.

"Take him away!"

A soldier beside him saluted militarily, then ignoring that prisoner’s protest, took out a rope and bound him tightly, hauling him outside onto the troop carrier.

"Damn, could you be gentle!" With a sharp pain in his back, The Old Dog cursed angrily.

Seeing him restless, the soldier jumping onto the vehicle gave him a butt stroke.

"Behave yourself!"

Taking the blow, The Old Dog let out a muffled groan, his head spinning, almost knocked offline.

The soldier sat directly beside him, extending his hand outside the compartment, slapping the exterior forcefully.

"Drivetime! Back to base!"

"Roger."

The engine of the armored troop carrier started, first taking a sharp turn, then heading along the bumpy dirt road towards the nearby village.

Old Dog, lying in the dark, initially planned to remember the driving route, but he quickly realized that he didn’t know the nearby roads at all, not even where he was now. So he reluctantly gave up.

After bumping along in the dark for a while, the armored troop carrier finally reached its destination.

The Vellante soldier guarding beside him reached out and grabbed the back of his collar, like picking up a chick, and tossed him heavily onto the muddy ground.

"Get up!"

Old Dog cursed under his breath after taking a mouthful of mud but thought it wise to know when to yield, so he swallowed his anger and twisted his body to get up off the ground.

Just wait!

Once I figure out your location, I’ll call in "Demon 55" to take you all out!

The soldier ignored him, using the gun barrel to herd him, urging him to move forward.

This place seemed to be a temporary base, with nothing in it. Several tents were set up beside civilian houses, and some were even using those houses directly.

Before Old Dog could fully observe the state of the base, he was hurried into a small black room, and the door behind him was slammed shut.

There was no sound outside, only the croaking of frogs and the rustling of insects.

Not sure how long passed, just as Old Dog was considering whether to log off for a while, footsteps finally resounded again outside the room.

With the clatter of iron chains, the drooping wooden door was pulled open.

Seeing General Ross walking in from outside, Old Dog’s face immediately went stiff.

He never expected to run into an acquaintance among the chaotic army, silently praying that Ross wouldn’t remember him.

It was actually not impossible.

Because his United Human language was not good, he mostly stayed silent when he could, only occasionally piping in, and the other side might really mistake him for a sidekick and forget him.

But as luck would have it, what he feared came true. Standing at the doorway of the small black room, Ross squinted his eyes slightly and suddenly switched on his flashlight, shining it on his face.

Blinded by the suddenly bright flashlight, Old Dog closed his eyes, thinking in his heart that he was screwed.

Sure enough, a cold laugh reached his ears.

"I recognize you, you’re the Alliance’s messenger."

Knowing there was no hiding anymore.

Hearing the word "Alliance," Old Dog sighed lightly in his heart, smiling awkwardly.

He was actually going to argue that he was a fake, but suddenly realized he had no idea how to say it.

Frankly, he usually just read subtitles from the VM, he couldn’t speak the United Human language at all, only understanding a few words, possibly even poorer than his Japanese.

Once the VM was taken away, he instantly became deaf and mute, not being able to speak, and having trouble understanding slightly complicated sentences.

However, Ross misunderstood, thinking this guy still wanted to deny, so he sneered.

"I advise you to be honest and disclose everything, maybe you’ll suffer a bit less."

"..."

Looking at the face of the gradually chilling NPC, cold sweat broke out on Old Dog’s forehead.

This plot skip is malfunctioning!

He figured this guy probably wanted to ask him something, but he couldn’t understand a word this dog-face was saying.

How could he talk his way out of this?

"Speak!"

Seeing the man in front of him refusing to speak no matter what, Ross suddenly raised his voice and bellowed, staring intently into his eyes.

"I’ll ask you one last time, why are the Alliance’s ’officials’ on the front line? What are you here for?"

Guide Dog: "??"

"Playing dumb, are we... very well."

Ross sneered, nodded, and then looked at the menacing Vellante soldier standing beside him.

"I don’t care what method you use, get this guy to speak... Just leave him breathing."

Guide Dog: "????"

The Vellante soldier’s face broke into a fierce smile, looking at the prisoner with the eyes of a tiger seeing a lamb.

Creaking his knuckles, he nodded fiercely.

"Yes!"

This word Old Dog understood, yet it only led to despair.

Especially seeing Ross turn and leave the small black room, and the NPC soldier striding towards him, a hint of uncontrollable terror finally appeared on his tense face.

"Wait, wait a minute..."

Oh crap!

This game can’t be that realistic, can it?!

...

Perhaps due to historical reasons, the Vellante people were not only skilled in warfare, but also had numerous ways of tormenting others.

In just ten minutes, unable to endure the humiliation, Old Dog voluntarily logged off, taking off his helmet and tossing it onto the bed, and sorrowfully went to the group chat for backup.

"Daddies, save me! I got caught by a big-nosed guy!"

Seeing Old Dog’s message, Old Eagle, Old Stick, and Old Wolf, who had just logged off, jumped out simultaneously.

Battle-wise Wolf: "Damn it, didn’t I tell you to scout their frontline? How the heck did you get captured?"

Guide Dog: "I was going to check their frontlines... I saw the artillery blast their entire hundred troop squad, so I thought I’d move forward a bit, but who would’ve known I’d run into their patrol?"

Mischief-making Stick: "You all laugh at Old Dog being useless, I think quite the opposite. When this guy stirs trouble, he really makes headlines. (sly grin)"

Far-sighted Eagle: "The trouble is that we showed our faces at West Sail Port, and even pretended to be Alliance messengers... hiss, did they recognize you?"

Conduit Dog: "Not initially, but I ran into that Ross! I remember he’s the brother-in-law of the Old Soldier? Can he put in a good word for me? QAQ"

Skilled Wolf: "Damn, someone familiar."

Shit-stirring Stick: "Being damned isn’t necessarily the case. Our Old Dog can just deny it outright. There’s no use in their one-sided accusation, at most they can just self-entertain."

Conduit Dog: "I didn’t admit it, at all! I totally didn’t understand what that guy was saying... Bros, is there still hope for me? QAQ"

Far-sighted Eagle: "Don’t panic. Can you confirm your current location?"

Conduit Dog: "...I don’t know, maybe west of the artillery point? Within 50 kilometers? I remember there’s a farm nearby. QAQ"

Shit-stirring Stick: "Be more specific, Sulak County is two or three million acres, and half of it is fields. Which farm are you talking about?"

Conduit Dog: "I... don’t know."

Skilled Wolf: "...hopeless, better off yourself."

Shit-stirring Stick: "Hey! Difficult situation. At most, we can help recover your VM, if it hasn’t been picked up by the locals."

Conduit Dog: "Come on, bro... I haven’t saved in months. T.T"

Far-sighted Eagle: "You’re really in a tough spot, we’ll think of a way... you think about it too, see if you can break free, or at least gather some intel before it’s over."

Skilled Wolf: "...I’ll log in to see if there’s a guerrilla team operating in Cow State, if I recall correctly, that Ross is a confidant of the 17th ten thousand troop leader Olet, the place where that guy is stationed might be a crucial strategic area."

Conduit Dog: "I did see lots of tents!"

Far-sighted Eagle: "Try to gather more intel, or bribe the locals... if there’s a chance."

...

The Sulak County war zone wiped out an entire reconnaissance company of the Mammoth Nation, and also captured an Alliance soldier. The morale of the frontline troops of the Southern Legion soared!

Olet, the Ten Thousand Leader, even personally went to the front line to award a medal to the Centurion who had accomplished the feat, encouraging the troops to make more contributions.

In fact, Olet knew there was some embellishment in that battle report, but such matters were unimportant at the moment.

Since they had launched this war, they had to create momentum for it, and only in this way could they gain more supporters.

And the best way to create momentum for war is to create some war heroes.

Not just the reconnaissance company annihilated at the front line.

Including the hundreds of W-2 aircraft that launched suicide attacks during the day, all counted into the battle report.

The captain leading the aviation squadron even received a medal symbolizing ace pilot status for "shooting down" ten enemy planes of the Alliance.

Meanwhile, the next day’s issue of "Survivor Daily" at Jinjaron Harbor also published a headline.

"155mm Artillery Demonstrates Great Prowess! Annihilating a Whole Centurion Team of the Army!"

Below the headline was a photo of artillery spewing a long tongue of fire, with the Moon Clan Resistance Army’s camp commander and the Alliance volunteer standing side by side.

The newspaper was almost instantly sold out at kiosks.

In a noodle shop in the port area, a group of diners surrounded a newspaper, sighing.

"That Absek was truly cowardly, being chased by a regiment with two divisions!"

"Laxi is the one who can fight!"

"Hey, I wronged him before! Whether a hero or a coward, you really need a few bouts to find out!"

"...It’s still too early to tell! Poluo Country’s army is almost retreating from Cow State, I don’t think Laxi can hold Dog State, they’ll probably lose it in the end! How’s that different from Absek?"

"But the army’s airships aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, didn’t get to see them shine either."

"You can’t say that, you haven’t seen their power—"

"Have you seen it?"

"Uh... no."

By the kiosk outside the noodle shop, Eugene held a newspaper, his face worried.

After that earlier disaster, the Family Meeting at West Sail Port was suppressed by the Army, and not only were Zayed and other Family Meeting leaders missing, but he himself was expelled by the Army, forced to move to Jinjaron Harbor.

Although his friends at the Workers’ Association advised him to leave this troubled place for the time being, he couldn’t let go of the suffering comrades in his heart, so he was reluctant to leave.

He bought a "Survivor Daily" every day, partly to know the latest war developments and partly to gather news about the Family Meeting.

To be honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of that guy named Zayed.

Not just because of Alyssa’s warning, but also because his intuition always told him that the guy’s inside might be completely different from his surface.

However, he’s not a child and can’t arbitrarily define another person solely based on personal preference.

At least so far, everything that person has said and done has genuinely been to unite the suffering survivors.

And unlike Laxi, who sold his compatriots to the Southern sea area for work, that guy genuinely went to the grassroots, lecturing them, living with them through thick and thin, and calling them family.

Eugene asked himself if Lovett could do such things, and even Spielberg didn’t have those capabilities.

And he certainly couldn’t dissect a person’s heart and peek inside to see what was hidden.

What’s more, regardless of what kind of person Zayed is, those united laborers are always worth helping.

And those family members who finally united...

Flipping to the last page of the newspaper, Eugene finally saw the news he had longed for.

[Poluo Country’s Supreme Leader and United Federation Leader Absek Meets with Family Meeting Leader]

"...So he’s in Tiandu."

Eugene breathed a sigh of relief in his heart.

It seems he didn’t die that night.

No matter what, it’s good to know he’s alive...