CHAPTER 894: CHAPTER 894: BREAD OR FAITH

"Bang!"

With a piercing gunshot cutting through the silence, the battle within the Broadcasting Station Building officially unfolded.

A ten-man team swiftly stormed the building and engaged in a shootout with the armed personnel entrenched inside.

This brief exchange of fire lasted less than five minutes before the ten-man team was blasted out by the exploding dust and boisterous gunfire.

Not just that, the originally full-strength team suffered over half casualties, with two severely wounded soldiers being carried out horizontally.

Watching his battered subordinates and the dragged-out wounded, the Centurion’s face was filled with shock, which soon turned into anger.

"A bunch of worthless fools! Ten people couldn’t capture two, what the hell are you doing?!"

Facing the officer’s rebuke, the Centurion who retreated from the building wore a look of terror but bit the bullet to explain.

"It’s not two... just one person, but that guy’s speed is too fast, might be an Awakener..."

Hearing this, the Centurion’s eyes narrowed.

Awakener...

Looks like they’ve caught a big fish.

No longer giving his subordinates a hard time, he took down the communicator hanging on his shoulder and ordered sternly.

"Team two, team three, team four, be ready, it’s your turn."

A unified response echoed from the communication channel.

"Roger that!"

With the order given, three ten-man teams fiercely charged forward.

Looking at the building just within reach, the Centurion’s lips curled into a grim smile.

If ten people can’t break in!

Then thirty will!

He did not believe he couldn’t squash this grasshopper!

Meanwhile, inside the building, Talan calmly replaced the magazine on the picked-up assault rifle.

To be fair, the Vellante people’s equipment was good, with exoskeletons and bullet-proof armor; if not for the Ten-Husband Long Pistol’s decent penetration power, solely relying on a PU-9 wouldn’t necessarily make him their match.

However, when it came to combat skills, they were far below the soldiers on the Poluo Province front line, who might even impress him more.

Of course, even if he was confident enough in his combat power, he had to admit that in the face of an absolute numerical disparity, his failure was just a matter of time.

He could no longer rely on Comte; that guy wasn’t willing to fight against his compatriots and even had a death wish.

He couldn’t persuade that guy and didn’t know how to persuade him, and even faintly felt in his heart that this might be the best outcome.

Truth be told, he didn’t even know what he was struggling for.

Dying as a hero in a heroic manner was a hero’s honor.

At least tonight he had already lived in the hearts of Evernight Harbor’s People, and likely wouldn’t be forgotten for a long time.

Yet, thinking that the NPCs in this Game can’t be resurrected, Talan regretted thinking this way.

He didn’t want this guy to just die like that.

After playing the game for so long, it was the first time he encountered such a fitting NPC.

Looking at the three teams creeping in from both the front and back doors, he took a light breath and grinned.

"...Turns out that armored car is just for show."

Maybe because they were inside the city, the Vellante people couldn’t act freely, so the armored car stayed outside without firing at him, only deploying infantry to advance.

He kicked open a room door, grabbed a cabinet like a small chick, carried it out, and threw it at the stairs’ entrance.

With a click, he loaded the rifle and took a deep breath, preparing for battle once more. As the dense footsteps rushed into the stairwell, he pulled the trigger.

"Tut-tut-tut——!"

In the blink of an eye, the melee slaughter began again!

Unlike the initial encounter, this time the Vellante people’s offensive was noticeably more cautious, and Talan’s situation was notably more strenuous than before.

Watching the flickering firelight advancing from the 2nd to the 3rd floor, the Centurion standing outside the Broadcasting Station finally smiled grimly.

Just as he expected.

A trapped beast is still just a trapped beast.

Meanwhile, not far from him, the head commander of the Guards, the Supervisor Willoby, was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, constantly wiping sweat off his forehead.

Although at this moment he wished he could tear apart the broadcasting Comte, he knew very well that the guy’s life or death no longer mattered; what mattered was the aftermath.

Now, half of Evernight Harbor’s Vellante people knew what comfort drugs were given to retired old soldiers by the Logistics Department under the General Affairs Department, and how those big shots made money from the insurance of wounded soldiers through these expensive yet ineffective hallucinogens.

Why those injured soldiers couldn’t get proper placement, the answer was apparent.

Because their money was spent in inexplicable places, eventually flowing into the pockets of vested interests.

The little pills prevalent on the Black Market in Evernight Harbor weren’t due to the Alliance’s ’strategic dumping,’ but because of the market’s disastrous surplus of ’Sharun.’

Gang members recycled the surplus comfort drugs from the old soldiers and also got supplies from the Logistics Department to make the stronger ’Snake Oil,’ squeezing out the last bit of profit from Evernight Harbor survivors.

Whether Vellante people or Aliens in Blackwater Alley, everyone was a victim under this systemic exploitation!

Watching the increasingly unfriendly face of Governor Ya Hui, Willoby’s face grew even more desperate.

Perhaps he wouldn’t even need to wait until tomorrow’s Sun rises before he loses the hat on his head.

Unconsciously, more unrelated people suddenly appeared on the street.

Most of these people were Vellante, including drunken drunks and Citizens emerging from their homes.

At first, Willoby thought these guys were just here to watch the excitement and didn’t pay much attention.

Until more and more people gathered on the street, and the expressions on their faces became increasingly unfriendly, Willoby suddenly realized that perhaps a bigger trouble was brewing.

Looking at the look Ya Hui gave him, Willoby could only call up a few guards to follow him, bracing himself to step forward and shout to the growing crowd.

"What are you doing standing here! This isn’t a place to watch the fun, go back to your homes!"

The voice did nothing to disperse the crowd; instead, it made them gather even more closely.

A retired old Soldier stepped forward, pointing his ruddy nose at Supervisor Willoby, and said in a questioning tone.

"You are Willoby."

At another time, Supervisor Willoby would never bow to a drunkard, but the crowded surroundings compelled him to adopt a more conciliatory tone.

"It’s me... what’s the matter?"

The old Soldier pointed at his nose, questioning him rudely.

"Then let me ask you, is everything you’ve said true?"

Supervisor Willoby’s face tensed, large beads of sweat started to emerge from his temples, but he still feigned calmness and explained.

"...I was forced by the circumstances, that idiot made me say those things; you should’ve heard it if you had your radio on. He threatened me with a Bomb... threatened his own superior."

The expression on the old Soldier’s face didn’t change; he continued to stare at him unblinkingly.

"You didn’t deny it, so it’s the truth, right?"

"I—"

As Willoby was about to defend himself, a liquor bottle flew out from the crowd, nearly hitting his head.

The guards following him hurriedly stepped forward to stop the increasingly agitated crowd.

Simultaneously, a shout emerged from the crowd.

"Traitor! You betrayed the Weilante People! And you betrayed our Marshal!"

"I didn’t—"

"Then let the people inside go! Face us publicly once more!"

"That’s right! Let them go!"

The shouts were like waves crashing against the guards’ chests one after another.

Faced with their enraged compatriots, the guards hesitated openly.

They were also Weilante People.

Moreover, many of them, like Comte, were also old Soldiers retired from frontline duty.

The questions Comte posed in the broadcast were questions they had harbored in their hearts for years.

Instead of lacking the courage to face the crowd, it was more that they agonized over why they stood opposite their compatriots instead of alongside them.

As the crowd pressed ever closer, Supervisor Willoby found himself with no words and increasingly terrified.

He had no doubts.

If he got caught by this group, they would surely tear him to pieces!

Just then, the sharp sound of a siren rang out not far away, as five troop trucks arrived at the edge of the crowd, escorted by an armored vehicle.

They were the reinforcements, the 200th company of the city defense Army.

No one expected such a small broadcasting station to hold out so well; an initial force of a hundred Soldiers failed to capture the Building even after more than ten minutes.

Under pressure from the General Affairs Department, the city defense commander dispatched another hundred-strong force, even authorizing them to use Dynamite to blow up the Building if necessary.

A head popped out of the armored vehicle stuck outside the crowd, megaphone in hand, shouting at the crowd.

"Those in front, move aside! You’re blocking the way!"

The Centurion in the armored vehicle clearly didn’t understand the situation.

His shout backfired immediately, causing the surrounding crowd to erupt in fervor and further block the way in front of the armored vehicle.

Seeing the garbage and liquor bottles randomly thrown, the Centurion quickly closed the turret hatch of the armored vehicle and retreated inside.

"Ceasefire!"

"Release the people!!"

The deafening roars penetrated the vehicle, causing slight vibrations in the armored steel plates.

Seeing the angry faces through the observation windows, the crew inside the armored vehicle exchanged bewildered glances.

"Damn..."

"Are these guys crazy?!"

Not only were the reinforcing Soldiers perplexed, but so were the Soldiers already at the front line standoff.

They could be sure; they only had one opponent.

Yet that lunatic, with just two rifles looted in his hands, managed to repel their attacks five times over!

Although they initially indeed underestimated him, maybe held back, in the subsequent assaults, they used all their skills, yet still failed to capture the third floor.

The battle was at a stalemate.

Seeing the demoralized wounded, the Centurion overseeing the command was fuming.

He strode angrily in front of Supervisor Willoby and, disregarding ranks, shouted at him loudly.

"Tell your guards to drive away that obstructive crowd! Our reinforcements can’t get to the scene!"

Being berated by a Centurion made Supervisor Willoby’s anger flare up, but he had no options.

After all, the other party was from the Army.

And he was just from the Guards, a local department, not even counting as local military.

Suppressing the flames in his heart, he shouted in a low, gruff voice.

"I know, I’ve already given the order... but I simply don’t have enough manpower; do you know how many people are crammed out on the street?!"

Centurion: "Then bring more people over!"

Supervisor Willoby snapped in anger.

"I’m just a Ten Thousand Leader, not someone who literally has ten thousand people! I’ve brought all the city’s guards over, and they too are stuck outside, unable to enter! Yelling at me won’t help; you’d better ask your superior for a solution!"

There are said to be at least twenty to thirty thousand Citizens outside.

Initially, they only blocked one street; now they’ve even blocked the roads leading to it!

Now all the city’s guards have been pulled to this district, and what he worries about most isn’t this broadcasting station, but the security of other districts.

It’s hard to guarantee that someone won’t seize this opportunity to loot, and if chaos erupts, it will all be blamed on him.

He’s already got enough trouble and doesn’t want to add unnecessary charges against himself.

"Damn it!"

Seeing the continuous casualties among his subordinates, the Centurion cursed and drew his sidearm as he stepped to the front of the crowd.

Seeing this, Supervisor Willoby was startled and instinctively wanted to intervene, but it was already too late.

"No—!"

"All of you get out of my way! Anyone who doesn’t want to die, stop blocking my sight! Are you all rebelling?!"

The enraged Centurion fired a shot into the sky, and it was this gunshot that completely enraged the crowd in a standoff with the guards.

They were Weilante people.

The fearless gene flowed in their veins, besides, how many bullets can a pistol magazine hold?

The old soldiers at the front knew much more than these rookies, and as soon as they heard the gunfire, they rushed forward, breaking through what was once a relatively stable line.

Faced with the furious crowd, the guards eventually chose to surrender, and since they hadn’t fired a shot the entire time, the people didn’t make things too difficult for them, focusing their charge on the Centurion who had fired.

Seeing the surging crowd, Supervisor Willoby’s face was marked with utter despair.

Even Governor Ya Hui, hiding in the reconnaissance car, was so scared he’d gone dumb, urging the driver to drive and crash through the less populated areas.

Talan, shot several times, squatted on the fourth floor of the broadcasting station, looked at the boiling crowd outside the window, and an expression of surprise crossed his face as he unconsciously uttered, "Holy shit."

Comte did not rally his fellow compatriots together, but when he spoke out for them, they did not choose to turn a blind eye, bravely standing up for him.

Now Talan understood why these big noses were able to take down the War Construction Committee that inherited all the United Human’s legacy...

The genes engraved in their veins weren’t just about killing, but also about honor and dignity.

The Weilante people would never abandon their heroes.

They could be saved...

"This fight was worth it... Haha, this life was worth it!"

Looking at the gun wounds on his body, Talan smiled briefly, suddenly understanding the phrase "Don’t worry too much about Sequence Levels" that the old players often said, otherwise, you’d miss out on so much.

Maybe it wasn’t some kind of Versailles, but rather an insight they’d genuinely experienced after countless deaths.

They left countless indelible marks on this world, which surpassed those pale numbers by far.

Supporting himself from the ground with the gunstock, Talan pondered that what happened next probably had nothing to do with him anymore. It would be better to find a place to take care of his own corpse.

Just then, a familiar shout suddenly came from downstairs.

"...Commander! Are you up there?"

"Some guy named Emichiru Junichiro said you’re in trouble and called us to meet you!"

"If you’re alive, make a sound."

Upon hearing that voice, Talan was at first stunned, then a look of wild joy appeared on his face.

"Damn! I finished the fight, and you guys finally show up!"

...

Blackwater Alley, "The Last Game" casino.

Normally when night falls, the largest casino in Evernight Harbor is packed with people, but tonight there was a rare ’Closed’ sign hanging at the entrance.

Gamblers loaded with gold coins wandered back and forth in front of the entrance, but seeing that the door showed no sign of opening, they left reluctantly.

Meanwhile, in the VIP room on the casino’s rooftop, a man with a high bridge nose sat cross-legged on a sofa.

He held a communicator in his hand, his face clouded with gloom.

After a moment, he cursed softly and threw the communicator on the table.

"Damn it, what a bunch of useless idiots... Can’t even handle this small matter!"

Looking at the enraged man, Tony didn’t dare to breathe too loudly, let alone interrupt him, only wearing a flattering smile on his face as he stood quietly by.

This man’s name was Peter, and his status was remarkable. His rank was only that of a Thousands of Leaders, but he was the secretary to the Minister of the War Zone General Affairs Department of Poluo Province.

Even the governor of Evernight Harbor had to show some respect to this guy, let alone a thug like Tony.

In front of this bigwig, he didn’t even have the right to sit and speak.

It’s worth mentioning that the man sitting in front of him wasn’t actually his real backer.

The bigwig supporting him had never shown his face; he always communicated through intermediaries, helping him with issues outside of business while collecting money.

And Peter was the highest-ranking person he’d met so far.

Tony could only rely on pure speculation to guess who his backer was, and even if he guessed right, he wouldn’t dare say it out loud, let alone ask that backer to do something for him.

Those people only targeted his business, hoping to use him to do some things and provide him some conveniences.

If his demands were too many or too troublesome, those people wouldn’t mind changing to a cleaner glove.

In fact, if it weren’t for a bit of trouble in business, Peter wouldn’t have come here himself.

But what he didn’t expect was that barely a few hours after he left the governor’s mansion, there was major trouble with the Guards.

Kidnapped by his own men...

He might as well shoot himself!

The troubles didn’t end there. That broadcast sparked public outrage across Evernight Harbor, blocking the reinforcements on the street.

And the army that already reached the scene wasn’t particularly smart. A hundred-man team couldn’t even take down a broadcasting station, only watching things get bigger and bigger.

Peter took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, then turned his gaze to Tony standing beside him.

"How’s the snake grass matter handled?"

Seeing Peter talking to him, Tony quickly accompanied with a smile and said diligently.

"Don’t worry, sir, it’s all taken care of! The warlords of Snake State will open a dedicated route for us, and the customs at Evernight Harbor have been taken care of as well! From now on, we can directly process snake oil from snake grass without needing to purify those small pills... Although our processing plant suffered some losses, it won’t have much of an impact on us."

After a pause, Tony lowered his voice again.

"Additionally, as per your instructions... we took that group of Poluo laborers out of the Carter Nord prison and disposed of them in the suburbs."

That factory was neither owned by the Logistics Department nor the General Affairs Department, but it did belong to certain individuals within this chain of interests.

They bypassed the Logistics Department by improving the production process and techniques, but they didn’t bypass anyone in this chain of interests.

The only thing that changed was the raw materials.

They could more efficiently produce more addictive "Snake Oil," without needing to recycle the prescription drugs dispensed by the Logistics Department from the hands of those old soldiers.

Due to the change in supply-demand relationships, they hoped those old soldiers would consume the "Sharun" piled up with no place to store, opening up the market for the more potent "Snake Oil" and making another profit from the soldiers’ pensions.

After all, the majority of the Southern Legion’s wealth was concentrated in the hands of the Weilante people, and extracting dinars from the hands of aliens was too inefficient.

Not only that, they no longer needed those Poluo laborers.

They knew too much.

Moreover, they had already shown their faces, and it would be very troublesome if they ended up in prison again for the same reasons.

Instead of giving them a ticket home, it’s better to directly compensate the warlord behind them and then have the latter send over a new batch of laborers.

Anyway, the Poluo Province never lacks people; by then, just send them along with the Snake Grass.

Upon hearing that the matter had been resolved, Peter breathed a slight sigh of relief and nodded imperceptibly.

"Not bad."

Tony chuckled.

"Don’t worry about my work!"

After taking a few more appreciative looks at this loyal dog, Peter grinned, suddenly inspired, and continued.

"Is that so? Then I’ll ask you to do something else."

Tony straightened up respectfully and said.

"Rest assured, my lord, whatever you instruct, I will do my utmost to accomplish!"

Peter smiled faintly and instructed.

"In the Northwest Urban Area, there are riots in the streets near the Broadcasting Station. A group of drunk fools is blocking the road. Take some men over there, remember to bring weapons, create some chaos and drive them away, so our troops can enter."

Tony was startled.

"That’s all?"

"That’s all." Peter sipped the red tea on the table and spoke softly, "Some people can die, but not too many, and don’t act in front of the Guards and Army... Otherwise, prepare a few scapegoats, handle it as you see fit."

The Weilante people are unwilling to shoot their compatriots, just find a group of aliens to do it.

He wasn’t burdened by such sentiments.

People who needed to be killed still had to be killed; you couldn’t go soft-hearted just because the other side was unarmed civilians.

Reading Peter’s gaze, Tony nodded with understanding and chuckled.

"Understood!"

This sort of thing was exceedingly easy for him; just station a few gunmen at a distance to fire randomly, or worst comes to worst, rush in and throw some Molotov Cocktails.

However, this guy was truly ruthless.

The Northwest Urban Area should be occupied by the Weilante people, a place where his underlings usually avoided, let alone causing trouble there; they wouldn’t even dare to stay there.

Just as Tony was about to arrange the task, an explosion suddenly roared outside the window.

At the sound of the explosion, everyone in the room froze, their expressions petrified.

Simultaneously, arrogant laughter came from afar, intertwined with brazen boasts.

"Tony—! Hahaha! Your grandpa is here for your funeral!"

At this mad-dog-like shout, Tony’s face changed instantly, and he rushed to the window.

As he expected, a madman from the Hyena Gang was standing directly across the street.

And his old rival Morse was holding a brand-new "Ripper" light machine gun.

Seeing the gun pointed his way, Tony hurried away from the window, simultaneously grabbing the walkie-talkie from his waist and shouting to the casino thugs.

"Damn it, stop that lunatic! Don’t let him get close!!"

Meanwhile, a volley of bullets raked across the window, leaving a string of bullet holes on the ceiling amidst the sound of shattering glass.

Hiding in the corner of the room, Peter looked at Tony, half-crouched on the floor, dumbfounded and furious.

"What’s happening outside?"

"Morse," Tony gritted his teeth, his lips turning pale with anger. "It’s the Hyena Gang... those fools got contact with the Guards and are acting like lunatics. By the way, it was this group that bombed our suburban factory!"

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The Guards?

How dare those cowards in the Guards—

Just as he thought this, a demonic-like laugh came through the window.

"...Surprised, aren’t you? I’m now a disciple of the Enlightenment Society, so I’ve got backing too! Hahahaha!"

"Do you have the guts to come out and fight me fair and square?"

...The Enlightenment Society?

What on earth was that?!

Peter’s mind went blank, taking some time to react.

However, being a Thousands leader, he wasn’t about to be frightened by a bunch of hooligans.

Kicking Tony out of the room, he decisively locked the door, then calmly picked up the communicator that had fallen on the table, pressing a few buttons.

With the communicator to his ear, he concisely issued orders.

"...I’ve encountered some trouble here, send a Sweeping Group over."