Punitive War

"Quest's up, quest's up!" "Another war? Awesome! Haven't had a scrap in ages!" "Fuck! Why is it capped at fifty people? Are your hand speeds all that insane?" "Hesitation is defeat!" "Can we tag along even if we didn't get the quest? I don't care about the coins, I just want to watch the story cutscene!" "Selling goblin bazookas up front! Clearance sale at a loss, five silver coins a shot! You won't get ripped off, you won't get scammed!" "Give me one, put it on my tab!" "Piss off!" At the outpost's west gate. A large crowd of players carrying their weapons and ammunition jogged to assemble on the open ground before the trenches. The bustling scene didn't look like going to war at all; instead, it felt like a holiday festival. In particular, a certain player skirting the edge of the law had rented a covered cart from the warehouse, packing the cannon barrel, cannon mount, and cannonballs all onto it. He had even hired a Strength-type newbie to help pull the cart. "Big bro! Can... can you let me fire a shot?" Hearing this, Mosquito immediately grinned, chuckle-patting the newbie's shoulder. "You bet! Good brother! Follow my lead in a bit, and you'll light the fuse!" "Awesome!" Such a commotion was impossible to miss for anyone with eyes. The nomads returning from fetching water by the lake looked over in astonishment, exchanging bewildered glances and chattering among themselves. "What are they doing?" "Is it war?" "They're all holding guns!" "Who are they going to fight? Marauders? Or mutants?" Carrying two plastic buckets filled with water, the sisters Qiu Cao and Qiu Ye curiously watched the Administrator walking out through the west gate. Their eyes simultaneously fell on his back—on that deeply impressive war hammer. "It's so huge..." "That hammer must weigh at least several dozen kilograms, right?" "The armor looks really heavy too. Is it made of steel?" "He doesn't look tired at all!" "You shouldn't stare at people, it's rude." "Ugh, fine... wait! Why only scold me? You've been staring the whole time too, Sister!" Blushing, Qiu Cao repeated, "I-It's rude, that's all." More and more nomads were drawn over by the commotion. Watching from dozens of meters away, they curiously gazed at the warriors before the trenches, discussing what was happening. Was this war? People die in war, don't they? So why were those soldiers wearing such excited expressions? Weren't they afraid of death at all? Quite a few nomads couldn't help feeling a sense of awe. The morale of these bluecoats was even more impressive than the weapons in their hands! While the tribesmen were buzzing with discussion, Chief Wu Tiefu led several hunters carrying bows, arrows, and javelins out from the crowd. Coming before the Administrator, Wu Tiefu cupped his fists and said respectfully, "My Lord, the men behind me are the elites of our tribe. As long as you give the word, we will be the sharpest spear in your hand!" Chu Guang glanced at him, initially intending to decline his offer politely. However, a thought suddenly crossed Chu Guang's mind. Changing what was on the tip of his tongue, he nodded and said, "Stay beside me in a bit." "Yes, My Lord!" Signaling Yu Hu, Wu Tiefu, and the others to wait in place, Chu Guang stepped before the players. Under countless expectant gazes, he recited the speech he had spent ten minutes drafting: "For a long time, the people of Bet Street have endured the oppression of the Mayor, struggling desperately to survive under his rule—starving, impoverished, and destitute. Yet the wealth he extorted through harsh levies all went into his own pocket, solely to satisfy his personal greed. "His crimes are too numerous to recount. And now, not only has he set his sights on us, he has crossed the line of our tolerance by secretly colluding with our mortal enemy, the Bloodhand Clan, forging a secret alliance and even inciting them to launch an invasion against us! "Justice may be delayed, but it will never be denied. Now is the time to let that insatiable Old Leech know what happens when he provokes us. "All of you, march with me!" On the open ground before the trenches, deafening roars of excitement erupted. "Liberate Bet Street!" "For Xiaoyu!" "Awoooo!" ... Bet Street. The central castle. The door to the top-floor study was shoved open. A guard draped in a deerskin coat ran in frantically, hurrying past a long row of bookshelves to the Mayor. "Lord! A lot of people are coming from the north! Fifty... more than fifty of them!" "How many?!" The Mayor's face turned pale. Bolting from the study, he rushed through the corridor toward the tower and climbed to the highest point of the castle. On the high tower, the north wind howled fiercely. Having rushed outside without putting on an overcoat, his flab shuddered violently in the wind. Paying no mind to the cold, he grabbed the binoculars hanging nearby and peered north. A squad dressed in fur coats, carrying long guns and short guns, looking even more like marauders than actual marauders, was advancing aggressively toward Bet Street. In this freezing weather of howling north winds, a drop of cold sweat formed on the Old Mayor's forehead. Spinning around violently, he grabbed the guard who had followed him up the tower and roared with spittle flying: "Quick, muster all the guards, grab weapons and head to the north gate! "Also, send someone to find Charlie and tell him to mobilize the hunters of Bet Street! Every male over fourteen is to assemble outside the armory! "Go, now!" The guard trembled at the roaring, nodding repeatedly. "Yes, right away!" The castle's hurried alarm bells clanged, shattering the peace of Bet Street. The survivors standing in the street had no idea what was happening. Thinking marauders had arrived, they bolted back home to pack and flee, plunging into frantic chaos. Hearing the urgent bell ringing, Old Charlie didn't panic in the slightest; instead, he breathed a sigh of relief as a weight lifted from his heart. If a foolish event was destined to happen, the only thing one could do was make it come sooner. For instance, igniting the powder keg before a straw-brained mayor could do something even more outrageous would mean fewer poor souls dragged into the mess. As expected, the Mayor would soon send someone to find him, ordering him to mobilize the hunters of Bet Street to stand on the walls and fight the bluecoats to the bitter end. Pulling the curtain shut over the grocery store, the old man picked up a cane and slipped into the panicked crowd to hide. Meanwhile, the doors to the armory beside the castle swung open. Guards in deerskin coats took pipe rifles and ammunition handed to them by the captain, then dashed toward the north gate, taking cover behind barricades and waiting in full readiness. However, the barricades piled together from scrap metal and concrete rubble offered them little sense of security. Except for a few wrinkled veterans, many young guards looked nervous and panicked, their hands gripping their guns slick with sweat. A major force like the Bloodhand Clan wouldn't return after collecting protection fees. Normally, their opponents were mutants, the most dangerous of which were merely a few mutant brown bears. Only in rare cases did they run into blind marauders coming to extort them, and those marauders were usually pathetically weak, so poor they didn't even have a gun, worse off than the town's hunters. A situation like this was a first for many young guards! Looking around at the guards, Old Walter held his hunting rifle, a grave look settling over his face. Including himself, only eleven men had been scraped together, half of whom were doorkeepers from the Old Mayor's estate. In an entire year, all of them combined might not have fired thirty rounds. Beside him, the captain of the guard barked furiously at his subordinate, "Where is everyone? Just this few? Where are the hunters in town? Hand out the guns to them and spread them into the buildings outside!" Clutching his rifle, the young guard stammered fearfully, "Old Charlie went to mobilize them... they should be here soon." "Too late," Old Walter looked beyond the barricade. "They're already here." The snow-covered street. A squad of soldiers draped in fur coats and carrying long and short guns, led by a man in heavy armor, appeared at the end of the street and fanned out behind nearby cover. Two hundred meters separated the two sides—they were within engagement range! Yet neither side made a move, merely locked in a tense standoff. Just then, Walter's brow twitched violently as a pitch-black barrel was rolled out from the street corner! They even have artillery?! The cannon barrel was roughly the length of a leg, probably cast iron, with thick walls, its dark muzzle gleaming with a chilling glint. Though crude in appearance, no one dared underestimate its power. The guard captain swallowed hard, finally losing his nerve and yelling across: "Who are you people? What are you doing here!" Nonsense... Did such a stupid question even need asking? Walter snorted inwardly, silently loading his hunting rifle, resting the barrel over cover, and aiming across. Right then, his pupils contracted sharply. A man wearing an animal-skin coat raised both hands to show he was unarmed, stepped out from behind cover, and walked forward. Old Walter narrowed his eyes. Having watched the gate for decades, he recognized almost every face on this street. Evidently he wasn't the only one; several young guards nearby recognized him as well, whispering among themselves: "Zhao Shu?" "Looks like... it really is him!" "Hiss... isn't he dead? I thought his family already held a funeral." "I remember! Wasn't that last month, when he went north to hunt deer and ran into the Bloodhand Clan... The Yang family's second son was caught with him too." "Yang Ergou?" "Yeah, yeah, that's the guy!" While the guards were whispering, Zhao Shu, having advanced ten or twenty meters, halted and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Folks, it's Zhao Shu! I'm here to help you!" "Help us?" Behind the barricade, the guard captain sneered coldly, barking harshly at Zhao Shu standing in the snow, "Is this how you 'help' us?" Seeing the guard captain, Zhao Shu felt an instinctive pang of dread. But thinking of the dozens of soldiers backing him up and the words the Administrator had spoken to him earlier, a fire reignited in his eyes, and his slightly bowed spine straightened once more. Looking at his fellow townsfolk behind the barricade, he raised his voice and shouted: "A month ago, the Yang family's second son and I went north to hunt deer. We were unfortunately captured by Bloodhand Clan marauders and thrown into their dungeon. Just when I thought I was a dead man, our neighbors... the people behind me, rescued me from that marauder dungeon!" A commotion broke out among the guards behind the barricade, expressions of shock surfacing on their faces. Rescued from a marauder dungeon? Did that mean the Bloodhand Clan had already been wiped out by them?! Without pausing, Zhao Shu continued: "They not only gave me food, clothes, and fuel, but also provided me with work and shelter, sparing me from starvation and cold. They took me in, along with the other captives rescued with me. I'm not telling you this for anything else—I just want you to know they aren't our enemies—" "Utter nonsense!" the guard captain cursed furiously. "You ungrateful ingrate! Just because outsiders tossed you a couple of bones, you wag your tail begging for pity, gladly acting as their dog and turning your fangs against your own kin! Where's your conscience?" Zhao Shu flared with rage and roared: "Conscience? You have the nerve to talk about conscience? Tell me out loud, who's the ungrateful ingrate here? We scavenge, we hunt, we risk our lives for chips, but what do we get? Every year we pay him tribute and endure his exploitation, using the money we earn to buy the garbage he picked over, all while marauders outside shit on our heads! "Tell me, when the marauders threw me into the dungeon, where was he? He has never protected anyone! He only cares about himself! When we needed him, he never took a single step out of his castle! "From the very beginning, that vampire living in the castle was birds of a feather with the Bloodhand Clan! He took the fruits of our labor to curry favor with those marauders, even helping those scoundrels suck our flesh and blood! You think I'm joking? Just yesterday, that vampire actually wrote a letter and sent it to the Bloodhand Clan, trying to incite those scoundrels to sack our neighbors!" Saying this, Zhao Shu pulled a letter from his coat and held it high. "Do you want me to read it to you?" Hearing this, Old Walter's eyes widened. The young guards beside him also showed stunned disbelief. The Old Mayor was in cahoots with the Bloodhand Clan? For real?! Seeing the shaken looks of the guards around him, sweat beaded on the captain's forehead. His immediate reaction was that these inciting words could never have been concocted by an illiterate bumpkin like him. Someone had definitely coached him! If this guy kept talking, they would lose the battle before even firing a shot. As the Mayor's direct confidant and a vested beneficiary, right or wrong, the captain's stance dictated that he had to stand with the Mayor. Besides, things weren't entirely hopeless. Although the other side had dozens of men, Bet Street had over a hundred households. Now that the armory was open, as long as Old Charlie mobilized the survivors in town, they wouldn't necessarily lose a fight! Making a snap judgment, looking at Zhao Shu who had already begun reading the letter aloud, the guard captain roared: "Open fire!" However, no gunfire sounded; no one answered his order. Listening to the almost flattering, obsequious contents of the letter, not only the young guards, but even Old Walter fell silent, staring at the hunting rifle in his hands without a word. The guard captain gritted his teeth, eyes spitting fury. Waiting no longer, he raised his rifle, aimed at the bumpkin putting on a show reading the letter 150 meters away, and pulled the trigger. Crack! Whiz— The first bullet grazed Zhao Shu's cheek and slammed into the snowdrift behind him. Terrified, he instantly dove to the side, hiding behind a snow-buried car wreck. Old Walter's face drained of color. Watching the captain cycle the bolt to keep firing, he blurted out in horror, "Are you crazy?!" The guard captain glared viciously at him, then glared at the guards cowering behind the barricade. "Why show courtesy to marauders! Shoot if you don't want to die!" Across the street, seeing the impact mark nearby, the players didn't panic at all; instead, they clamored excitedly: "Boss! They fired!" "Stop wasting breath on them, let's get 'em!" "Rush them!" Although it differed slightly from the plan, now that the other side had opened fire... Chu Guang hesitated no longer. He glanced at Mosquito nearby, and under his long-awaited gaze, waved his right hand forward. "Fire!" "You got it!" Receiving the order, Mosquito shot a look at the newbie by the artillery post and bellowed excitedly, "Fiiire!" The firing coordinates were already locked in. The Strength-type newbie immediately lit the fuse behind the iron cannon and clapped his hands over his ears. Boom—! Fire and white smoke belched forth. Like a streak of thunder, the cannonball traced a parabolic arc through the air and slammed into the north gate of Bet Street. BOOM! Amid thick white smoke and scattering sparks, the wooden gate was blasted apart as though struck by lightning! The guard captain who had just been firing behind the barricade instantly shrank back in terror. At that moment, a whistle sounded down the street, followed by earth-shattering battle cries sweeping toward the defensive positions like rolling waves. "Open fire! Shoot, damn it!" He roared, ordering the guards beside him to return fire, but no one paid him any heed. Their already rock-bottom morale was blasted to smithereens by that single cannon shot. Listening to the piercing whistle and roaring war cries, let alone sticking their heads out to shoot, staying behind cover without running away was already considered brave. Seeing the other guards paralyzed with fear, Old Walter couldn't help recalling what had happened long ago. A long, long time ago, when he was still young, Bet Street had been raided by a Bloodhand Clan raiding party. Back then, the guard force had twelve men, and eleven marauders routed them, leaving only two alive. Even if the town's hunters were successfully mobilized, so what? These people were ruthless enough to flatten the Bloodhand Clan's home base; flattening them would probably take nothing more than a single charge. Besides... Old Walter had recognized the man who ordered the attack just now. It was that bluecoat who had stayed in Bet Street for a while before disappearing. If these people came from a vault, they wouldn't necessarily give poor folks like them a hard time. "Surrender... The reinforcements haven't arrived yet, and they probably won't. There are only eleven of us; we're no match for them." Old Walter lowered his gun. Looking at the guard captain whose barrel swung toward him, he sighed and said, "Why bother? While no one on either side has died yet, they might not treat prisoners of war too badly." The guard captain's face was deathly pale, his finger trembling. "Don't push me." Old Walter reached out and grasped the rifle barrel without moving, looking at him steadily. "If you insist on fighting, then shoot. "A lot of people are going to die today. Going first isn't the worst thing." Watching the captain's expression turn from ferocious to rigid, and from rigid to despair, Old Walter breathed a sigh of relief and gently took the rifle from his trembling hands. "Thank you. You gave all of us a chance to live." With not a drop of color left in his face, the guard captain squeezed out a weak, helpless smile. "I hope so."