Outside the Mid-Continent Aerospace Ecological Experimental Base, snow-laden pine trees stretched from the edge of the perimeter wall all the way down the gentle slope to an abandoned town.
The buildings here rose no higher than three stories, mostly single-story homes with garages and swimming pools. Occasionally, a distinctive, unconventional house stood out, likely belonging to researchers from the nearby facility.
Yet, no matter who this place had once belonged to, it was now completely deserted.
Frost-killed vines crept from front yards straight into living rooms, shrubs grew out of dust-covered garages, and roots had cracked open concrete roads and courtyard walls. Lush trees filled every abandoned corner, even thrusting upward through the roofs of several wooden houses.
Creaks and rustling occasionally sounded from downstairs—either gnawers knocking something over, or rats...
On the roof of a half-collapsed two-story townhouse.
Prone in the snow, Ye Shi took a gentle, deep breath and lightly adjusted the turret on his sniper scope with his index finger.
At the top of the pine forest on the gentle slope, the tree canopies just barely reached the edge of the research base's outermost rooftops.
With his right eye pressed against the scope, Ye Shi could only peer through the gaps in the branches and snowdrifts, barely making out figures near the checkpoint.
Those marauders were right ahead.
Less than five hundred meters away.
A marauder patrol had previously swept through the town once, but without searching very thoroughly, they had failed to spot the two hidden on the rooftop.
"Can you see anyone?" asked Fang Chang, lying prone beside the chimney with a monocular, squinting his left eye.
"I can see them, but it's a tricky shot."
"Ten o'clock direction. See that machine gun in the third-floor window?"
"I can see his sandbags and tripod... His head is blocked by branches, but punching through shouldn't be much of a problem."
"Alright, he's yours in a bit. Remember, wait until he fires first, then aim an inch above the muzzle flash."
"Got it."
Pulling his right eye back from the scope, Ye Shi took a moment to glance at the VM lying on the reverse slope of the roof.
With the brightness dial turned all the way down, only a faint gleam was visible from directly in front, leaving no risk of giving away his position.
It was exceptionally handy.
Having calculated the distance via the map, he tapped the screen with his index finger and switched to the quest log.
[Time until battle begins: 31m 21s]
[Quest: Reach the sniper position (Completed). Reward: War Score +10]
[Quest: Mark high-threat targets on the VM map (In progress).]
[Quest: Provide covering fire for the east assault squad once the battle begins (Not started).]
[Violation Penalty: Firing without orders and exposing your position will forfeit all War Score and incur a 14-day ban.]
[Violation Penalty: Refusing to follow an order once will deduct 50 War Score; a second warning will deduct 100 points; a third...]
There were quite a few quests.
Ye Shi did the math silently in his head. If he cleared all the side objectives, he could rake in around 270 silver coins and 430 contribution points.
If luck was on his side and he picked off a few rocket gunners and machine gunners, he might even push past 400 silver.
Wasn't this far more thrilling than *Cheat V* or *Call of Campers*?
It would be even more perfect if they improved the hit-marker sound effects.
For example, giving the grip a little rumble when a shot landed.
"...Hang in there, Lao Xi."
"Once we save up enough cash, we're decking you out in god-tier gear!"
Not far off, a group of players in light-colored hunting gear was advancing through the ruins along the edge of the town toward the experimental base.
Mud smeared across bayonets concealed the cold gleam against the white snow, yet it could not mask the murderous intent rising like a forest of spears and banners.
The enemy's position lay directly ahead!
Eyes hidden in the dark gleamed with excitement. Their fierce will to fight was so surging that even the howling north wind seemed to lose its bite.
A great battle was on the verge of breaking out!
***
At the same time, over twenty kilometers away at Brown Farm, sentries clutching pipe rifles patrolled atop walls cobbled together from piles of scrap.
Unlike the sparse presence of ordinary days, the farm was exceptionally bustling today.
Inside a rustic country manor.
A dozen people sat in the spacious living room, every face heavy with grim gloom, like storm clouds ready to burst into rain.
An old radio sat on the round wooden table. The noisy static and the host's slick, bantering tone clashed sharply with the solemn air in the room, yet somehow felt fitting for the moment.
"This is the Voice of Boulder City. I'm your dearest radio host, Mr. House, here to bring you the latest developments on the situation in the northern outskirts."
"According to unreliable sources, a marauder faction known as the Bone Chewer Tribe is growing beyond our sight. This is by no means alarmist talk. They are far from weak—at the very least, they are vastly stronger than those petty thugs hiding in the ruins who dare not show their faces."
"These marauders haven't just absorbed remnants of the Legion; they've also taken over a portion of their equipment. Now they're recruiting across the entirety of central River Valley Province... It seems they intend to establish a realm belonging to marauders."
"If they continue south, make no mistake: not a single bumpkin in the northern outskirts of Qingquan City will survive. And the militia will certainly never waste a single bullet on folks who haven't paid taxes. If you happen to be in the northern outskirts and don't want to watch your wives and daughters dragged off to the pastures, the Voice of Boulder City wholeheartedly recommends the Faraway Winds Grand Hotel!"
"That is an ultra-five-star hotel opened specifically for refugees by the generous Mr. Leston, situated right along the outer walls of Boulder City. While technically on the outside, legally speaking, it remains part of Boulder City's domain. The militia will not sit idly by while things happen there... and it takes only one chip to stay for an entire day."
The voices from the radio were met with only silence from those gathered around the round table.
To legal citizens living within Boulder City, a single chip might merely be an hour's wage or a bottle of watered-down beer.
To them, however, it cost a kilogram of food or a sizable pile of valuable scrap to trade for one.
Seeming fed up with the wordless silence, a burly, middle-aged man wearing a hunter's cap spoke in a measured tone.
"The Bone Chewer Tribe is growing stronger. We must unite! Morning Breeze Community can contribute twenty hunters."
Seeing that someone had broken the ice, the fat man sitting nearby let out a sigh of relief. Wiping the sweat from his round brow with a handkerchief, he chimed in.
"We can send nine..." Catching everyone around the table looking at him, he hurried to add, "I know that might sound like little, but that's truly all we have."
"Tsk, tsk, just listen to that. The dripping-rich Red Train Post can only muster nine men?" sneered a hulking man marked with a burn scar across his face, his tone dripping with mockery. "If all your men are dead, we wouldn't mind lending a hand."
A flash of anger crossed the fat man's face, but intimidated by the brute's dangerous reputation, he merely narrowed his eyes and dared not voice a retort.
Red Train Post regularly hosted merchants traveling from Red River Town to Qingquan City. Compared to the paupers sitting here, he indeed had a few more chips in his pockets.
Yet in this wretched weather, those few chips provided little sense of security—they wouldn't even cover the fuel for a single militia patrol craft.
Staring at the hideous scarred man, the postmaster thought with venomous spite,
*Just you wait!*
*Once this winter passes, I'll hire mercenaries to pay your household a little visit!*
The atmosphere in the living room grew stiff.
Puffing on his roll of tobacco, Mr. Brown wore an irritated scowl.
Though he knew his neighbors were mostly unreliable, he hadn't anticipated that even at a critical juncture like this, they would still bicker over who spared a couple more men.
Truly hopeless!
Just then, a gaunt man sitting in the corner of the round table, who had kept quiet from start to finish, suddenly spoke up.
"It's useless. We can't possibly stand against them. They're like locusts... sweeping from the central region right down to the south."
Seeing everyone, including Brown, turn to stare at him, the man paused for a beat before continuing.
"I have a relative in Stele Town, about thirty kilometers from here. A few days ago he fled to my place, saying over a hundred marauders raided their town. Anyone who resisted was either riddled with bullets or strung up by their doorways. The rest were dragged off as slave labor or pinned to the ground and tortured within an inch of their lives."
"He was hiding in the rubble, watching the fire burn right in front of his nose. He played dead, not daring to twitch a muscle, and barely managed to survive."
The tension in the living room turned even more rigid.
As if trying to ease the mood, an older survivor let out a soft sigh and muttered quietly.
"Slave labor... At least they weren't eaten. Seems these folks still have a shred of civilization."
"I wasn't finished... The elderly and children were all beheaded," the gaunt man said, his throat bobbing slightly as he spoke with a numb expression. "They only keep those who can work, and those who can bear children."
Flames roared inside the fireplace.
Bright firelight danced across the living room, yet the air felt chillingly cold.
"Enough!"
Mr. Brown slammed his palm against the table. Ash fell from the corner of his mouth, landing beside his boot.
Plucking the half-smoked butt from his lips, he crushed it into the ashtray. Looking around at the assembled guests with a dark expression, he continued in a low, measured voice.
"This is our home. We've lived here for generations. Run? Where can we run? We have nowhere left to retreat. Fighting to the death is our only way—"
"You're the only one with nowhere left to retreat. After all, you own a farm this large."
The scarred man who had previously mocked the postmaster cut straight through his grand rhetoric, his tone aggressive and sharp.
Mr. Brown stiffened, his face flushing the color of pig liver as he glared at the man.
"What do you mean I have nowhere to retreat? I could easily pack up my chips and head to Boulder City. My life there would be a hundred times more comfortable than it is now! Is that what you want me to do?"
"Go to Boulder City? Like the mayor of Bet Street?" The scarred man narrowed his eyes and sneered. "I hear he hasn't been having an easy time these past two months... Didn't you have a pact with him? When the blue coats beat them black and blue, why didn't you go help him out?"
Brown's face grew stormy.
Right then, someone else chimed in.
"Why don't we ask those blue coats for help? They wiped out the Bloodhand Clan and even clashed with the Legion before. Maybe they can handle these marauders..."
Before Brown could speak, someone nearby retorted with scorn.
"Those blue coats? They owe us nothing. If push comes to shove, they'll duck straight back into their rat hole at the first sign of trouble, shut the blast door, and hide out from the world for decades before poking their heads out again. Isn't that what they did two centuries ago? I've heard all about it."
The postmaster asked anxiously,
"Then what about hiring Boulder City to step in..."
The man in the hunter's cap shook his head.
"We're out of money."
"Then pay them in grain!"
Seeing every pair of eyes snap toward him, Brown answered the unrealistic longing in the wretches' gazes with fury.
"Grain? Where are we supposed to find grain now? The granary only has the seed stock left for next spring. We can't spend an entire year grazing on grass!"
"Then what on earth do you suggest we do? This won't work, that won't work—are we just going to sit here squabbling?"
"I don't mind fleeing. We can barely survive these days anyway. Maybe before spring comes, we can find a place down south where crops can grow."
"Let's take a show of hands. Those in favor of fleeing, raise—"
Just then, a heavy knocking at the door cut through the chaotic arguing in the room.
Brown, who had been on the verge of erupting, suppressed his anger, took a deep breath, and called out,
"Enter."
The man who stepped in was Liu Zhengyue, his chief of security.
Shaking the snow from his coat at the threshold, Liu Zhengyue walked into the warm room.
"Sir, our neighbors sent a letter for you..."
Brown looked at him and asked,
"What does it say?"
Liu Zhengyue glanced at the people gathered around the table, then back at Mr. Brown, murmuring in a low voice,
"Sir, shall I read it in front of everyone?"
A flash of impatience crossed Brown's face, but thinking it truly unwise to let so many people overhear, he held his temper and waved for him to bring the letter over.
He took the envelope.
Tore it open.
Pulling out the sheet of paper, Brown skimmed it. A look of surprise surfaced on his face, quickly replaced by suspicion and gravity.
The middle-aged man in the hunter's cap looked at him and asked,
"What does it say?"
"An invitation from our neighbors. It's nothing, has nothing to do with you..." Mr. Brown brushed it off casually while carefully folding the letter and slipping it into his coat pocket.
The people around the table exchanged distrustful glances.
Naturally, they didn't believe a word from this old fox, but this was his turf. If he chose not to speak, they had no way to force him.
"Alright, let's wrap this up. We've been arguing since dinner. If you want to keep bickering, find somewhere else. Don't do it in my house... It's an eyesore."
The master of the house had issued an eviction order. Though dissatisfied with his attitude, the guests knew lingering would achieve nothing. One after another, wearing sullen expressions, they rose and took their leave.
Snow fell heavily outside the house.
Yet it felt no colder than inside.
The group walked toward the outskirts of the farm.
The gaunt man rubbed his shoulders, looked around at the others, and lowered his voice.
"I'll say it again: we are no match for the Bone Chewer Tribe... Our only option is to flee. The other survivors in central River Valley Province did the same."
The older survivor asked,
"Where did they go?"
The others blinked, exchanging looks before someone familiar with the matter spoke up.
"I heard some refugees... seemed to head a bit north of here, to Changjiu Farm?"
"A bit north? Changjiu Farm?"
"Yeah. That farm belongs to those blue coats now, apparently. They helped the Enterprise deal with the Legion, and the Enterprise built them a town out in the wasteland... That's what I heard, at least."
Looking up at the falling snow, the man in the hunter's cap spoke abruptly.
"I'm going north, to the blue coats' park."
The postmaster looked at him in astonishment.
"Now? It's already dark..."
Granted, few mutants ventured out to hunt during the winter, but heading north now meant who knew when they could make it back?
Even though they were all survivors in the northern outskirts, they had had little contact with those blue coats. One couldn't very well show up unannounced and beg for a night's shelter upon their first meeting.
"The dark isn't frightening. What's frightening is if dawn never comes again."
His throat bobbed as the man in the hunter's cap continued, "If we don't want to end up as starving vagrants, this might be our last hope."
***
Inside the manor at the farm.
Having seen off his guests, Brown turned and headed to the cloakroom. He took down his favorite overcoat, draped it over his shoulders, and carefully straightened the collar.
Soon, however, something occurred to him. Snapping back to his senses, he hung the coat back up and retrieved one that looked noticeably older to wear instead.
Just then, his wife walked over from the side, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and asked softly,
"It's so late. Are you still going out?"
Brown replied offhandedly,
"Our neighbors invited me to watch a film. I have to go, if only to let them know we have nothing left to squeeze."
His wife asked,
"Do you really have to go?"
His fingers paused on the collar of his coat. Brown fell silent for a moment, showing a rare restraint over his foul temper.
"I don't know."
"But I think... going will be better than staying."
***
At the Mid-Continent Aerospace Ecological Experimental Base.
At the foot of the gentle slope, beside the northern road.
Two marauders clad in fur coats tossed gathered dry branches into a burning metal drum, huddling close to the fire for warmth.
Watching the sparks drifting upward from the fire, the marauder with a trench club hanging from his belt couldn't help but curse under his breath.
"This godforsaken weather... Standing watch out here is sheer torture."
Hearing him, the marauder beside him instinctively glanced up toward the checkpoint on the slope.
"Shh, keep your voice down. Don't let the captain hear you."
"What does it matter if I speak up? He gets to sleep with broads under warm blankets, and I can't even vent a few complaints out here?"
Thinking of the woman he had met at the last survivor settlement, he instinctively licked his chapped, wind-battered lips.
Her chest had been magnificent.
He still remembered how her expression had slowly degenerated from agony into sheer despair.
A pity the boss took things too far, and she hadn't lasted. Before drawing her final breath, her throat had screamed itself hoarse.
"Why do I feel like it's getting colder..."
"I'm going to grab a couple more sticks of firewood."
With that, the marauder tightened the strap of the Ripper rifle on his back and stepped through the calf-deep snow into the adjacent woods.
Darkness swallowed his surroundings.
Not that it hindered him.
Plenty of dead branches lay scattered across the snow. He bent down and reached out toward the ground.
A cold, hard sensation met his palm, making him freeze slightly.
Huh?
Why was it hard?
Two gun barrels extended out of the darkness, leveled straight at his forehead.
And what he had gripped was no stick of firewood at all, but a mud-smeared bayonet glinting with a cold edge.
Locking eyes with the figure lying prone in the snowbank, his face gradually turned as white as the snow.
The player being stared at was just as dumbfounded.
He had been lying comfortably in the snowbank—who could have guessed that out of all the branches lying around, this idiot would reach straight for his muzzle?
*Fuck, what do we do?*
Edge Slacker communicated with his teammate using frantic glances.
Big Eye in Debt was equally baffled.
*How about... you wait for him to shoot first?*
Right then, a shout carried over from the fire beside the road.
"Xiu, what's taking you so long?"
"I... I..."
The pinned marauder's lips trembled, unable to utter a coherent word.
Hearing that trembling voice, the marauder by the fire instantly realized something was wrong. Crouching slightly, he brought up his rifle, racked the bolt, and barked sharply toward the woods,
"Who's there?!"
Watching the scene unfold through the drone feed, Chu Guang knew the men in the woods could no longer stay hidden.
No matter, though.
The ones spotted were the feint squad. Even if the clash started a few minutes early, it changed nothing.
Time to put his micromanagement to the test!
Chu Guang swept his index finger through the empty air, instantly issuing the pre-compiled quests hovering in his tactical eyepiece display.
[Campaign Countdown: 0s]
[Quest: Free Fire! (Issued to: All Squads of Team A)]
[Quest: Shell the Target Area! (Issued to: Support Team)]
"Hit them with everything you've got!"
Chapter 198