Its fuel exhausted, the spindle-shaped escape pod's engines died. Parachutes deployed from its nose and tail, trailing behind as it plunged into a sea of yellow sand.
Half-man-tall radscorpions scattered in terror at the commotion, leaving only a few dim-witted yellow beetles twitching their antennae in bewilderment.
A hissing leak vented outward as the hatch cracked open a sliver.
Several guards clutching submachine guns scrambled out first, dropping into half-crouches to scan the perimeter.
Once they confirmed the exterior was clear, one of them turned back to the pod, knocking on the hull to signal the comrades inside to open the hatch fully.
Moments later, supported by two guards, a disheveled and limping General Macklen dragged himself out of the pod.
Calling this contraption an escape pod was generous; it was essentially an oversized rocket with a few parachutes to break the fall. The ride was anything but comfortable.
Though he had ridden in one during drills, Macklen had never imagined he would actually use one in a real emergency.
"Damned savages... filthy maggots..."
Curses spilled endlessly from his lips as his sullen, brooding eyes scanned the sky, terrified that enemy aircraft might be pursuing them.
Fortunately, no Alliance planes caught up. Clear skies stretched for a hundred li in every direction. Every sign indicated that this was already Sunset Province.
Besides Macklen and a handful of guards, the escape pod carried more than twenty senior officers, including his adjutant and staff.
This pushed the pod's capacity to its absolute limit.
The remaining fuel was not enough to carry them back to the military base thousands of kilometers away, but it had put two to three hundred kilometers between them and River Valley Province.
While inside the pod, he had already learned over the communications channel that the Heart of Iron had fallen completely... less than ten minutes after his departure.
At that thought, he shuddered involuntarily.
He dared not imagine the brutal treatment he would have suffered had he fallen into the hands of those blood-drinking savages.
At the same time, reports from his front-line units revealed that the savages had not only seized his airship, but had hoisted a flag over his bridge.
A flag belonging to the Alliance.
Yes.
Only now did he finally understand the identity of his enemy.
The Legion had not been fighting merely the single survivor settlement of Boulder City, but an "Alliance" forged from every survivor settlement across the southern reaches of River Valley Province.
"...Feral mongrels."
Macklen ground his teeth so hard they nearly shattered, squeezing the words through the gaps.
He swore it.
He would return.
He would make them pay for their foolishness, washing away this humiliation in their foul, reeking blood...
***
No matter how furious Macklen grew, it could not alter his wretched, pathetic circumstances, nor the Legion's total collapse in River Valley Province.
Falling Leaves Camp.
Gunfire had rattled back and forth for a full hour.
Soldiers clad in black cloaks and bulletproof armor traded savage volleys with Auxiliaries in puppet uniforms among the clusters of tents.
An hour earlier, led by Death Corps and Storm Corps veterans including In Debt God and Construction Site Boy and Bricks, more than two hundred Auxiliary soldiers had swiftly overrun the camp's five armories and ammunition depots.
After securing the magazines, In Debt God immediately tossed weapons to the dazed Auxiliary conscripts.
"The Legion burned our homes! Enslaved our brothers, sisters, wives, and children! And today they wanted to drag us to the front lines as cannon fodder!
"We'll show them with our fists and gun barrels that we're human beings, not livestock bred by hyenas!
"If you have an ounce of dignity left—even just a sliver—
"Grab a rifle and follow me!"
To be frank, the rally had been thrown together in haste, and In Debt God's Human Alliance language was mediocre at best, leaving most of them unable to catch every word.
Yet amidst the deafening chaos of gunfire, the impassioned fury in his voice struck a chord. Instinctively, men reached out to catch the rifles and magazines hurled toward them.
The rebels rolled up their sleeves past the elbow to distinguish friend from foe, clashing fiercely with the black-cloaked Legionaries rushing to suppress them.
The most loyal cannon fodder had already been shipped off to the front. The three thousand or so puppet conscripts left behind had either held a rifle for only a few days or had detested the Legion from the start, donning the uniform only under duress.
The Legion soldiers garrisoning Falling Leaves Camp numbered barely five hundred, while the Awakened who had infiltrated the camp amounted to a hundred strong.
Not only that, but most of these players were promoted junior officers who immediately turned their coats and led their squads into mutiny the moment the shooting began.
Colway's forces rapidly deteriorated into a rout.
Particularly after the airship's forward gun bay blew and the Alliance flag fluttered over the bridge, despair swallowed the black-cloaked troops whole.
Amidst the turmoil, Colway, clad in an exoskeleton and wielding a rifle, led a dozen personal guards toward the camp's west gate.
Yet before they could reach the exit, more than half of the guards fell dead or wounded, leaving only four men at his side.
Watching the sparks drifting across the sky and the fires flickering throughout the camp, despair crept across Colway's face.
He could not comprehend why the Auxiliaries who had traded fierce fire with the natives yesterday had suddenly turned their barrels and ferocious glares upon his men today.
Those junior officers in particular—every single one of them had the blood of several, if not dozens, of native soldiers on their hands. By mutinying now, weren't they terrified of being captured and purged by the enemy?
And when had they colluded?
They had never been seen whispering to one another before!
Right then, a fierce warrior among the Auxiliaries strode up alone, clutching a Ripper rifle.
Colway glanced instinctively at his arm. Seeing that the man's sleeve was not rolled up, he breathed a sigh of relief and motioned to his high-strung guards to hold their fire.
At least this one had not betrayed him.
Having just carved a bloody path through mountains of corpses and seas of bones, Battlefield Guy panted heavily, looking at Colway.
"Sir! Those useless scoundrels betrayed the Legion! My clan... while attempting to put down the traitors... was wiped out.
"No matter what, you must not fall into the hands of those barbarians. I'll cover you—please evacuate immediately!"
Fang Chang had scripted this line for him, and it had taken Battlefield Guy quite a while to memorize it word for word.
Originally, he had planned to join In Debt God and the others in causing chaos, giving Colway a nasty surprise. But late last night, a new mission had popped up on the forum.
The Administrator ordered him to maintain his cover and escort Colway safely back to the Legion's military base in Sunset Province.
Orders were orders, so the celebratory chicken soup would have to wait.
Thinking about it, the Legion's defeat was already sealed. Entire centuries and decuries had surrendered en masse, yielding more than enough captured officers. Missing one or two hardly mattered.
Letting a few small fry slip away might hook much bigger fish down the road.
"Ungrateful dogs..." Squeezing the venomous words through his clenched teeth, Colway looked at Pangolin, who still stood resolutely at his side, deeply moved.
Even when the entire world turned against him, one or two loyal souls remained faithful to the end.
He swore that if he survived this ordeal, he would never forget such shining fidelity.
"Cover me!"
Seeing that Colway harbored no suspicion, Battlefield Guy exhaled inwardly, adopting an expression of steadfast devotion. "Sir, yes, sir!"
***
Shortly after Colway fled, the Skeleton Corps' armored column rolled up to the south gate of Falling Leaves Camp.
At the sight of the towering quad autocannons, the fifty-odd sentries guarding the gate cast aside their weapons and surrendered.
They had wanted to surrender long before this.
They simply refused to surrender to the rolled-sleeve puppet troops.
After all, those were dogs they had raised themselves; submitting to them was an indignity they could not stomach mentally or physically.
In the end, it made little difference.
The Skeleton Corps had limited infantry, so after disarming the gate guards, they made them crouch in a row along the wall with hands on their heads, leaving them under the watch of the arriving Auxiliary rebels.
Seeing that the tide was irreversible, many Auxiliaries who had still been fighting for the Legion rolled up their sleeves and switched sides on the spot.
The final pocket of fifty-odd black-cloaked Legionaries was driven onto Falling Leaves Ridge by the surrounding rebels, completely encircled.
Among them were junior officers like decurions, as well as centurions who had fled from the Air Marine camp.
Though most Legion units had surrendered en masse, a stubborn few fought on to the bitter end.
Yet it changed nothing.
At Brother Mole's command, five Type 1 tanks halted along the gentle slope, fanning out in a line along the rim of Falling Leaves Camp.
Aiming at the enemy's final redoubt on the hilltop, Makabazi barked down at the loader at his feet, "High explosive!"
"On it!"
The Strength-type player bellowed, extracting the armor-piercing round from the breech, grabbing an HE-stamped shell from the rack, ramming it home, and slamming the breechblock shut with a metallic clack.
"Loaded!"
"Fire!"
Ear-splitting cracks echoed as the 88mm high-explosive rounds traced arcs through the sky, crashing onto the crest of Falling Leaves Ridge and erupting into plumes of smoke.
Meanwhile, squads of players carrying assault rifles, guided by their respective squad leaders, moved in orderly formation through the smoke-filled camp, advancing steadily toward the ridge.
Standing beside a truck, Brother Mole raised his binoculars to peer at the shell-battered hill in the distance.
No pre-built fortifications existed up there.
The Legion had clearly never imagined a day when they would be driven ignominiously up into the hills.
"Tank platoons, alternate fire! Keep up suppression and cover the infantry advancing up the slope!"
Excited shouts came over the radio.
"Copy that!"
The Alliance flag fluttered hundreds of meters overhead. With Falling Leaves Camp overrun, the outcome of the battle was beyond all doubt.
Now came the mop-up.
Glancing at the shivering survivors huddled on the ground with their hands over their heads, Mole spotted In Debt God and Construction Site Boy and Bricks approaching from the main gate with a detachment in tow.
Trepidation was written all over the puppet soldiers' faces.
The identity of the newcomers was hardly a mystery.
Up until yesterday, they had still been trading lead with these very people.
Yet the players did not mistreat them, nor did they confiscate their weapons; they simply pointed them toward the wall, telling them to help watch the Legion prisoners.
The players themselves stayed behind instead of following.
"Good timing, boys. We've left that bunch on the hill for you—don't say we didn't save you any soup," In Debt God said with a grin.
Standing beside Mole, Irena glanced behind him and asked curiously, "Where's your Pangolin?"
Construction Site Boy and Bricks chuckled. "Our Alliance double-agent got a new mission. This time he's escorting Colwell's retreat."
"Colway?" Remembering the serial posts Battlefield Guy had put up on the forum, Mole recalled the name at once. "The top commander of Falling Leaves Camp?"
"Yeah, that's him."
Seeing In Debt God nod, Mole put on a face of deep regret. "Damn it! Letting a big fish slip away!"
In Debt God laughed. "That counts as a big fish? Just a mid-level boss. The real big fish were on the airship."
Mole sighed. "Enough chatter. Let's sweep the field."
The gunfire on the distant hill had sputtered out.
The Skeleton Corps infantry had already pushed to the top and were now escorting several prisoners down the slope.
Judging by the appearance of one captive, he was no ordinary grunt—likely a senior officer.
His eyes darting, Mole turned toward the cab of the armored truck beside him and ordered, "Fugui, drive west and look for Battlefield Guy."
Yawning, Elven King Fugui rolled his eyes. "Screw you, why can't you call me Elven King?"
"Move your ass! Before he gets too far, go rattle him with a burst. When he shoots back, pretend your engine took a hit and cut the wheel like this."
Mole demonstrated with a sharp swerving gesture.
Elven King Fugui grinned at the sight and cranked the ignition. "Got it. Message received."
The armored truck towing the quad autocannon roared to life, pulling out of formation and heading west to raise the difficulty level for Pangolin.
Mole waved, leading the remaining players deeper into Falling Leaves Camp to catalog the spoils with the other boys.
The Legion had left a substantial cache of supplies in the camp.
It included generators, nutrient paste synthesizers, mountains of military rations, scrap processing workbenches and machining tools, along with enough weapons and ammunition to equip half a division.
Lacking a secure supply line, the Legion had resorted to manufacturing necessary ammunition and chemicals on-site from local materials.
Inside the makeshift workshops, one could see freshly lathed gun barrels and bullets, and even 100mm artillery shells awaiting their explosive filler.
There must have been technical personnel among the captured Legionaries; wastelanders alone could never pull off such sophisticated manufacturing.
While Mole inspected the magazines, In Debt God and Construction Site Boy headed toward Battlefield Atmosphere Group's tent.
That was the quarters for the Legion and Auxiliary officers.
Personal belongings, slaves, and valuable goods were typically kept there.
Looting spoils naturally began with a brother's tent.
In Debt God and Construction Site Boy exchanged a sly grin and stepped inside.
Perhaps their grins looked too sleazy, or perhaps the bloodstained bayonets were too terrifying, but as the chaotic troops pushed in, the women cowering inside wore expressions of pure panic and helplessness.
Among them, a petite girl with light brown hair showed a sudden flicker of despair in her wavering eyes.
Ever since she could remember, the Legion instructors had told them that serving as the Legion's dogs was an honor. If they fell into the hands of wastelanders or mutants, weak, scrawny wretches like them would not even earn the privilege of the whip—they would be tortured to death or flayed alive and thrown into boiling oil.
When General Macklen had gifted her and the others to that "native" named Pangolin, she had been scared out of her wits, terrified he would boil and eat them.
Yet over the past fortnight, she had realized he was nowhere near as savage or wicked as she had imagined. In fact, he treated them better than the Legion ever had.
Not only did he never force them to do anything against their will, he was considerate of their strength, assigning them only light chores like laundry.
To keep other refugees and wastelanders from harassing them, he had deliberately placed their tent right beside his own.
It was during that time that a thought which surprised even herself had taken root—that being a servant to that native master wasn't bad at all.
And yet...
He had not returned.
Evidently, he had fought bravely to the bitter end and fallen to these "rebels."
Rather than be taken by these monsters, it was better to...
Watching the two men step into the tent, a look of grim resolve crossed her face. She quietly snatched a razor blade off the table, intending to end her own life.
Spotting her movement immediately, In Debt God, who had been joking with Construction Site Boy, was startled.
Without time to ask questions, he lunged forward, grabbed the girl's arm, and pried the blade from her fingers.
"Are you out of your mind?!"
The shout stunned the girl senseless.
She bit her lip until it turned pale, staring wide-eyed in terror at the man before her.
"Uh, I hear this is called Stockholm syndrome... though maybe not quite," Construction Site Boy chimed in. "Anyway, don't count on your broken Human Alliance language to talk sense into her. Hand them over to the logistics NPCs."
The Alliance operated shelters and reception centers.
Similar to refugee camps, they accommodated and educated slaves redeemed from slave traders and wretches rescued from marauders.
Most of these people had lost the ability to live in a normal society after relentless abuse, struggling to adapt both mentally and physically.
Before releasing these wards into society, the Alliance arranged for instructors to provide ideological education, teach them to read and write, and register them as new citizens once they acquired at least one trade skill, setting them on the path to a new life.
Though these women had not suffered physical torment, they had lived as slaves since birth; their eyes held not a single ember of longing for freedom.
"This game is a royal pain in the ass..."
Even the officers knew to surrender when the battle was lost, while the cannon fodder had bled out almost entirely—and the one displaying the fiercest loyalty turned out to be a slave...
Though perhaps it wasn't loyalty to the Legion.
In Debt God sighed.
Despite having an Intelligence-type build, he had no desire to ponder such convoluted issues.
Releasing her arm, he tossed the bloodstained blade aside. Ignoring the cut on his own hand, he fished a slip of paper from his pocket and offered it to the girl who had tried to kill herself.
"This is... from Pangolin. Take it."
Looking at the slip, the girl appeared utterly blank.
Evidently, she was illiterate.
Helplessly, In Debt God took the note back, cleared his throat, and read it in halting Human Alliance language:
"'The inns in Dawn City are hiring laundry workers. I recommend the inn in Highway Town—that old man Hook is decent folk. When the marauders came, we lent them a hand.
"'In the lands of the Alliance, there is no slavery and no oppression. We built our own nation there, and swore under our flag never to bow to barbarism.
"'Therefore, you need not submit to me either.
"'You have learned the skills to make a living. You can—and should—go there and live the life of a normal human being.'"
In Debt God polished the wording slightly based on his own understanding so it wouldn't sound too stiff or convoluted.
The women in the tent looked at one another.
The light-brown-haired girl lowered her head, remaining silent for a long time.
In Debt God and Construction Site Boy casually gathered a few of Battlefield Guy's personal effects, intending to carry them back to Dawn City on his behalf.
Just as they turned to leave, the girl with light brown hair looked up, summoned her courage, and stepped forward to block their path.
"My... my name is Lisa."
In Debt God and Construction Site Boy froze, staring at her blankly, wondering what the girl was up to now.
Biting her lip gently, she continued in the Human Alliance language, "He... if he is still alive, please tell him...
"I will wait for him."
In Debt God and Construction Site Boy exchanged stunned glances.
"What did she say? I spaced out for a second."
"Uh, sounded like her name is Lisa? And she's gonna wait for Pangolin."
"Holy cow!"
Seeing In Debt God's shock, Construction Site Boy blurted out, "Which kind of cow?"
In Debt God rolled his eyes in pure exasperation. "...Can you quit ruining the mood with your lame jokes?"
Construction Site Boy mumbled sheepishly, "I... I just wanted to ask if you meant a two-headed ox or a regular cow."
"..."
***
With fighting on the western front drawing to a close, Chu Guang entered Falling Leaves Camp and announced the Legion's defeat and the Alliance's victory to the local survivors.
The Ruigu City area was designated as a restoration zone, and Falling Leaves Camp would be renamed Falling Leaves City, formally integrated into the Alliance.
Survivors captured by the Legion were free to leave or stay, and for those willing to remain, the Alliance would assist them in rebuilding their homes upon the ruins... efforts that would roll out in tandem with the frontline's advance.
As for the captured Auxiliaries, the Alliance granted amnesty for crimes committed while serving the Legion during the war.
While a small minority had joined willingly, the vast majority had been coerced into becoming cannon fodder.
Holding them accountable would only sow unnecessary discord.
Of course, if survivors identified individuals who had abused their positions to commit heinous atrocities, those perpetrators would still face sentences of penal labor.
As before, the Alliance would erect a prisoner-of-war camp near Falling Leaves City to house the captives.
They would repay their war crimes through labor, compensating those who had been displaced because of them.
While Chu Guang was busy leading his players through the mopping-up operations on the western front, unrest stirred along the Alliance's northern border.
North of Xizhou City.
Where a tributary of the Tianshui River met a desolate expanse of barren hills, a regiment of roughly a thousand men was marching southward at an unhurried pace.
Scattered among their ranks were over a dozen motorized tricycles and six-wheeled trucks loaded with light and heavy machine guns, mortars, and anti-tank rocket launchers.
Though carrying only infantry ordnance, no one could question their firepower.
Their motley attire made their trade obvious: mercenaries.
And across River Valley Province, the only places capable of assembling a thousand undisciplined mercenaries into a coherent force were Boulder City and the Bugra Free State.
Judging by their heading, it wasn't hard to deduce they hailed from the latter.
Walking beside Hubbard, a man in a felt cap gazed at the southern mountain ridges and chuckled. "Isn't it bad form for us to strike right now?"
Hubbard, rifle slung across his shoulder, curled his lips in a lazy smirk. "You'll never get rich by tiptoeing around."
The name Hubbard carried quite a reputation in the Bugra Free State, both for the man himself and the mercenary band bearing his name.
Several days earlier, a mysterious employer had reached him through a fixer, asking him to launch a raid against the Alliance's Daybreak City from the north.
Hubbard had initially rejected the contract without hesitation. It sounded like suicide, and all the money in the world meant nothing if you weren't alive to spend it.
However, the employer quickly followed up with intelligence.
The Legion was realigning its desert deployments; the airship at Ruigu City was being reassigned to Sunset Province to support operations at Oasis No. 9.
Before that, the Alliance's forces would inevitably be tied down on the western front, leaving their northern defenses virtually empty. An assault on Daybreak City would face little resistance.
In addition to the intel, the employer offered an armaments cache and bumped the reward from one million dinars to 1.2 million.
1.2 million dinars was an astronomical sum.
Even distributed evenly, every man would clear over a thousand... though Hubbard had no intention of splitting it evenly once expenses were accounted for.
On top of the bounty, the employer stipulated that any plunder taken was theirs to keep.
Hubbard had long heard that Daybreak City housed thirty to forty thousand survivors, hoarding millions of chips' worth of relief supplies.
With someone providing funding and gear, and all the spoils free for the taking, Hubbard could find no reason to refuse such a lucrative offer.
The column reached the bank of the Tianshui tributary.
Looking at the churning river just ahead, Hubbard barked the order, "Prepare to cross!"
With the rainy season underway, the Tianshui ran swifter than usual, and this tributary had widened considerably, spanning a full kilometer even at its narrowest point.
Yet Hubbard had come prepared.
His men had never fought an amphibious battle, but he was no fool when it came to the weather.
Twenty inflatable rafts, each roughly the size of two double mattresses, were dropped into the water, equipped with four oars apiece.
The thousand-odd mercenaries were split into two waves. Two centuries led by Hubbard boarded the rafts to cross first, while the remainder stayed on the northern bank on high alert.
Standing at the bow of the lead raft, Hubbard watched the southern bank and his men pulling hard on their oars, a vicious thrill flashing in his eyes.
Since the Alliance was too occupied to mind this flank for now...
They might as well linger in Daybreak City for a few days.
Refugee women were hardly tavern dancers from the Bugra Free State, but back in the city, he couldn't act with impunity.
Out here, no rules bound him.
As thoughts raced through Hubbard's mind, his vanguard closed to within fifty meters of the bank.
Suddenly, at the edge of the lush forest along the shore, a figure appeared.
Judging by the slender shoulders, it seemed to be a woman, cloaked in a hooded mantle that masked her face in shadow.
Hubbard narrowed his eyes.
A mercenary's instinct for danger warned him of something perilous about her.
He bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Hey! Little lady on the bank! This ain't no picnic spot! Lord Hubbard's got business today—no time to play with you!"
The figure offered no reply.
Hubbard's expression turned frosty. He signaled to the men beside him while reaching for the assault rifle strapped to the raft.
"Prepare for combat..."
His instincts were sharp, and events proved him right.
Only...
It was already too late.
Almost the moment his order left his lips, when they were barely thirty meters from shore, the figure on the riverbank moved.
And—
Her speed was monstrous!
Hardly human.
Hubbard watched her knees bend slightly before she launched into the air like an artillery shell, clearing twenty-odd meters to slam onto the foremost raft.
The tremendous impact snapped the raft nearly in half. Mercenaries aboard screamed as they were flung into the churning river.
Hubbard's pupils contracted violently.
Before he could react, the figure, fast as a gale, leapt to the next raft, twin flashes of white light flicking from her sleeves.
From the shimmering afterimages, he barely discerned a pair of daggers!
There was no time to parry. In an instant, two mercenaries raising their rifles were slain; before their bodies could splash into the water, the intruder slit two more throats.
The slender daggers whirled like aircraft propellers, shredding through flesh and ripping into the raft beneath their feet like a buzzsaw.
Crouching beside Hubbard, the adjutant panicked, hoisting his light machine gun to track the agile figure.
Yet she was far too close to their own men!
He could neither draw a bead nor pull the trigger.
"Damn it... I can't hit it!"
A savage glint flared in Hubbard's eyes as he roared, "Don't engage in melee! If it gets close, jump in the river! Everyone else fire! Suppress it!"
*Rat-tat-tat-tat—!*
The machine gun finally spewed tongues of flame. Without waiting for his allies to dive clear, the adjutant mashed the trigger under Hubbard's urgings.
A swarm of bullets ripped into the raft!
Caught in the hail of lead, two mercenaries perished before they could leap, leaving barely five men to plunge into the river.
Even though none of them could swim.
Having dismantled one raft, the figure moved without fatigue, leaping directly to the next without pausing.
In five short minutes, half of the twenty rafts had sunk. The mercenaries tossed overboard were dead or drowning, most swept downstream by the roaring current, with only a terrified few paddling dog-style toward the northern bank.
Watching the slaughter on the river, the mercenaries waiting on the shore could only look on in helpless fury. Even with mortars and machine guns deployed, they were useless.
The entity was too entangled with their allies.
A mortar shell was just as likely to blow their boss to pieces as it was to scratch the target.
Seeing his men cut down in droves, Hubbard's eyes turned bloodshot. Watching the shadow draw nearer, he finally roared, "Retreat! Everyone pull back!"
At the order, the mercenaries grabbed their oars, rowing desperately in the opposite direction.
Yet the figure had no intention of sparing them, pursuing them in a straight line.
A mercenary hauled a boxed Panzerfaust rocket launcher from its crate, aimed at the figure perched atop a raft, and yanked the trigger.
A streak of white smoke hissed across the water.
Yet at that exact instant, a compact quadcopter drone plunged out of the sky, placing itself directly between him and the figure.
A thunderous explosion erupted!
The rocket collided squarely with the drone, detonating the drone's own explosive payload. The secondary blast engulfed two rafts in a fireball, blasting the rocketeer into the air.
A violent shockwave rippled over the river, pushing the surrounding rafts outward while whipping the hood from the figure's head.
Hubbard's eyes narrowed.
It was a completely featureless face, its bland contours resembling a mannequin in a clothing shop window.
Recognizing what it was, he cried out in shock, "A bionic!"
"You're from Enterprise?!"
The bionic offered no answer. Before the blast's shockwave pushed the rafts too far apart, its legs coiled and launched it toward Hubbard's raft like a missile.
The final raft!
Seeing the creature lunging for him, Hubbard roared, the blood vessels beneath his skin writhing like earthworms as his musculature swelled.
Casting his rifle aside, he drew twin short swords strapped to his thighs, stepping up to meet the attacker head-on.
*Clang! Clang!*
Two sharp metallic chimes rang out in quick succession. The immense kinetic shock sent numbness vibrating through his palms.
Landing on the raft, the bionic took half a step back. Though its blank face registered no emotion, a flicker of surprise seemed to cross its synthetic features.
Or so it appeared to Hubbard.
"Don't underestimate me... I'm an Awakened too!" Battle lust burned in his eyes as he crossed his twin blades before him, steadying his breathing to regain his footing on the rocking raft.
Through gritted teeth, he spat a taunt: "Disgusting monster... I'll tear you into scrap!"
"You talk too much."
A flat, emotionless synthetic voice drifted through the air—the first words it had uttered since the slaughter began, and the only ones it would offer.
The willow-leaf daggers spun in its grip once more.
Like the propellers of a fighter plane.
Hubbard strained his eyes, trying to track the trajectory of the blades, but the frame rate of his vision could no longer keep pace.
The bionic on the bow moved again.
This time, its speed exceeded everything prior.
Staring at the mannequin face charging straight at him, Hubbard's muscles bulged as he slashed with a furious roar—yet the sickening sensation of slicing empty air made his heart plummet.
*Too fast!*
That was the final thought to cross his mind.
Leaning slightly, the bionic evaded his all-out swing with effortless grace, its agile foot landing barely an inch behind his heel. In a single flash, the whirling dagger sliced cleanly across the back of his neck.
The central nervous system.
Because it avoided the major arteries, no blood sprayed.
Hubbard's eyes bulged as he tried to turn his head, but his body ceased obeying. He pitched forward, crashing stiffly onto the raft.
Flicking the red smear from its daggers, the bionic cast a glance toward the far bank, turned, and slipped into the river.
Finally snapping out of their stupor, the mercenaries on the north bank opened fire, unleashing a torrential hail of bullets toward the spot where the figure had vanished.
Concentrated rounds churned the river's surface into white froth.
Two mortar rounds plunged into the water moments later, hurling geysers a dozen meters into the air.
Yet the shadow was gone, leaving behind only shattered wreckage and spreading slicks of pale red blood...
The mercenaries stared in absolute horror.
"A demon..."
"What the hell was that thing?!"
"An Awakened?"
"No... is that thing even human?!"
It had been an outright massacre.
On land, they would have had utter confidence in destroying it, but on that churning current... unless one were an Awakened with enhanced reflexes, keeping one's balance was difficult enough, let alone aiming.
Rifles didn't come with vertical stabilizers.
A bearded man swallowed hard, turning to the comrade beside him.
"The boss is dead."
He was a centurion of the Hubbard Mercenary Group.
Now that Hubbard was gone, he would likely rally his own boys and register a new company under his own name.
The centurion next to him nodded grimly. "Yeah..."
The bearded man asked, "So... what do we do now?"
They had brought only twenty inflatable rafts. With their river-crossing equipment gone, and that monster lurking below, they stood no chance of making it across even if they had more boats.
Completing the contract was impossible.
An older centurion gritted his teeth, his voice heavy. "Fall back..."
***
After firing a few symbolic mortar volleys across the river—partly to vent their frustration, partly in mourning for their dead commander—the mercenaries gathered on the bank waited a while. Seeing that no survivors were swimming up, they finally beat a hasty retreat in droves.
Meanwhile, a short distance downstream, a bionic broke the surface of the river, shook off the droplets of water, and stepped steadily onto the shore.
"Splendid work! Master will be very grateful!"
Perched on Xia Yan's shoulder, a doll swung its little legs, its serene, lovely porcelain face offering heartfelt praise.
Feeling like a useless tagalong, Xia Yan felt obliged to say something, offering a sheepish laugh. "Guess we didn't even need to lift a finger..."
Slung across her back was an LD-47s sniper rifle.
Though she had not fought in quite a while and was not an Awakened, she hadn't let her skills rust—or so she believed.
However...
Xiao Qi immediately called her out: "Take out the 'we'! Xiao Qi lifted a finger!"
Hearing that, Xia Yan's eyebrow twitched violently, and she glared at the little figure on her shoulder.
"You little brat, keep talking and I'll toss you into the river!"
Controlling the doll, Xiao Qi curled its lips. "All talk! Toss me if you've got the guts!"
Seeing its smug expression, Xia Yan bared her teeth in annoyance, plucking the doll from her shoulder to squish and knead its face, though she dared not actually throw it into the water.
This wasn't that trash bin.
Even setting Chu Guang aside, this doll had been crafted by Pai.
After spending all these days together, she had long become friends with that blue-eyed little girl.
Xiao Qi clearly knew this, and as Xia Yan rubbed its cheeks, it simply disconnected from the puppet and went limp.
Lyra flicked the water and blood from her daggers, watching the squished doll before replying in her flat, unyielding electronic voice, "Thank you. The fire support was timely."
Seeing Lyra looking over, Xia Yan felt a surge of embarrassment, carefully setting Xiao Qi back onto her shoulder.
Reconnecting, Xiao Qi swung its legs smugly. "Don't mention it... By the way, I thought bionics from the shelter weren't allowed to harm living beings?"
"Under ordinary circumstances, that is correct. However, Dr. Method amended my terms of service to include conditional exceptions—for instance, if individuals belonging to the shelter or listed personnel are judged to be in danger, necessary force may be utilized."
With a slight flicker in her synthetic eyes, Lyra continued tonelessly, "Are you not the same?"
Xiao Qi's lips curled up proudly. "Of course! Those scoundrels dared plot against Xiao Qi's Master—Xiao Qi had to teach them a lesson!"
Roughly two weeks ago, its Master had mentioned that the Alliance's northern border might face an attack.
Later, during the trip to Ruigu City, Master had evidently struck some kind of agreement with Shelter 101's Administrator to dispatch Lyra here.
Seeing Chu Guang so concerned about the security of this sector, Xiao Qi had redirected two drones to the outskirts of Daybreak City, dragging Xia Yan along from Camp 101 where she was studying.
Not that Xia Yan was strictly necessary.
It was primarily because Master was outside communication range, leaving Xiao Qi bored, so it roped along the "servant" who usually carried it up and down the stairs.
And incidentally, to show off its gorgeous new body to this blockhead.
Listening to the two AIs converse, Xia Yan found herself unable to get a word in edgewise.
Just then, she noticed the bullet gouges and hairline fractures across Lyra's chassis and spoke up with concern, "You're hurt."
Lyra's pupils flickered slightly as she answered matter-of-factly, "A minor issue. Merely cosmetic damage. The articulated components and control units remain intact, with no impairment to my operational functions."
It was likely the longest sentence she had ever spoken.
Xia Yan's eyes lit up. "I mean, I can patch you up!"
It was a craft she had recently picked up, and she was itching for a chance to practice.
Meeting those eager, sparkling eyes, Lyra paused for a brief moment, fell silent, and looked away.
"That... will not be necessary."
Chapter 404