My Friend, Not Everyone in This World Is as Simple-Minded as You

"Fuck..." Staring at the devastated military base before him, the man in body armor standing by the camp gate couldn't help letting out a curse. His name was Varg. Belonging to the Ninth Millenary of the Third Myriad, he commanded a ten-man squad stationed at an outpost roughly twenty kilometers away, tasked with monitoring the valley northwest of Camp No. 530 while guarding a signal relay tower. An hour ago, he had received word from the Ninth Millenary that Camp No. 530 had missed its scheduled security check-in and was failing to respond to communications from headquarters. He was ordered to take his men over immediately to verify whether their communications equipment had malfunctioned or something catastrophic had happened. Varg dared not delay. He quickly gathered three seasoned veterans from his squad, mounted a three-wheeled diesel motorcycle, and tore across more than twenty kilometers of rugged terrain straight toward Camp No. 530. Yet when he arrived, he found that the base had already been reduced to ruins... "Anyone there?" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Inside, there was neither commotion nor response. Tense as a coiled spring, Varg leveled his rifle, gave a crisp hand signal, and led his three riflemen cautiously through the camp gate, venturing deep into the military base. The streetlights lining both sides of the roadway were completely dark. The power grid appeared shattered; aside from barracks still engulfed in flames, only faint, pale moonlight lit their path. They pushed forward along the fractured road. As they passed the motor pool, everyone's faces turned pale and sickly. Charred corpses lay strewn about in grotesque, twisted heaps, many curled tightly together, burned beyond any recognizable human shape. As for the wide-open garage, all the tanks and trucks had been driven away. The supplies stored inside had been thoroughly looted—not even a single wrench or screwdriver had been left behind. Varg swallowed hard, then led his riflemen onward toward the command post. Soon, they passed a checkpoint where fierce fighting had clearly taken place not long ago. Between the collapsed sandbag walls and the bodies riddled with bloody holes, it wasn't hard to imagine the monstrous firepower that had rained down on the Legion soldiers defending this post just an hour earlier. The mutant mercenaries lying not far away were no better off. Those hulking brutes had either had their heads smashed in or their chests blasted straight through by some heavy-caliber weapon. Practically none of their corpses were intact, their deaths horrific in the extreme. Even mutants with their immense regenerative abilities couldn't endure it... To say nothing of ordinary men. "...Damn it all, I'd bet my life this wasn't the work of the guerrillas or the royal army!" one rifleman muttered under his breath, nervously scanning the surroundings. A younger rifleman breathed rapidly, eyes darting about in fear as he whispered, "Could it be the people from the Great Rift Valley?" Listening to his soldiers' anxious murmurs, Varg surveyed the wreckage with a grim expression, answering tersely, "...We signed a truce with them at the start of the year. While it's possible they tore up the treaty, an undeclared attack isn't their style." Leading his men forward, Varg halted outside the command post. The scene here was just as gruesome. The nearby barracks tents and partitions were riddled with bullet holes. Across an open patch of ground no larger than fifty square meters lay some fifty bodies—all high-nosed Weilanders. Varg searched the vicinity but found no trace of Chiliarch Piman's body. It was only when they swept the command post and the adjacent bomb shelter that he realized something was wrong. "...All the documents here have been cleaned out." Frowning slightly, Varg recalled what his superiors had briefed him on. Camp No. 530 was tied to a major strategic plan personally drafted by General Griffin—a plan that would determine whether the entire war could be brought to a close before the end of August. Because of that, they had been ordered to keep a close watch on Camp No. 530 at all times. Without hesitation, Varg unhooked the walkie-talkie from his shoulder, pressed the talk button, and spoke. "...Calling headquarters, this is Outpost 151 Patrol. We have reached Camp No. 530. The situation here is catastrophic. I see no survivors... nor do I see the body of the base commander. Suspected captured by unknown hostile forces." "Including classified files from the command post, munitions from the nearby storehouse, tanks from the garage... the raiders took practically everything that wasn't bolted down." As his eyes swept back and forth across the area, his gaze suddenly caught the rows of extinguished streetlights, and his expression stiffened. In a flash, an idea struck Varg, and his face grew deadly grave. "All electronic equipment has been crippled. The streetlights are completely dead; the base is pitched in total darkness. I can't find a single functioning piece of electronics." "Though it sounds incredible, my gut tells me... this isn't just a simple power grid failure." Pausing for half a second, he took a deep breath and gave his assessment. "Most likely an EMP!" *** Camp No. 530 had suffered a devastating blow. The Legion elites stationed there were nearly wiped out. And— It was suspected to be an EMP strike! The report climbed swiftly through the chain of command, soon reaching the Legion's frontline headquarters at Oasis No. 9 and jolting a gathering of high-ranking officers out of their sleep. In the war room. Griffin stood rigid before the strategic map with his hands clasped behind his back, his vulture-like eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. The officers lined up behind him remained deathly silent, glancing at each other with looks of shock and disbelief. Over the past month, their outposts and military bases had weathered numerous raids by royal forces and guerrillas, but those wastelanders fighting with pea-shooters had never managed a single victory. Never before had headquarters learned of a base's destruction only after the fighting was entirely over... And worse still, the base ambushed was Camp No. 530. Of all places, it had to be there! The staff officer standing beside Griffin took a deep breath, breaking the silence in the room as he reported. "...Our reconnaissance aircraft swept the surrounding area and found no sign of enemy units. After looting the supplies, the attackers are suspected to have retreated into the valley thirty kilometers northeast of Oasis No. 9. They likely had concealed positions prepared there; our planes couldn't spot anything." Once the silence broke, the surrounding officers chimed in one after another. "Based on reports from the nearby outposts, the enemy appears to have used EMP weapons, preemptively knocking out the base's communications tower... There are two possibilities: either the Great Rift Valley has intervened in the war, or the Enterprise has ramped up its military presence in Sunset Province." "Didn't they build an air base around Xizhou City in River Valley Province? The attackers might very well have flown in from there!" "It's possible!" Listening to his subordinates' clamor, Griffin remained silent, hands still clasped behind him. More than the painful loss of personnel, equipment, and supplies, what Griffin found utterly unacceptable was that the battle plan he had drawn up last month had been compromised. Camp No. 530 was the logistical pivot for the entire northern front's upcoming general offensive. While he didn't care about the casualties of vassal retainers on the frontline, he was forced to weigh carefully just how many men it would cost to break through the northern defensive sector of the Lion Kingdom without adequate armor and supply support... Sunset Province wasn't just Honey Badger and Lion; it also had Hump and Golden Lizard. If they wanted the Falcon Kingdom to conquer the entire province, they had to keep their casualties under control. Otherwise... Whatever they gained would soon slip through their fingers. "...It is truly regrettable that our flawless plan has leaked. If they can pinpoint Camp No. 530 so precisely, they know where our units will be on any given day, down to the hour." Scanning the room, General Griffin swept his piercing gaze across every face present, speaking one deliberate word at a time. "Our strategic deployment on the northern front must be adjusted... That won't be difficult. But I want to know exactly which link in the chain failed." The room went terrifyingly quiet. One could have heard a pin drop. Just as everyone's nerves stretched to the breaking point, Griffin suddenly shifted tone, brushing the topic aside with an easy wave of his hand. "Naturally, I have no doubt of your loyalty. The leak must have occurred somewhere further down the ladder. I need you all to keep your eyes wide open and root out this mole for me." Hearing this, the officers finally breathed sighs of relief, their faces relaxing as they snapped to attention. "Understood!" "Yes, sir!" Looking at his posturing subordinates, Griffin nodded. His eyes drifted back to the map on the wall, and he sank into thought. EMP weapons. That clearly wasn't the kingdom's equipment. In all likelihood—no, without question, it was the Enterprise's doing! According to the logistics department's manifests, Camp No. 530 had just accepted a shipment of supplies from the Bugra Free State two days prior. That proved the Great Rift Valley had no knowledge of this supply line; otherwise, they would have had plenty of other ways to prevent their vassal from continuing trade with the Legion. Thinking this far, Griffin couldn't help but scowl. Could it be that Maclen hadn't been boasting? Had the *Heart of Steel* truly been brought down by the Enterprise's reinforcements? If that was the case... They were in serious trouble. *** Meanwhile, while the frontline command was holding late-night meetings to revise their battle plans, a desert-camo truck pulled up at the gates of the barracks housing the headquarters. Hopping down from the truck first, Korwei glanced toward the gate. When he spotted an officer waiting there, his eyes lit up. "Fedir?! Fantastic! You're alive!" Fedir, an officer serving under General Maclen, held the rank of Senior Centurion just like him, though he was older by more than a decade. Looking at the dust-covered Korwei, Fedir saluted, walked over with an emotional expression, and grasped Korwei's right hand. "At the final critical moment, I boarded an escape pod alongside General Maclen and narrowly made it out alive... But look at you! It's so good to see you still breathing!" The two enjoyed a strong personal friendship. Otherwise, Fedir wouldn't be the one waiting out here for him. Korwei smiled warmly, saying with deep feeling, "To be honest, I almost bought the farm out in that desert. The battlefield was in total chaos back then. I couldn't even round up ten men, and those savages were hunting us from behind. At one point, I was ready to throw in the towel... It was all thanks to this brother here." With that, he pulled Battlefield Guy, who had just stepped off the truck, over to his side. Fedir looked at the sun-baked, dark-skinned man. Noting his flat nasal bridge, Fedir raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "And this is?" "Pangolin!" Slapping the dull-faced man firmly on the shoulder, Korwei grinned at Fedir. "Don't mind that he's a wastelander. He's nothing like the rest of them—he's a brave bastard... Not just handy with a gun, either. His loyalty to the Legion puts even me to shame. To scrape together travel expenses to get us back, he even cast aside his soldier's pride and dug coal in a pit! If he hadn't inspired me, I probably would've died a shameful death in the desert." Hearing the name Pangolin, Fedir finally recognized him as the Retinue Army Chiliarch whom General Maclen had promoted in person—the fierce bastard who had taken down the Mother Deathclaw with his bare hands! All along their journey back, Maclen had been lamenting that Mother Deathclaw head, deeply regretting that he hadn't been able to take that trophy along. Who would have guessed this badass had followed all the way here, even escorting Korwei across the desert to this very spot. Saving a Senior Centurion... For a retainer, that was a massive achievement! Fedir looked at Battlefield Guy and said in a grave, respectful tone, "Thank you for saving my friend and bringing him back in one piece... I will see to it that this favor is repaid." "No need to thank me, it was only my duty," Battlefield Guy recited smoothly, repeating the line he had practiced countless times. "We all do our duty, but those who perform exceptionally well deserve proper recognition... I will report your meritorious service." Fedir smiled, patted Pangolin on the shoulder, and then turned to the equally smiling Korwei, continuing, "Come with me. Things have changed quite a bit around here. Let me take you to get your reinstatement processed first. We can talk about the rest on the way..." Korwei needed to report in to restore his military status; having been missing for so long, he was practically registered as dead on the rolls. The Legion would put him through professional verification procedures to ensure he wasn't an impostor, a clone, or a synthetic. As for "Pangolin," he didn't need to go through such complex vetting. Once his name was registered on the Retinue Army roster, he was simply left waiting in a barracks belonging to the logistics department. It was the dead of night. Aside from the lit guard posts, the rest of the camp was shrouded in darkness, so he couldn't wander around. After a long wait, a logistics staffer finally came over, led him to the nearby mess hall, and had the cooks prepare a massive midnight feast for him. Glancing enviously at the epaulets on Mr. Pangolin's shoulders, the logistics orderly said respectfully, "Lord Fedir instructed me to look after you. Please let me know if you need anything. At this hour, aside from alcohol and women, I can arrange just about anything you desire." Battlefield Guy examined the young man's features. The bridge of his nose wasn't prominently raised, and his slightly deep-set eyes looked typical of desert dwellers. He was probably a subject of the Falcon Kingdom. Having starved the whole way, Battlefield Guy didn't hold back, stating plainly, "Get me more meat, beef if possible. I've got quite an appetite, so standard portions won't cut it." It wasn't costing him a dime anyway. Eating any less would be a total waste! The young man smiled at his words. "You're an Awakened, aren't you? Rest assured! Lord Korwei already instructed me to prepare food enough for three men!" So Korwei had already put in a word for him... Seeing the smile on the lad's face, Battlefield Guy gave an embarrassed chuckle. The way he put it... Made him sound like a total glutton. After a brief wait, the food was served. It included an entire roasted beef haunch and a basket of fresh, oven-baked bread generously sprinkled with powdered sugar and nuts. On top of that, there was a basket of plump, succulent grapes, deep-red sweet dates, and an unlimited supply of milk. Looking at the feast spread before him, so lavish that one couldn't tear one's eyes away, Battlefield Guy couldn't help marveling internally. As expected of the headquarters mess hall. Damn, this spread is unbelievable! "If this isn't enough, I can have the kitchen prepare more for you..." The young man bowed slightly, adding respectfully, "Please enjoy your meal." Guided by the principle that "every bite I eat is one less bite for the enemy," Battlefield Guy parked his rear at the long table and began wolfing down the food without the slightest concern for table manners. Watching the guy gorge himself with such gusto, the young orderly standing nearby felt his own stomach rumble. He couldn't help swallowing hard, trying his best not to stare. Before long, Korwei, having finally wrapped up his paperwork, arrived at the mess hall. Looking approvingly at Pangolin ripping into the beef haunch, he didn't find the display uncouth in the slightest. Pulling out a chair, he sat down across the table and snapped his fingers at the young orderly. "Bring me a steak." "Right away, sir." The young man bowed respectfully and hurried off toward the kitchen. Wiping a silver steak knife, Korwei remarked casually, "Got held up by paperwork for a bit. Who would've thought that the moment we arrived, we'd walk right into a major incident." Hearing Korwei's words, Battlefield Guy swallowed a mouthful of food and instinctively mumbled back, "What major incident?" "Camp No. 530 was hit." "Camp No. 530? What's that?" "The logistical hub for the northern front—the very camp we passed two days ago," Korwei said, shaking his head in disbelief. "What a bizarre coincidence... just two days apart. If we'd dawdled on the road for a couple of days, we probably would've left our lives back there." Hearing that, Battlefield Guy nearly choked on his food, his face flushing red as he desperately held back a cough. Holy crap. He had just passed along the intelligence, and the Alliance turned around and flattened the base using his info right behind his back. Are you trying to throw me straight into the fire?! However, Korwei didn't suspect him at all; in fact, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. After all, they had been riding in the same truck together for the past two days. No one in their right mind would ever suspect this guy, who slept like a dead pig the entire way, of transmitting messages in his dreams. "Could they... suspect us?" "Us?" Hearing his hesitant tone, Korwei blinked in surprise. Then, as if hearing an absurd joke, he chuckled and shook his head. "How could they? We just retreated into this sector. We didn't even know the camp's designation, let alone what role that base played in General Griffin's grand strategy." "Furthermore, even in the absolute worst-case scenario, we only arrived there two days ago. Even if the news leaked instantly, our enemies would need time to verify the intel, and then draft an operational plan based on that verified data... The whole process would take at least a month." Raising his mug, Korwei took a sip of hot cocoa to wet his throat, his expression turning slightly grim. "To be honest, I'm more suspicious of that fellow Adan." "Adan?" Battlefield Guy froze. "Why would he... have any reason to betray us?" "Sometimes, doing something doesn't require a mountain of reasons. And he isn't the only one I suspect—I suspect every merchant from the Bugra Free State." Korwei looked at Battlefield Guy, speaking in a gentle, lecturing tone. "My friend, not everyone in this world is as simple-minded as you." "Those merchants possess no loyalty whatsoever. They owe allegiance to no one. Their lives revolve around nothing more than worldly dung that they can neither bring into this world nor take with them to the grave—empty husks without souls. Today they sell us a spear to strike with, and tomorrow they might sell our enemies the shield to block it. I appreciate his kindness to us, but if it was him who sold us out, I wouldn't be surprised in the least." Battlefield Guy gave a guilty nod. "I see." "Good that you understand. I was truly worried you might be taken in by those people," Korwei said with an approving nod. Pausing briefly, he continued, "I told you before that I'd introduce you to General Griffin, but with this mess breaking out, it'll probably have to wait." Battlefield Guy immediately replied with sensible deference, "That's quite alright, sir. I'm in no rush. It can wait as long as needed." Not being introduced right now suited him just fine. He had no desire to meet that guy under these circumstances anyway. Battlefield Guy was certain that not everyone in the Legion was as gullible as the fellow sitting across from him. Especially that General Griffin, who was always referred to as an "old fox." The man probably possessed more wicked schemes than Battlefield Guy could count; he was genuinely afraid Griffin would see right through him in a single glance. "Are you feeling unwell?" Korwei asked, looking at his good buddy with concern. "You look a bit pale." Battlefield Guy brushed it off, "A little, probably just struggling to adapt to the climate... I've never been to a place this dry before." Korwei nodded and said comfortingly, "The desert is like that. You'll need to adapt quickly. We still have a long road ahead of us, and sooner or later, we'll be going much farther." Battlefield Guy perked himself up and replied, "I'll get used to it as fast as I can!" *** Shelter 404. Leaning back on the couch and sipping an ice-cold cola, Chu Guang beamed ear to ear as he watched the forum flooded with posts and read the firsthand battle reports sent in by fallen players. Scrolling his mouse wheel with his index finger, he couldn't help letting out a satisfied praise. "Money well spent!" Whether it was the Seagull drones or the Cerberus ground vehicles, their performance on the battlefield had far exceeded expectations. He had to hand it to them—the gear provided by the "Fallen Empire" was truly top-tier! Of course, it was also thanks to the players performing above and beyond. The Death Corps, notorious for its astronomical casualty rates, had only lost some thirty-odd players this time. Normally, that kind of loss wouldn't even count as a fraction of their casualties. "I need to stock up on more goods while this war is raging!" That included the R-36 Sanction air-to-ground missiles used by the Seagull drones; a single EMP missile had instantly rendered the entire military base deaf and blind, all for a unit price of just 250,000! And then there were the white phosphorus shells, priced at only 100,000 Cr, which boasted terrifying lethality against soft targets. While the price couldn't be called cheap, since it was funded by the military aid budget rather than his own pockets, it hardly mattered. To tell the truth, Chu Guang had initially assumed those folks on the East Coast would shy away from such brutal weapons, but it turned out he had worried over nothing. Leaning back against the couch, Chu Guang looked at Xiao Qi perched on the desk and spoke with high spirits. "Xiao Qi, get in touch with Wu Mu, the representative from the Changge Group. Tell him I want to procure ten more of those Seagull drones!" "Right away, Master!" Answering with boundless enthusiasm, Xiao Qi obediently went off to contact the seller. Chu Guang continued browsing the forum and noticed that his "Pangolin" had just come online. He clicked open the thread that the guy had just posted. Battlefield Atmosphere Group: *Holy shit! You guys are brutal! I barely got out of there and you already attacked!* Elaina: *Is your cover blown? If it is, I'll have Mole draw a doujin of you. (smirk)* Canyon Mole: *Piss off! I don't draw that kind of doujin!* Battlefield Atmosphere Group: *Blown my ass! Good thing I'm quick on my feet and talked my way out of it. Next time take it easy, at least wait until I'm further away before blowing the place up! By the way, that Camp 530 you blew up seems to be the Legion's northern logistical hub... Because their operational plans leaked, their northern offensive has been forced to delay. I just heard this from Korwei.* Jieyan: *Holy shit! Badass!* Ye Shi: *666!* Commander Spring: *Hahaha, actually I think the timing of the strike was pretty good. While the coincidence is suspicious, it makes you far less likely to be suspected.* Fang Chang: *+1. The more critical a strategic target is, the more detailed the operational planning required, otherwise things can easily go wrong.* Brother Edge: *Sigh, don't even get me started. The allied force running the feint got the time zone wrong and attacked an hour early! Good thing we got there in time, otherwise a few minutes later and they would've been wiped out!* Battlefield Atmosphere Group: *Holy crap, for real?* Brother Edge: *Damn right, the construction guy pedaled that tricycle until the tires were practically smoking!* Construction Site Youth and Brick: *Fuck your mother! You have the nerve to bring that up! (angry)* Roller Hair Washer: *Exactly! You're cheap as hell! Next time at least get us an electric scooter!* Brother Edge: *Damn it! How is that me being cheap? Look at the reality of the situation! It's nothing but sand in every direction, where the hell am I supposed to charge a battery for you?* The leader of the Death Corps began bickering back and forth with the Strength-type brutes in his regiment. Meanwhile, several Intelligence-type players started a new thread, bragging about their exploits with other players. Especially Indebted Big Eye. Piloting the Seagull drone from the sky and slaughtering noobs had been pure bliss for him; he had practically praised that drone to the high heavens. The only slight drawback was its limited payload capacity. Before he had even had his fill of fun, all the ammunition was spent. In any case, seeing that "Pangolin" was safe and sound, Chu Guang finally let out a sigh of relief. The reason he had struck so hastily was specifically to prevent suspicion from falling on his operative. Now, it seemed his worries had been unfounded. Over eight hundred kilometers. Even a carrier pigeon would need an entire day to cover that distance. Without large communications base stations or communication satellites, pulling off intelligence exchange and formulating a battle plan within two days sounded utterly fantastical no matter how one looked at it. Having confirmed the intelligence agent's safety, Chu Guang was in no hurry to issue new assignments. Instead, he let him stay undercover. He intended to use this chess piece at a critical juncture. Ideally, at an opportunity to wipe out those big-noses in a single stroke. As for now, the time was not yet ripe...