Chapter 885 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 885: The Desert Legion's First Battle Just as Sand Sculpture and Clown were standing atop a building watching the commotion, chaos erupted in Blackwater Alley in the distance. Tarlan, the raider, along with his three confidants, had barely left Knock's house when they were pursued by a group of vicious-looking characters. The pursuers uniformly wore vests, revealing their muscular arms. They wielded all sorts of weapons, from long guns and short cannons to knives, a hodgepodge of armaments. At first, Tarlan thought they had stumbled upon a gang fight. But his suspicions grew when one of the pursuers fired a round into the air and shouted at him. "Stop right there!" "Don't run!" A flurry of thoughts raced through Tarlan's mind in that instant—perhaps Knock had betrayed him, or maybe this group was hired by the Enlightenment Society—until Sauerkraut Fish pulled him by the arm. "Shit! Run!" Realizing now wasn't the time to ponder, Tarlan snapped back to reality and dashed off without a second thought. "Run!" Seeing their leader take off, the three other players hurriedly followed, sprinting towards the other end of the alley. They only had pistols and lacked sufficient ammunition, while the pursuers were armed with shotguns and rifles, a firepower gap too wide to ignore! Even with their Awakener abilities, there was a limit to recklessness. With their prey escaping, Morse quickly rallied the Hyena Gang to give chase. It became a street chase, bullets occasionally whizzing over Tarlan's head as he ran, both terrified and enraged. "What the hell, are these NPCs insane?! I'm just trying to complete a quest, do they have to go this far?!" A bullet grazed past his ear, and the whoosh of air sent chills down his spine, making him run even faster. This was a new map far away from the save point and respawn location. Dying meant losing all equipment, forfeiting unsaved experience, and abandoning a newly acquired hidden quest. The loss would be beyond disastrous—it would be catastrophic! Running closely behind Tarlan, Medical Miracle couldn't help but snap. "Are you just plain stupid?!" Sauerkraut Fish chimed in, "Seriously! On this one, I blame the game devs." Tarlan the Raider retorted, "Damn it, of all times, you're arguing now? Can't you just curse the devs with me for a change?" Enraged, Fatty Liver gritted his teeth in silence. Medical Miracle added sarcastically, "If I were Light, I'd smack your face right now." Sauerkraut Fish replied, "What are you talking about—" Before he could finish, a new group of hostile characters appeared ahead of them. Unlike the group of vest-wearers behind them, this new bunch were neatly dressed and exuded a more refined aura. However, despite their sophisticated appearance, the PU-9 submachine guns they held suggested they weren't here for negotiation. Sensing imminent danger, Tarlan quickly grabbed Sauerkraut Fish and led the group into an adjacent alleyway. Almost simultaneously as they rounded the corner, the ominous gun barrels behind them unleashed a barrage of fire. The rattling of gunfire echoed down the street, the cacophony of bullets and gunpowder quickly pockmarking the earthen buildings with bullet holes. It wasn't just Tarlan and his three comrades who were startled. The pursuing Morse and his gang were also caught off guard, hastily scattering and taking cover. One unlucky gang member took a stray bullet to the chest, blood splattering, as fellow gang members dragged him to safety behind cover. Morse's eyes turned icy as he looked at the suited man across the street who had caused this bloodshed. With a venomous tone, he spat, "Tony... what the hell are you playing at?" Iron Hand Gang! Another powerful faction in Blackwater Alley, they ran the largest nightclub and casino in the area! Unlike Morse's clientele, who were primarily the local ruffians, Tony sometimes catered to Wilanites, especially military nobility among them. For this reason, Morse had always been wary of him, avoiding conflict unless necessary. Tony, unfazed, calmly swapped a fresh magazine into his submachine gun, the mechanism clicking into place with a chilling finality. "No particular reason, just skill against skill." Glancing at the dying gang member, Morse, irritated, retorted. "What about my guy?" Tony smirked subtly, speaking with deliberate slowness. "When I left my house today, I stepped on a cockroach. Is that my problem?" Typically, fights were limited by the Wilanites, who discouraged open gang warfare. Even if there were killings, they were discreet, never openly brazen. However, today was different. With a warrant out from the garrison, even casualties could be chalked up as collateral damage in a gang skirmish. Those Wilanites didn't truly care about their lives. Having frequently dealt with those foreigners, Tony knew well the boundaries of his actions. With this mindset, he dismissed the "hyenas" looming before him. His aloofness incensed Morse and his hyena gang further. York, the "Doctor," was the first to snap, furiously yelling as he lifted his makeshift pipe rifle, unleashing a chaotic burst of "Brownian motion bullets." "Eat shit, Tony! You and your hens!" The stray bullets prompted the Iron Hand members to duck for cover hastily. Despite the makeshift rifle's lack of accuracy, its 7mm bullets still posed a threat. Infuriated by the crude insult, Tony narrowed his eyes, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it underfoot. "You asked for it." With a casual wave of his finger, the suited men with him brandished their PU-9s, unleashing a volley across the street. Unlike organized military skirmishes, these street brawls had no precision. Most combatants hid behind cover, blindly spraying their weapons outward. Without any medical insurance, death earned them no medals, and casualties got no recognition. While they postured fiercely, few were ready to truly risk their lives. The chaotic exchange lasted for quite a while, with bullets wasted and few casualties. Tarlan, hiding in the alleyway, watched incredulously. Medical Miracle swallowed nervously beside him. "Wait, why are they fighting each other?!" "How should I know..." Peeking outside, Tarlan scrutinized both groups, noting their drastically different attire. In that moment, he spotted a familiar face among the left group. Recognizing the figure, Tarlan's eyes widened in anger, shouting furiously. "Knock! Why did you betray me?!" At the mention of Knock's name, Morse, embroiled in the crossfire with Tony, paused, then laughed maniacally. "Knock? I'm no Knock. Remember my name: it’s Splinter! You fool!" Morse’s brash taunts left Tarlan momentarily stunned, as if kicked by a mule. A model citizen of Los Santos mocked by an NPC?! Behind him, Medical Miracle teetered between laughter and tears, eventually bursting into amused sobs. "Hahaha, what an idiot..." "A buffoon of a leader..." "Laughable, outsmarted by AI!" As Tarlan's three confidants mocked him, his face flushed a deep crimson of humiliation. It was worse than death. Resurrection took three days; a forum post mocking him lasted a lifetime. "Damn it..." He cursed, ready to draw the pistol from his back and reclaim his dignity in the battle. However, Medical Miracle quickly intervened. "Whoa, buddy, don't act rashly!" Sauerkraut Fish echoed the sentiment nervously. "Yeah, boss, take it easy! We're just teasing. Even if we ditch, it'd be after the mission, not now." Soothed by their pleas, Tarlan calmed, contemplating a plan to escape. With two gangs targeting him, money was unlikely the motive... Especially with "Splinter," pretending to be Knock. If money were the aim, they'd have acted the moment he opened the door, not now! With this realization, Tarlan's mind shifted, his gaze landing on Fatty Liver, who had remained silent throughout. "Fatty, log out and take a look." Fatty Liver opened his eyes and looked at Tarlan, speaking in a calm tone. "...I just came back from offline. All thirty of our brothers in the inn have been captured." At this moment, the forum was buzzing with excitement. After all, this war had been raging for so long, and it was the first time the Legion had been captured "intact." And not just by anyone, but by a bunch of guards. However, he didn’t bother to share these trivial details with the commander. They were all in the same boat. Mocking each other served no purpose. After hearing Fatty Liver's report, Tarlan's suspicions were confirmed. The thirty legion members at the inn had been rounded up; clearly, the Wilanites had set their sights on them. But why were the gangs involved? Suddenly, a possibility flashed through Tarlan’s mind. They didn’t have any evidence! This wasn’t about the Wilanites being particularly lawful—every system has its procedures, and no individual within such a system can act without oversight. The one giving the order would have to take responsibility. The same logic applied within their Legion. In other words, the harbor garrison targeting them hadn’t received orders from higher-ups. They acted on mere suspicion of a few individuals on their own. Those Wilanites lacked solid evidence to prove that they were Alliance spies! If they died as Alliance citizens during a pursuit, it might not cause much trouble for the Southern Legion, but it would definitely be a problem for the garrison. So they outsourced to local gangs. Even if they only captured a corpse, they could blame it on gang conflicts, turning a diplomatic issue into a crime concern. Tarlan’s mind raced as he quickly decided on his course of action. "Fatty, go offline and privately message our members to align their statements! Make sure they say we're here on a... business tour." Fatty Liver chuckled lightly. "They’ve already coordinated their stories... though they claimed they're here for tourism instead." Medical Miracle couldn’t help but give a thumbs-up. "Impressive!" Sauerkraut Fish also chimed in with admiration. "Brilliant, you should be the commander." Fatty Liver gave a slight smirk. Though it wasn't his doing, he saw no need to clarify. Seeing his team handle themselves so well, Tarlan felt a rush of surprise and delight. This batch of new recruits turned out to be unexpectedly capable—his ambitions of reaching T0 might just be within grasp! The only downside was the flimsy excuse of tourism, which explained why the opposition was so relentless in their suspicion. Nevertheless, it would do. Tarlan's eyes flickered with a new plan. "I’ll cover our retreat—you guys find a way to escape north. Leave the settlement first, then wait for my signal." Sauerkraut Fish looked at the commander in surprise. "What about you?" "Surrender." Tarlan’s lips curled into a smile as he looked at his three astonished subordinates. "I heard the Enlightenment Society is calling on shelter residents to unite and resist the war commission’s remnants." "Maybe they'd welcome refugees from the dark side." ... With a Level 30 Awakener entering the fray, the battle in Blackwater Alley reached its peak intensity. Despite being nicknamed Stubborn due to past mistakes with Pangolin, Tarlan the Raider was far from incompetent when it came to combat. First, he helped his three comrades escape using a human ladder. Armed with only a pistol, he charged alone through both enemy factions. Fortunately, during his initial search for quest coordinates, he had already scouted around Blackwater Alley, giving him partial familiarity with the layout. He wasn’t entirely familiar with the terrain, but he wasn’t blindly stumbling through it either. After traversing two streets, he crashed into a crowded marketplace, firing shots into the sky and causing chaos. Seeing him storm the marketplace, both Morse and Tony turned pale. Predictably, not long after the chaos erupted, a squad of armed guards burst in aboard an armored vehicle. As the armed guards clad in bulletproof vests appeared, Tarlan surrendered his handgun, raised his hands, and approached, wearing a façade of shock. "Thank heavens you're here!" The centurion leading the squad approached him with a stern face. "Did you fire that shot?" Tarlan widened his eyes in feigned surprise. "Me?! Are you kidding? I'm just a tourist! Here’s my VM, it has my electronic visa. I passed through customs the legal way!" Custom entry required a body search and differed from the unlawful escapees; the former was protected under Kaixuan City laws. At least nominally. While speaking, Tarlan gestured toward the gang members still pursuing him. "It was them who fired! You can ask anyone." Squinting, the centurion examined the Alliance member scrutinizingly, nearly sticking his nose to Tarlan’s ugly, annoying face. He knew what kind of scum those thugs were, yet didn’t expect his own issued "warrant" to actually assist the man, giving him a persecution and asylum plea. No matter— At least they captured him. The thirty captured Alliance members adamantly maintained their tourist cover, treating them like fools. This was the wasteland. And really, who tours enemy territory? Hoping not much from them, the centurion instead focused on breaking this one. "Get in the vehicle." Tarlan exhaled, his face expressing profound relief. "Thank you." Not keen on chatting, the centurion nudged him, handing him over to a subordinate. A vest-wearing gangster hesitated briefly, approaching to demand payment. "Hey, about the—" Ignoring him, the centurion signaled for the thug to also be detained, hauled away as a mission bounty. Hidden amidst the market crowd, Morse watched the retreating armored car, silently contemplating his next move. Meanwhile, Tony, formerly his opponent, stood beside him, lighting a new cigarette. "Dealing with the garrison's centurion, looks like this payout won’t be easy… I’m out, Iron Hand Gang quits. You’re on your own." Morse gave him a sidelong glance, smirking without humor. "Thanks, really." "No thanks needed. If you do wish to thank me, reserve it for your funeral… A small mosquito is still meat—I’ll take care of your turf for you." Tossing the submachine gun to a subordinate, Tony taunted Morse with one last glance before sauntering off, ignoring the fuming hyenas. York stared at him murderously, only looking away when the figure vanished into the market’s depths. He then carefully voiced his concern to his leader. "Boss... are we really letting this slide?" Morse's eyes narrowed into slits, shifting from Tony's departed direction to where the armored car had left, speaking each word deliberately. "I never engage in loss-making deals..." "This isn’t over." The Enlightenment Society... In all his time here, this was the first he’d heard of such a group. Mumbling the name, Morse nodded slightly, leading his hyenas away. Meanwhile, on a distant rooftop... Sand Sculpture and Clown had finally finished their snack of sunflower seeds. When they saw Tarlan drop his weapon and willingly approach the Wilanite officers, the former widened his eyes, surprisingly impressed. "Wow… this guy actually came up with a self-surrender tactic." He had a good guess at what Tarlan was planning. If his assumptions were correct, they might be able to coordinate a clever move. Clown turned to ask him. "So, what’s next? What do we do?" "Wait for an opportunity." Tossing the seed shells over the edge, Sand Sculpture dusted off his hands and picked up his travel bag. Inside was all his gear. It included a disassembled sniper rifle, a submachine gun, several grenades, and a drone. To get these in was simple. From the moment he and his comrade disembarked, they avoided the typical routes, exploiting NPC blind spots at customs and using bugs to sneak in. "If the Enlightenment Society takes an interest in them, they might scout near the detention facility... We’ll monitor the area, tagging any suspicious figures." Clown asked, "What counts as suspicious?" Sand Sculpture grinned, "NPCs sneaking around like us, or the same face showing up multiple days. Use the drone and facial recognition... don't just stand there, let's move." Everything was going according to his plan! As the sunflower seed shells scattered into the wind, Clown sighed, "Your manners are really lacking." To be continued...