Chapter 890 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 890: Fighting Fire with Fire In the northern outskirts of Eternal Night Harbor, at an open field near the wilderness, two trucks were parked. Their backs were open, showcasing rows of gleaming black assault rifles inside. The eyes of the Hyena Gang members were locked on the arsenal, especially York, with his noticeable chest scar. His eyes nearly glowed green with greed at the sight of a large-bore shotgun. These were all standard-issue weapons of the legion. In addition to the common "Blade" assault rifles, there was even a 7mm caliber "Ripper" light machine gun! The latter was a newly designed light weapon by the Southern Legion's Armament Bureau for the Boro Province war zone, based on frontline needs. The first batch had been produced and shipped to Eternal Night Harbor's warehouse. Ironically, this powerful light machine gun had not yet reached the front lines but found its way to the gangsters of Blackwater Alley. Four operatives of the "Enlightenment Order" stood guard beside the two trucks, watching the mob intently. They weren't actual disciples of the Enlightenment Order but were agents of the Garrison Intelligence Division. Despite their disdain for these thugs, for a greater cause they had to lower themselves and collaborate with these miscreants. Kant felt similarly. He despised these filthy hyenas, but having reached this point, he could only grit his teeth and move forward. His gaze drifted towards Tarlan, standing on the sidelines. Snuffing out his cigarette, he tossed the butt to the ground and stamped it out. "...I must remind you, if these arms end up on the streets, it will heavily impact us." Tarlan chuckled, inwardly dismissing the concern, yet outwardly maintaining a facade. "I understand, but no matter what, their threat is less than that of addictive substances, isn't it? Let those societal dregs kill each other off. Do you think they can really overturn the world? As powerful as they might be, can they rival a 902mm cannon?" Kant was slightly comforted by these words. Meanwhile, Morse had finished inspecting the arsenal and returned to Tarlan and Kant with a bright smile, now more respectful, like a loyal dog recognizing its master. If he had doubted the Enlightenment Order's power before, he now felt nothing but admiration. Two truckloads of arms. Without connections high up in the Garrison, such a thing was unthinkable! "Is this enough weaponry?" Tarlan asked, smiling at the now-tamed hyena. "More than enough!" Morse replied with a satisfied smile, nodding respectfully. "Give me half a day, and I promise you'll be pleased with the results." Two truckloads of firearms! More than enough to arm two squads of a hundred men each! He felt confident enough to take out a thousand-strong force, let alone someone as insignificant as Tony! "You'd better," Kant said cryptically, before turning back to the car parked nearby. Tarlan, smiling, patted Morse's shoulder with an approving expression. "Do well, and this will be your entry ticket into the Order!" Suppressing his joy, Morse accepted the task with a nod. "Yes!" ... Meanwhile, Tony remained unaware that before the Garrison targeted his trades, an unpredictable mad dog had already set its sights on him by sheer coincidence. In the southwest corner of Blackwater Alley, amidst a cramped slum, lay a canned food processing plant. Its windows and doors were tightly covered by curtains, appearing to be just another failed business. But once inside, it was bustling with activity. Armed gangsters stood guard at the entrance, behind which rows of long tables were set up, resembling an unending assembly line. Laborers from Boro Province busily worked the line, crushing soothing agents provided to front-line wounded into powder, extracting valuable components, and concentrating them into a dark green crystal using extraction bottles. Despite the harsh conditions and lack of production safety, these workers remained uncomplaining. After all, the wages here were three times what they could earn back home, a day's work here equaled a week there. Enduring hardships that desert natives couldn't bear, they considered themselves fortunate. Gangsters overseeing the production smoked nearby, avoiding the "production workshop" since the purification process involved many volatile, hazardous chemicals. Most Boroans had stopped sensing it, but it was overwhelmingly pungent to the gang members. Upstairs beside a freight container, a robust man flipped through the stock inventories. Two subordinates carrying PU-9 submachine guns stood by his side, and in front of him was the plant manager. The flattery on the manager's face was telling of their status difference. The burly man was none other than "Skull Crusher" Laggu, Tony's top enforcer. A former underground wrestler, Laggu had been taken in by Tony after his legs were broken for winning the wrong match, equipped with military-grade prosthetics, and became a key figure in the Iron Hand Gang. Despite his rugged appearance, Laggu was astute, detail-oriented, and fiercely loyal, quickly earning Tony's trust to manage the gang's most profitable business. As he reviewed inventory, he asked the manager, "How is the production of the new batch?" The manager eagerly reported, "We've produced fifty kilograms! These workers from Boro Province are becoming more proficient, doubling their initial efficiency. Our raw material procurement can barely keep pace now." "Good," Laggu nodded approvingly, but then shifted gears, "Once this batch is consumed, give the workers two days off, halt production." "Halt production?" The manager hesitated, worried. "But the boss—" "This is the boss's order." Seeing the manager's hesitation, Laggu smiled faintly. "The tablets we're retrieving from the soldiers have low efficacy, and the costs of purification are high, plus secrecy is an issue. Our boss has secured supply from a primary dealer; we can now produce snake oil directly from serpent grass." The manager’s eyes widened in shock before breaking into a wide grin. "Really?! That's… fantastic! Producing snake oil from direct raw materials could increase our production fivefold—or even tenfold!" Laggu clapped the manager's shoulder with a smile. "I'm glad you understand. I need you to redesign a production line to use new raw materials for the old products." The manager puffed his chest proudly. "That's easy, consider it done." Barely had he finished speaking when a deafening explosion erupted outside the factory. Everyone froze, the laborers’ expressions mirroring the same panic. They glanced at each other, exchanging anxious, bewildered looks. "What happened?" "Explosion?" "Dammit… is there a war here too?!" While they babbled in distress, a sudden gunshot rang out inside the factory. Bang—! "Quiet!" Holding his gun aloft, Laggu’s roar cut through the chaos. His harsh voice quickly restored order in the frantic factory. "...Store the flammable and explosive items in the warehouse, then crouch by the walls with your hands on your heads. Don’t run around and risk getting hit by stray bullets! We’re not compensating for brain injuries here!" "Security, grab your guns! Time to show who's in charge. Gear up and follow me!" With that said, he yanked the trembling manager off the floor and shoved him toward the stairs. "And you! Notify the boss! Get up and move, dammit!" "Y-Yes sir!" the manager stammered, his voice nearly cracking, never having faced such a situation before. He quickly rushed downstairs to the security office, grabbed the phone, and reported the situation to the boss. Outside, gunfire rattled as the attackers clashed with the perimeter guards. Inside, Laggu calmly lit a cigarette and approached a window, pulling aside the curtain to observe. The enemy fire was intense, all wielding automatic rifles, pinning his men armed only with submachine guns. Who were these people? The Southern Legion strictly regulated weapons for non-humans, fearing rebellion. Unless one became a centurion or higher, acquiring military weapons was almost impossible. Who in Blackwater Alley could amass such an arsenal? His boss had paid dearly just to procure a batch of PU-9 submachine guns. Yet, this didn't deter him. Watching the light of gunfire draw closer, Laggu remained composed, knowing well the boss's military connections. If it were the army or Garrison, they would have been forewarned. This had to be an enemy gang or business rivals! With this realization, Laggu's expression turned steely as he signaled his underlings to drag out a twin-barreled anti-aircraft machine gun stored in the warehouse. With a caliber of 30mm, a single shell could tear a person in half. "Move it! To the window, quick!" Laggu barked, urging his men as they hoisted it to the window. He straddled it and jammed the drum magazine into place with a click. The twin, thick barrels jutted out the window, and Laggu cranked the handles viciously, aiming at those taking cover behind the barricades outside. A cruel grin spread across his face before he pulled the trigger without hesitation. "Boom boom boom—!!!" A deafening blast echoed as tracer rounds shot forth like arrows! Against the 30mm machine guns, the waist-high walls proved useless, disintegrating like paper. Four gang members were instantly obliterated, shattered with their cover into unrecognizable pieces amid debris. Seeing the machine gun pivot their way, those with assault rifles were terrified, scrambling away only to be caught by the pursuing fire, reduced to mangled bits. The bloody, brutal scene stunned the battling gang members into numbness. Be they from the Iron Hand Gang or the scarf-clad Hyena Gang, both stood paralyzed, forgetting to shoot back for a moment. These weren't trained soldiers—the sight of such power was beyond their experience. Even Kant, observing from a distance, was taken aback. As an intelligence operative, it was the first he'd heard of such a thing hidden in Blackwater Alley! Who the hell sold them this monster? Was that person insane?! Gazing at the chaotically strewn corpses, Laggu was in a battle frenzy. His arms ached from tension, feeling as if he himself had been tearing the bodies apart. Reloading with another magazine, he aimed the thick barrels at the factory's walls. His laughter was manic as he watched the fleeing lackeys. "Ha-ha-ha!!! Go to hell!" The booming gunfire returned, scattering the Hyena Gang attackers in retreat. Watching his men fall, Mordred's eyes burned with rage as he snatched a rocket launcher from a nearby subordinate. "Dammit! I'll go down fighting!" When it came to madness, no one in Blackwater Alley surpassed him. Howling, he charged forward, catching Laggu off guard and firing from 200 meters. A fiery projectile burst from the slender tube, carrying a large rocket toward the window. Seeing it approach, Laggu's eyes widened, instinctively diving aside. The explosive jet pierced the machine gun's shield, transforming its structure into a heap of scrap. Detonated ammo scattered like fireworks, barely missing the flammable storage room. Cold sweat drenched Laggu, still rattled. Peeking outside, he spotted Mordred's detestable face amidst hysterical laughter. "Ha-ha-ha! Tony, you sure hid this well. Didn't expect such a toy in your pocket! Must've cost a fortune!" Seeing the rocket launcher, Laggu was both shocked and furious, shouting back. "Mordred, are you insane?! Do you know what you're doing?" "Bleh, just a lackey." Upon seeing Laggu’s head at the window, Mordred lost interest in showing off, tossing the hot launcher to a subordinate. "Brothers, storm in! No mercy for resisters, keep a few for questioning." With the enemy's big gun silenced, the demoralized Hyena Gang regained their courage, charging forward with renewed vigor. Mordred glanced back at Tarlan and Kant, winking at the latter before grabbing his rifle to lead the charge into the factory. Inside, the gunfire continued. The submachine gun fell silent quickly, replaced by the unyielding crack of automatic rifles. Though Laggu fought fiercely, outnumbered, three bullets found his chest, causing him to collapse, eyes bulging. With their leader down, the Iron Hand lackeys surrendered, hands over heads. Hearing the echo of gunfire, Tarlan felt a surge of adrenaline, eager to join the fray. Suppressing his excitement with a deep breath, Tarlan looked at his assistant with a prideful tone. "These guys are useful, aren't they? If it were our people, losses would be significant." Kant nodded stiffly, remaining silent. "......" Ignoring the silence, Tarlan patted his shoulder. "Come on, let's see our spoils." Without waiting for a response, Tarlan led the way into the now quieted factory. A scent of blood assailed him at the entrance. Waving it away, he saw a blood-soaked Mordred descending the stairs with a head in hand. Glaring menacingly, Mordred tossed the head to the ground before Tarlan. "Skull Crusher Laggu, Tony's number one. Shame the boss wasn't here." The head seemed to be brutally severed, evident from its battered condition. Tarlan clicked his tongue, unaffected by sympathy, casting his gaze into the factory. "Have you found the snake oil?" Mordred sneered, whistling. "Everything, including production reports. We also captured Boro laborers producing the addictive stuff… though I'm not sure they’ll tie it to the Alliance." Tarlan coughed lightly. "It's a weak connection. Boro laborers are everywhere, not sufficient evidence… We need direct leads to the Alliance." "Ah, what a bother." Scratching his head with bloody hands, Mordred barked back into the factory, addressing his men. "York, stay here and guard. The rest, search thoroughly!" A resounding, enthusiastic shout erupted from inside. "Got it!" More than thirty gang members sprang into action, tearing through the factory methodically. As the lackeys rummaged through the area, they quickly uncovered new leads. Following one of the gang members, Tarlan and Morse soon arrived at a secluded storage room. This area seemed to be a dumping ground for waste, with several waist-high plastic bins filled with empty medicine bottles and aluminum foil blister packs. When Kant picked up an empty bottle from the ground, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “...Sharon.” Hearing the unfamiliar term, Tarlan shot Kant a questioning look. “What?” Kant swallowed hard and spoke through clenched teeth. “...It’s Sharon, a sedative developed by the logistics department specifically for treating the soldiers' psychological trauma.” Without a doubt, this was the raw material for making snake oil. But why were prescriptions issued by the logistics department appearing here in such vast quantities? His heart had already filled with foreboding at the sight of the anti-aircraft gun, but seeing these empty bottles only intensified that bad feeling. This business, targeting veterans of Willant, might just have military backing... If true, this mess wouldn’t just trouble his superior Daniel, but might also topple the head of his superior's superior, the Garrison's Chief Commander, Wiloby Vanfugue. Kant felt as if his heart might stop. Alongside fear, a deeper confusion gnawed at him. Why? Why was it that the ones pouring poison into them weren’t the Alliance, but those claiming to care the most? His Adam's apple bobbed, his shoulders trembling in tow. “...What's wrong with you, buddy?” Tarlan placed a hand on his shoulder, frowning in confusion. Just then, one of Morse's lackeys rushed over, panicked. “There's someone alive in the security room! It’s the factory manager!” Morse grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him forward. “Where?” “He locked himself in there! The door’s too sturdy; we can’t get in.” “Useless!” Morse cursed, ready to call for the rocket launcher, but remembered they only had one explosive, his face awkward. But before his dilemma deepened, someone from the Enlightenment Order offered a solution. “Use this.” Tarlan kicked a nearby bag of soda with a sly grin. The place had nitric acid, sulfuric acid, and glycerol… a little treatment with a glass beaker and they’d have something potent. To others, this may seem challenging, but for an old pro like him, it was child’s play. Morse, clueless at first, watched him work for a while before catching on, giving a thumbs-up in awe. Knowledge commands respect anywhere, even in a place like Blackwater Alley. With the concoction transferred to a glass jar, Tarlan carried two jars to the security room, personally attaching detonators to them. Once everyone retreated to a safe distance, Tarlan wasted no words, pressing the detonator. With a thunderous “boom,” the explosion tore down an entire wall of the security room, leaving the blast door lying solitary on the ground. The blast exceeded Tarlan's expectations, too powerful, launching those at a “safe distance” and covering them with dust. The manager inside was unmistakably dead, while the force scattered everyone in the abandoned factory. Kant, cursing under his breath, struggled to his feet from the debris. As he did, a sniff changed his expression drastically. “It's toxic! Damn it—” His warning came too late. Everyone, Morse and Tarlan included, instinctively sniffed, and immediately their minds felt veiled, reality warping around them. Tarlan faintly realized the situation, but before he could react, darkness claimed him, enveloped by sensation at his head. Confused, he removed the gaming helmet, glancing around the familiar room setting, a national curse slipped out. "Damn!" To Be Continued...