Chapter 895 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 895: Bread or Belief "Bang!" As a sharp gunshot pierced through the silence, the battle within the broadcast station building officially commenced. A ten-man squad swiftly infiltrated the building, engaging in a firefight with the armed individuals entrenched inside. The brief skirmish lasted less than five minutes before the ten-man team was expelled by a barrage of bullets and blasting dust. Moreover, over half of the squad sustained casualties, with two severely injured soldiers being carried out horizontally. Watching his battered troops withdraw and the critically wounded being dragged out, the centurion's face was filled with astonishment, which quickly turned into rage. "A bunch of incompetents! Ten of you couldn't capture two people—what the hell are you doing?" Facing the officer's beratement, the decurion who retreated from the building donned a terrified expression, yet gritted his teeth to explain. "It wasn't two people... just one. But that guy was too fast; he might be an awakened one..." Upon hearing this, the centurion squinted his eyes. An awakened one... It seems we've caught a big fish. No longer giving his subordinates a hard time, he removed the communicator from his shoulder and issued a stern order. "Second, third, and fourth squad, it's your turn." A unified response echoed through the communication channel. "Understood!" With the command given, three ten-man squads surged forward once more with murderous intent. Gazing at the familiar building just a stone's throw away, the centurion's lips curled into a sinister grin. If ten men can't break in, then how about thirty? He refused to believe he couldn't crush this pest. Meanwhile, inside the building, Taran calmly replaced the magazine of the assault rifle he'd scavenged. To be fair, the equipment of these Wilant people was not bad—with exoskeletons and bulletproof vests. If it weren't for the decurion's penetrating handgun, a mere pu-9 might not suffice against them. However, their combat skills were far inferior compared to the soldiers from the Boro province frontline, who might have posed a greater challenge. Of course, despite his confidence in his fighting abilities, he had to admit that against such overwhelming numbers, defeat was only a matter of time. Konde was no longer reliable. That guy refused to fight his compatriots and was set on dying. He couldn’t convince him, nor did he know how to. A part of him even felt that perhaps this was the best ending. To be honest, he didn't even know what he was struggling for. A hero dying as a hero was a hero's honor. At the very least, tonight, he had earned a place in the hearts of Evernight Port's people and would likely not be forgotten for a long time. Yet, thinking that NPCs in this game can't resurrect, Taran regretted considering it that way. He didn't want this guy to just die like that. In all his gaming, this was the first time he encountered such a resonant NPC. Watching the three squads creeping from the front and back entrances, he took a deep breath and grinned. "...So the armored vehicle was just for show after all." Perhaps due to being inside the city, these Wilant people couldn’t operate freely. The armored vehicle stayed outside without firing at him, relying solely on infantry to advance. Kicking open a door, Taran grabbed a cabinet as if it were a chick, tossing it to block the stairway entrance. Carrying out a deep breath, he cocked the rifle, ready for battle once more, as the dense footsteps echoing down the stairwell prompted him to pull the trigger. "Tut-tut-tut—!" Sparks flew as close-quarters combat erupted once again. Unlike the initial skirmish, the Wilant people's assault was noticeably more cautious, and Taran found himself struggling significantly more than before. Watching the flickering lights advance from the second floor to the third, the centurion standing outside the broadcasting station finally allowed a cruel smile to surface. As expected. Even a trapped beast is but a trapped beast. Meanwhile, not far from him, the garrison's chief commander, Wiloby, was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, continuously wiping the droplets of sweat from his forehead. Though he wished to tear that live-streaming idiot Konde apart, he knew it no longer mattered whether Konde lived or died. What was crucial now was damage control. Half of Evernight Port’s Wilant people were now aware of what the comfort drugs provided by the Logistics Department sub-department to retirees actually were, and how those big shots profited off of these expensive yet ineffective hallucinogens at the expense of the soldier's insurance. Why hadn't the wounded soldiers received proper care? The answer was now glaringly obvious. Because their money was squandered on nonsensical things, lining the pockets of vested interests. Those pills rampant in Evernight Port's black market didn't proliferate because of the alliance's "strategic dumping," but due to the widespread "Sharon." Gang members collected excess comfort drugs from the veterans and procured supplies from the logistics department to produce more potent "snake oil," squeezing the last bit of profit from Evernight Port's survivors. Whether Wilant people or Blackwater Alley outsiders, they were all victims of this systemic exploitation. Facing the governor, Ahiro, whose expression grew increasingly ominous, Wiloby's face turned more desperate. Perhaps even before tomorrow’s sun rises, he might lose his position. Unnoticed, more unrelated Wilant people began appearing on the streets. Most were Wilant people, ranging from drunken bums to citizens stepping out of their homes. Initially, Wiloby dismissed them as mere onlookers, hardly worthy of attention. However, as the crowd swelled, the expressions on their faces grew increasingly unfriendly, and Wiloby suddenly realized an even bigger problem was looming. Seeing Ahiro's gaze, Wiloby could only rally a few guards to follow him, bracing himself as he stepped forward, addressing the growing crowd. "What are you all doing here? This isn't a place for spectating. Go back to your homes!" His words didn't disperse the crowd. Instead, more people gathered. A retired veteran stepped forward, pointing a red, alcohol-flushed nose at Wiloby, questioning with a stern tone. "Are you Wiloby?" Normally, Wiloby would never bow to a drunk, but the enclosing crowd forced him to drop his stance, speaking in a conciliatory tone. "That's me... What’s it to you?" The veteran pointed at his nose, asking bluntly. "Let me ask you, is what you said the truth?" Wiloby's expression hardened, sweat beading at his temples, but he maintained a mask of composure as he explained. "...It was a situation beyond my control, that fool forced my hand. If you had the radio on, you would have heard him—he threatened me… Threatened his superior with a bomb." The veteran’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes fixed intently on Wiloby. "So you didn’t deny it, which means it's true, right?" "I—" Just as Wiloby began to retort, a bottle came flying from the crowd, narrowly missing his head. The guards behind him rushed to intervene, trying to pacify the increasingly indignant crowd. Meanwhile, cries erupted from among them. "Traitor! You've betrayed the Wilant people! Betrayed our Marshal!" "I didn’t—" "Then release the people inside! Let there be a public confrontation!" "Yeah! Release them!" The shouts surged like waves, pounding against the guards’ chests. Faced with the wrathful compatriots, the guards’ expressions wavered with uncertainty. They too were Wilant people. Moreover, many of them, just like Konde, were veterans withdrawn from the frontlines. The questions Konde raised during the broadcast were the same they had pondered silently for many years. It wasn’t so much that they lacked the courage to confront the crowd, but rather they were tormented by why they were on the opposing side of their compatriots instead of standing alongside them. Gazing at the advancing crowd, Wiloby was at a loss for words, and fear clenched at his heart. He had no doubt. If this crowd captured him, he would surely be torn to pieces! Just then, the blaring of sirens suddenly sounded not far away, as five troop transports, escorted by an armored vehicle, arrived at the edge of the crowd. They were the second battalion of the city defense forces arriving as reinforcements. No one anticipated that such a small broadcast station could be so well-defended. A battalion, consisting of a hundred soldiers, had been struggling for over ten minutes and still hadn’t managed to breach the building. Under pressure from the General Affairs Department, the officers of the city defense forces dispatched another battalion, even granting permission to use explosives for demolishing the building if necessary. A head poked out from the armored vehicle, holding a megaphone, shouted towards the crowd. "Everyone watching up front, move aside! You're blocking the way!" The centurion in the armored vehicle clearly didn’t grasp the situation. The moment he shouted, the surrounding crowd erupted and refused to budge, pressing even closer to the armored vehicle. Seeing the tossed rubbish and bottles, the centurion quickly shut the vehicle's turret hatch and retreated inside. "Cease fire!" "Release them!" The deafening shouts resonated through the vehicle, the steel plates vibrating subtly. Observing the outraged faces through the observation window, the crew inside the armored vehicle exchanged bewildered looks. "Damn it..." "Have they lost their minds?!" The reinforcement soldiers weren’t the only ones shocked, as were the frontline soldiers stalemating inside. They knew for certain that their opponent was just one person. But that lunatic managed to fend off their assault five times using only two stolen assault rifles! Initially, they had underestimated him, likely holding back, but in the subsequent assaults where they showcased true skills, they still couldn't take the third floor. The battle had reached a deadlock. Watching his disheartened, injured troops, the centurion commanding the operation was fuming. He marched straight towards Wiloby, the commander of the garrison, no longer caring about protocol or rank, and yelled directly at him. "Get your guards to clear those stubborn people! Our reinforcements can't reach the site!" Being yelled at by a centurion ticked Wiloby off, but he was powerless. After all, the centurion belonged to the military. And he was just part of the garrison, linked to local departments, not even part of the local military. Holding back his anger, he yelled in his deep voice. "I know, I've already given the order… But I barely have enough men. Do you even know how many people are crowded outside on the streets?!" Centurion: "Then get more men!" Wiloby retorted angrily. "I'm just a garrison leader, not someone who actually commands ten thousand men! I've already called in all the city's guards, and they're stuck outside, unable to move in! Instead of raging at me, maybe your superiors should think of a solution!" The civilians outside numbered at least twenty to thirty thousand. Initially, they only blocked one street, but now they were blocking even more areas! All of the city's guards had been called to this district, and his greater concern was no longer the broadcast station, but the security of other districts. Who was to say someone wouldn’t take this opportunity to loot, and if any chaos occurs, it would fall on his shoulders. He had enough problems already and wasn’t looking to add unnecessary charges. "Damn it!" Watching his continuously injured subordinates, the centurion swore and pulled his gun, moving towards the crowd. Seeing this, Wiloby was alarmed and instinctively tried to stop him, but it was too late. "No—!" "Everyone, clear out! If you don’t want to die, don’t get in the way! This is a mutiny!" The enraged centurion fired a shot into the sky, and that single gunshot completely riled up the crowd that had been at a standoff with the guards. They were the Wilant people. Fearless by nature, and considering how many bullets are in a pistol's magazine? The veteran soldiers leading the charge knew much better than these rookies, and upon hearing the gunshot, they rushed forward, easily breaking the once-solid line. Facing the anger of the crowd, the guards ultimately surrendered. Since they hadn't fired a single shot, people didn’t make things too hard for them and focused their anger on the shooting centurion. Amidst the surging crowd, Wiloby's face was a canvas of despair. Meanwhile, Governor Ahiro, sheltered within a reconnaissance vehicle, was utterly terrified by the scene, repeatedly urging the driver to steer towards areas with fewer people. Talan, hit by several bullets, crouched on the fourth floor of the broadcast station, gazing at the seething crowd outside with a look of astonishment, muttering "Damn" under his breath. Konde hadn’t rallied his compatriots to unite, yet as he spoke up for them, his fellow citizens chose not to remain passive observers and bravely stood up for him. Talan finally understood why these people had managed to overthrow the War Commission, which had inherited all of the Humanity Alliance's resources. Their genes carried not just instincts for violence, but also honor and dignity. The Wilant people would never abandon their heroes. There was hope for them… "This fight wasn’t in vain… Haha, this life was worth it!" Casting a glance at his wounds, Talan forced a grin, finally understanding the wisdom veteran players often spoke of: "Don’t fixate too much on levels," or else you’d miss out on a lot. Perhaps it was never just boasting. It was an insight earned after countless deaths. They had left countless indelible marks on this world—marks far surpassing any barren numbers. Using his rifle butt as a crutch, Talan stood up, reasoning that the ensuing matters were no longer his concern. It was time to find a place to lay his body to rest. Just then, a familiar shout echoed from below. "… Commander! Are you up there?" "Some guy named Xiaochuan Junichiro said you were in trouble and called us to help you!" "If you’re alive, give us a shout." Hearing the voice, Talan paused, then broke into a joyful smile. "Damn it! I’ve fought through the battle, and you guys finally show up!" … In Blackwater Alley, at the "Last Game" Casino. Normally, once night fell, Evernight Port's largest casino would be bustling with people, yet tonight, a rare sign reading "Closed" hung by the entrance. Gamblers with pockets full of gold coins paced back and forth at the entrance, finally leaving dejected as the doors showed no sign of opening. Meanwhile, in the VIP room atop the casino, a man with a pronounced nose lounged on the sofa, legs crossed. Holding a communicator, his face was clouded with gloom. After a moment, he cursed under his breath and tossed the communicator onto the table. "Damn, what a bunch of useless fools… Can't even handle a small matter!" Watching the man fly into a rage, Tony, standing beside him, barely dared to breathe, let alone utter a word, wearing only a flattering smile while quietly waiting. The man's name was Peter, and his status was significant. Although his official rank was only a commander of a thousand, he was the secretary to the General Affairs Minister of the Boro Province war zone. Even Evernight Port's governor had to show him respect, so an underworld figure like Tony didn't even warrant sitting in his presence. It's worth mentioning that the man before him wasn’t even Tony's real patron. The true boss behind him never showed his face, merely sending messengers to deal with problems outside of business dealings and collect payments. Peter was the highest-status person Tony had encountered, and Tony could only speculate who really backed him, never daring to name names, let alone ask for favors. These people merely eyed his business, hoping to use his establishment for certain activities, offering some conveniences in return. If Tony made too many demands or became cumbersome, they wouldn’t hesitate to replace him with a cleaner substitute. Truth be told, if not for an unexpected issue within the business, Peter wouldn't have personally visited. What he hadn’t expected was that just a few hours after leaving the governor’s office, chaos erupted within the garrison troops. Being kidnapped by one's own subordinates... Might as well just shoot himself! The problems didn’t end there—the broadcast fueled public outrage in Evernight Port, leaving reinforcements stranded on the streets. The troops already on site weren’t the brightest, struggling to take down a broadcast station with a hundred-men unit, leaving the situation to escalate further. Peter took a deep breath, suppressing his seething anger, and turned his attention to Tony, who stood beside him. “How's the snake grass situation being handled?” Seeing Peter address him, Tony quickly put on a flattering smile, eager to please. “Rest assured, sir, everything is taken care of! The warlords in Snake Province have agreed to establish a special route for us, and customs at Evernight Port have been greased! We can now process snake oil directly from snake grass, bypassing the need to purify from those little pills. Although our processing plant did suffer some damage, it hasn’t significantly affected us.” After a brief pause, Tony lowered his voice. “And as per your instructions… we took those Bolo laborers out of Katernod Prison and dealt with them on the outskirts.” The factory didn’t belong to the Logistics Department or the General Affairs Department but some individuals within this profit chain. Despite bypassing the Logistics Department by refining production processes, everyone in the profit chain still got their share. The only change was the raw material. They could now produce the highly addictive "snake oil" more efficiently without having to reclaim prescription drugs issued by the Logistics Department from veterans. Due to changes in supply and demand, it was more profitable for veterans to consume the overabundant "Sharon" pills, paving the way for stronger "snake oil" and tapping into veterans’ pensions. After all, most of the Southern Legion's wealth was concentrated in the hands of the Wilant people; attempting to extract dinars from outsiders was inefficient. Moreover, the Bolo laborers were no longer needed. They knew too much. Having already shown their faces, putting them back in prison for the same reason would be problematic. It was cheaper to pay off the warlord behind them and have him send a new batch of laborers instead of giving them a ticket home. After all, the Bolo Province had an abundance of people; accompanying snake grass deliveries, labor could be sent as well. Hearing everything was settled, Peter relaxed slightly, nodding subtly. “Not bad.” Tony chuckled. “Don’t worry when I handle things!” Peter, satisfied with his loyal operative, smiled slyly and continued. “Is that so? Then I have another task for you.” Tony straightened his posture and replied earnestly. “Sir, rest assured, I’ll handle anything you assign to me with my utmost effort!” Peter smiled faintly and instructed. “There’s a disturbance northwest, near the broadcast station. Some drunks blocked the roads. Take some men over, create a little chaos to disperse them, so our troops can move in.” Tony hesitated momentarily. “That’s all?” “That’s all,” Peter said softly as he sipped his tea. “A few casualties are acceptable, but don’t overdo it. Also, don’t act in front of the garrison or the army. Prepare a few scapegoats yourself if necessary. Do as you see fit.” Wilant people wouldn’t shoot their compatriots, so it’s simpler to use outsiders. Peter held no such constraints. The necessary individuals must be dealt with, regardless if the targets were unarmed civilians. Understanding Peter’s unspoken message, Tony nodded eagerly, smiling. “Understood!” Such tasks were simple for him—place a few shooters to fire from a distance or throw a few Molotov cocktails. Still, this Peter guy was ruthless. The northwestern district housed Wilant people, an area his underlings usually steered clear of—not only would they not dare cause trouble, but they wouldn’t even loiter there. As Tony was about to delegate tasks, a loud explosion sounded from outside the window. The noise startled everyone in the room, freezing expressions on their faces. Simultaneously, manic laughter echoed from a distance, mixed with audacious taunts. “Tony—! Hahaha! Your granddaddy's here for your funeral!” Hearing the voice comparable to a mad hound's, Tony’s expression shifted immediately. He quickly moved to the window. As expected, the lunatics from the Hyena gang faced him from the street. His old nemesis, Mors, wielded the latest model of "Ripper" light machine gun. Seeing the gun muzzle aim his way, Tony retreated hastily from the window and grabbed the radio from his belt, shouting at the casino's bouncers. “Damn it, stop that lunatic! Don’t let him get close!!” Simultaneously, a spray of bullets shattered the windows, leaving a line of bullet holes across the ceiling. In the room's corner, Peter watched Tony crouched low, a mix of shock and fury crossing his face. “What the hell's happening outside?” “It’s Mors,” Tony replied, his lips pale and teeth clenched, “the Hyena gang… that bunch of idiots struck a deal with the garrison like they’ve gone mad. Oh, right, it was these guys who blew up our factory in the outskirts!” Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. The garrison? How could those wimps dare— Just as he thought that, a monstrous laugh echoed from outside the window. “...Didn’t expect this, did you? I’m now an Enlightenment Society disciple, I have a backer too! Hahaha!” “You bastard, dare you come out and fight me fair and square!” … Enlightenment Society? What kind of nonsense is that?! Peter’s brain short-circuited momentarily, struggling to process. Yet remembering he was a commander of a thousand, a minor gang wouldn’t daunt him. After hurling Tony out of the room, he locked the door securely, then calmly retrieved the communicator from the table, pressing several buttons. Placing the communicator to his ear, he issued a concise order. "…I have a bit of a situation here, send a sweep squad over." To be continued.