Chapter 36: A Prisoner? Clearly, a Head Delivered Right to Our Door!

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“Damn it, those two cursed tin cans again! Filthy thieves!”

The two machine-gun nests had formed a deadly crossfire and were slaughtering players without restraint. Then a burst of machine-gun fire suddenly swept across one of them, killing every Black Hawk soldier inside.

The officer hiding on the other side immediately scrambled away, cursing furiously.

It was all the fault of those idiots. How had they managed to let the enemy steal the Empire’s vital armored vehicles—and even operate them so expertly?

If it were not for those two tin cans, they would never have been beaten so badly by a bunch of enemies who had come charging straight up from behind!

Thinking of the two armored vehicles, and the enemy’s utterly unscientific driving skills, he could not help suspecting that there were traitors within the Empire.

Without a traitor coordinating with this Cambrian force from the inside and even sending specially trained drivers, how could those gray beasts possibly know how to operate such advanced machines?

But he had no time to think any further. A bullet came out of nowhere and tore straight through his head, killing him on the spot.

Lying among the corpses in the distance, a player who had chosen the Scout class blew lightly across the barrel of his Kar98k, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

The NPC officers were dressed so conspicuously, one more eye-catching than the next. The golden brass decorations atop their heads made them stand out like cranes among chickens.

Did they really think his marksmanship was for show?

With the two machine-gun nests providing the crossfire eliminated one after another, the firepower blocking the advance of Andre’s troops had effectively ceased to exist.

The ramshackle truck that had finally chugged its way uphill—much to Andre’s disgust—rolled over the ridge. The Cambrian soldiers following behind it charged forward as well, launching a surprise attack on the enemy below.

Caught completely off guard, the Black Hawk soldiers beneath the ridge were scarcely prepared. Those who had just begun charging toward the bridge were especially horrified to discover that they had been trapped.

If they continued forward, they would have to fight a brutal street battle against the Cambrian soldiers hiding inside the town. But if they tried to retreat, the two armored vehicles roaring toward them would turn them into sieves without mercy.

Faced with this situation, the Black Hawk soldiers were filled with despair.

Damn it! What was their commander thinking?

Splitting up the forces was one thing, but how had he managed to send the only anti-armor company in the entire regiment to some other unit?

Many Black Hawk soldiers tried to resist, only to discover that their resistance was completely futile.

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The two armored vehicles could mow them down from a great distance, while the Black Hawk soldiers could not damage them at all unless they got close enough to use bundled grenades.

At that moment, the Black Hawk soldiers truly began to hate the Empire’s superb craftsmanship.

If the armored vehicles they had built were like those of some peninsula kingdom—vehicles that supposedly sent rivets flying whenever they were hit by machine-gun fire—would they not have avoided this predicament?

Thinking of that, every Black Hawk soldier gave the friendly troops and sentries behind them a resounding thumbs-down.

How had such an important imperial asset ended up in enemy hands?

“Surrender! Don’t shoot! We surrender!”

Some Black Hawk soldiers could not bear to surrender to the Cambrian troops, unwilling to abandon the glory of the imperial army, and naturally continued fighting back.

But with the situation already hopeless, many Black Hawk soldiers were willing to surrender.

According to their traditional culture, surrendering to the enemy when defeat was inevitable was nothing shameful. At worst, they would spend some time in a prisoner-of-war camp until their homeland paid the ransom.

What they did not know was that the Cambrian force attacking them was not the sort of Cambrian army that respected tradition.

“Hey, commander! They’ve surrendered. What do we do?”

Inside the Fearless Mech, the pilot, Cold Crow, watched the Black Hawk soldiers raising their hands in surrender and looked up to ask his teammate.

Before he could finish speaking, King Jiji slapped him across the helmet without mercy.

“You moron! What kind of stupid question is that? Can’t you see our teammates are going crazy competing for kills?”

“Why bother with prisoners when there are merit points right in front of us? They’re surrendering—just pretend you didn’t see them!”

Seeing the players next to them already racking up kills at a frantic pace, King Jiji grew anxious and hurriedly urged Cold Crow on.

“Pilot, what are you waiting for? Get moving! Execute them! Execute every last one!”

Cold Crow rolled his eyes. He drove the mech rapidly forward, then turned around and pointed at his own head without the slightest hesitation.

“Come on, shoot right here! If I bite the dust, who do you think is going to pilot this thing for you?”

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The Black Hawk soldiers who had laid down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, believing that everything would be fine from then on, were cut down one after another by a fierce barrage of machine-gun fire. Clouds of blood burst from their bodies.

Before they fell, expressions of disbelief still lingered on their faces.

They could not believe that these Cambrians would disregard the laws of war.

They had already surrendered. Why were these people killing them?

After driving the vehicle to one side, Andre jumped out and raised a pair of binoculars, watching the massacre in the distance with an expression of icy indifference.

He knew that if he issued an order to preserve the prisoners and offered a sufficient reward, he could make the players stop.

But he did not do so.

The Black Hawk soldiers’ inhuman slaughter earlier was still vivid in his mind.

Since those beasts themselves refused to follow the rules that ought to govern war, why should he care about their feelings? And why should he waste precious Influence on them?

As players of the Fourth Calamity, they could only be driven by missions. Every mission he issued consumed Influence.

Rather than waste Influence on something so meaningless, Andre would rather let his soldiers kill them all, earning more Influence in the process and venting the rage burning in his heart.

At the same time, however, he had not forgotten the officers hiding near the enemy command post.

The players, consumed by the battle, had failed to notice the enemies concealed there. Andre, however, had seen them clearly.

He quickly called over a dozen soldiers who were not players and led them toward the hiding place. They dragged out several Black Hawk officers who were lying on the ground and still struggling desperately, as though they were pulling wild boars from the grass.

“You miserable bastards! You lowlifes and scum! You dare impersonate our army, and you even slaughter soldiers who have surrendered! You don’t even have the courage to face us in battle—do you really deserve to call yourselves soldiers?”

One of the Black Hawk officers kept hurling abuse without pause. Even with two men pinning him down, he continued to curse furiously.

Andre frowned. He snatched a rifle from the ground and smashed the butt hard into the officer’s face.

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