Tension

Assassin led the scouting team silently back to the main force's hiding place. The Player who could draw immediately spread out a sketch made with charcoal on the back of a piece of cardboard and told Ruan Wenbo everything they had learned.

When the intelligence from all the scouting teams was compiled, an absurd yet unanimous conclusion appeared before the commander: the massive Chemical Refinery's outer defenses were unbelievably lax. It was practically undefended.

Ruan Wenbo frowned deeply. He too felt there had to be something suspicious about this. Behind such abnormal behavior often lurked the deadliest traps.

But this was no time for doubt or hesitation.

In the distance, the main battle had already begun. The muffled booms of gunfire and artillery rolled over like dull thunder, each tremor urging them onward, reminding them that they had little time left.

He took a deep breath, his voice quiet but exceptionally firm. "Whatever they're up to, the arrow is on the string. We have no choice but to fire. Everyone, get ready. Move out immediately!"

The situation and orders were swiftly relayed to every Player. The previously noisy crowd fell silent at once, and an invisible pressure settled over every heart. After all, to most of them, this strange laxness really did feel like an empty-fort strategy.

But retreat was certainly not an option either. Their war plan was to attack this Chemical Refinery. They couldn't exactly turn around and head home just because "the enemy didn't post sentries," could they? Death Seekers Company still had to follow its original plan without alteration—otherwise, if the Cultists threw a pile of gold on the ground, were they supposed to stop and pick it up first? The mission objective always came first.

Under this oppressive atmosphere, the Players began closing in on the Chemical Refinery.

The tension was not without its benefits. At least, since Ruan Wenbo had started playing this game, he had never seen these fearless Players so quiet. More than a hundred people moved like ghosts blending into the night, their footsteps light and coordinated. They easily reached the vicinity of the Chemical Refinery without being discovered.

The team stopped outside the rusted main gate. Everyone saw the Cultist sentry leaning against it, his head bobbing as he clearly dozed off, exactly as the first scouting team had described.

Ruan Wenbo said nothing. He merely turned to look at Assassin beside him and gave him a glance.

Assassin understood immediately.

Assassin simply drew a gleaming combat knife from his thigh. He lowered his body close to the ground, making not a sound as he moved like a hunting black panther, slipping soundlessly out of the shadows.

The instant the dozing Cultist's body tipped forward, Assassin had already closed in behind him. One hand shot out to cover the man's mouth, while the dagger in the other plunged viciously into the side of his neck at a tricky, precise angle and twisted hard.

The Cultist did not even manage a muffled groan. His body spasmed once, then went completely limp. Assassin supported him and gently dragged him deeper into the shadows. The entire process was clean and efficient, without alerting anyone.

After dealing with the sentry at the gate, Assassin gave the rear a hand signal for "safe."

Ruan Wenbo immediately gave the order, and the team began advancing with extreme caution.

The procedure was simple and effective: one or two agile Players, vanguards like Assassin, moved at the front to scout and carry out assassinations; the main force followed dozens of meters behind, ready to react immediately if an alarm was raised ahead.

Yet the anticipated alarm never came.

To their surprise, it was not just the entrance—the factory's internal defenses were outrageously lax as well. In the enormous workshops, crisscrossing pipelines, and dark corridors, only one or two Cultists stood watch at certain critical intersections or passageways. Even these sentries were almost completely unalert. Some leaned against walls in a daze, while others simply sat on the floor, muttering to themselves and paying no attention to their surroundings.

Thus, as though walking through an uninhabited land, Death Seekers Company smoothly infiltrated the depths of the Chemical Refinery, one step at a time.

At last, one Player in the silent formation could no longer hold back. In a voice so low that he could barely hear it himself, he muttered, "So after all that, these Cultists are just plain stupid?"

The other Players did not respond. They continued maintaining radio silence and operational discipline, but from the looks they exchanged, it was clear that every one of them wholeheartedly agreed.

Before long, Death Seekers Company reached the central area of the Chemical Refinery. It appeared to be a massive reaction workshop, separated from them only by a heavy double iron door.

Dim red light leaked through the crack beneath the doors. Waves of fervent, uniform chanting came from within, pounding against everyone's eardrums like crashing surf.

Assassin pressed himself against the door and listened for a moment. Then, somewhat puzzled, he said to Ruan Wenbo, "They all seem to be gathered in there... What are they doing? Sounds like some kind of ritual."

"I don't know what they're doing," Ruan Wenbo said coldly, watching the shadowy crowd through the crack in the door, "but I do know this is the perfect time to interrupt them."

He immediately summoned the commander of Seventh Company and had the three Players assigned Grenade Launchers step forward.

"Prepare," Ruan Wenbo ordered in a low voice.

The three grenadiers immediately stepped up, dropped to one knee, and braced their Grenade Launchers steadily against their shoulders, the black muzzles aimed at the iron doors.

At Ruan Wenbo's nod, the three ready men sprang up and slammed their shoulders and combat boots into the iron doors!

"Bang!"

The iron doors flew open under the tremendous impact. One Player tore his throat raw, shouting with all his strength, "Heretics, your Astra Militarum granddaddy is here!"

Before his words had even faded, three grenades flew out with shrieking whistles, tracing three perfect arcs before landing precisely amid the densest cluster of people at the center of the workshop.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The violent explosions erupted almost simultaneously. The Cultists, who had been gathered together and immersed in their fervent ritual, were instantly thrown into devastating chaos by the sudden attack.

"Charge!"

The rest of the Players surged into the workshop like floodwaters bursting through a dam. When they saw the scene before them—the Cultists packed together like sardines in a can—every pair of eyes lit up. Without hesitation, they pulled grenades from their waists, yanked out the pins, and hurled them with all their might.

This was a perfect opportunity to earn merit!

Never expecting humanity to dare counterattack, the Cultists were completely stunned by the unending explosions. From their perspective, many had not even heard the deafening shout at the door and had no idea enemies had arrived—they only knew explosions were constantly erupting around them, flames and shockwaves consuming everything as their companions' bodies were torn to pieces, blood and flesh spraying everywhere.

The instinct to survive overwhelmed fanatical faith. Realizing that this was an extremely dangerous area, the Cultists immediately descended into chaos, trying to reach somewhere safe. Some fled in panic, charging blindly toward every exit in the workshop; others, more "devout" or simply more foolish, instinctively crowded toward the wizard standing atop the raised platform, who seemed to be presiding over the ritual, as though that were the only shelter from the storm.