In the camp.
The gunfire had gradually died down, but the flames still burned.
A Velander soldier lay flat on his back, the bulletproof armor over his chest completely shattered. Blood gushed from his right leg, which had been hit twice, and his face twisted in pain.
As he watched a suit of power armor pass by, a flash of terror crossed his eyes. He swiftly drew his pistol, aimed at it, and pulled the trigger.
Yet only an empty click of the firing pin striking the chamber came from the gun.
"Fuck—"
He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, tossed aside the pistol, and, as if having made up his mind, tremblingly removed a grenade from his bulletproof vest with his right hand and yanked out the pin.
A look of madness surfaced on his pain-twisted face as the Velander soldier let out a hysterical roar at the power armor.
"Long live His Majesty the Marshal—"
Bang!
A short gunshot cut off the Velander soldier's final outburst of madness.
"You're cheering for the wrong person."
Holstering his smoking pistol, Old White extended his steel-clad right hand and picked up the grenade with its pin removed from beside the dangling hand.
Then he clenched his fist hard.
The grenade twisted into a lump under the immense pressure like a soda can, while the detonator, firing pin, delay tube, and other parts all burst out of its casing.
He tossed the ruined grenade beside the corpse and headed toward the rendezvous point without looking back.
Beside the highway not far away, more than a dozen officers squatted on the ground with their hands clasped over their heads, their faces ashen.
Four players wearing exoskeletons stood nearby, watching over them.
Seeing Old White approaching, Ye Shi, with a sniper rifle slung