Death Coast. On the floating dock paved with steel plates, a group of construction workers in coveralls were gradually making their way ashore with shovels and toolboxes.
They were soldiers from the Empire's expeditionary force, previously stationed at Fried Dough Port.
Although The Alliance occasionally took them out for target practice, the players had clearly never intended to throw them onto the front lines from the beginning.
Thank goodness for that.
When they reached the shore, quite a few of them immediately began vomiting violently, their faces pale and their limbs numb.
The obvious reason was seasickness, but half of it was also because of the miserable sight on the beach.
Bloated, mutilated corpses lay scattered across the shore—blue ones, green ones, and human ones. Although the players had already removed the bodies from the trenches, some mutants that had died in the sea were gradually washed back onto the beach by the waves.
There were not only corpses, but also mutant creatures drawn in by the scent.
Some outrageously huge sea crabs had been the first to smell the rot. They pounced on the corpses, gnawing away with rustling noises and eagerly feasting at the buffet.
Swallowing back saliva and stomach acid, the group dragged their stiff legs onto the shore.
Then, just then, a gunshot abruptly rang out from land.
"Bang—!"
The sudden shot startled everyone. Muscle memory from their training made them instinctively drop to the ground, only relaxing when they saw a blue-coated figure in an exoskeleton approaching them.
"Don't panic. It's me."
Carrying a shotgun as he walked over beside the dock, Half-Year Wasted smiled and waved. Then he pointed to somewhere not far from the row of floating docks beneath their feet.
A mutant sea crab over a meter tall lay crookedly in a