"These savages, these ugly monsters who refuse to obey—how could they do this?"
Inside the command room, General James roared once more.
The envoy sent by The Masters had been reduced to a pile of body parts. Naturally, The Masters were furious, demanding to know why he hadn't taught the savages a lesson and had instead tried to negotiate with them.
What? You say it was The Masters who ordered someone to negotiate with them?
It was obviously you, General James, who repeatedly pleaded that military action was inadvisable, and insisted that all they had to do was send an envoy to demand their surrender. A brute like Banner would surely submit at the first sign of trouble.
The Masters had believed your nonsense. They didn't want their fine young men getting hurt, so they agreed to your ridiculous request.
Now that everything had turned out like this, how were they supposed to clean up the mess?
As for how General James would handle it, naturally, he would—
"Ross, I believed your nonsense, and look how this turned out. Tell me, how are we supposed to clean up this mess?"
Ross's heart skipped a beat. Hadn't those words just come through the phone? Weren't they what the president had said to you?
So why were you asking him now?
"Your Excellency General, what did I do wrong?"
Ross's voice carried a hint of disbelief and grievance. He stood up straight and looked at General James with a firm gaze, trying to hold on to his principles and dignity in front of the furious commander.
"What did you do wrong? You've got the nerve to ask me? You sent your own daughter to try to persuade those savages just so you could get promoted. When that failed, you tried to use the congressional envoy to get her back.
Now the envoy has been killed. What do you think we should do? Tell me, what exactly did you do wrong?"
At that, Ross understood. He understood everything.
This bastard was trying to dump the blame on him and make him take responsibility!
In America, whether a mess was your fault or not, if someone tried to make you take the fall, you'd better find a way to pass it on.
Otherwise, you'd shoulder all the blame while someone else reaped the rewards.
The Masters had dumped the blame squarely on General James's shoulders. To avoid losing his position, the general—an expert at passing the buck—had quickly shifted it onto Ross.
The only senior officers present were the two of them. Who else could Ross pass the blame to?
Even if he'd just been relieved of his post, that excuse wouldn't hold up. He couldn't shift the blame back.
What? You say they could check the recording?
Ahem. What if they really did find something?
So Ross had no choice but to take the fall. After all, the Red Hulk had beaten him into that state earlier, and now even this hawk could barely speak with any conviction.
Ross drew a deep breath. A look of resolve and resentment flashed in his eyes.
He knew that arguing now would only drag him deeper into the mire. General James's intentions couldn't have been clearer: sacrifice Ross to save himself.
On this battlefield of power and self-interest, the weak were often nothing more than sacrifices.
"Your Excellency General, I admit that I misjudged the situation, but I never acted out of selfish motives. Sending my daughter on this mission was a desperate choice I made as her father. I hoped to secure peace at the smallest possible cost.
"As for the envoy's death, I'm deeply grieved, and I'm willing to accept the responsibility I deserve."
Ross's voice was low but firm. Each word seemed forced through clenched teeth, revealing his inner struggle and defiance.
"Good. As long as you know you were wrong. Get ready. This time, we're going to teach those savages a proper lesson!"
Get ready for what? Hadn't he been relieved of his post? Could it be...?
At the thought, a fresh surge of excitement welled up in Ross's heart.
If he could wipe out Banner's gang in one fell swoop—or even capture them—then not only would he be free of the blame on his shoulders, he might even get promoted someday, wouldn't he?
Ross didn't notice the faint sneer on General James's face as he looked at him, giddy with excitement.
"Pass the order down. All combat units are to enter level-one alert immediately. Assemble as quickly as possible. Let's teach those savages a lesson!"
After issuing the order, General James turned to Ross.
"Ross, you know Banner best. You've got experience. You'll command this operation."
Sure enough, this was compensation for making him take the fall.
"Boss, the military's all assembled. Are we charging out to fight them now?"
Watching the military gather across from them, ready for battle, Bronksky licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Heavy tanks roared in one after another, assault vehicles raced across the wilderness, and the din of armed helicopters filled the air. Deafening roars followed, the entire battlefield seemingly shaken by this show of force. Dust filled the air, thick with tension and unease.
And yet, faced with this seemingly overwhelming military might, Banner and his warriors showed no hint of fear.
"Of course. The Blood God has waited long enough. It's time we believers offered our enemies' blood in worship."
"Brothers, it's time to show them our strength!" Banner shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle and reaching every warrior's ears.
His voice was full of strength and conviction, as if it could rouse the fighting spirit deep within each of them.
At Banner's command, the warriors of the Chaos Gang surged toward the enemy position like a tide.
They carried all kinds of weapons. Some swung sharp axes, others wielded massive swords, and still others were armed with modern guns and cannons.
They charged the enemy without hesitation, determined to offer their blood in worship to the Blood God.
Banner led the way, rushing forward with the warhammer in his hands.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
Flames roared from the muzzles, and gunfire thundered without pause.
Deadly bullets struck Banner and his men. The firepower could have torn ordinary people apart, but all it did was leave dents in their bodies and spray droplets of blood.
Even then, the bullets only hurt the soldiers who had recently joined them. They had even less effect on Banner—not so much as a mark appeared on him. It was like raindrops hitting his skin.
"M-monsters!"
The machine-gun crew members stared in shock. They'd never seen anything like this.
It was one thing for Banner to be immune to bullets. But why were the former soldiers who followed him barely affected by them too?
There had long been rumors in the military that the gods had granted Banner and his followers their powers.
Looking at them now, could those rumors actually be true?
But true or not, Banner's hammer was about to smash into his head!
Before you continue