Is this a mecha servant?

Chapter 4, Is this a Servitor?

"A pity."

Gu Hang, holding his binoculars, spat out these two words.

He regretted that the enemy had reacted so quickly, taking action before the bombardment even began; otherwise, the results of the shelling would have been far greater.

He regretted that his side still lacked sufficient firepower. If he could swap the 60mm mortars for large-caliber howitzers, the infantry would only need to clean up the battlefield, as the main problems would have been solved directly by the artillery.

But given the current conditions, there was no other way.

All in all, after two rounds of shelling, the enemy had lost a third of their combat strength. Although it looked like there might be an opportunity for another two or three rounds, he estimated they wouldn't be as effective.

The remaining enemies would ultimately have to be chewed up by the infantry.

Patel, standing nearby, was watching with great satisfaction.

From the intelligence provided by the survivors, he already knew that most of his tribesmen, aside from those who had died, had been transferred to the Prisoner-Dead's lair and kept under guard, so there was no fear of friendly fire when shelling the temporary camp.

Thus, watching these bandits who endangered his homeland get bombed—with several rounds turning the area into a mess of casualties—he was truly overjoyed.

May the Governor be praised, kill all these bandits! I, Patel, am willing to serve you for a lifetime!

Just as he was thinking this, he saw the Governor put away his binoculars and signal the soldiers standing guard nearby to advance.

He hurried to follow.

Find the target, open fire, neutralize.

Feeling the slight warmth transmitted to his cheek from the HS3 Eagle electromagnetic rifle in his hands, Yan Fangxu felt much more at ease.

The situation on the battlefield was always changing. He had originally thought that by taking the enemy by surprise, the mortar position could deal a devastating blow to these native bandits with multiple rounds of shelling. The remaining people should have been left dazed and confused, allowing him to lead the infantry in to simply clean up the battlefield and finish off the survivors.

But he hadn't expected the enemy to be so sharp.

Even if they were just wasteland raiders, they could not be underestimated.

The enemy had sent out several small squads in advance, forcing him to launch the attack immediately, or else they would have been discovered. The bombardment started a few minutes early, and the infantry he led also had to eliminate those enemy squads while still hundreds of meters away from the camp.

Eliminating these bandit squads was not difficult.

But for the ensuing battle, he felt a bit frustrated.

The damage caused by the mortars was smaller than he had imagined, leaving him to lead the infantry to chew on the hard bone.

Winning was not a problem, but what about the losses?

If he were to fight a group of wasteland bandits and had already seized the initiative, yet still lost a significant number of men, it would be too embarrassing. Furthermore, excessive losses would affect the Governor's plans.

He had full confidence in the thirty marines he had personally brought down from the starship, but the same could not be said for the Servitor soldiers. They were positioned as cannon fodder, their equipment was trash, and more importantly, the combat instincts implanted in the brains of the Servitor soldiers were also geared toward being cannon fodder, emphasizing a fearless disregard for death.

Being cannon fodder was an advantage, but being regular troops was a different story.

He was genuinely afraid that these Servitors would be too reckless and suffer too many casualties.

But once the battle started, he immediately felt a great deal of relief.

While eliminating the raider squads on the perimeter, these Servitor soldiers hadn't shown anything particularly special, as he had led the marines to take care of the main targets anyway. The special operations-oriented mode was something the marines excelled at, not to mention they were equipped with auxiliary aiming, rapid target acquisition, precision firing units... and all sorts of accessories. Whether it was training level or equipment quality, they had an overwhelming advantage over the raiders, so taking them out without injury was normal.

The Servitor soldiers, who hadn't had a chance to show their worth, displayed excellent discipline during the process of attacking the camp.

They didn't rush out blindly like cannon fodder; each squad maintained a skirmish formation, advancing in groups of three. There were assault troops, fire support, and squad machine guns in the rear providing suppression while advancing. Although the mortar position a kilometer away couldn't deal significant damage anymore, it could continuously lob shells to accompany the soldiers' advance and suppress enemy fire.

In the eyes of an elite like him, the tactical movements of these Servitor soldiers were a bit rigid, but they were standard enough and sufficiently effective.

Those raiders who wanted to break out were suppressed inside the camp and couldn't get out.

They could only occasionally fire a few bullets from within, but there was no accuracy, and they didn't even dare to show their heads, let alone aim and fire.

Soon, multiple assault squads had entered the camp. The Servitor soldiers' discipline remained high: alternating advances, covering fire, cutting angles from multiple directions, and watching for blind spots... every necessary technical maneuver was utilized.

Those bandits had thought that at close range they could finally launch some substantial counterattacks, but what they met was still the ruthless slaughter of the Servitor soldiers.

Of course, the Servitor soldiers could hardly be called invincible. In close-quarters combat, casualties were inevitable, but they were far better than what Yan Fangxu had estimated.

Is the training the Governor implemented actually effective?

It wasn't just a facade; there was a genuine, tangible improvement in combat effectiveness.

Three hundred cannon fodder turning into three hundred regular soldiers in such a short time—he truly found it incredible.

But this was a good thing.

With the Servitor battalion at this level, he finally didn't have to worry about suffering heavy losses in the siege.

Those bandits simply couldn't withstand the Servitor soldiers' assault.

This battle was secure.

Yan Fangxu found it incredible, but for Kaga, it was true despair.

His reaction hadn't been slow, but he still couldn't reverse his fate.

His brothers, trapped in the camp, were already down to less than half their original number.

The whistling mortar fire had ceased, likely to avoid friendly fire. He had hoped this would give him a moment to catch his breath or even a chance to launch a counterattack, but that was not to be. Those attacking soldiers with mechanical eyes were the very things that filled him with despair.

He had heard of things called Servitors; some major factions even kept them, though they were little more than slave labor.

They were incapable of independent thought, fit only for following orders to perform low-end, repetitive physical labor. They were not suited to be trained as soldiers, and forcing them into such roles would only result in a pile of cannon fodder. If they had any advantages at all, it was only that they could not leak secrets, were absolutely loyal, and were absolutely obedient.

But were these things before him really Servitor soldiers?

Could there be such absurd Servitors?

In their cold eyes, there was not a hint of dullness, only ruthlessness. They were well-trained, swift in their movements, and methodically slaughtering his men.

Counterattack?

Many of his hardened bandits had indeed tried to fight back, but their scattered resistance was useless. Even when a Servitor soldier was occasionally wounded, it did not affect their composure in the slightest. Even hiding in makeshift shelters built from construction debris and rubble was of no use. Those Servitor soldiers would toss two or three grenades in succession, then enter with their rifles without a moment's hesitation. They feared no casualties—though, in truth, they rarely suffered any—and would simply execute the bandits who dared to resist.

Now, he knew that everything was over.

His temporary camp had been blasted to ruins, filled with debris and craters; his brothers lay dead and wounded everywhere—some blown apart, some shredded by shrapnel, some having their bodies torn open from a distance by the electromagnetic rifles of those well-equipped soldiers, and others executed at close range by the Servitor soldiers...

The Prisoner-Dead were dead.

But Kaga still had one final trick up his sleeve.

His tribe was beyond saving, but perhaps he still had a chance to survive.

He pulled a palm-sized, dirty green glass bottle from his chest, his face etched with hesitation. He had seen what happened to those who drank this stuff, and it was likely no better than death.

But if he didn't drink it, he would die right here and now.

In the end, he gritted his teeth, pulled the stopper, and gulped the concoction down.