Sickly green gas began spreading across the battlefield.
Werther's forces had stopped firing. At this point, it would only waste ammunition.
When Dragon discovered that strong winds had no effect on the KORO Gas Bomb, he immediately retreated toward the rear of the battlefield.
Dragon was powerful, but he was still human. Breathing in too much gas could knock him unconscious.
On a battlefield, unconsciousness meant death.
Dragon was not alone. The Revolutionary Army Officers were retreating quickly too.
No one could spare a thought for the far more numerous ordinary soldiers. It was not that Dragon was heartless; he could barely save himself.
When Werther saw what the KORO Gas Bomb had done, a bloodthirsty smile appeared on his face.
The Poison Gas Bomb killed slowly. The fallen soldiers looked dead, but most were only unconscious. Someone would have to finish them off by hand.
Just like the Mink Tribe in the original story, many of whom had survived even after prolonged exposure to a Poison Gas Bomb.
"Kill them."
At Werther's command, a mob of Thugs in Gas Masks charged into the cloud with knives in hand.
Low moans and desperate cries for help rose together.
Hearing them, Dragon and the Revolutionary Army Officers felt as though their hearts were being torn apart.
But they did not stop running. If they did, they would share the same fate.
Less than three hours into the battle, the Revolutionary Army faced annihilation.
Roughly fifty thousand Revolutionary Army soldiers had landed on the island. Now, more than forty thousand had fallen. Only those near the edges had escaped the KORO Gas Bomb's reach.
Those fifty thousand were not the Revolutionary Army's entire strength, but they were its fiercest troops.
If the battle had come down to close combat, Werther's forces would