A massacre? No, this was a one-sided dismantling.
Perturabo's fighting was an art that perfectly combined the aesthetics of violence with absolute calculation.
He charged into the enemy ranks, every punch and kick striking precisely at the weakest joints in the soldiers' armor. He seized the barrel of a heavy mech with one hand, tore it bodily from its turret, then swung it back around and smashed another mech in half at the waist. Boltgun rounds struck his steel armor, producing only showers of harmless sparks.
Less than five minutes.
The army that had boasted of being an elite force capable of conquering a city-state had become a field of twisted scrap and moaning wounded soldiers. Perturabo had not slaughtered them to the last man, but he had stripped every enemy of the ability to resist.
He walked up to the completely disabled command vehicle, hauled out the officer who had wet himself in terror with one hand, and tossed him at the villagers' feet like garbage.
"Go back and tell Damekos," Perturabo said, his voice like rolling thunder, "his reign over Olympia is over."
After the battle, Perturabo returned to the workshop.
Liu Zhipeng sat at the workbench, slowly sipping tea. He looked at his adopted son, who reeked of gunsmoke, and said nothing.
"Father, I've made up my mind." Perturabo approached the old man, knelt on one knee, and looked levelly into Liu Zhipeng's eyes. "I'm not going to be a hermit anymore."
"I'm going to end Olympia's endless wars. I'm going to overthrow every warlord. I'm going to let everyone on this planet live with dignity beneath the sun, just like the people of Creek Valley Village."
Liu Zhipeng set down his teacup and nodded with a smile. "If you've made up your mind, then go