Chapter 31: Silent Slaughter

Chapter 31: Silent Carnage

Night is the demons' domain; relying on lithe bodies and keen sight, they often launch raids when the settlement's humans are caught off guard.

Though such raids rarely yield effective results, and indeed most of the time the raid itself is merely a vent for their bloodlust, they nonetheless cause considerable trouble for the folk here.

Especially the indiscriminate bombardments that come every ten days or so, which wake untold numbers from their sleep.

Even if their greatest feat is merely blowing up a penned buffalo in the sun‑lit cocoon house, it is enough for them to whoop and dance away, offering skulls to their blood god.

After all, they cannot prevail over those who dwell in the settlement, nor can those folk prevail over them.

Their clashes are always like child's play—swift to begin, swift to end—because the demons refuse to spill their warriors' blood in vain, and humans refuse to waste ammunition on such witless beasts.

“Raids” have become a rote ritual, forming a dynamic equilibrium of ecology.

Both sides know it will occur at some moment, and that it will not bring dire consequences, so they tacitly ignore it.

Such is the rule.

—

But today, the chieftain leading this raiding party of a dozen or so demon warriors seemed to catch a whiff of something unusual.

His brain, long atrophied through generations of inbreeding, had no idea what was actually happening; only the instinct honed by endless slaughter warned him that danger lurked nearby.

So what, then, could it be?

The chieftain stood upon a high hill, gazing down at the warriors charging below.

He saw the vague silhouettes coalescing into a mass, shrieking as they rushed toward the rough stone wall outside Han Shui City.

The guards on the wall fired a few shots, none finding their mark on his warriors.

Enraged, the warriors pressed forward, soon reaching the base of the wall.

A warrior leapt up, hoping to impale the guard with his rusted iron spear, but the guard had already stepped back two paces, braced, and instead thrust a long wooden pole, spearing the half‑climbed attacker.

The wall rang with gleeful laughter; the chieftain bellowed in fury, his voice tearing through the night.

Yet he could do nothing.

Perhaps today the blood god had forsaken him, so that even his “carefully” plotted raid yielded not a single drop of blood.

The thwarted demon fighters tried to flank the wall, but they quickly realized that running such a distance would leave them too exhausted to fight.

Better to turn tail and retreat.

The blood of those who live together is no thicker than that of loners, and even less than that of the water‑soaked ghosts.

Let's go!

Withdraw!

The blood god will surely not punish him for this minor mishap; he need only offer a few extra heads at the next sacrifice.

The chieftain's hands trembled slightly; he did not know this was the aftereffect of long‑term cannibalism, only that it felt like a blessing from the blood god for a sinner such as himself.

Just as he was unaware, a razor‑sharp blade lay less than a hundred meters away, already slicing through the darkness toward him.

A drone hovered in the air; Chen Jian watched silently as the distant demon chieftain came into view, his hand gripping a QSW06 with only four rounds.

Beside him, Lei Ji held a QCQ171 at the ready, while Shen Yue and He Shuo each took high ground to cover the two about to strike.

Through the drone's feed, Chen Jian clearly saw the heat signatures of those retreating.

He was astonished at the demons' haphazard so‑called raid, yet in a dazed way it seemed reasonable.

Indeed, as Xu Lie said, the conflict between the Blood Skulls and the surviving humans has lasted over a century.

In that time, both sides have long since gauged each other's strength.

The Blood Skulls cannot exterminate humanity, and humanity lacks the energy to eradicate them completely.

Under this balance, such “limited” clashes have become the norm—surely that is only natural?

The only thing that puzzled him was that the demons possessed mortars, while the survivors simply ignored them.

Did they not want mortars?

Or perhaps they simply could not use them?

It must be the latter.

After all, every “local” weapon he saw was a direct‑fire arm; arcing trajectories and indirect aiming are still too complex for a people whose technology has lapsed. So it falls to him to pick up the slack.

Chen Jian made a few gestures in the air; his smart visor swiftly computed, and in an instant the orders were dispatched to every member of the squad.

“Lei Ji will flank from the left, opening fire first to draw the enemy's attention.”

“I will attack head‑on, taking out the high‑value target.”

“Shen Yue and He Shuo will stand guard, holding fire unless the situation becomes extreme.”

“Enter quietly, withdraw quietly.”

“Understood.”

“Understood.”

The acknowledgments came instantly, and Chen Jian sprang into motion.

He low‑crawled forward with the QSW06, using the rough terrain for cover, until he reached a rock less than thirty meters from the chieftain.

Now only six foes lay before him.

Two were tending to a mortar of indiscernible model on the ground, two kept watch in place, and a third, a hulking demon, was escorting the chieftain in retreat.

This was the perfect moment.

Without hesitation, Chen Jian rose from behind the rock.

A bright red dot locked onto the chieftain's head, and at the same instant a soft sound came from nearby.

“Tick—”

That crack, like a snapping twig, failed to draw the demon chieftain's notice; he kept marching forward, only to suddenly realize that the warriors at his side had vanished.

He looked back to see the warrior who had followed him for years lying on the ground, as if asleep.

“Get up! Get up, you fool!”

His throat issued a hoarse shout, but the next second—

“Tick!”

Another soft report: a 5.8 mm whisper‑round slipped beneath his welded helm, entering at his chin and exiting through his spine.

Blood spurted; the chieftain fell backward.

Chen Jian holstered his pistol, unwilling to waste even a single bullet.

He merely drew his dagger and strode straight toward the target, while the four remaining demons before him dropped one after another.

As he reached the enemy's “bombardment position,” the last demon who lunged at him was tripped by a soft report and fell at his feet.

Chen Jian, gripping the dagger in his right hand, thrust it beneath the foe's spine and, using leverage, gave a gentle twist; the still‑struggling, not‑yet‑dead body went limp in an instant.

Then came the second, the third, the fourth.

Raj, arriving on the scene, dispatched the chieftain and his retinue with the same swift blow, then hurried forward, each hoisting a mortar onto his shoulder beside Chen Jian.

"There are two shells left—how wonderful!"

Raj chuckled.

"It's a bit scarce, but better than nothing."

"A 201mm mortar—having it in their hands is a real waste."

"No wonder it still fires; this gun is pure titanium alloy."

"Come on, let's go home!"

(End of chapter)