Chapter 693: Thank the Ancestors for Their Gift?

Chapter 693: Gratitude for the Ancestors' Gift?

Beneath the rolling waves, a horde of blue-skinned mutants with fish scales swept past with the ocean current, looking from afar like a blue mudslide surging under the sea's surface.

They intimidated any approaching alien with their shrill howls, cleared a path with their harpoons, and traveled westward along the coastline, then turned southward.

Guided by the will of their ancestors, they had drifted for an entire week, pausing only a few times, catching sea fish, shellfish, or seaweed to stave off hunger when needed, leaving a trail of murky devastation like a plague of locusts.

Yet even with their bellies gnawing with hunger, their morale did not wane in the slightest; rather, the battle lust burning in their pupils grew ever more intense.

The temporary hunger was merely to make room for the feast about to begin; soon they would gorge themselves under the ancestors' blessing and revel in the prey's wails and lamentations.

As they neared their destination, the leading mutant suddenly arched its body upward, reversing its stroke against the current to halt its forward momentum.

"Kraa—!"

The blue-skinned mutants behind it scattered, a thousand of them standing on the jagged seabed like a ghostly forest of kelp.

"Ship!"

It let out a piercing shriek, craning its neck to stare ahead, then glanced indecisively toward the coastline on the right.

The human village foretold by the priest lay to their northwest, yet a few kilometers due west, two cargo ships were sailing straight toward them.

It puffed out its chest, took a deep breath of the icy seawater, and a stream of fine bubbles rolled from its gills.

As if catching a scent, its eyes gradually gleamed with bloodlust.

"Humans!"

"Livestock!"

"So many!!!"

Soon it was not alone; a thousand murky pupils reflected that same bloodlust and craving for slaughter.

As if feeling the boiling desire for carnage in its blood, it opened its throat and let out a shrill, piercing scream.

"Sink them!"

That hoarse screech was like a trumpet sounding the charge, answered by cheers and screams like the crushing of seashells.

"Kraa-kraa—!"

A thousand blue-skinned mutants, like unbridled seahorses, surged forward with even greater speed.

The mutant carrying a torpedo broke away first, thrust the barrel-thick explosive deep into the seabed, then pulled the fuse.

A stream of fine bubbles rose upward; the blue-skinned mutant covered its ears, kicked its legs, and scurried away from the primed torpedo.

With a dull "thump," a long, thick column of white bubbles shot diagonally toward the surface, driving the massive torpedo straight into the foremost cargo ship.

This civilian freighter had no professional underwater sonar; the crew had no inkling of the underwater attack and took the hit completely unaware.

The blast wave jolted the entire ship to a halt; as the milky bubbles dissipated, a dented breach appeared on one side of the bow, and a few unlucky humans tumbled into the water.

Watching the ship slowly capsize, the blue-skinned mutants shrieked in excitement, banging their weapons against turtle-shell shields or nearby rocks, like savages clanking knives and forks before a feast.

And just as they anticipated, as the ship listed, more and more crew members plunged into the sea like dumplings being dropped into a pot.

The sheer number caught all the mutants present completely off guard.

Usually, when they sank a ship, they got at most twenty or thirty prey.

But now, from a single cargo ship, over a hundred prey had fallen, and the count kept rising.

The mutants felt as if they had glimpsed paradise; a green light flickered in their murky eyes.

Praise the ancestors!!

Without pausing to thank the ancestors' gift, the leading blue-skinned mutant spat out a bubble, let out an excited howl, and charged forward with its harpoon.

"Kill!!"

Under its lead, the mutants lurking on the seabed kicked off with all their might, brandishing their weapons as they charged at the drenched soldiers floundering in the water.

Like wolves descending upon a flock of sheep!

"Kill!!!"

The imperial soldiers, still choking on seawater and dazed, had their chests pierced by harpoons and crossbow bolts before they could grasp what was happening.

The sea turned red with blood, a horrifying and gruesome sight.

Screams and wails rose and fell with the waves, like a scene from hell.

In just a few breaths, nearly a hundred had perished! The survivors, not knowing what had happened, could only dog-paddle desperately toward the shore.

Clearly, for these imperial soldiers venturing beyond the province of Boro for the first time, these blue-skinned monsters were a bit too "ahead of the patch."

And the same went for the feasting mutants.

These self-seasoned humans had a unique flavor, completely different from what they had eaten before.

But it didn't matter.

For those who had been starving for a week, there was no difference; they only wanted to revel in this banquet of death and slaughter!

The Xilan Empire soldiers who had not yet jumped ship could clearly see what was swimming in the water, and terror was etched on every face.

Those blue skins looked just like the coats of shelter residents.

They were neither human nor fish, brandishing harpoons, clubs, and even nets, emitting sharp, shrill cries and laughter as they swiftly reaped one life after another from the water.

In just a few breaths, corpses floated everywhere on the sea, and every wave that slapped the hull was stained with shocking crimson.

Even more horrifying, the monsters seemed unsatisfied with simply executing their foes.

They would pull the drowning soldiers up from the water, then shove them back under before they could breathe, tormenting their prey until they were exhausted, gasping, and no longer struggling, only then slitting their throats and feasting on their flesh and blood.

Hearing the soldiers' cries in the water, those still crowded on the ship's rail, who had not yet jumped, turned pale, their eyes filled with fear and helpless despair.

Some shouted at the drowning men, trying to pull them back onto the sinking ship; others raised rifles to fire at the churning waves or tossed grenades into the water.

But unfortunately, all their efforts were in vain, utterly futile...

Just as Mogavi was frantic as an ant on a hot pan, he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye: that chiliarch named Dirang and a few of his personal guards were dragging a rubber raft as they sprinted out of the cabin.

Taking advantage of the mutants still feasting in the sea and ignoring them, they tossed the raft into the water without a word and paddled with all their might toward the shore.

Seeing a glimmer of hope, Mogavi dashed into the cabin and indeed found several spare rubber boats and wooden dinghies lying in the corner.

Knowing his own strength was insufficient, he didn't drag them out immediately; instead, he had a brainwave, ran back to the deck, and shouted to those who couldn't swim and hadn't yet jumped.

"There are lifeboats in the cabin!"

"Drag them out quickly!"

Hearing his call, the crowd rushed to snatch those lifelines, and he managed to slip onto one, escaping just before the cargo ship fully sank.

The sea was in chaos, with cries of death and sounds of desperate struggle coming from all sides.

Watching the small boats—even bathtubs—pass overhead, the drowning soldiers reached out in despair, trying to grab hold of something.

But most of the few dozen "little boats" were already packed to the brim, unable to accommodate the nearly thousand people in the water.

Some soft-hearted ones, seeing familiar faces, couldn't bear to kill their own countrymen and silently allowed them to cling to the gunwales, as long as they didn't board.

But the ruthless ones, caring nothing for brotherhood, seeing their speed to the shore hampered, used rifle butts, bayonets, even boot soles to fend off the clingers, just to shake off the burden and reach land faster, to save their own skins.

Witnessing this scene of hell on earth, Morgave watched in terror, curling up in the dinghy, terrified that these men would throw him overboard to trade for his drowning compatriots.

Yet to his astonishment, those ferocious brutes did no such thing.

Perhaps because in recent days he had stood beside important figures, these low-ranking wolf-men, in their "love for the house and its crow," instinctively treated him, a bound outsider, as some kind of dignitary.

In any case, thanks to their disregard, he escaped that water filled with blood and death, and ran aground with the dinghy on the shore.

Using all his strength to crawl out of the boat, he stumbled and rolled forward for a dozen meters, then flipped onto his back on the muddy beach, gasping for fresh air, his mud-smeared face still pale with terror.

Just then, he heard a familiar voice nearby and immediately turned to look.

A man, drenched to the bone, was leaning on a Ripper rifle, his shoulder bearing a shocking wound, limping onto the shore.

It was Singh, a guard under Captain Aqim, and the first to obey the centurion's order to abandon ship and jump into the sea.

He was still alive!

Morgave's face showed a hint of surprise.

Especially when he heard the man's first words upon landing, he nearly dropped his jaw.

"...Damn it, those Blue Rats played me for a fool!" Singh spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the sand, cursing through gritted teeth.

These unscrupulous bastards!

He hadn't expected those Blue Rats to seem honest on the surface but be so cunning and treacherous behind the scenes, seeing through the Empire's plan all along!

But no matter...

Since those Blue Devils' forces were tied up at sea, the defenses on land must be weak, and the land was precisely the Westland Empire's home turf.

As long as he could regroup the troops who had escaped to shore, even if it was just a hundred or two, he could surely fulfill his mission and take that French Fries Port!

Seeing the deranged man approaching him, Morgave quickly closed his eyes to play dead, but within two seconds, he was grabbed by the collar and yanked to his feet.

"Get up! I know you're not dead!"

Morgave opened his eyes in fear, and before he was fully awake, he saw that twisted face like a demon's.

"Sir... sir..."

Singh stared at him with a ferocious expression, forcing words through his teeth.

"Take me to the Alliance camp! Now!"

Morgave's mouth fell open. He glanced at the soldiers lying like dead dogs on the beach, then at the man gripping his collar, about to ask, "Are you out of your damn mind?" but his jaw dislocated from opening too wide, leaving him speechless.

Fortunately, he didn't need to speak.

Less than two seconds after Singh's words, a gunshot rang out from the forest in the distance.

The sound of a Ripper rifle!

At the same instant that shot echoed, a rain of gunfire erupted across the beach and forest, and fierce combat broke out!

Singh immediately let go, dropping Morgave, who had barely sat up, back to the ground. He chambered a round in his rifle and roared at the soldiers struggling to rise from the sand.

"Prepare for battle!"

...

Half an hour earlier.

On the beachhead northwest of French Fries Port, all was pitch-black and silent.

If you didn't look closely, you wouldn't see the helmets hidden behind sandbags and foxholes, or the gun barrels concealed under camouflage netting.

Fifty men had initially held the position, with several rotations, leaving about thirty by nightfall.

Lying beside a fixed "Cyclone" grenade launcher, a player in an exoskeleton couldn't help but yawn and muttered quietly.

"Damn, are those mutants swimming to the South Pole?"

"Why haven't they shown up yet?"

It was already 8 PM in game time, and in reality, it was time to get up for breakfast.

Another player crouching nearby made a helpless face.

"Who knows? We're not even sure if it's mutants coming up. Might just be a few crabs."

Hearing about crab, the one who had been yawning perked up, swallowing saliva.

"That's not bad—a free meal."

"Pfft—"

The player who had been silent nearly burst out laughing, shoulders shaking.

Seeing the newbies' discipline growing lax, the squad leader, who had been watching the beach, finally couldn't take it anymore. He reached out and smacked the back of the head of the one stifling his laughter.

"Keep it down! Laughing like a damn turtle—you want everyone to know we're here?"

What if those bastards heard people here and didn't come ashore from this beach?

Then how would he get his kills!

The player who got smacked on the helmet grinned sheepishly, and the others felt embarrassed, restraining themselves and refocusing on their watch positions.

Just then, a head topped with a haystack poked out of a nearby foxhole.

Hearing someone call his name, the player looked over in confusion.

"Captain, you called me?"

Squad leader: "..."

This time, not just the one with a low laugh threshold, but all the newbies buried their heads and shook with laughter.

And that low-threshold guy simply banged his head on the sandbag and logged off to laugh.

Looking at the clueless idiot poking his head out, the squad leader was about to scold him when a stern voice came through the comms.

"Position 4, what's your situation?"

Hearing the superior's inquiry, the squad leader's expression turned serious. He shot a glare at the haystack retreating back into the foxhole and quickly lowered his voice to report.

"Report, no situation!"

Killing Dagger: "...Roger. Maintain alert. We'll be relieved in a few minutes. Hang in there, brothers."

The squad leader replied awkwardly.

"Roger."

There weren't many veteran players at French Fries Port—mostly players between levels 10 and 20, and some barely past level 10 trying their luck. Occasionally acting a bit slow was normal.

The atmosphere in *Wasteland OL* had always been decent. Most veteran players were tolerant of newbies, since everyone had been through it.

The position fell silent again, a stark contrast to the nearby ebb and flow of the tide.

Yet staring at the calm, peaceful waves, Fang Chang, holding binoculars, couldn't help but frown, his face full of worry.

Two hours into the night.

Did they really have to wait until afternoon?

Or was the so-called attack just his imagination?

“……He probably isn’t coming, is he.”

Just as Fang Chang was muttering to himself, a voice suddenly came through the communication channel—Ao’ao Sesame Paste’s voice.

“……This is the reconnaissance group. We’ve heard gunfire, coming from the sea southwest of our position.”

“Gunfire?”

Hearing that report, Fang Chang’s heart stirred with excitement. Without a second word, he immediately opened the VM map.

But when he saw the green dot flickering on the west side of the camp, he was momentarily taken aback.

Still heading west?

How far off course could they be?

In that brief second of his hesitation, another communication request suddenly popped up on the VM screen—this time from Chen Jianhong, the captain of the Dolphin.

After instructing Sesame Paste to stand by nearby, Fang Chang immediately pressed the answer button, and Captain Chen’s voice soon came through.

“……Our sensors have detected two consecutive explosions in the waters near your area. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but are you in some kind of trouble?”

Fang Chang furrowed his brow slightly.

“Explosions? We didn’t see anything here, though someone heard gunfire. Can you determine the approximate location of the explosions?”

Chen Jianhong: “To our east, which should be… uh, about five kilometers west of you. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

Fang Chang: “Received. Keep silent for now; don’t contact us unless necessary.”

Chen Jianhong: “Understood.”

After ending the communication, Fang Chang switched back to the VM map and quickly saw the coordinates synchronized from the Dolphin.

There was even an estimated explosive yield attached.

Those two blinking question marks were about five kilometers west of Fries Harbor, almost right against the northern shore of the strait, leaving Fang Chang momentarily stunned.

Good grief.

Were these mutants planning to play tactics with him?

But going around to the west wouldn’t do much…

The Burning Legion and the Jungle Legion were stationed on the high ground northwest of the camp, with open, unobstructed views all around. With agility-type and perception-type players scouting and reporting positions, a few machine guns and mortars could pin those beasts down on the beach. Coming straight up from the southern dock would actually have a bit more hope.

Though only a bit.

Just then, Murder Dagger, who had just handed over his defense zone to the rotating allied forces, was walking this way.

Before the guy could speak, Fang Chang immediately looked at him and said,

“Murder Dagger, take some men and check the west side.”

Murder Dagger was taken aback, swallowing all the questions he had about whether those mutants were still coming, and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“West side? Where?”

“About five kilometers west of here, there was an explosion in the water. I’ve already updated the approximate coordinates on your map. Just follow the coastline west.”

As he spoke, Fang Chang tapped the screen with his finger, finishing the task path edit.

Seeing the serious look on Brother Fang Chang’s face, Murder Dagger perked up instantly, his previous boredom swept away.

“Received!”

With that acknowledgment, he wasted no time, hurriedly running toward his just-dismissed squad members, reorganizing the group of just over thirty men.

“Brothers, we’ve got work! Follow your daddy west, and I’ll show you the world!”

Hearing there was work, the men, who had been listless just a second ago, immediately grew excited. Grabbing their gear, they followed behind this level-thirty-plus big shot, chattering and pressing for answers as they walked out of the position.

“Chief! Who’s the enemy?”

“Is it mutants?”

“I heard they’re blue-skinned!”

“Are the drops valuable?”

Seeing these rookies’ inexperienced looks, Murder Dagger chuckled.

Funny enough, he hadn’t seen them either.

But no matter—he would soon.

“Enough with the chatter. Two explosions happened five kilometers due west of our position. Whatever comes, we’ll make those fools regret picking a fight here!”

After trekking along the edge of the jungle for a while, the group finally reached the vicinity of the coordinates, and immediately spotted a bunch of bedraggled figures crawling ashore on the beach.

Seeing those soaking-wet guys in the distance, Murder Dagger didn’t even need to ask; he had already pieced together the gist of what had happened.

They must have been passing through the strait and, by sheer bad luck, ran into the mutants coming to cause trouble.

What rotten luck!

But his conscience won out; Murder Dagger held back his laughter and shouted toward the beach not far away.

“Hey there, folks up ahead! Get off the shore—we’re here to help!”

Clambering ashore in a mess, Di Rang heard the shout from the woods and instantly went on alert. His gaze shot toward the jungle just steps away as he raised his rifle.

“Who’s there!”

Murder Dagger shouted again: “We’re from the Alliance!”

The Alliance!?

Hearing that word, the chiliarch Di Rang’s face changed dramatically. He roared while flicking off the safety on his rifle.

“It’s the Alliance!”

“Prepare for battle!”

The guard beside him reacted even faster, raising his rifle and firing a shot into the pitch-black woods, then shielding his superior as they moved to cover.

Startled by the sharp crack of gunfire, Murder Dagger saw the bullet fly his way and thought the guy had misfired. He quickly yelled,

“Damn it, we’re humans! The ones after you are mutants, not us! Look clearly and turn off your safeties—”

But the group wasn’t listening to a word he said.

Before his voice faded, another gunshot rang out—this time the bullet followed the sound of his voice, hitting the tree trunk right beside him.

As if on command, sporadic gunfire erupted from the beach.

The forty or fifty men who had made it ashore opened fire while quickly spreading out to both sides.

Some dropped prone, digging foxholes; others rolled behind rocks for cover. Ignoring their own disheveled state, they assumed an offensive posture and laid down suppressive fire toward the players in the woods.

The cacophony of gunfire came from Ripper rifles, standard-issue Legion “Blade” assault rifles, and PU-9 submachine guns.

Now Murder Dagger understood—these guys weren’t misfiring; they were deliberately picking a fight.

More and more soldiers who had fallen into the water swam ashore or landed in lifeboats, charging in like they were storming a beachhead. They didn’t care who was nipping at their heels; without even brushing the mud off their pants, they started blasting wildly at the shore.

Murder Dagger, who had initially wanted to lend them a hand, was now furious. He couldn’t be bothered with any misunderstandings anymore.

Every last one of these guys was armed, with ammo pouches on their backs and entrenching tools strapped to their waists. Calling them passing civilians was far too much of a stretch.

One glance and it's obvious he's no good!

Seeing that the number of people coming ashore was growing, now a hundred or two hundred strong, Kill Dagger turned and bellowed to the thirty-odd brothers behind him.

“Damn it!”

“These bastards not only show no gratitude, they even dare to fire at us!”

“Give them a good thrashing!”