Munitions Empire

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Housen actually wanted to say something very much, he wanted to order his troops to retreat, and he wanted to order his soldiers to disperse, or to crawl down, or something like that.

Unfortunately, by the time he thought of these commands, he found that it was already too late to issue any of them.

The speed of the opponent's attack was just too fast, or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say their killing speed was too fast.

The sporadic gunshots that had sounded earlier were not a provocation or a sign of cowardice, but a method the enemy used to knock out scouting parties and avoid exposing their main forces.

That gun fire, more terrifying than the snores of devils by countless folds, was continuous as if never-ending. The steady 'tat tat tat' had completely crashed his brain.

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He saw with his own eyes a soldier have his arm blown off by a bullet, and also witnessed another soldier as a bullet pierced through his head.

He felt blood splatter on his face and could distinctly feel the sticky sensation on the palm of his hand that held the Longsword.

As time went on, the palm holding the Longsword felt dry and sticky. When he looked down, he saw the gap between his hand and the hilt of the sword filled with red.

Before he could lift his head again, he saw at his feet the body of his adjutant, a bullet had hit his neck; his eyes were wide open, staring at the sky as if there was something there worth lingering for.

Staggering forward two steps, Housen avoided the lifeless body of his adjutant. When he lifted his head again, he saw that out of his densely packed group of more than 400 people, there were only a few left standing.

"Ha... ha... ha..." He could hear his own heavy breathing. It was only when he was drawn by it that he suddenly realized the battlefield screams and those terrifying continuous gunshots were no longer audible.

Then, Housen, who no longer knew what to do, watched as soldiers with guns stood up from the opposite weeds.

"I surrender!" he heard one of his soldiers cry out desperately, throwing down his weapons and raising his hands high, then adeptly kneeling on the ground.

After the appearance of the first soldier to surrender, the second did so feeling justified, then the third and fourth followed.

One of the soldiers saw his companion put down his weapon and turned to run, only to be hit in the body by a bullet that came flying from behind before he could make it two steps.

He stumbled a few paces, then collapsed to the ground. The soldier from the Great Tang Group who was holding the rifle worked the bolt, a brass shell ejected from the rifle and fell at his feet.

A new bullet was chambered, the soldier kneeled on one knee, picked up the shell from the ground, and pocketed it.

The whole action was fluid. His comrades beside him held their weapons at the ready in a covering position.

The rest of the soldiers from the Great Tang Group's security force continued to advance, holding their bayonet-fitted rifles with both hands, taking each step with caution.

"Drop your weapons!" They were careful as they approached the surrendering soldiers of the Taren Kingdom, pressing the glaring bayonets against the latter's chests, then having others carefully check these enemies who were now scared out of their wits.

In fact, the security forces of the Great Tang Group had never fought a battle where the forces were so evenly matched. The last battle was a few hundred of them against tens of thousands of private soldiers from the Shireck Consortium.

This time, they had assembled over 270 people in their position, and their pitiable enemies totaled just over 450.

They only had time to fire two shots before the enemy's dense attack formation collapsed. The Maxim heavy machine gun only managed to fire two belts, 200 rounds, before it could no longer find a dense group of targets.

After a few pitiful attempts to escape were easily killed off, the remaining soldiers of the Taren Kingdom were all kneeling on the ground with their hands raised.

But Housen was still standing there. He hadn't dropped his weapon, he hadn't raised his hands, and he hadn't shouted the word "surrender."

He just stood there blankly, foolishly unaware of what he was going through. It seemed like a nightmare, a nightmare even he didn't know how to awaken from.

As the commander of this unit, he really wished he could wake up. From the moment he set foot on this island, he'd felt like he was in a dream.

If only he hadn't shot dead that man who had come to argue with him, claiming to be some sort of captain, if only he had had a proper conversation with the man instead of hurriedly grabbing credit and bullying others.

If only he hadn't led his troops through the jungle to this seemingly magical place, and then didn't rush into an attack like this.

If only...

Then couldn't he wake up from this nightmare without suffering such humiliating misery?

He heard someone talking, it seemed like someone was talking next to him.

"Has he been scared silly?"

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"I don't know, but it looks like he's someone important."

"To survive amidst the hail of bullets, he's really lucky."

"Maybe the G1 machine gun didn't sweep his way... Didn't they say they wanted to catch prisoners alive?"

"How do we get him to snap out of it?"

"I don't know either, try... slapping him?"

Housen didn't know who was talking, but he realized he was probably about to be slapped. So he looked toward the speaker, but as he turned his head, he saw a rapidly approaching palm.

Originally, this slap was meant for his cheek, but because he suddenly moved, the coarse, calloused palm landed squarely on his nose instead.

Housen immediately saw stars before his eyes, and he screamed in agony while clutching his face, "Ah!"

"Bastard!" He struggled to see who the hell had hit his face. He was an officer of the Taren Kingdom, dignified even in captivity...

However, the slap seemed to have insulted the soldier who had delivered it.

So, the slapping soldier glanced at his comrades and saw hints of laughter in their eyes.

The humiliated soldier immediately grabbed the K3 rifle in his other hand and smashed the butt into Housen's brow with both hands on the grip.

"Ah!" This time, Housen screamed like a slaughtered pig, as he was bleeding and the blood was pouring out.

His brow was smashed into a bloody mess, torn and lacerated. Blood streamed down, and as Housen reached to cover the wound, he could feel his own blood flowing through the gaps in his fingers.

"You, a prisoner, dare to scream? Do you think you have the right to curse me?" The soldier didn't care. A prisoner who surrendered peacefully might still get kicked, so one who dared to curse was only asking for trouble, weren't they?

And so, as Housen, already crouching with his hands over his face, had not yet recovered from the pain, the Tang Group soldier kicked him down to the ground.

The high-rise boots, specially designed with soles studded with nails, struck Housen perfectly in the back. Next, the furious soldier started to kick Housen repeatedly, venting his anger.

"Ah!" Housen screamed under the kicks, and finally, after enduring a few more, he grasped the situation at hand.

He began to plead, huddling and curling up like a pangolin, "Stop, stop, I surrender, I surrender!"

But he didn't get the other side to stop; the person kicking him didn't seem to have any intention of stopping, so he continued to beg pitifully, "I'm wrong! Sorry! Please, stop! I beg you!"

In the end, he cried like a child. The soldier who had been kicking him was pulled away by his comrades, while Housen, still clutching his head, continued to sob uncontrollably, his grief and pain making him cry like a child, with his head in his hands amidst the black ash and muck.

A company commander of the Great Tang Group, while taking off his white gloves, walked over to the suffering Housen, looked at the soldier who had enjoyed hitting people, then, looking down on Housen on the ground, spit disdainfully, "Ha... phew... crying like a woman?"

"Hahaha..." A group of soldiers laughed maliciously. Joking like this was fine on Dragon Island, but at the Great Tang military academy, they wouldn't dare to mock women.

The women there were the kind who would pull the pin of a grenade at the slightest disagreement, a bunch of shrews with razor blades hidden under their tongues, needles tucked in their hair, who could pull out Left-Wheel Handguns from the candy in their purses.

There were even some who, to prove they were no different from men, would take a knife to their own faces... Those women were not to be trifled with; they wouldn't dare to jest lightly...

"Take all these people back, interrogate them separately... Especially that one who started killing people, find him! We want them alive, or at least I want to see the body!" the company commander instructed his soldiers, turning his gaze away from Housen.

"Yes!" All the soldiers responded simultaneously, then, with bayonets fixed, they tied up the prisoners, who were holding their heads, one after another with rope.

"Get up quickly! Or I'll beat you again!" The soldier gave Housen another kick and coldly commanded.

And Housen, daring not delay, got up briskly, even ignoring the wound on his brow, and raised both hands high.

The one that had escaped capture, the Sailor from Taren Kingdom, who had been lucky to be washed ashore by the sea and then had rushed here, quickly scurried back into the woods.

He ran desperately in the opposite direction, running with all his might, feeling it was best to leave this horrifying place as quickly as possible and send a message for the people left on the beach to leave.

This island truly devoured men; it was more terrifying than hell itself! He wanted to go home, back to the Taren Kingdom...

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