Chapter Sixty-One: I Want to Join the Battle

Suddenly, the surroundings plunged into utter darkness, so black that one could not see a hand before one's face. Chen Cao instantly felt himself uneasy in the dark. He tensed his body, gripped the curved blade tightly, and pressed himself against the cold wall. Only after several minutes passed, when he realized that aside from the stench of blood emanating from the corpses, there was nothing out of the ordinary, did he slowly, relying on touch, edge his way along the wall toward the operating table where Zhou Hongye lay.

“Zhou Hongye, are you all right?” Chen Cao noticed that in these few minutes, Zhou Hongye had made not a sound.

“I’m fine. The power here goes out suddenly like this all the time,” Zhou Hongye replied softly.

Chen Cao asked, “How are your injuries now?”

In the darkness, Zhou Hongye’s quiet laughter drifted over. “Still hanging in there. Their methods are nothing more than old tricks—tiger bench, chili water, some new gadgets mixed in. When I trained for intelligence work back at school, I went through worse.”

“You really know how to enjoy yourself. I never even got to play with those,” Chen Cao said as he reached out and gently pressed along Zhou Hongye’s body.

“Brother Chen, what are you doing?” Zhou Hongye was baffled by Chen Cao’s actions.

Chen Cao ignored him and continued to feel Zhou Hongye’s body from head to toe, making Zhou Hongye shudder all over; if he could move, he would have jumped up long ago.

“Hmm, apart from a few broken ribs that have started to heal, your tendons in hands and feet have been severed, but there’s nothing else major,” Chen Cao, like an old physician, kept his hand on Zhou Hongye’s wrist, feeling the pulse. “Looks like they’ve given you glucose. You’re fasting, huh? Not a bad survival tactic.”

Unable to resist, Zhou Hongye whispered, “Did you spend the last year studying traditional medicine? You’re even checking my pulse!”

Chen Cao chuckled, “It never hurts to know a little more.”

After letting go of Zhou Hongye’s arm, Chen Cao breathed a long sigh. “Apart from some kidney deficiency, you’re otherwise normal. Looks like taking you out won’t be a problem. You, in the intelligence department these years, haven’t missed your fun or your work, huh?”

Zhou Hongye shifted slightly, eager to change the subject. “You still want to get me out of here? Do you even know where this place is? From the moment I was caught, I never thought about leaving.”

Just then, with a crackling sound, the light flickered and hummed, then came on.

Chen Cao looked at the faint glow. “Power’s back.”

“I told you, the voltage here is unstable. Power outages happen all the time,” Zhou Hongye said, turning his head with difficulty to look at Chen Cao.

Chen Cao pondered, “Seems they have no intention of watching us. Resources must be scarce.”

Zhou Hongye neither affirmed nor denied, pursing his lips and steering the conversation to the main point. “I really never thought Yu Hongxiu was a traitor.”

“It’s too early to draw conclusions. We’ll only know for sure once we’re out and have investigated,” Chen Cao rejected Zhou Hongye’s judgment, turned, and began inspecting the soldiers’ corpses. To his surprise, aside from their firearms, they had no equipment whatsoever.

Next, Chen Cao checked the magazines on their weapons—completely empty.

“Sebastian obviously sent these men here to die. What could his purpose be?” Chen Cao mused, just as the light went out again.

Darkness enveloped everything once more. Chen Cao continued to grope his way in the blackness. If he hoped to escape, Sebastian would never open the door for them. To get out, they needed to open the iron door themselves, but aside from his curved blade and the empty guns, there were no tools to be found. Relying on the memory of the brief moment when the light was on, Chen Cao made his way to the iron door through which he had entered. He reached out and felt carefully, discovering there wasn’t even the tiniest gap.

“The person who made this door is an expert, not leaving a single seam!” Chen Cao thought to himself. Still, no matter how secure a door, there must be some flaw. Just then, the light came on again. Chen Cao couldn’t help but glance back at Zhou Hongye, for though he had just checked him, and despite his tendons being severed and him seemingly unable to move, in such a situation where the line between friend and foe was blurred, caution was still essential. After all, the lives of Chen Diwen and the others depended on him now; so long as he survived, there was a chance for safety. If he died here in this cramped space, the others would surely perish as well.

Zhou Hongye remained quietly turned, looking at Chen Cao without saying anything, clearly unwilling to interrupt his train of thought. He knew Chen Cao was pondering an escape route. Though he felt some despair himself, his own hopelessness did not mean extinguishing another’s hope—that would be true despair.

Seeing Zhou Hongye’s lack of movement, Chen Cao relaxed. Suddenly, he looked at the lamp and an idea sprang to mind: “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Elsewhere, a flare shot into the sky, illuminating the tranquil desert night, the red glow lighting up General Conrad’s stern face.

Inside the command vehicle, intelligence officers hurried about, the constant beeping of incoming reports filling the air.

After more than an hour of consultation with commanders from the allied forces, the operation codenamed “Slaughter” was formally deployed. In this hour, soldiers from the air force, army, and marine corps all gathered to view the satellite-transmitted footage of the failed operation and the atrocities committed by terrorists. The soldiers’ blood boiled with rage; each was eager for battle.

General Conrad raised his head to watch the battle groups taking off urgently into the sky, and said to the aide respectfully standing by his side, “Connect me to the command of the Second Mountain Division.”

“Yes, sir!” The aide quickly used the satellite phone to reach the Second Mountain Division’s headquarters.

Soon, the voice of Division Commander Harris came through: “Sir, what are your orders?”

Holding the phone, Conrad—who regarded Harris as his favored subordinate—spoke little, merely saying, “My command vehicle is right behind you.”

Harris was silent for a moment, then responded decisively, “Understood, sir.”

After hanging up, Conrad said nothing more. He ran a hand through the white hair on his forehead, gazed at the sky now obscured by departing aircraft, and listened to the thunder of battle weapons, murmuring to himself, “It seems that anger is indeed the best, the most effective weapon.”

At the Forward Mountain Division Command, Harris stared at the electronic map laid out on the sand table, deep in thought.

His sidearm lay on the table; as a seasoned general, he valued honor above all. He would rather die by his own hand than submit to an investigation by the Federal Bureau or undergo experiments more cruel than those on lab rats.

Now, he pondered deeply: “To wipe out the Holy War Organization in one blow within three days is impossible, unless Sebastian has sand in his head and brings all his underground forces to the surface for a direct confrontation with the allies. But is that likely? The best chance is to locate their headquarters and annihilate them—this would be the greatest victory.”

“Why is there still no word from Military Intelligence?”

Meanwhile, a bomber dropped the first aerial bomb, unleashing a deafening roar. Battle had commenced, and as red dots and crosses appeared on the electronic map, it signaled that intelligence agencies from various countries were now collaborating and taking action.

They were rapidly scouting out the enemy’s hidden lairs.

But why was there no news from the Holy War Organization’s main base? Harris frowned at his watch; he knew that destroying a hundred small terrorist dens was nothing compared to smashing the Holy War Organization, eliminating Sebastian and the alliance’s main leader, Alfred.

At that moment, shouts and protests erupted outside.

“Why won’t you let me fight? I’m not wounded—I can still command a battalion!”

“Who’s making all that noise out there?” Harris’s tangled thoughts were further disrupted; he shouted in irritation.

“Reporting, sir! It’s Major Ian!” A guard rushed in, saluting.

“Oh, let him in,” Harris’s expression softened a little. Ian had been his student at the military academy, and like himself, belonged to Conrad's faction. That was mere politics, though—what truly earned Harris’s respect was that under siege, Ian had led his battered troops in a counter-assault, holding out against odds of one to five until reinforcements arrived. This feat, broadcast via satellite TV, gave Harris some pride, especially compared to another battalion that had been routed and wiped out in minutes by the terrorists.

Major Ian entered without his cap, still wearing blood-stained camouflage and with a bandaged arm. He stepped up to Harris, saluted crisply, and said, “I want to know, General, as a combatant, why am I not allowed to fight?”

Facing the young major, Harris kindly patted his shoulder. “Major, you are a hero. Your bravery and unwavering spirit, the very essence of Mainz heroism, have been broadcast to thousands of households at home. Now you should rest and receive the nation’s highest honors.”

Ian shrugged off Harris’s hand, tore off his bandage, straightened up, and stared with piercing blue eyes. “If this honor was bought with the lives of my brothers, I’d rather refuse it. I want to fight now, General—let me fight. Even as a gunner, I want to avenge my comrades!”

Harris looked at this principled professional soldier and straightened up himself. Suddenly, an idea flashed through his mind—a risky plan began to take shape. He said to Major Ian, “Good, truly a soldier trained by Harris. Now, I’ll assign you a task.”

The translation of chapter sixty-one of "Flame King" is now complete.