Chapter Sixty-Nine: Please Don't Go

Deep within the desert, suffocated by yellow sand and shrouded from the sun, a shadowy mass moved with an eerie, trembling gait, drawing closer. Ian sank heavily to the ground, staring into the darkness. Though he had survived countless battles, the sight of that dense throng drained him of the will to fight. Yet, his hand reflexively gripped his pistol, raising it with feeble resolve.

“He-ho, he-ho!” The black-robed warriors, moving as one, marched toward Ian, their voices chilling and mysterious, their steps unwavering against the wind and sand. Though they were still dozens of meters away, Ian could already sense the metallic tang of blood wafting from their bodies.

Suddenly, Ian let out a bitter laugh. “To think, I dedicated my life to fighting terror, and today I’ll die at the hands of these terrorists.” He unclipped the grenade from his chest and set aside his pistol. If his instincts were correct, his combat unit had been wiped out, given their prolonged silence. He could not forget the bloody scene that had just unfolded among his comrades. He refused to be drained of blood and left as a mummified corpse buried in the sands.

He closed his eyes. Alfred was not dead yet, and all his fighters still had to battle on. He shouted, “Vile terrorists, even in death I won’t forgive you!” With his eyes shut, he spoke to the darkness. He gripped the grenade’s pin with his teeth and yanked it hard.

The fuse gave him three seconds—no, for the special forces’ J57 grenade, only 2.7 seconds. Ian began silently counting down the end of his life.

As the sounds of the black-robed warriors drew closer, Ian, awaiting God and preparing for death, suddenly felt the grenade snatched from his hand. An explosive roar followed, and Ian’s body was jerked upward, as if some force had lifted him into the air.

In that fleeting moment, Ian kept his eyes closed. “Is this heaven? With my record of killing, I should be in hell instead.”

With a crash, Ian landed heavily in the sand. He smiled wryly and muttered, “So I really did go to hell.”

He opened his eyes to the sound of bullets whistling past his ears. In the crowd just meters away, a swath of black-robed fighters fell.

“Haha, looks like this Allied soldier was scared witless—what a rush!” Ian glanced sideways; beside him stood a ragged but powerfully built white man, firing into the mass of black-robed warriors.

“Who are you people? Does hell have weapons like these? Freedom fighters? Or counter-revolutionaries?” In this barren hell, Ian was stunned to see armed strangers. Just moments ago, he had been a commander in the Mainz Democratic Federation’s elite forces; now, he was bewildered, unable to grasp reality.

“You’re from Mainz, aren’t you?” A cold voice came from beside him.

Ian turned to see an Asian man aiming a gun at him, then firing without hesitation.

“Ah!” Despite his resolve to die, the sudden terror made him cry out. He knew exactly what it felt like to be struck by a bullet.

But the bullet merely grazed his ear, hitting something else. He heard a splatter and felt something sticky on the back of his neck, mingling with sand, and the scent of blood filled the air.

Chen Cao strode over, gun in hand, and fired two shots at a black-robed warrior who had tried to rush forward. He addressed Ian in the Mainz language: “Looks like you’re still capable of fighting. I’m not about to carry your hundred-kilo frame.”

“You’re human!” Ian said. “And you speak the Mainz tongue.”

Before Chen Cao could reply, another voice sounded.

“Yellow-skin kid, this guy’s lost it. Those fiends up ahead are multiplying. We need to pull back!” A veteran from Kokora spoke while firing.

“Can you walk? I’m not carrying you.” Chen Cao nodded to the old soldier, then reached out to Ian.

Ian did not take the hand. In the swirling sand, he could barely make out the Asian man’s features, still dazed and reluctant to accept reality.

The black-robed soldiers up ahead had adopted tactical formations. Under the fire of modern weapons, they quickly drew their own arms and launched a furious counterattack.

Seeing Ian unresponsive, Chen Cao slapped him hard. “Wake up! Retreat now!” He hauled Ian to his feet, signaled to his comrades, and vanished into the sandstorm.

Ian heard wailing and gunfire growing ever more intense behind him. He turned, sand blinding his eyes, and saw the swarm of black-robed figures still pressing forward. At last, he returned to reality, realizing he had been rescued. Still a seasoned veteran, he snatched an assault rifle from the ground and fired at the pursuing warriors, retreating through the sea of sand.

Outside, the wind and sand raged on. In a cave, several Kokora veterans changed into spoils stripped from Mainz corpses, examining their loot with satisfied murmurs.

Chen Cao, leaning on his rifle, gazed coldly at Moseska, dressed in digital camouflage. Ian, recently rescued, had been disarmed and bound, watching the burly veterans paw through his comrades’ belongings and weapons.

But he remained silent—after all, they had saved him. He kept his eyes on the Asian man and the striking white woman, desperate to ask what the hell was going on. Not long ago, he was a commander in Mainz’s elite forces; now, he was a captive, surrounded by what looked like bandits.

The wind and sand outside showed no sign of relenting, howling ceaselessly.

Moseska sat nearby, blue eyes calm, face tinged with red under Chen Cao’s cold stare. She knew that nothing he said now would be pleasant.

Chen Cao pulled a bloodstained transmitter from his pocket and tossed it to her. “This is yours—take it.”

Moseska opened her mouth as if to explain, but finally just lowered her head, taking the tiny device and quietly kneading it in her palm.

“You broke your promise,” Chen Cao said. “I kept my end of the deal, but you broke the rules, sending all my comrades into the jaws of death.”

Moseska protested, tears glistening in her eyes. “I have orders. Their captain insisted on following that girl, taking the route she chose to rescue you. I couldn’t stop them!”

Chen Cao’s gaze dropped. “Enough. There’s no point talking now. You say you left them a signal transmitter, but what use is that? Nothing gets through out there.”

Moseska stared at the transmitter, cheeks flushed, murmuring, “You know I have to answer to the whole organization, support the heroes fighting for Kokora, and track Alfred. In that situation, I couldn’t spare resources to help them—and besides, they seemed strong.”

Chen Cao said nothing more. He stood, checked his firearms, loaded his magazines, and stroked the twin blades given to him by Duan Tianya, forged from ancient swords—prizes taken from a jihad commander thanks to Istrov’s help. No matter what happened, these knives always returned to him; perhaps it was fate.

Now, Zhou Hongye had been delivered by Istrov, the king of spies, to the vulture of Mimilu. Soon, he received the vulture’s signal. Chen Cao was reassured.

With the intelligence Zhou Hongye had swallowed, his mission was complete. But now, what was left? Yes—he had to rescue his brothers. They were elite and brave, yet had risked everything for Yu Hongxiu’s lie. For that courage and loyalty, how could he abandon them? If he did, what kind of man would he be? What was the point of all his training?

“I have to get them out!” Chen Cao gripped his rifle, eyes blazing with fury, and strode to the cave’s entrance, gazing out at the raging sandstorm.

Just then, a pair of slender arms wrapped around him.

Chen Cao stiffened. Since entering 0611, how long had it been since he’d embraced a woman, or felt a woman’s embrace? He couldn’t recall.

It was Moseska hugging him, her full curves pressed against his back, her warmth suffusing him in the sweltering heat.

Before, he thought Moseska was “one of the boys,” paying her little mind. Now, the sensation was strangely different. Chen Cao said nothing; he knew that no matter how charming or sincere she appeared, she was always a rigorously trained Kokora agent.

Behind him came soft breaths, tinged with sobs. “Chen Cao, please don’t go. It’s all my fault, okay? If you leave, you’ll die. Those black-robed warriors are not just numerous, but individually formidable. Their base is enormous—it’s an impossible mission!”

Chen Cao turned slightly, gently prying her hands from his chest, and replied quietly, “I am a soldier.”