Chapter Seventy: The Warrior’s Destiny

Moshika’s hand was gently brushed aside by Chen Cao. She stood there, her wide eyes fixed on him, silently retreating two steps. She said nothing. She was a soldier herself, and understood that at this moment Chen Cao was fulfilling a soldier's oath.

But what she did not know was that Chen Cao was also fulfilling a man's promise—a bond forged between brothers, between comrades-in-arms.

“Hey, Yellow-skinned kid, we’re coming with you!” Several Kokola warriors had already dressed themselves. Though their camouflage uniforms didn't fit perfectly, their upright postures and the indomitable spirit of battle had restored the dignity they once possessed.

“Uncle Griffiths, you all…” Moshika wiped the traces of tears from her face and looked at the middle-aged man at the front.

The former Kokola soldier, with a high nose, yellowish beard, and pale skin, stepped forward and gently patted Moshika’s shoulder. “Moshika, you’re now an agent of the State—you must fulfill your duty. But we’re different. We’re a group forgotten by our country. In these twenty years, we almost forgot what it meant to be a soldier. I want to reclaim what was lost, to find it again on the battlefield. I think none of us will ever return to Kokola, because the battlefield is our fate.”

After speaking, Griffiths turned to Chen Cao. “It’s not just me, Griffiths, who feels this way. My brothers all do. Besides, someone saved us—how could we be so ungrateful?” He glanced at his comrades behind him, then gave Chen Cao a crisp military salute. “I, Griffiths, former Captain of the Kokola Mechanized Infantry Division, now follow your command to carry out the rescue mission.”

The soldiers behind Griffiths quickly formed a neat line in the cramped space, chests out, saluting Chen Cao and reporting their names:

“Sergeant Mantel, artillery, reporting for duty!”

“Lieutenant Peters Stock, mechanized infantry company, reporting for duty!”

... And so it continued.

Chen Cao looked at this group of soldiers, slowly raised his hand, and returned their salute. Now he knew these veterans had left him no room to refuse.

“I want to go, too!” Ian, his hands and feet bound, craned his neck, his face flushed red as he struggled. “I want to avenge my brothers and take out Alfred, that bastard!”

Though they spoke Kokola’s language, Ian understood them. Now, hearing they were headed for the terrorist base, remembering the promise he made before Major General Harries, he knew this was perhaps his last chance. He couldn’t let it slip away; more soldiers would die if he failed. Only with the death of Alfred, leader of the base organization, would there be hope for peace.

Chen Cao nodded slightly and glanced at Moshika. Moshika didn’t hesitate. She pulled out a sharp knife and, with a swift movement, cut the ropes binding Ian’s hands and feet.

Ian, who had been trussed up like a rice dumpling, suddenly felt relief flood his body. He rubbed his numb hands, looked at the veterans before him, then stood at attention and gave a crisp salute to Chen Cao—the yellow-skinned man who seemed much younger than himself, yet was so capable. “Major Ian, active infantry battalion, reporting for duty!”

Moshika picked up a pile of weapons and firearms from the ground and tossed them at his feet. “These are yours, removed earlier. The electronics haven't had their data copied—you can use them without worry. I hope, after this mission, whether you live or die, you forget everything that happened here. Otherwise…” Her face turned cold. “I’ll be your eternal nightmare.”

“This girl doesn’t look that old, but why is her aura so chilling?” Ian shuddered.

He hurriedly gathered his gear, put it on, and checked his equipment.

Chen Cao, meanwhile, gazed out at the sandstorm. “Everyone, looks like we’re returning once more. Let’s go.” With that, he strode first into the yellow sands.

The veterans exchanged glances and smiled, hefting their weapons as they stepped into the storm.

Ian looked at the sandstorm outside, gripping his last sniper rifle, vowing silently: “I must complete the mission, end this battle as soon as possible!”

The wind showed no sign of stopping, nor did the air grow any cooler. Walking on the sand was as uncomfortable as ants on a hot stove.

The wind howled, and even when only a few steps apart, they had to use earpieces to communicate.

Fortunately, Ian’s fallen comrades had provided Chen Cao and the others with earpieces.

“Chen! We’re almost at the place where we met those ghosts just now!” Chen was Chen Cao’s nickname. After over an hour of communication, Ian, accustomed to the shorthand of the regular army, addressed him thus via earpiece.

Chen Cao remained silent. He only looked ahead through sand-proof goggles, glanced at the vegetation index in his hand, and continued forward. Speaking was not his habit. Though he now commanded a dozen men, he only spoke when necessary; to him, anything beyond orders was pointless.

Military command wasn’t his main training, but those eccentric instructors had drilled it into him regardless. He understood this well, though he admitted that, when it came to pre-battle motivation and morale, he was no match for Chen Diwen.

Griffiths, walking at the rear, issued a raspy laugh over the earpiece: “Ha, Mainz boy, we’re still at least three kilometers from their lair. What’s wrong, scared you’ll wet your pants? Oh, I forgot—when you were tied up, I should’ve checked your trousers!”

Ian turned back, shooting Griffiths a fierce glare, then continued on.

The Kokola veterans behind broke into malicious laughter.

Amid banter, the team pressed on through the sandstorm. After several hundred meters, Chen Cao suddenly issued a command via earpiece.

“Stay concealed. I suspect enemies ahead!” Chen Cao was the first to drop to the ground. “We still don’t know if my comrades have been captured. Their combat strength is dozens of times ours—if we can’t win, retreat!”

Ian quickly lay down among the towering dunes. Though the soft sand offered little protection from bullets, it at least provided some psychological comfort.

Griffiths was right; the scene from earlier still haunted him.

As Ian lay down, he noticed the Kokola veterans had already flattened themselves, maintaining a threes formation, spread out like petals, feet to feet, observing from different directions.

They divided into four groups, encircling Chen Cao and Ian, creating both a firepower net and a defensive net, preventing any rear ambush.

“Old ginger is spicier!” The saying from Dachen was apt for these Kokola veterans. After just one battle, they’d learned and applied their experiences.

Ian, a graduate of the highest military academy in Mainz, felt deeply ashamed—a carefully selected combat unit had been destroyed under his command. What pride remained?

Chen Cao took out a digital scope and observed ahead. Several dark figures moved, but the data from the electronic scope showed nothing.

“Everyone, stay on defense. These guys are playing their old tricks, trying to draw our attention!” Chen Cao’s lips curled in a slight smile as he issued orders through the earpiece. “Let’s bait them and lure them in. Wait for my command to fire. Prepare for close combat, and don’t forget your pistols. Don’t stray too far!”

With that, he slung his rifle, pulled out the dagger gifted by Duan Tianya, and set it beside him, continuing his watch through the scope.

Upon receiving the order, the veterans and Ian readied their weapons, awaiting the enemy.

In a moment, aside from the howling wind and sand, everyone was so tense that sweat broke out across their backs.

“This damned desert weather is too hot!” Griffiths gripped his knife, the stress so high he counted the frequency of shifting sand to steady himself.

Suddenly, the sand’s movement grew higher and steadily increased.

Griffiths, focused on the sand’s rhythm, immediately realized something was off. He squinted—so that was their trick. He spoke quickly and quietly through the earpiece: “They’re coming. Watch the sand around you!”

Chen Cao responded decisively: “Don’t wait. If you spot them, open fire at once. Close combat is a last resort!”

No sooner had Chen Cao finished than the first shot rang out from Griffiths’ position—it was Ian’s pistol.

A trickle of blood appeared a few meters from Ian, quickly swallowed by the sand.

Once the pattern was clear, there was nothing to fear. Ian took a half-kneeling shooting stance. His composure returned, restoring him to his national shooting champion level; he fired repeatedly at the shifting sand.

The veterans were undaunted, firing their weapons at the sand.

Suddenly, several dark figures emerged from the swirling sand. Griffiths and his group, well prepared, didn’t hesitate. They opened fire, shooting until the figures dropped in the sand.

Gunfire erupted in a wave, but was quickly muffled by the wind and sand.

After shooting two black-robed warriors who tried to leap out nearby, Chen Cao picked up his scope to observe the front. Ian, who was enjoying the fight, stepped in to provide cover, swapping out his assault rifle for Chen Cao.

Now, he couldn’t help but admire this young, yellow-skinned man before him.