Chapter 384: Chapter 384
Chapter 384
2-in-1-Chapter
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"Sniper!" Chris shouted, diving behind cover.
From behind the barrier, he watched as the last of the men who had followed him over fell dead right before his eyes.
All of them were gone. Yet Chris didn’t panic—instead, he grew calm.
The severity of the situation sharpened his awareness: the sniper wasn’t in the bell tower after all, but in one of the buildings flanking the street.
Which meant that he, right now, was fully exposed to the sniper’s line of fire.
The moment this realization struck him, Chris’s body moved on instinct.
He didn’t try to run.
Instead, he dove hard toward one of the fallen bodies nearby.
Crack!
The shot rang out again, but it missed—striking the ground just beside him.
He didn’t know whether he’d be lucky enough to dodge the next bullet, and he didn’t have time to think it over.
From beside the body of his fallen comrade, he grabbed the preloaded rocket launcher and hoisted it onto his shoulder.
Chris already knew he wasn’t going to survive.
Whether he was taken down by the sniper right here, or shredded by the machine gun fire on his way back, it made no difference.
The result would be the same.
It was just a matter of how he would die. Living was no longer an option.
Chris was a ruthless man—ruthless not only toward his enemies, but toward his own people, and even toward himself.
That was why he didn’t choose to flee. Instead, he opted for mutual destruction.
Even if launching a rocket meant being killed the very next second, he was still determined to do it.
But just as he picked up the launcher—before he could even assume a proper firing stance—Chris felt a heavy impact slam into the side of his head.
It was like taking a direct punch to the skull, sending his body lurching sideways as his finger instinctively squeezed the trigger.
Boom—
The rocket, fired at the wrong angle, missed the clock tower entirely and struck the cover they had just been using moments ago.
In a burst of fire and smoke, Chris and his comrade were blown apart, their bodies shredded by the blast.
From his position in the rear, Truss had sensed something was wrong from the moment the first two sniper shots rang out.
He immediately ordered his men to fire in the suspected direction of the snipers.
However, the shooters weren’t in the clock tower across from them. They were concealed within the buildings along the roadside. Given the angle of engagement, there was no way to return effective fire.
Truss could only watch helplessly as Chris and his team were picked off one by one.
Until the final rocket, misfired, obliterated Chris himself.
"Truss, maybe we should find another route," someone suggested.
"What other route? Just charge!" Truss shouted.
There was only one machine gun positioned ahead, and two snipers hidden in the flanking buildings. If they continued sending in small teams, they were just feeding men into a meat grinder.
But if everyone charged at once, they could overwhelm the defense.
"What the hell are you waiting for? Move up! Charge!"
His eyes bloodshot, Truss saw his subordinates still hesitating. Without another word, he raised his weapon and gunned down one of the militiamen.
Then he shifted his aim to another.
That militia fighter froze in shock, unable to process what had just happened. His brain stalled, uncertain whether to advance, retreat, or stand still.
Before he could decide—bang—a single gunshot ended his hesitation.
Truss had executed him.
When the rifle turned toward a third, that one flinched and, driven by instinct, bolted out from behind cover.
"Go! All of you, move! Now!"
With someone taking the lead, a few of the braver insurgents gathered their courage and surged forward.
Truss himself advanced with his inner circle.
Seeing the commander rush in, the rest finally abandoned their positions and followed suit.
But the truth was, the rebel militia had poor military discipline. Their "charge" looked more like a panicked retreat than a coordinated assault.
Inside the clock tower, a gunner manned the machine gun, flanked by an assistant and an ammunition loader.
Judging by their gear and appearance, it was clear they weren’t regular government troops—they were instructors from Aurora PMC.
In fact, not just the machine gun team. The snipers hidden in the buildings nearby were also Aurora PMC operatives.
Compared to the government and insurgent forces, Aurora’s personnel were significantly more professional.
Leo had embedded them across various units—some integrated into the government forces, others assigned to defend critical strongpoints.
"These government troops are useless. After all the training we gave them, they still can’t handle a bunch of militiamen," the assistant muttered.
"The higher-ups aren’t much better," the loader replied.
"Less talking. The enemy’s closing in. Time to notify the others."
"Understood."
The loader’s pupils lit up with a yellow glow—he was communicating via neural link.
"You’re clear to engage. I repeat, you’re clear to engage."
Once the transmission ended, the glow faded from his eyes.
The team exchanged glances and smiled. "Showtime."
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Truss was a cautious man.
Although leading the charge, he was far from reckless. He and his trusted lieutenants stayed behind the rest of the rebel militia, ensuring they had cover from all directions.
As they drew closer to the clock tower, Truss grew more and more excited.
The machine gun positioned there had gone strangely silent. For reasons unknown, it hadn’t fired for some time.
To Truss, that was a stroke of luck.
Once they reached the base of the clock tower, the gun would be useless. The stronghold would fall.
That thought had barely formed in his mind when he heard a strange sound—like the low, guttural whir of an aircraft engine.
As he struggled to identify it, cries of alarm erupted from the front ranks.
A massive, metallic beast rolled into view from the right side of the intersection ahead.
It had been completely hidden by the surrounding buildings, and no one had noticed its approach.
A Mag-Lizard armored vehicle.
Most of the Mag-Lizards Leo had sold to the government forces had either been destroyed in combat or captured by the insurgents.
Only five of the remaining units were left in the capital for use by the government forces stationed at the central garrison.
However, given what Leo knew about the actual combat capability of the government troops, he no longer dared to hand over any of the Mag-Lizard units to them. Instead, he assigned them entirely to his company’s instructors and soldiers for operation.
The Mag-Lizard was not difficult to operate—one didn’t even need to use their hands. It connected directly to the neural slot at the back of the neck, allowing the pilot to control it through their brain.
However, piloting a Mag-Lizard alone placed an enormous burden on the body. For this reason, each unit was typically operated by a two-person crew. Even so, there were situations where only a single pilot could engage in combat.
During the previous campaign, Mitch had once operated a Mag-Lizard alone. It nearly cost him his life. He had been hospitalized for months afterward before he could even stand up again.
The Mag-Lizard that now appeared before the rebel militia wasn’t being piloted by Mitch, but the crew inside were nearly his equals.
Its cannon fire landed with brutal precision in the crowd, sending the rebels flying in all directions with screams and chaos.
The machine gun on the clock tower opened fire again, synchronizing with the Mag-Lizard to mow down rebel troops.
The gun hadn’t jammed earlier—it had simply been waiting for the Mag-Lizard to get into position.
The rebels were stunned.
This level of firepower was vastly beyond anything they had encountered from the government forces on the previous streets.
Especially the cannon mounted on the Mag-Lizard—each blast into the crowd left nothing behind but blood and debris. No complete corpses remained.
Their return fire was little more than a tickle to the Mag-Lizard.
Only rocket launchers posed any real threat.
But the clock tower gunner had already marked every rebel carrying a launcher, leaving them no opportunity to aim.
A single burst of gunfire swept across, turning them into sieves.
Within minutes, the rebel formation collapsed entirely.
Disregarding Truss’s orders, the remaining militiamen turned and fled.
No one looked back. They ran as fast as they could.
What was there to fight for? What purpose did it serve?
Strategic objectives were something for the rebel leadership to worry about.
The common foot soldiers didn’t care.
What they knew was simple: if they didn’t run now, they were going to die here.
And none of them wanted to die—not when there were still riches to be taken in the rich district. If they died, those spoils would just end up in someone else’s hands.
Seeing that no one was listening, Truss was forced to flee as well, covered by a few of his most loyal guards.
At that moment, Truss still clung to hope.
He had divided the force into five groups. If his unit had encountered such intense resistance, then the others should have broken through more easily.
The rank-and-file might not have known, but he did.
There were only so many government troops stationed in the capital.
Unless they had all stayed behind, there was no way they could defend every major chokepoint.
That simply wasn’t realistic.
Even now, Truss refused to believe that the entire government garrison had remained in the city. He still thought it was impossible.
But by nightfall, when he finally regrouped with the remnants of his other units in the rich district, and saw them battered, wounded, and demoralized, his heart sank.
After some questioning, the truth emerged.
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