Chapter 102: Poison Gas

Our mission this time was to seize control of the castle in No. 4 Satellite City, holding it for at least one day to allow the enemy to broadcast a distress signal to surrounding cities, thereby luring reinforcements into the fray.

Everyone now pull out the maps.

All combat personnel aboard the plane withdrew maps from their waist packs and unfolded them. The charts were strikingly simple, depicting urban layouts in stark black and white. Regions were outlined with boxes of varying colors, the castle area left entirely blank.

This map had been painstakingly assembled by Xuan Lu over three months, dispatching countless spies disguised as merchants into No. 4 Satellite City to sketch every detail.

The intelligence-gathering process proved far simpler than anticipated. The Dawn Kingdom's counterintelligence apparatus appeared woefully underdeveloped, utterly oblivious to Xuan Lu's mapping activities. A modest bribe to the gate guards rendered entry into the city largely unhindered.

The special forces were divided into three phases: landing at the castle, sniping targets along the battlements, and infiltrating the interior.

Xuan Lu's assault plan was elegantly brutal in its simplicity: a night-time surprise operation. Leveraging the helicopters' aerial mobility under cover of darkness, they would descend directly upon the fortress, catching the enemy completely off guard.

Time constraints left little room for error. Border crossing had occurred two months prior, and even in this world where information moved with glacial slowness, any deviation would inevitably be noticed. Should the enemy detect anomalies, Xuan Lu's scheme would collapse into open warfare, transforming from a lightning strike into a protracted conflict.

This was the outcome Xuan Lu most feared, for prolonged engagements would only deepen the enemy's knowledge of modern weaponry. For the sake of future dominance, these arms must display overwhelming superiority; their vulnerabilities could never be exposed.

Compounding the challenge was the modest objective—a single castle. Stealth offered the most efficient path to total annihilation in the briefest time. Strategic maneuvering proved impossible: the air force possessed only helicopters, ground forces could not advance, and naval support was virtually nonexistent.

Xuan Lu's creed of firepower supremacy remained unfeasible, hampered by constraints of acceleration and gravitational constants.

With no alternatives available, they pressed forward boldly.

The captain outlined the sectors each man would cover, then spoke with grave solemnity: "Remember this—we seek to annihilate every soul within the castle. No matter their allegiance, anyone inside is our enemy."

"Aye, sir!"

The cabin fell silent once more.

Zhang Sheng cast sidelong glances at his unfamiliar companions. These men possessed physiques of astonishing bulk—most towering nearly or fully two meters, their arms corded thick as tree trunks. In comparison, he felt diminutive, almost effeminate.

Suddenly, the burly man beside him turned, their eyes locking.

Zhang Sheng recoiled as though plunged into an icy abyss and swiftly looked away.

"You're not the point man?" the burly man inquired.

"Yes!" Zhang Sheng blurted instinctively, then caught himself and corrected swiftly: "No, I originally served in the First Group's 75th Special Tactics Squad—Zhang Sheng!"

"Hah, relax. We're still pre-mission." The point man offered a rigid smile, prompting Zhang Sheng to wonder if it masked a veiled threat.

"Have you seen combat?"

"None, though I've participated in numerous counterterrorism operations and rescue missions." Zhang Sheng replied.

Following the global cataclysm, nations entered an era of respite. For seven years, conflict had been absent, with tensions between countries only surfacing in recent months.

Although Zhang Sheng was born amid wartime turmoil, he matured during the Republic's golden age and had never truly known war.

"Then do you grasp our next objective?" The burly man's gaze was profound and emotionless as he fixed it upon Zhang Sheng.

Zhang Sheng's pulse quickened. Suppressing the tremor within his chest, he declared with resolute force: "For the Republic! To liberate the masses and forge a world of equality, free from oppression!"

The young man's resonant voice commanded the cabin's attention. Several burly men looked momentarily stunned, a few even smiling.

Youth held such promise—vibrant and unburdened. The new era had entrusted him with a noble purpose.

Noticing the companions' grins, Zhang Sheng feared he had erred and ventured hesitantly, "Is that not the case?"

The burly man beside him nodded firmly: "Precisely so. Yet you are only one soul, while we march to slay—to fulfill our duty."

The point man could sense the Republic's virtue, having weathered that chaotic epoch and glimpsed the empire's shadowed depths. He understood the era's fragility better than most.

Who could say if this new age would prove fleeting?

An hour later, the plane descended gently onto a plain fringing the forest.

A temporary forward base now stood here. Lockdown personnel advanced swiftly to inspect the aircraft and conduct refueling.

This site lay two hundred kilometers from No. 4 Satellite City, serving as the raiding force's primary transit point. Fuel and range considerations had left the departure aircraft lightly armed; most ordnance had already been prepositioned.

Various weapons and ammunition were hoisted aboard, soon filling the cabin to capacity.

When all preparations were complete and twilight deepened, the silver moon swelled from crescent to full orb.

After two and a half hours, moonlight peaked at New World Time, Silver Moon, 22:00.

"All combat personnel board."

The special forces, having rested briefly, re-entered the plane. Doors sealed, rotors spun to life.

"Hail to the captain!"

Under the salute of transit-station personnel, the aircraft vanished into the night.

The city Xuan Lu designated No. 4 Satellite City nestled at the southernmost reaches of the Leve Mountains, flanked by a canal crossing the Leve Domain.

The river fed into the kingdom's greatest waterway, the Kingdom Grand Canal.

Hazy darkness cloaked the metropolis. Within its bounds, only scattered lights flickered upon the walls and the central castle's glow remained; everywhere else lay plunged into shadow.

For most souls, night offered merely moonlight—artificial illumination too extravagant.

Upon the ramparts, soldiers clad in leather armor, long spears in hand, gazed across the inky expanse and stifled yawns.

To maintain vigilance, they began speculating on whose wife possessed a shapely figure and who bore strong offspring.

Their vigilance was nonexistent, and it was unnecessary; such colossal walls rendered intruders harmless.

Deeper within, the towering central castle loomed. Shadows stirred in the moat, while armored overlords patrolled the battlements.

These night-watch knights clustered in small knots, exchanging idle gossip, some even carrying chicken legs and wine.

Their discourse centered on which courtesan in the brothel possessed the finest technique, which was inept, which was newly arrived, and when they might sally forth for revelry.

The overlords' conversations struck a higher note, for they possessed wealth to spend.

Yet for both sides, guard duty proved tedious. Without diversion, slacking was inevitable.

The lords inside feasted; forbidding leisure would be excessive.

"Old McHead, heard your son has turned one year old."

"Ten days gone already, and you're inquiring now?"

"Heh heh, I've been occupied. Boy or girl?"

Old McHead thumped his chest, voice proud: "A boy, with lustrous golden locks. Though not fully grown, he perfectly inherits my handsomeness."

"Hah, you handsome? Pfft, shameless." His companion retorted with contempt, then his gaze drifted to Old McHead's hair.

Brown. If memory served, McWife was likewise brown.

Sigh~

"When did your wife conceive?"

Old McHead pondered: "Last year, during the lord's hunting expedition. What prompted the question?"

"Nothing—just idle curiosity."

"Speaking of which, I owe you gratitude for caring for my wife then—paying her and preparing meals. Would it be amiss to ask my son to honor you as godfather?"

"No... no need."

"Ah! Do you despise Old McHead, or my son?"

Time flowed like an unceasing stream, slow in awareness, swift in heed.

Soon the moon faded, the land sunk into darkness, time limit.

Without sun or moon, the hour nearest life and death, when demons roamed most freely.

High above, helicopters sliced through the night's veil, silent and stealthy, converging upon the city's heart toward the central castle.

On the aircraft, final checks were completed.

Zhang Sheng studied the gas mask in his grip, expression shifting. He glanced upward at the skull-marked crate, a disquieting suspicion forming.

"Nerve gas... also termed a pulmonary-damaging agent and hypnotic compound."

The burly man explained without concern: "It injures lung tissue, induces pulmonary edema, impairs respiration, causing oxygen deprivation and suffocation. Gas masks provide effective protection. Widely deployed in wartime, it stands as our primary weapon henceforth."

"Will this endanger innocents?" Zhang Sheng queried.

"It depends. If winds shift, it may reach those beyond the castle. As for casualties, the number defies calculation."

The helicopter began its slow descent. Cabin doors parted, revealing the castle below.

The burly man regarded the youth with reluctant eyes and rested a hand upon his shoulder, voice low: "This is war. Employ every means to claim victory, every method to destroy the foe. Lose, and you perish."

Several scouts unsealed the wooden crates. Within lay iron cans brimming with lethal gas and hypnotic agents.

Hypnotic first: timers preset, the cans hurled outward.

Gas would serve defensive purposes later. Odorless and scentless, it proved ideal now, sparing innocents harm.

In extremis, special forces might deploy gas.