213: Chapter 213 Sowing an Unquenchable Fire

"Sovereign." The two spoke simultaneously, their voices low and tinged with the accents of their respective backgrounds. However, Zhang Cheng could clearly feel that cold core of absolute obedience originating from the system's source.

"Sinwar, Houssa." Zhang Cheng did not stand up, merely calling their names calmly. "You know why you have been summoned, where you are going, and what you will face."

"Yes, Sovereign." Sinwar's voice was raspy, like sandpaper rubbing together. "Gaza, ruins, occupation, massacre. In my 'memories,' there is everything I have lost, and a mission that must be completed." His words were brief, but every syllable seemed soaked in blood and tears.

"Yemen, borders, infiltration, harassment. My 'family' is waiting for the sparks of revenge." Houssa's tone was more hurried, his fists instinctively clenching. "Those bandits wearing the star emblem and their accomplices must pay the price."

Zhang Cheng nodded, satisfied with their "state." The system's background implantation was seamless, even granting them highly anthropomorphic emotions and motivations. This made them more like real "humans" than ordinary Death Soldiers, making it easier for them to survive and rally people in extreme environments.

"Listen," Zhang Cheng's voice echoed in the secret room, clear and cold. "I will not send a grand army to you, nor will I provide blatant support. You, and your respective hundred brothers, are all you have. Your mission is not to defeat the Squid Nation's army head-on—that is impossible, at least for now."

Sinwar and Houssa listened quietly, their eyes showing no ripples as they waited for specific instructions.

"Your mission is: 'Take Root,' 'Grow,' and 'Sting.'" Zhang Cheng held up three fingers. "First, take root. Utilize your backgrounds and initial strength to truly integrate into the ruins of Gaza and the mountains of Yemen. Become part of the local resistance forces—ideally, the core. Win the trust of survivors and establish hidden shelters, supply points, and intelligence networks."

"Second, grow." He folded down his second finger. "Once you have established a foothold, use your military knowledge and the tactical literacy granted by the system to train and reorganize potential local resistors. Teach them more effective guerrilla tactics, demolition skills, anti-armor methods, and communication security. Do not be impatient; spread silently like vines, gradually weaving scattered forces into a web."

"Third, sting." A cold glint flashed in Zhang Cheng's eyes. "Choose critical moments to launch precise, efficient strikes against the Squid Nation's military targets, logistics nodes, and outposts—strikes that cannot be easily dismissed as 'accidental' or 'low-level attacks.' Hit them where it hurts, disrupt their deployments, and drain their morale. More importantly, let the outside world see that the resistance has never stopped and is becoming smarter and more lethal. Pay special attention to avoiding innocent civilians as much as possible to distinguish yourselves from those executioners."

He paused, his tone growing heavier: "You are seeds, and you are flames. What I want is not a brief explosion, but an unquenchable wildfire that burns brighter and brighter. Let the Squid Nation and its masters behind the scenes fall into an endless, costly quagmire of low-intensity conflict on the borders of Gaza and Yemen. Let their so-called 'security' and 'victory' be forever cast in shadow."

"Do you understand?"

"Understood! Sovereign!" the two replied in unison, their voices echoing in the secret room. Sinwar's gaze grew deeper, as if he were already planning the veins of an underground network; Houssa licked his somewhat dry lips, revealing a hint of almost cruel anticipation.

"The system will provide you with initial weapons, equipment, and necessary supplies that match the local background, delivered through hidden channels. Later, depending on your development and results, there may be selective additional support, but it will not be much, nor frequent. You must mainly rely on yourselves and the hearts and support you win over." Zhang Cheng gave his final instructions, "Preserve yourselves, kill effectively. I don't need martyrs; I need a fire that keeps burning."

"Yes! We will not fail the Sovereign's trust!" Sinwar and Houssa straightened their chests simultaneously. Despite their ordinary clothes, an aura of iron and blood had already burst forth.

Zhang Cheng waved his hand. "Go. The first light of your appearance in this world should shine upon the land where you are about to fight."

Sinwar and Houssa bowed their heads again, their figures fading and disappearing like ink dissolving in water. The blurred silhouettes behind them vanished as well. The secret room returned to its empty state, leaving only Zhang Cheng and Old K.

"Two sparks," Old K spoke up on his own initiative, a rare occurrence, his voice remaining steady. "Perhaps they really can set a prairie ablaze."

"Perhaps." Zhang Cheng stood up and walked to the edge of the secret room, his palm brushing against the cold alloy wall. "Sometimes, what this world needs is not a thunderclap, but a hidden fire tucked away in a corner, burning slowly to make them restless. Let's go; there are many 'above-board' matters to handle upstairs."

He turned and walked toward the exit with steady steps. Just now, he had sown two seeds full of uncertainty. They might quietly go out, or they might truly ignite a prairie fire, or they might even draw in an unexpected storm.

Somewhere on the edge of a town in the West Bank, separated from the Gaza Strip by a cold high wall and barbed wire. The air was filled with dust, poverty, and a sense of oppression. In the shadows of a narrow alley, several haggard men with wary eyes gathered, whispering broken news from the other side of the wall.

"...Abu Jamil's family... gone. The house was leveled by tanks, no one escaped..."

"The hospital was bombed again, the medicine is almost out..."

"Those bastards said they caught a 'big fish' and are showing off..."

Despair clung to everyone like a damp, cold mist. The long-term blockade, frequent attacks, and the impotence of the international community made the flames of resistance seem weaker and weaker, leaving only sporadic, costly counterattacks.

Just then, a strange yet steady figure appeared at the gathering point, introduced by a local minor leader. This was "Sinwar." He looked more weathered than his actual age and was a man of few words, but when he spoke, his heavy Gaza accent and his intimate knowledge of every alley, every shelter, and even the shift change details of some Squid Nation checkpoints quickly drew everyone's attention.

"I learned some things overseas," Sinwar's voice was not loud, yet it had a strange piercing quality. "It wasn't to leave, but to come back. My family is all left under those ruins." He spread out a hand-drawn map of a certain area in northern Gaza, startlingly detailed, marked with hidden passages, possible supply caches, and observation blind spots. "Crying is useless, begging for mercy is useless. They want to erase our existence, so we must make them remember that from every inch of this land, the spikes of revenge may emerge."