122: Chapter 122 Meat Grinder

Northern battlefield of Coastal City.

That shot from the Mass-Energy Conversion Cannon that vaporized the Ork Titan was like a starter pistol.

The army of players, having pent up their frustration for nearly a month, finally surged forth like floodwaters released from a dam, roaring as they crashed into this endless meat grinder from the west and south sides of the defensive line.

The western highlands.

The heavy infantry phalanx, led by the Scourge Legion, appeared on the horizon, braving the sky-filling artillery fire and treading through the mud.

Charging at the very front were Ming Shen, Liver Emperor, Why Panic When I Have Flash, and Miracle Walker.

These four veteran "workhorses" with the highest levels on the entire server were all outfitted in deep red Competitive Power Armor.

This lightweight creation from the Golden Age was covered in a streamlined layer of adamantine plating.

Bullets from the Orks' large-caliber rifles hit their chests, but aside from sparking, they couldn't even leave a white scratch.

As soon as they appeared, they instantly drew the gaze of a large number of Orks on the battlefield.

A rumor had been circulating among the Orcs recently: "The red-shelled humies are the toughest!"

Seeing the four tough, red-armored humies, thousands of Ork Boyz not only didn't retreat but instead, as if injected with stimulants, waved their choppas and charged forward with howls.

"Follow the pre-planned tactics! Infantry-tank coordination! Push forward!" Ming Shen ordered coldly in the voice channel.

The true foundation of the Scourge Legion was fully displayed.

Behind the four big shots, thousands of ordinary players without Power Armor quickly dispersed.

They didn't form rigid line formations like the Defense Force; instead, they formed dense tactical squads of three.

Charging at the very front were the Strength-class players.

They crouched halfway to the ground, holding up massive riot shields the size of door panels with both hands.

The massive shields not only featured a sloped design for ricochets but were also covered with composite armor packs made of ceramic, alloy scrap, and fireproof magic mushroom cloth.

"Clang!"

An Ork man-portable rocket shell slammed into the giant shield and exploded.

As the thick smoke cleared, the player holding the shield was unscathed, aside from being knocked back half a step and cursing.

"Fuck! They're trying to get the first strike! Zap him!" the shield-bearing player shouted.

Behind the giant shield, the crouching gunner player leaned out.

He carried a heavy Solid-state Hydrogen Battery pack on his back and held a clunky, black, and oversized [Kane Type I Plasma Rifle] in his hands.

He pulled the trigger.

A ball of dazzling, high-temperature blue plasma roared out, directly hitting a heavy Ork Boss a hundred meters away.

"Sizzle—"

There wasn't even a scream.

That Ork Boss, along with his heavy iron armor, was instantly melted into a pool of boiling molten steel by the tens of thousands of degrees of heat.

"So hot, so hot! Damn it, this piece of junk gun made by the tech-priests has no heat dissipation at all!"

The player who fired the gun shook his glowing red gloves, blowing on them while complaining.

The third player in the squad carried a multi-barreled autocannon, responsible for madly strafing the regular Orks attempting to close in.

"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"

Shields to tank damage, plasma to break armor, autocannons to clear out the fodder!

The entire Scourge Legion was like a precisely meshed meat grinder, advancing at a rhythm so cold it was hair-raising.

If they encountered [Weirdboyz] unleashing psychic lightning from afar;

The players wouldn't even look for cover; they would just pull out a vial of anti-psychic repellent and jab it directly into their own thighs.

A faint light would shimmer over their bodies.

Braving the incoming green psychic lightning, the player would raise their sniper rifle and headshot the distant Weirdboyz with a single shot.

"Magic resistance potions are just so useful! Who's next?!" the sniper shouted arrogantly.

And in the south.

The [Brotherhood of Steel], which had fought its way into the battlefield from the southern position, displayed the wildness and absurdity of The Fourth Calamity on a whole new level.

Nearly five thousand muscular bros with high Strength and Agility didn't have fancy Power Armor.

What they wore were homemade heavy armors, crudely bolted with bulletproof steel plates onto exoskeletons.

The designs were rugged; they looked exactly like a group of wasteland scavengers.

Legion Commander [Flame Fist], [Nicotine Truth], [Wang Shouyi Thirteen Spices], and others charged at the very front.

Just before engaging the enemy.

In perfect unison, they pulled out the [Thunder Stimulant] specially made by Stone Man Hong from their waists and jabbed it directly into their necks.

The stimulant was injected.

Veins bulged, and their eyes instantly turned crimson!

"Brotherhood of Steel! Charge!"

"If you're a brother, come and chop me!"

"WAAAAAGH!!!"

Amidst a chorus of wails and howls that sounded even more monstrous than the Ork war cries.

Thousands of drugged-up Brotherhood bros vaulted over the Defense Force trenches and, like a breached Mudslide, crashed headlong into the Ork charging formation!

These old veterans had an average level above fifteen.

Both their Strength and Agility had broken through the thirty-point mark.

Pure, primitive melee combat!

The power Chainsword in Flame Fist's hands roared madly, cutting the Orks rushing at him into a sky full of gore.

Wang Shouyi Thirteen Spices was even more simple and brutal; a casual swing of his power Warhammer delivered a terrifying impact force of nearly a ton!

"Bang!"

A two-meter-tall Ork Boy was smashed by a hammer, bones and all, into a meat patty that flew across the ground!

"Awesome! This impact feel is incredible! Isn't this more exciting than fighting in an octagon cage?!"

The players, faces covered in blood, laughed out loud in excitement.

And above the heads of the Brotherhood of Steel.

Large swarms of black shadows, like a hive of bees, darted back and forth at low altitude.

Those were the drone swarms deployed by the [Galactic Empire Stormtroopers].

The Orks' heavy artillery vehicles and killer cans had ridiculously thick frontal armor, but their tops were exceptionally fragile.

"FPV suicide drones in position! Blow them up!" the operators in the rear pressed their controls frantically.

FPV drones loaded with high explosives dove from the sky at extremely high speeds, precisely diving into the gaps in the tops of the Orks' open-topped armored vehicles.

"Boom! Boom!" Secondary explosions lit up one after another inside.

...

At this moment.

On a high ground next to the ruins of the temporary frontline command post.

Astra Militarum Political Commissar Arthas gripped his high-magnification military binoculars so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the excessive force.

When the radar showed a large-scale, unidentified armed force approaching from the west.

He had thought it was a rebel warlord from the western wasteland taking advantage of the chaos, and had even issued orders for the reserve troops to split off, build a defensive line on the west side, and prepare for a desperate fight to the death.

But now.

Watching everything happening below through the binoculars, Arthas felt like he had been struck by lightning.

On that face, which was forever cold and seemed to wear a mask of steel, for the first time appeared a look of extreme shock that was almost a total collapse!

"What... what kind of monsters are they?!"

Arthas's breathing became incredibly heavy.

He saw that red-armored unit on the west side.

They didn't have the standard line formations of the Imperial Astra Militarum; they were as undisciplined as a group of mercenaries.

But their infantry-tank coordination in groups of three was so proficient it made his scalp tingle!

That dazzling blue plasma fireball, that kind of man-portable armor-piercing firepower that even the Imperial elite Stormtroopers couldn't match, was melting the Orks' heavy armor in droves!

He looked to the south again.

That group of warriors wearing scrap metal actually dared to abandon long-range firepower and engage the Orks, who specialized in melee combat, in close quarters!

And... they actually managed to hack the Orcs back in a head-on, brute-force clash!

"Those glowing potions... could they be banned gene-stimulants?"

Arthas felt a wave of dizziness in his brain.

He suddenly recalled the terrifying bright light from just a moment ago that had instantly erased the Ork Titan [stompa] from the physical realm.

"It wasn't an orbital strike... it was a superweapon deployed by this army in the rear!"

"They wear unknown Power Armor, possess micro-aircraft, and own super-cannons capable of instantly vaporizing Titans... Since when did such a technologically advanced and terrifyingly powerful force rise in the western desert?"

What Arthas couldn't understand even more was their fighting style.

No uniform military attire, no serious military discipline.

They were shouting and yelling on the battlefield, chanting bizarre slogans he couldn't understand at all.

This was simply a group of lunatics wielding cutting-edge technological weapons!

Not just the Political Commissar.

The Defense Force soldiers of Coastal City, who had been lying in the muddy trenches and preparing to close their eyes and wait for death, were now all dumbfounded.

They huddled behind their cover, staring blankly at these strangers who had descended from the sky, slaughtering wantonly in the sea of Orks.

Their worldview was receiving an unprecedentedly violent shock.

In the understanding of the Defense Force, dealing with Orks was a tragic sacrifice where several lives had to be traded for one Ork.

But these people treated slaughter as some kind of carnival.

"Pfft!"

Thirty meters in front of the trench.

A shield-bearing player was headshot by a stray Ork bullet, the headless corpse falling limp, blood pouring out.

A comrade had fallen.

According to the common sense of the Defense Force, those around should feel grief or fear.

However.

The plasma gunner player who had lost his cover not only didn't retreat.

Instead, he let out an excited shout, kicked his companion's corpse aside, and casually ripped the Solid-state Hydrogen Battery pack off the corpse's back, strapping it onto himself.

"Thanks, brother! I'm looting your spare battery! I'll take good care of your wife (plasma gun) for you!"

The gunner swapped in the new battery and continued to aim his gun, firing madly at the Orks, even laughing out loud.

The few Defense Force recruits who witnessed this scene were so scared that the laser guns in their hands dropped into the mud.

"The Emperor is above..."

A veteran swallowed a mouthful of bloody spit, trembling all over,

"They... they won't even spare their own companion's corpse. Are they angels, or demons even more terrifying than the Orks?"

However.

Although The Fourth Calamity had overwhelming individual quality and absurd coordination.

But what they were facing at this moment was an ocean of Orks, numbering in the tens of millions, stretching as far as the eye could see.

After the army of players, like a red-hot blade, had forcibly stabbed nearly five kilometers into the heart of the Orks.

This unstoppable momentum of the advance was finally exhausted by the sheer physical numbers.

The players couldn't push any further.

The density of the Ork formation became higher and higher, impenetrable.

Swarms of Kommando Boyz and heavy Ork Bosses began to counterattack without regard for the cost.

The front line fell completely into a suffocating stalemate.

The most brutal meat-grinder battle began.

"Hold! Don't retreat!"

The Brotherhood of Steel players in the very front line began to die in large numbers.

Their armor was split open by the Orcs' giant axes, their bodies trampled into meat paste.

The Defense Force watched from the rear with trepidation; Political Commissar Arthas was even preparing to order artillery cover for this mysterious friendly force to retreat.

But something even more terrifying happened to him.

This group of outsiders, suffering heavy casualties, actually didn't have a single person flee in the face of such a lopsided disparity in troop strength and an extremely high mortality rate!

Not a single person showed any fear of death!

Whenever someone fell, the person behind would immediately fill the gap, continuing to use their last breath to smash their weapons onto the heads of the Orks.

To them, death seemed like nothing more than a countdown for a game respawn.