40: Chapter 40 The Old Man with the Hand Grenade

The setting sun over Seoul was as red as blood, staining the broken walls and ruins with a desolate dark crimson.

The air still held the fishy scent of cement from when that "Ghost Captain" was buried alive, along with the lingering heat from the players' revelry.

The golden light of the system announcement gradually dissipated, replaced by the loading sound for a new map.

[Current Campaign Phase: The Third Campaign has ended.]

[Next Phase Objective: Break through the 38th Parallel and liberate all of Korea.]

[Enemy Commander Change: Walton Walker (KIA) -> Matthew Bunker Ridgway (Taking Command).]

Jack stood on the steps of the Blue House in Seoul, stepping on a tattered Stars and Stripes flag.

He opened the system panel to check the profile of this newly appointed enemy BOSS.

A black-and-white photo popped up on the screen. The man in the photo didn't look like a general; instead, he looked like an old veteran rogue ready to fix bayonets at any moment.

Most prominent were the two pineapple grenades hanging from his chest, looking exceptionally out of place and comical on his neat military uniform.

"What kind of look is this?" Jack couldn't help but laugh out loud, pointing his livestream camera at the photo.

"Brothers, look! This is the US Army's new commander? Is this old man planning a suicide attack? Hanging grenades on his chest—is he afraid he won't die fast enough?"

The bullet chat in the livestream was instantly flooded with "Hahahaha."

[This look is so unique. Is he wearing grenades as amulets?]

[Has the US Army run out of people? Sending an old man with grenades to his death?]

[Lieutenant General Walker even crashed and burned. What can this old man do? He's probably just another exp delivery boy.]

[We just buried a 'God,' we're not afraid of another 'Bomberman'!]

Jack casually closed the panel. The extreme sense of inflation from having just slaughtered the "cheating hacker" made him feel like the entire Korean Peninsula was beneath his feet.

An army of millions of players was surging into Seoul in a grand procession, the streets filled with excited faces.

Some were firing captured Carbines into the air, some were starting a bonfire party on the Blue House lawn, and someone even suggested printing Ridgway's photo on toilet paper.

This didn't feel like a battlefield; it was more like a massive battlefield team-building event.

Jack kicked open the doors of the Blue House. The office was a mess, with documents and papers scattered everywhere.

But on that large mahogany desk, an envelope was placed neatly.

On the envelope, a line of cursive English was written in pen: To General Peng.

Jack raised an eyebrow and tore open the envelope. The content inside was simple, just one sentence:

"Congratulations to the Chinese Army on the occupation of Seoul. — Matthew B. Ridgway, Commanding General, 8th Army."

After reading the line, Jack casually crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the nearby trash can.

"This old man is quite polite," Jack sneered at the camera.

"But this kind of politeness is usually just the last fig leaf for a loser. He's congratulating us? Next, I'm going to make it so he can't even cry."

Meanwhile, in a studio in the real world.

Su Yun sat in his executive chair, watching Jack's arrogant face on the screen, his fingers lightly tapping the desk.

His eyes were cold, reflecting a calmness as if looking at a dead man.

"Think this old man is a pushover?" Su Yun whispered to himself.

"That's because you haven't seen true hell yet."

He opened the backend control panel, his finger hovering over the AI module named [Magnetic Tactical Logic].

Ridgway, the opponent who caused the most trouble for the Volunteer Army on the Korean battlefield, was definitely not like Walker, who only knew how to run.

He was like a magnet, sticking to you, wearing you down, and then baring his fangs when you were at your most exhausted.

Su Yun pressed the Enter key.

[System Notification: Enemy AI logic has been updated.]

[Codename: The Butcher's Smile.]

[Newbie Protection Mechanism: Removed (Night vision assistance disabled, ammo indicators disabled, pain buffer disabled).]

Inside the game, the sky turned completely dark.

As per custom, this was the "night battle time" that the Volunteer Army players loved most.

The US Army feared night battles; this was an iron rule established in the first two campaigns.

As long as it was dark, it was the Chinese Army's home field.

"Brothers! Strike while the iron is hot!" someone shouted in the public channel.

"Tonight, we'll flatten Chipyong-ni! Catch that old man with the grenades and make him do a striptease!"

"Charge! Grab the military merits!"

"Whoever catches Ridgway first will be the top donor!"

Hundreds of thousands of players held torches, like a winding fire dragon, surging toward the small basin on the map named "Chipyong-ni."

The firelight across the hills dyed the night sky red, and the laughter and cheers even drowned out the sporadic artillery fire in the distance.

Brother Bao followed at the back of the group, his brow furrowing deeper.

It was too quiet.

Based on past experience, once the US Army retreated, they would definitely abandon their supplies along the way, leaving trucks and canned food everywhere.

But the road leading to Chipyong-ni was excessively clean.

No destroyed vehicles, no scattered supplies, even dead bodies by the roadside were rare.

Was that old man named Ridgway really running away?

"Jack, slow down," Brother Bao called out in the communication channel. "Something's not right."

"What's not right?" Jack's voice was full of excitement.

"Brother Bao, you're just too cautious. With so many of us, we could drown that little basin with just our spit.

Look ahead, there isn't even a ghost in sight; those Yanks are probably shivering in their bunkers."

While they were talking, the vanguard had already reached the outer slopes of Chipyong-ni.

It was a basin surrounded by mountains on all sides, like a massive natural graveyard.

At this moment, the basin was pitch black, a deathly silence that made one's heart race.

Only in a solitary command post at the very center was there a faint, dim yellow light.

Was that a decoy? Or a final struggle?

The players didn't care about any of that.

Their thirst for victory and contempt for the enemy made them lose their basic tactical sense.

Without reconnaissance or artillery preparation, the thousands of players in the front row launched a direct charge.

The charge bugle sounded, its resonant tone echoing through the valley.

“Kill!!!”

The battle cries shook heaven and earth.

Thousands of figures, like a black tide, swept over the mountain ridges and surged toward the lone light in the center of the basin.

Just as they reached the middle of the slope.

That dim yellow light suddenly went out.

Immediately after, a flare rose into the sky with a piercing whistle.

Pop.

The pale light instantly tore through the night, illuminating the entire Chipyong-ni basin as bright as day.

By this light, Jack saw a scene that made his scalp tingle.

In that seemingly empty basin, dense crowds of steel helmets had appeared out of nowhere.

Tanks.

Countless Sherman tanks and Pershing heavy tanks weren't scattered along a defensive line as before; instead, they were formed in a tight circle, like a massive iron hedgehog.

All the gun barrels were now raised in unison, pointing at the players charging down the slope.

Inside the tank circle were countless heavy machine guns and mortars, forming a fire net with no blind spots.

This was the gift Ridgway had prepared for them—the Perimeter Defense.

"Fire."

A voice, calm to the point of being cold, rang out in the valley.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

In the next second, Jack's vision was filled with a sea of fire.

That wasn't gunfire; it was a metal storm. The main guns of hundreds of tanks fired simultaneously, the massive shockwaves even blowing away the surrounding layers of snow.

The thousands of players in the lead didn't even have time to scream before they were vaporized in the fire of the explosions, leaving nothing behind.

Then came the tooth-grinding sound of heavy machine guns, like tearing cloth.

Da-da-da-da-da-da—

Bullets poured onto the slope like a rainstorm. There was no cover, no room to hide.

Those who were just cheering and mocking Ridgway as the "old man with the grenades" were now falling in swathes like wheat being harvested.

Blood instantly stained the snow red, only to be vaporized by the high temperature of the artillery fire.

"Retreat! Retreat quickly!" Brother Bao roared in the channel.

But the people behind were still pushing forward, and those in front had no way to retreat.

The entire crowd was like beans being driven into a millstone, only able to watch as they were crushed.

Jack lay behind a rock, his face covered in the flesh and blood of his teammates that had splashed onto him.

His ears were deafened, and his head was ringing.

He looked up, peering through the thick smoke toward the high ground in the center of the basin.

There, where the light had just gone out.

An old man wearing a US Army overcoat was standing on the turret of a tank.

Those two ridiculous pineapple grenades still hung from his chest, and he held an exquisite pipe in his hand.

Under the firelight, his face looked exceptionally grim. There wasn't a hint of panic in his eyes, only the coldness of a hunter watching prey in a trap.

He saw Jack, or rather, he saw this group of reckless chargers.

Ridgway took the pipe out of his mouth and slowly made a gesture toward Jack's direction.

It was a gesture that was extremely gentlemanly, yet extremely cruel.

Inviting the guest into the trap.

Jack's heart gave a sudden, violent twitch.

A chill surged up his spine to the top of his head, colder than the winter snow of Seoul.

This was not a game.

From this moment on, the US Army that would run away and collapse disappeared.

The real meat grinder had only just begun to turn.