This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 559.1: The Twisted Lives And Fate

With the timely arrival of reinforcements from the Burning Corps, Garbage charged into the battlefield with his claws raised, instantly turning the entire fight into a one-sided slaughter.

Everyone present finally witnessed how terrifyingly dominant the actual strongest member of the Burning Corps could be in a favorable matchup.

Engaging him head-on came with the risk of being torn to pieces.

When it came to ambushes and pursuit, he was simply too good at it, one light swipe of his claws, and a cultist standing in his way would be sliced clean in two.

Bathed in blood, his primal instincts ignited, Garbage’s amber eyes gleamed with a bloodthirsty light.

"WAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Hell yeah!"

Still not satisfied, he raised his head and let out an excited howl, the deafening roar rippling through the smoky air like shockwaves.

"Awoo!"

Nearby cultists grimaced in pain, instinctively covering their ears.

Perhaps the drugs were wearing off, pain and fear had finally caught up to them.

As they stared at the blood-soaked monster, the defiant and fearless light in their eyes finally began to dim, replaced by terror.

"Mon-monster!"

"Ahhh!"

"Stay away! No...!"

With a downpour of covering fire from above, Garbage charged into the crowd once more, claws dancing in a beautiful ballad of death.

In just a few heartbeats, severed limbs and broken bodies littered the ground, with over 30 corpses strewn across the gate outside the fence.

Seeing the enemy’s heavy casualties, the villagers behind the low wall were greatly encouraged.

Crouched behind cover with them, Me Quiet also shouted excitedly toward Garbage’s back.

"Nice work, brother!"

Then he turned to the surrounding villagers, putting on a solemn and serious face as he spouted nonsense. "The Great Stag God has punished those arrogant fools! It's time to offer our loyalty and courage to the god that protects us!"

"Fight with everything you've got!"

Infected by his unrelenting spirit, the last traces of fear and hesitation vanished from the villagers' eyes.

Everyone roared with morale-boosting shouts, grabbed whatever weapons they could, climbed over the low wall, and gave chase to the fleeing cultists.

"Oraaaaa!"

Though, to this day, they still didn’t know the name of the people they were following, or what their teachings were...

Watching the firepower rain from overhead and the heavy casualties among their own, the prophet in gray robes wore a face of utter terror.

"Scatter and take cover!"

"Don’t turn your backs to that lizard...!"

"No one retreats! Hold your ground!"

While screaming hysterically, he fled desperately toward the nearby woods.

The intelligence was wrong!

Dust Town was nothing like what the locals said! It wasn’t some tiny village of 200 or 300 people. The forces backing it had to be way deeper than he had imagined!

If nothing else, that damn Deathclaw who had an exoskeleton was horrifying enough!

He had to report this to the Archbishop immediately!

The prophet had long since thrown his preaching duties out the window. All he wanted was to get far away from this hellish battlefield...

He ran clumsily through the forest, face scratched by vines and branches, not caring in the least. After who knows how long, he finally stopped to lean against a tree, gasping for air.

"Damn it..."

He had finally escaped!

The gunfire behind him had faded to a distant echo, and he exhaled in relief, straightening up to continue his escape.

But the moment he raised his head, all the color drained from his face. His heart that was no longer thumping rapidly shot straight back up to his throat.

A monstrous existence clad in an exoframe stood before him, a long sniper rifle slung over one shoulder, as if he had been waiting there for him all along.

Though he couldn’t see the face behind the helmet and visor, he could feel it. The man was staring at him with a smirk.

"If I were you, I would have picked another direction."

...

The battle ended quickly.

The cultists did put up fierce resistance.

If they had been mere marauders, they would’ve scattered long ago under such heavy losses, but those cultists fought until only about 20 of them were left standing.

Half of them were missing limbs.

Flicking the bits of flesh and blood from his claws, Garbage looked at Make Me, who had popped out from who-knows-where, and couldn’t help asking, "Where the hell were you just now?"

Make Me, who had been offline for quite a while, looked a bit sheepish and coughed awkwardly. "Ahem... I was digging a tunnel with my little brothers. We were planning to lay explosives under their feet... Guess we won’t be needing that now."

At first, he’d intended to go to the frontlines and trade bullets with the enemy, but that one meter high wall had completely blocked out his rodent-sized body.

Looking back, the tunnel idea wasn’t great either. The enemy hadn’t even set up a fixed line, and by the time he was halfway through digging, their allies were already cleaning up the battlefield.

Garbage snorted, "Damn, you rat bastard!"

Make Me shot him a sideways glance. "Tsk, you’ve got a lot of nerve calling me that. You’re a tank and didn’t even start the battle. Hiding in the backlines, seriously?"

Garbage was just about to snap back when Me Quiet, holding his rifle, walked over and looked around. "Where’s that guy in the gray robe? Can anyone see him?"

Garbage froze for a moment, slapped the back of his head, and roared, "Shit! The boss ran off!"

Just as he finished speaking, a loud voice boomed from nearby. "Nope, he didn’t get away."

Garbage turned quickly to look. Old White, clad in his exoframe, emerged from the woods with nine others.

The gray robed prophet was being dragged along by Night Ten.

After giving the guy a kick in the ass and sending him stumbling forward, Night Ten grinned. "This thing counts as a boss? At best, it’s an elite mob."

The prophet, unable to understand what the soldier behind him was saying and too terrified to resist, hurriedly scrambled to his feet.

"Night Ten! Old White!" Seeing all those familiar faces after such a long time, Garbage’s face lit up with excitement.

Not just Old White and Night Ten. Gale, Ample Time, and Quit Smoking had all come!

"Haha! Long time no see!" Patting Garbage’s shoulder, Old White smiled. "Looks like we got here just in time."

Walking past the collapsed gate, Dust Town’s mayor Qin Baitian approached Me Quiet and looked nervously at the fully armed soldiers. "May I ask who these gentlemen are...?"

Me Quiet coughed lightly and pulled him aside. "Those folks are genetic clones."

Qin Baitian stared at him blankly. "Gene... What?"

"You can think of them as the biological sons of the emperor!" Me Quiet said, spouting complete nonsense. "Whether it’s the Great Stag God or the Big Rat God, strictly speaking, they’re all just servants of the Lord Emperor."

Qin Baitian was stunned, then slowly nodded. "I see..."

Looks like the shrine’s was going to need a few more statues...

...

Under Me Quiet’s direction, the villagers of Dust Town began cleaning up the battlefield, and Make Me’s rat followers scurried over to help as well.

After exchanging a few greetings with Garbage, Old White turned his attention to the terrified prophet.

That guy felt completely different from the other cultist they had previously captured from the Bonecherwer Clan.

That old man back then had been more stubborn than a damn rock. They hadn’t gotten a single word out of him before he killed himself in prison.

But the guy they just captured...? He looked like some halfway-ordained monk who might not even fully believe in the Torch Church’s nonsense himself.

Frankly, he seemed like a bandwagoner.

Clearly, growing too fast wasn’t always a good thing.

Flipping open the visor of his helmet, Old White locked eyes with the prophet. "From now on, I ask, you answer. Don’t waste my time. Understood?"

The prophet swallowed hard, face pale, and nodded shakily. "U-understood."

"Good. If you take longer than two seconds to answer, I’ll assume you’re lying," Old White said crisply, and continued, "Name?"

"Zhang Zhengyang."

"Age?"

"31..."

"Gender?"

"... Male."

"Position?"

"Prophet."

"Who sent you?"

"Luo..."

The syllable slipped out instinctively, and just as he tried to stop himself, it was already too late.

Old White’s gaze sharpened instantly as he pressed on. "Luo who?"

Zhang Zhengyang gulped. "Luo Qian... He’s in charge of Brocade Lake Municipality."

The person in charge of a region was essentially a bishop within the Torch Church, while a prophet was more like a priest or cleric, a smaller leadership role with variable authority.

All of it was publicly listed on the official site.

Realizing he might have snagged a big fish, Old White continued questioning, "Where is he?"

"In the Sanctuary."

"What is that place?"

"I..."

Before the man could fumble for an answer, Old White pulled out a map and tossed it in front of him. "Mark the spot. I’ll send someone to check. If there’s nothing there, you know what happens."

Sweat poured down his forehead as Zhang Zhengyang looked up miserably at the exoframe before him. "Sir... I-I really don’t know the exact location of the Sanctuary."

Old White pressed the gun barrel against his head. "You’d better be telling the truth. I don’t have time for lies."

The prophet turned ghost-white and dropped to his knees. "Sir, I swear everything I said is true! The Sanctuary is the priest’s hideout, only he and his closest aides know where it is! I’m not even sure if it’s really near Brocade Lake Municipality!"

Old White frowned. "So he hides in this Sanctuary and gives orders from there?"

"Yes..."