This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 579.1: Judgment Panel

The night-shrouded Pinecone Ranch echoed with gunfire like exploding firecrackers. The moonlight spilling across the ground no longer held any purity. Wherever it illuminated lay horrifying fragments of flesh and pools of blood.

Like a tidal surge, hordes of the walking dead lunged at the New Alliance soldiers defending the manor.

In the flurry of tracers, those zombie-like creatures fell like wheat under a harvester, only to be replaced in waves like surf crashing against the shore, quickly filling the gaps left behind.

The firepower of barely 20 men was nowhere near enough to hold back those fearless, death-defying creatures.

The fanatical, undead-like believers soon broke through the defensive net, crashing through doors and windows, biting wildly at anything living.

Worse still, some of them wore military uniforms and opened fire, even hurling grenades at the Burning Corps.

That was the most fatal threat.

"Holy shit! These bastards are cheating, right?" Dog Good Names’s face went pale as he gunned down a rifle-wielding undead spraying bullets.

He had played plenty of zombie-themed FPS games, but never once had he heard of zombies shooting back.

"The first floor’s lost... Old White! How much longer do you need!" Ample Time gritted his teeth, shouting into the comms while swapping mags and retreating toward the staircase.

The channel returned nothing but static.

After the Seagull drone was downed, the enemy had stopped concealing themselves and initiated electronic warfare, cutting their communication channel first.

However, Ample Time felt it wasn’t that simple.

Amid the noise, he thought he heard something else. It was more than mere interference, but some unconscious disturbance was woven into it.

Whatever it was, the first floor had been overrun.

New Alliance players abandoned the ground level, retreating upstairs, throwing up barricades and doors to engage the undead in brutal close quarters along the narrow halls.

While the fighting raged in the manor, not far away in a hotel, four men in white coats sat in a fifth-floor room, gazing out at the main building which was the eye of the storm. They were chatting with smiles on their faces.

"The combat ability of standard test subjects is still too weak. In the end, they’re just ordinary humans. Na Fruit doesn’t fundamentally change their physiology."

"As expected. Without making proper use of tools, humans’ fighting ability is even worse than animals."

"True. For raw combat power, Mutant Humans are the better choice... But those green-skinned brutes don’t exactly listen well."

All four of them were Apostles of the Torch Church.

But unlike those converted from wastelanders, their status and authority far exceeded those street-preaching zealots.

They knew exactly what the Torch was, and they knew that what they were doing had nothing to do with the faith they preached.

History had seen it before. Those far from the core powers clung to their beliefs with unshakable devotion, quoting scripture and doctrine with ease, giving their lives to serve their faith.

Those closer to the core of power clearly understood that faith and doctrine were tools to command followers. Their devotion and zeal were real, but they would ensure their tools were used to maximum effect.

Wars were often waged in the name of gods, not for the gods, but for worldly power and wealth.

The Apostles part of the Torch Church’s true core were no different. They did not seek wealth or worldly power as there was no such prize in the wasteland, but what they pursued was far nobler than the clergy of the classical age. They planned to control the future of civilization itself.

Watching life flare in muzzle flashes and blood soak into mud, one Apostle smiled in ecstasy.

Both the process and the outcome are exactly as we have expected. This experiment was flawless.

While he savored it, the others conversed eagerly.

"A-111’s performance wasn’t terrible, was it?"

"Ah, you mean Goliath... Sure, it held up, but it’s only good as a meat shield. Expecting it to play tank on the battlefield is unrealistic. The Archbishop placed too much faith in it. After this, he should see the problem clearly."

"Unless it’s equipped with special weapons, it won’t be too useful. However, its lack of handling ability is the issue."

"Speaking of which, credit where it’s due, the soldiers of this settlement are quite capable. Just farmhands-turned-enforcers, but they can fight. Na Fruit and the Gospel make up for their lack of combat willpower. This system fits them perfectly."

"Hah, by that logic, the slaves test subjects are just getting in the way."

"Not entirely. At least they burn up the enemy’s ammunition." 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Against New Alliance soldiers, most subjects were cannon fodder. However, the settlement’s farmhand-enforcers were different.

They could use rifles, knew how to chamber rounds, change magazines, and aim. Even with poor accuracy, their fearless assault caused New Alliance troops real trouble.

Some even operated vehicles and fixed weapons which was a startling discovery.

Thanks to the cooperation of the settlement, especially the owner, their research had advanced another step forward.

Well... It was another step for all human civilization.

Surely the owner of Pinecone Ranch, now rotting in his grave, would feel honored by their brilliance.

After all, without them, that foolish man and his ignorant slaves could never have contributed anything to human civilization. They could have never left a mark on history.

He and his settlement were like a rotting log in a corner of ruins, destined only to decay into nothing.

At least now, those incompetent fools could serve as firewood. They could be used as fuel to ignite the Torch.

The Apostles chatted eagerly in the room.

"... Could it be muscle memory, perhaps? They can still operate anti air guns and assault rifles."

"If a large number of trained subjects were injected with the Gospel at the right time, they might have battlefield value."

"We definitely need proper command."

"Reminds me of the Army’s clones."

"Not even close. Those accelerated-growth clones are good only for fighting. Our believers are different."

"Switch the Gospel frequency and you can steer their thoughts and emotions, make them perform simple tasks... Tsk, they’re really best suited for operating plantations and factories. Throwing them onto battlefields without training is such a waste."

At that moment, the Apostle at the window frowned and sneered.

"Hmm... We underestimated them."

The other three stopped and turned to look in the same direction.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Just a rat slipped the cage and found what we stashed beneath the side hall," he said casually.

The others exchanged glances.

"Weren’t they after Zhao Tiangan?"

"Why go to the side hall?"

"Did Zhang Zhengyang leak the news?"

The Apostle who first noticed the change shook his head. "Impossible. He’s just a side member. He doesn’t even know about the experiments, let alone what’s hidden beneath that building." His sneer turned into a mocking chuckle, "Anyway, the Archbishop’s already noticed. It’s no longer our concern."

"The Executioners will handle the cleanup."

Though force was not the Torch Church’s specialty, violence was still essential.

The Judgment Panel filled that role.

Unlike knight orders that waged open war, they resembled special operatives.

When disruptions arose that interfered with experiments but weren’t suited for military response, the Judgment Panel’s specialists acted.

Their members were known as the Executioners.

Equipped with the best gear and trained in lethal combat, few wastelanders could survive a clash with them.

Not even awakeners.

At the mention of Executioners, the Apostles relaxed as the smiles returned to their faces.

Their success rate in the Ocean Edge Province and Brocade River Province was near 95%. Clearing one rat from a lab would be child’s play.

But unbeknownst to them, the Executioner squad they relied upon was already in trouble.

By the walls of the manor, shadows stirred in the trees.

A dozen figures in exoskeletons stood there, wielding sleek, exotic weapons. Black-painted armor wrapped them head to toe, blending seamlessly with the night.

They moved like ghosts, waiting in darkness.

On his tactical visor, the ‘Connection Lost’ icon blinked. The Executioner captain, Li Jie, frowned deeply and turned to his men. "Still no word from Wu Zhe?"

The member he questioned wore the same grim look and replied in a low voice, "Nothing... He’s too close to the interference device."

Near the Spirit Interference Device machine, radio signals were badly disrupted.

Normally, they communicated with the lab by wired channel, but with Plan 03 triggered, the researchers had evacuated.

Now, no one knew what was happening inside.