This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 491: This Hard-Earned Conclusion

Chapter 491: Chapter 491: This Hard-Earned Conclusion

About sixty kilometers away from the Royal City, on a plain.

After ordering the entire army to infiltrate enemy territory in units of a hundred, Spring Water Commander alone led a squad of a hundred through several miles of pitch-black wheat fields, finally reaching the closest highway.

Three infantry squads immediately fanned out in front, advancing in an arrowhead formation along the highway and its sides, searching as they moved forward.

"Speaking of which, this wheat is fully ripe; isn’t there anyone to harvest it?"

Entering the soil and resting in peace, he plucked an ear of wheat and gently rubbed it in his hand, noticing the green shoots sprouting from the grains.

As the saying goes, "Ninety percent ripe, time to harvest; fully ripe, and ten percent waste." If you wait until the wheat is completely ripe before harvesting, there’s a reduced yield of at least forty to fifty kilograms per acre, and the crop quality suffers as well.

If there’s a spell of continuous rainy weather, the wheat could sprout or mildew, leading to even greater losses. Fortunately, it seldom rains in the Oasis, with fresh water supplied by river embankments and stored in the soil.

"...It’s quite typical. The Falcon Kingdom’s mobilization is in its final stage, the entire society’s production activities have stalled. Not to mention ripe wheat with no one to harvest it, even if the wheat makes it to the granary, it doesn’t reach the tables of the general population."

Glancing at the boundless wheat field beside him, Spring Water Commander clicked his tongue in pity.

What a waste of this fertile black soil.

If this land was developed by the Alliance’s life profession players, the yield per acre could easily be over a thousand kg.

And with CNC planting towers and high-quality seeds from the Biological Institute, two thousand kg wouldn’t be out of reach!

"Should we set it on fire?" I Max Black asked eagerly.

"No need," Spring Water Commander said succinctly, "Our targets are industrial facilities and transportation hubs, destroying farmland doesn’t make much sense."

To massively destroy farmland you’d use a defoliant.

Just setting fires wouldn’t affect many fields, and it could disrupt our own people advancing through the fields, wasting time for little gain.

"Speaking of which, why didn’t you put on your Squirtle Suit?" I Max Black teased, glancing at the Miner’s Exoskeleton that Spring Water was wearing.

He had wanted to ask the moment they got off the airship.

Spring Water rolled his eyes.

"Do you think I’m stupid?"

The mobility of the Destroyer Type I is too poor. With the shield backpack and the 120mm mortar with an automatic loader, the wear weight is close to one ton—even with full power, it’s not fast.

Moreover, they were not going to engage with the regular Falcon or Army forces, but to infiltrate and sabotage behind enemy lines. There’s really no need for such a big iron coffin.

If they truly needed fire support, calling in an airship barrage would suffice.

As they were talking, a thunderous explosion came from the sky behind them.

Spring Water Commander looked back.

"The brothers of the Burning Corps must have landed by now."

I Max Black said with a pained face.

"Damn it... Why do they always get the good jobs while we have to do this sneaky work!"

Kakarot joked with a laugh.

"What sneaky work! This is strategic sabotage, infiltration behind enemy lines!"

"Alright, now that you put it that way, our sneaky work suddenly sounds much more impressive."

"Hahaha!"

Watching his teammates joke and laugh, the Spring Water Commander coughed.

"We’re here to sabotage, not on a picnic... Let’s keep it serious."

"Since it’s about sabotage, shouldn’t we be looking a bit more fierce? Like this," I Max Black energetically explained while trying to squeeze out a menacing look on his face, shaking his rifle that he held at his waist, "Hand over the money in your pockets!"

Seeing his bear-like antics, "Kakarot" couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

"Dang! You’re acting like bandits raiding a village."

Spring Water Commander held his forehead.

This guy was hopeless.

"So, where do we find the factory?" Grumbling, the Ghosts at the Graveside sighed exasperatedly, looking to Brother Spring Water for guidance.

Seeing someone finally care about their mission, a gratified smile finally emerged on Spring Water’s face.

"That’s easy to answer; just follow the vine to find the melon."

Road traffic is one component of industry; resources and manpower from various survivor settlements must be transported via the road network to the industrial areas for production.

The Falcon Kingdom is a classic militaristic nation, where spacious roads typically serve military facilities and the military industry exclusively.

Therefore, identifying high-value targets is easy.

Just pick a few of the widest roads near Falcon City, and head in the direction of the front line.

You’re bound to find a few logistics hubs along the way.

You just pick one of those logistics bases and, through the local logistics information, figure out where the supplies come from. Given the strategic depth of Oasis No. 2, it won’t be too hard to pinpoint the location of the industrial zone.

And what do you know, as everyone followed the main road for a while, they happened upon a tractor that had broken down.

A man with bare arms crouched next to the tractor, working on a screw with a wrench, while another middle-aged man sat in the driver’s seat, urging him on.

At first, the man sitting on the tractor didn’t take much notice of the group approaching from afar, thinking they were his own people. However, as they got closer, he realized their equipment was vastly different from that of the Falcon Kingdom’s army.

Whether it was the shiny exoskeletons they wore over their chests or the assault rifles they carried, these were definitely not things the Falcon Kingdom could afford these days.

The man’s face turned ghostly pale in an instant, and he hurriedly jumped off to escape into the wheat field. However, he had barely run a couple of steps before a strong, muscular hand grabbed him back.

"Running? Why run?" Ah Nie said with a sneer as he brought the man back like catching a chick, "Guilty of something bad?"

Although new to the game, he was, after all, a Strength Type with 7 strength points from the start.

With arm strength and grip at least 140% of that of a regular adult man, he wasn’t someone an ordinary person could shake off.

His hand was like a vice, immobilizing the captured man who struggled in vain, only feeling the grasped area growing more painful.

"No, nothing... How dare I," having failed to shake off the soldier in front of him, the tractor driver finally gave up struggling and looked at him timidly, "Excuse me, sir... which unit are you from?"

"Storm Corps!" Ah Nie answered proudly.

"Storm, Storm Corps?" The driver was utterly confused, having never heard of such a number.

"Why all the chatter?" Hearing the commotion up ahead, I Max Black walked over from behind with others, menacingly eyeing the captive driver, "This is a robbery! Hand over anything valuable!"

"A, a robbery?" The driver looked even more bewildered, managing a wry smile as he said, "Sir, you must be new around here. If you’re going to rob, you should look for the nobles... What money could we poor devils, who can barely afford a meal, possibly have?"

"Hss... right, how could you have money if you can’t afford to eat."

I Max Black nodded, a flicker of sympathy crossing his eyes, but he quickly remembered he was on a mission, and conjured up his fierce expression once again.

"I don’t care if you have money or not, hand over anything of value, now!"

Staring at the gleaming gun barrel, the driver was so anxious he almost cried.

As for the man repairing the car, he had been completely petrified by fear. Dropping the wrench, he crouched beside the tractor with his hands over his head, shivering uncontrollably and not daring to move an inch.

Rolling his eyes at his simpleton’s silhouette, the Spring Water Commander approached the frightened driver, staring into his eyes.

"What’s on the truck?"

The driver nervously answered.

"...Iron."

The Spring Water Commander asked impatiently.

"I know it’s iron. I’m asking what kind of iron it is, what it’s for, where it’s being delivered."

Hearing this, the driver immediately caught on.

"This is... ironware requisitioned from Rozlan Town. According to the orders of the logistics officer, we’re to deliver them to the William Industrial Zone."

William...

That seemed to share a name with the prince and marshal of the Falcon Kingdom.

But that wasn’t unusual.

Industrializing in a feudal kingdom that relied on agriculture for its economy; it was likely that only the royal family and the major nobles had the capacity to do so. Since the industrial zone was a royal asset, naming it after a member of the royal family seemed perfectly reasonable.

I Max Black walked over to the tractor and took a look inside. Seeing pots, pans, and dishes, he muttered.

"What use are these things?"

The Spring Water Commander ignored his muttering and continued his interrogation, focusing on the man.

"What’s the name of the factory you’re delivering to, and what does it produce?"

The tractor driver replied with an uncertain voice.

"It’s called the Royal First Foundry... I think it makes steel pipes."

Steel pipes?!

Everyone’s eyes lit up at the mention.

Putting aside the cargo on the tractor, I Max Black excitedly asked.

"Are they seamless steel pipes?"

The driver answered with a wry smile: "Sir, I’m just a delivery man, I really don’t know... You should ask the factory manager about that."

Steel pipes were only one of the factory’s products.

Helmets, engineer shovels, bayonets, military water bottles, bullets, and a whole series of product lines were all made there, but he did not dare to say so.

These people gave him an ominous feeling.

"Good idea," the Spring Water Commander smiled, patted the driver’s shoulder, and continued to the trembling man before him, "Could you take us to meet your factory manager?"

The man dared not refuse, faced with the commander’s warm smile, he could only nod like a pecking chicken.

Spring Water did not waste words, turning to look at his teammates behind him and waving his hand.

"Let’s go, interrogate them."

"What about this tractor?" I Max Black glanced at the now repaired tractor beside him, feeling it would be a pity to leave it behind.

The Spring Water Commander pondered for a moment and had an idea.

"Throw the cargo into the wheat field, and take the tractor with us for now."

Although he didn’t have a specific use for it, what if it turned out to be useful at some point?

It was best to take it with them for the time being.

...

The Storm Corps was still advancing silently under the cover of night.

Meanwhile, dozens of kilometers away in Falcon City, the night was boiling like a raging flame.

The relentless gunfire was incessant, enveloping the majestic castle at the heart of Falcon City like a surging wave.

The first two platoons that had entered the city were quickly scattered and crushed.

The pilots of the Alliance seemed to have brought ammunition for a ten-thousand-man troop, their gunfire ceaseless as if bullets cost nothing.

Not just that, they had even dismantled the machine guns from their planes.

The brick and stone structures of the city, in the face of 12mm caliber machine gun bullets, were as fragile as paper mache, often shattered to pieces along with their inhabitants with a single burst.

Until the last moment of his life, Adem, who had ventured into the city to "hunt down enemy pilots," never received the reinforcements from behind.

What he didn’t know was that his superiors were neither blind nor deaf; they were simply too preoccupied to attend to his predicament.

The pilots of the Alliance obviously weren’t satisfied with just dealing with a few underlings. While surrounding him, they sent a detachment toward the castle gates, engaging in fierce combat with the soldiers there.

Predictably, facing the suppressive firepower of dozens of aerial machine guns and with only a few bolt-action rifles, the soldiers of the Falcon Kingdom had no power to fight back.

Seeing the muzzle flames creeping ever closer, Middel made a decisive call, immediately dispatching two loyal guards with explosives towards the main gate of the castle with the intent to blow up the gatehouse.

Though this wouldn’t stop the Alliance from entering the castle, it would at least buy some time before the city defense forces arrived.

However, just then, a gunshot rang from the direction of the Bell Tower, and the head of the guard who had reached right under the main gate burst open, a spray of blood mist marking the air.

The guard next to him hadn’t even grasped where the shot had come from. Quickly, another bullet penetrated his skull.

Without hearing the sound of that shot, he silently fell to the ground.

"Two!"

After reporting his kills on the communication channel, Night Ten, who was lying on top of the bell tower, had his eyes glued to the scope, searching the edges of the castle.

With the assist of the thermal imaging scope, the night was as clear as day to him, and all living things could not hide.

His perception of the intent to kill allowed him to quickly determine whether his position was compromised and whether other snipers had targeted him.

Controlling the rhythm of his breath, he pulled the trigger again.

With a snap, another guard at the city gates had his head blown off and fell heavily to the side.

The relentless deaths brought immense psychological pressure to the soldiers near the castle gates. Even the most loyal soldiers were stricken with fear.

Compared to the suppressive fire of the machine guns and the buzzing dives of aircraft, it was the sharpshooters lurking out of reach who truly made one’s blood run cold.

The machine gun’s burst might not kill the seasoned old soldiers who had faced death on the battlefield countless times, but whenever the hidden sniper rifle rang, someone would surely die.

Experience had become pointless.

Everyone crouching behind cover was as slaughter-bound as meat on a cutting board.

No one knew who would be targeted next.

Facing the fierce and coordinated offensive of the Alliance, the defense line at the castle’s main entrance was collapsing backward...

"...Three!"

Calming himself, Night Ten ejected the spent shell from the gun chamber, took a deep breath, and began searching for a higher-value target.

Meanwhile, the battle within the city district had essentially concluded.

Listening to the distant gunfire, Old White pulled a glowing hot Short Axe from a corpse and raised his index finger to the side of his helmet.

"The city district has been cleared."

Wild Wind’s voice promptly came through the communication channel.

"Well done, continue advancing toward the Royal Palace!"

"Roger!"

Old White grinned, hung the Thermal Cutting Axe on his Exoskeleton, and picked up the rifle that hung on his chest again.

The occasional foray into supporting roles felt pretty good.

But on the other hand, the Falcon Kingdom still had some experts.

For instance, the one he just offed turned out to be an Awakener.

He thought all the experts of this kingdom had died in earlier battles.

It seems that no game can ever avoid one problem: the pace of player advancement can never keep up with the updates of the versions.

Especially in a game that claims complete reality, ’players,’ entities that not only do not die but also grow stronger with each battle, are inherently absurd.

He could clearly feel that their opponents were getting weaker with each fight. At first, a squad of ten infantrymen could be equipped with a light machine gun, but now, the vast Royal City was left with only thirty-something anti-aircraft cannons, and two hundred-man squads couldn’t even muster three machine guns.

The nearly insane mobilization had drained the last bit of vitality from this kingdom.

If a few months ago the Falcon Kingdom was a wolf armed to the teeth by the Army, now it was more like a dying old dog.

It’s not so much that they were beaten to death as they were dragged to death.

Because players don’t die, the Alliance could mobilize as much as it wanted, and as long as they didn’t massively deploy non-respawning NPCs to the front lines, the human resource pool wouldn’t change much. Instead, thanks to corporate support, they even made a fortune from War Treasures.

Theoretically, against any ’non-player force,’ the Alliance could win in this unreasonable manner—as long as industrial production continued, they could just wear out the opposition.

Old White couldn’t help but wonder how Ah Guang would deal with the issue of inflated combat power in the later stages of the game.

However, now clearly wasn’t the time to contemplate that.

"...Time to kick this crumbling shack down for good."

Looking at the castle’s main entrance that had already been breached, Old White smirked and, leading his squad members, quickly charged toward the castle.

...

At this moment, the castle was engulfed in flames.

Panic-filled footsteps and constant screams were unending.

No one expected the war to reach the king’s castle.

Most believed that tonight would just be a regular air raid, though difficult, it wouldn’t be unbearable.

Now—

Those naive thoughts had burst like bubbles.

Those who had never experienced the battlefield, even those who had never been touched by the flames of war, now finally felt the terror of death.

The usually meek and fawning servants had completely changed their demeanor, as the fear of death tore away the mask of respect and subservience.

Those wanting to survive were hiding and fleeing desperately, while those who had given up hope of survival became beasts in their final moments.

Some jumped into ponds, others hid in kitchen stoves, and still others fought over closets for hiding spots.

A noblewoman, worried about being disgraced by the Alliance Soldiers, chose to hang herself. However, before she could kick away the chair, an old servant burst in, snatching away both her and her clothes.

"What are you doing?!"

"Stay still! Damn it, we’re going to die anyway, what does it matter to you?!"

Gone was his previous humility and obsequiousness; the old man stared greedily at the bare expanse before him, his eyes filled with madness and avarice.

Considering what their Soldiers had done on the frontlines, their enemies wouldn’t spare them.

Rather than being taken advantage of by others, it was better if he—

In desperation, the noblewoman grabbed a vase from the ground and smashed it towards the servant’s head, managing to free herself as he screamed in pain.

The people in this castle had gone mad!

She ran towards the outside with all her might, without direction, not knowing where to go, just wanting to get far from this place.

But as soon as she descended the stairs, she collided with the group that had stormed in from outside the castle.

"While I don’t mind you throwing yourselves at us... could you pick a better time? Let’s talk after we’ve finished the fight."

Seeing the woman who suddenly rushed out, Night Ten, who had just raised his gun, awkwardly lowered it again, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

Would it be considered accidental homicide if the gun went off now?

Probably not...

"Stop talking nonsense."

Old White casually tore a piece of curtain and threw it in front of that woman, staring at her frightened eyes, he asked in United Human language.

"Where’s your king?"

The woman clutched the curtain tightly, looking at him fearfully, and stammered,

"He... I saw him in the Palace; he’s been sitting there since this morning and hasn’t come out."

Old White continued.

"What about the other members of the Royal Family?"

"I, I don’t know... but I heard everyone say they were going to hide in the dungeons." Driven by the instinct to survive, she gave up the others.

Night Ten teased.

"Brilliant—these people knew we were coming and locked themselves in."

Wild Wind touched his nose.

"It’s probably to evade the air raids."

He really didn’t know where to put his eyes, as the girl was only covered by a thin curtain.

Old White nodded, waved to his teammates behind him,

"To the Palace!"

The others quickly recovered and continued to press forward.

Bullets ripped from the forecourt all the way to the main building of the castle.

Both sides erupted in gunfire in the narrow staircases; the Burning Corps scattered throughout the castle began clearing room by room, evicting any resistance force bearing weapons.

Meanwhile, within the palace of the castle, there was silence; the chaos and gunfire from outside could barely reach here.

Montego, seated on the throne, gazed out at the silent night sky and the firelight beneath the curtain of darkness, remaining speechless for a long time.

He knew everything.

As the owner of the kingdom, how could he not know what had happened to his kingdom?

No good news had come from the front lines for a month, even the feats of a Centurion were exaggerated for a long time.

This was clearly not a sign of impending victory.

At that moment, the door to the palace opened.

Middel quickly stepped in, motioning the guards behind him to close the door.

His face was smeared with blood and he had sustained at least two gunshot wounds. His limping walk indicated the desperate state of the battle.

He knelt on one knee before the steps of the throne and spoke in a sincere voice.

"Your Majesty, the soldiers of the Alliance have breached the main gate of the castle! Please come with me immediately to the underground passage in the backyard..."

Montego turned his gaze from the window to him, but did not rise. Instead, he slowly called out his name.

"Middel."

"Your Majesty?"

"Tell me... do you think I’ve done something wrong?"

Middel was stunned.

Seeing that Middel remained silent, Montego continued.

"I want to hear the truth... swear by the Spirit of the Sand Sea, that everything you say next is the true sentiment from your heart."

"I... I don’t know, Your Majesty," Middel lowered his head, and the urgency and anxiety in his eyes suddenly gave way to a faint bewilderment, "My truth is that I don’t know where our future lies."

The riverbanks of Oasis No. 2 were disappearing, the area of the oasis reduced each year, and within a few centuries the Great Desert would engulf them—just as Oasis No. 1 had already vanished.

The Spirit of the Sand Sea did not bestow its blessings equally to all its children. They had neither the vast lands of the Lion Kingdom nor the seaports of the Camel Hump Kingdom. They were even inferior in innate conditions compared to the Honey Badger and the Golden Lizard.

Apart from war, they had no other choice.

But continuing to fight...

He equally saw no future in it.

The Weilante People never told them where the end was or what a world ruled by Weilante People would offer these Aliens...

Montego closed his eyes, neither commenting on Middel’s response nor showing any emotion, just sitting there as if waiting for something.

At that moment, the palace doors were violently breached, and the five-meter-tall door crashed heavily to the floor, stirring up thick dust.

Middel instinctively grasped the military saber at his waist as he watched the soldiers appear at the doorway. However, facing those dark muzzles of guns, his movements halted.

There was no need to doubt.

Even as an Awakener twice over, without an automatic weapon, he stood no chance against a group of armed Awakeners.

They could easily turn him and his saber into a sieve with just the flick of their fingers.

Exchanging glances with Old White, Wild Wind stepped forward and stopped in the center of the palace, looking up at the old man seated on the throne.

He looked like a weak ordinary old man, without a trace of the majesty that a king should have, much like the exhausted kingdom below his feet.

The Grim Reaper’s sickle was already at his throat.

Wild Wind addressed him.

"Surrender. You’ve already lost."

Montego calmly looked at the man before him, his dry lips slowly moving as he spoke.

"The Falcon Royal Family will not surrender."

Wild Wind, unsurprised by his response, continued expressionlessly.

"We’re not here to ask for your opinion."

"We have taken over this castle. Whatever you say, whether you live or die, doesn’t matter to us."

"We will announce your surrender to the public, with the alliance flag flying atop the castle as proof. We will use your face to make videos, use your channels to broadcast messages, telling your soldiers to defect to the Alliance, to open fire on the Weilante People... I believe that although many may hesitate, there will surely be those who will do so."

"This war will not end. We will continue fighting on your land, Triumph City will dispatch its army as you wish, and declare an endless expedition, and we have no reason to retreat either. We’ll fight here until the last man, until this oasis becomes a desert, until the last drop of your blood has been spilled..."

Middel felt a chill at these words, looking at the young man in disbelief.

Montego’s pupils constricted slightly on the throne, suddenly smiling wretchedly as if he understood something.

"Is this a command from your Manager...?"

"It doesn’t matter," Wild Wind continued indifferently, "The last correct thing you can do for this country, for this desert... is to sign the unconditional surrender document, then order your entire army to lay down their weapons and head to Bister Town to surrender."

"Then, we will enter an irredeemable hell," Montego calmly said, "Everyone will ride over our heads... I would rather die like a glorious soldier."

Wild Wind remained indifferent.

"Not necessarily. We are different from the Weilante People; we will not exterminate you. You can start over."

"Of course, if you deny this last chance, I can assure you that your nightmare has only just begun."

Montego stared at him intently,

his murky pupils immobile, as if weighing the pros and cons, or judging whether the man before him was trustworthy.

The silence between them lasted a long while.

Finally, the old man appeared to have an epiphany and slowly closed his eyes.

"Which side is hell can only be judged by posterity... Regardless, we indeed have lost."

With that, his whole body seemed to drain of energy. He relaxed his tense shoulders and leaned back against the cold throne.

"I surrender."

When those words of relief drifted from his parched lips, everyone in the palace, including Middel and the soldiers sprawled by the door covering gunshots, collectively exhaled in relief.

It was finally over...

Middel suddenly realized, to his surprise, that what he had been praying for was not victory but merely an end.

Regardless of whether it could be deemed dignified...