Chapter 253
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Chapter 253: Silver Devil
"For Gem Valley! Charge!"
"For our families! Charge!"
"For our survival! Charge!"
Omar’s group charged from the corner with a clear intent, but the Pashtun young men, blinded by rage, jumped out from their cover without any orders, roaring as they rushed towards the enemy.
One by one, comrades fell, and hate blinded their eyes; they completely lost their previous rationality, thinking only of revenge. They wanted to tear the enemies into fragments to ease their burning anger.
"Come back! Come back, you fools!"
The experienced mercenaries knew it was bad and hurried to stop them. They relied on the position to slowly wear down the enemy. With no advantage of terrain, rushing in carelessly was practically seeking death.
Despite carrying guns and ammunition, these Pashtun young men were not much better than a disorganized mob. Although they admired brute strength, they lacked any organization and discipline.
It was clear that this mob had not learned any deep lessons about discipline, yet the mercenaries were helplessly swept along, with only a few keeping their cool and not rushing out recklessly.
"For the dollars!"
"For cigarettes and fine wine!"
"For freedom!"
"For health!"
The bandits randomly shouted various slogans to motivate themselves while leaping out from the ground and behind makeshift cover, mixing it up with the enemy in a chaotic battle.
What they shouted most, repeating endlessly, was “Blessings from Allah!”
"Charge, charge, you idiots! Brothers, let’s go!"
Muza tayev shouted from the back, driving his men to charge forward. The Pashtun young men’s sudden rush suited him perfectly; it was clear they were inexperienced rookies. In a chaotic battle, the defending side rarely launched a counter-charge without an advantage—this was like offering themselves as targets.
He was confident that the old veterans he led were far stronger than these newly gathered civilians. With a single charge, they could break through the mountain pass.
The deadly power of automatic weapons erupted at that moment, and people continued to fall. Those who went down either struggled and moaned in pain or lay still, no longer making a sound.
A shadow shimmering with silver light suddenly burst forth from the mountain pass like a fierce wind, diving into the close-range melee. In that moment, what was about to become a close-quarters battlefield turned into a one-sided massacre.
Where the sword light flashed, it stirred up a bloody storm, with severed limbs and screams mingling together.
"What… what kind of monster is this?"
"Help!"
"Fire, fire! Allah above!"
"If you can’t kill it, who will save me?"
"Ah…"
The heartbreaking screams completely drowned out the gunfire, becoming the battle’s theme song.
"What is this? Is it a devil?"
Muza tayev watched in disbelief as several of his men were torn to shreds by a sudden silver figure, the visual and auditory impact striking fear deep within him.
What kind of monster was this? In the chaotic crossfire, it completely ignored the AK’s sweeping fire, tearing through the scattered lines like the Grim Reaper, indiscriminately reaping lives.
In the dance of the blade, almost no one noticed that the broken guns and metal fragments had quietly vanished without a trace.
“‘Sir Knight’!”
Many among the Pashtun people habitually called Lin Mo "Sir." A Pashtun young man, recognizing that figure, cheered loudly. Cold weapons were the best for close combat, and Lin Mo’s sudden appearance completely disrupted the armed militants’ attempts to form a firepower network.
Just a moment of chaos allowed the Pashtun young men to charge into the ranks of the armed militants; in close combat, the AK-47 was less effective than a fire poker and could even injure their own sides.
The Pashtun people, known for their bravery and love of battle, revered warriors from a young age, each carrying a curved blade.
There is a Pashtun saying: “The most terrifying things in the world are the fangs of a venomous snake, the claws of a fierce tiger, and the curved swords of the Pashtun people.”
The Pashtun curved blade has been renowned alongside the Indian cobra and the Bengal tiger, all known for instilling fear.
With their most suitable weapons now in hand, the Pashtun fighters gained the upper hand, turning the entire battle into a duel between melee weapons and gunpowder. The brave Pashtun young men raised their curved swords high and, alongside Lin Mo, decapitated their enemies, claiming the victories for themselves.
“Don’t retreat, hold your ground, hold your ground!” Muza tayev knew very well what awaited him if they retreated; he frantically shouted to prevent his men from breaking ranks, even shooting one comrade who tried to escape.
Two of Muza tayev’s subordinates fired on the ground, causing stones to fly, effectively halting the retreat and reminding the panic-stricken militants that fleeing was a dead end.
The white man was not someone to be trifled with. Even if they escaped, in this vast wilderness, with no supplies or water, any direction they fled would end in death.
Muza tayev’s ferocity intimidated the frightened militants. They recognized how treacherous he could be and quickly regained their wits, stopping their retreat.
With death looming on both sides, the dire situation brought out the ruthlessness of these bandits, leading to a chaotic battle with the Pashtun young men.
Gunfire, the clash of blades, and screams rang out continuously.
Lin Mo moved as if strolling through a park, effortlessly reaping enemy lives. His armor was not merely made from parts of a J-10 fighter but was akin to a gold giant dragon that came to feast. No one noticed that his armor had slightly transformed, appearing more flamboyant and fierce, while the long sword in his hand was exceptionally sharp, slicing through foes like a hot knife through butter, facing no obstruction at all, without even the need to use battle energy.
The coalition vanguard of the "Taliban," "Jamaat al-Tableeg," "Holy War Army," and "World Uyghur Congress" slammed into a wall of resistance, suffering heavy losses. They couldn’t even see if they could retreat safely, let alone push into Gem Valley to launch an attack.
“Report! Report! Up ahead, we spotted the ‘Silver Devil’!”
The panting leader in a dark blue cap rode a tall Arabian horse into the camp, only ten kilometers from the Gem Valley’s entrance.
The middle-aged white man stood in the center of the temporary camp, examining a map, contemplating how to plan and build this upcoming paradise.
“The ‘Silver Devil’?” The middle-aged white man paused, his grip seeming to lose control as, with a snap, he broke the pencil he was holding. He showed no dissatisfaction towards the leader in the dark blue cap who rushed in, waving his hand and saying, “I understand. You may leave.”
“Mr. Lawrence, Muza tayev’s men are nearly at their breaking point; there are a hundred of them!” To be honest, the leader in the dark blue cap didn’t expect the rumored ‘Silver Devil’ to show up as a secret weapon at such a crucial moment, surprisingly emerging in the first skirmish.
“It’s fine. Let them hold on a little longer. Send another hundred men to support; the ‘Silver Devil’? Hmph, if it’s so eager to appear, then it shouldn’t think it can escape.”
Lawrence, the middle-aged white man, smirked coldly, waving his hand again. “Go arrange it immediately. Don’t let the ‘Silver Devil’ get away; that is the real prize.”
“But… but…” The leader in the dark blue cap looked troubled; he had heard how powerful the ‘Silver Devil’ was.
But seeing is believing; tonight, watching from outside the battlefield with night vision goggles, he found he had not only not overestimated it, but had also drastically underestimated it. The reality was more terrifying than the rumors.
Mr. Lawrence’s orders were clearly to use the lives of the brothers as bait to trap the ‘Silver Devil.’ Even if Lawrence’s backup was tougher than the “Silver Devil,” it would cost many lives.
“No buts! Execute it immediately, now! If you let the opponent escape, you too can forget about living. I’ll just find someone else to replace you.” A cold murderous look flickered in Lawrence’s eyes, causing cold sweat to bead on the back of the leader in the dark blue cap, who hurriedly retreated to find those willing to die.
Compared to the eight million dollar bounty, what were the worthless lives of Afghans? As long as there was money, could anything not be purchased?
In the war-torn lands, the desperate and impoverished Afghan people could turn into wolves and tigers just for a meal; the flow of cannon fodder was continuous.
More importantly, if they formed connections with powerful families, they would have the opportunity to acquire advanced equipment that money couldn’t buy, paving the way for their organization’s future.
Regardless, eight million dollars was still a considerable fortune.
The “Taliban,” “Jamaat al-Tableeg,” “Holy War Army,” and "World Uyghur Congress" only sought territory, unaware that the real prize lay among the Pashtun people. This tremendous benefit was theirs to grasp.
Upon seeing the leader in the dark blue cap leave the tent, he picked up the walkie-talkie from the corner of the large table holding the map, adjusted the channel, and spoke into it: “This is Lawrence. The target has appeared; no matter the cost.”
Moments later, from a corner of the camp, the roar of engines erupted from two tents nearly the size of the central tent. One wall of the loosely secured tents suddenly flapped open, and two Stryker wheeled armored vehicles burst forth into the astonished gazes of everyone at the camp, speeding away.
