Players Invade Cyberpunk

The skirmish in the trenches is a distorted urban warfare, testing the will and quality of both sides' soldiers, especially the determination to fight to the death.

When more than a hundred members of the Chaotic Blade Association found a gap and jumped into the trench to fight with the players who rushed over from nearby, Light, who had been watching the battle from the foot of the mountain, was elated.

They had fought for a whole afternoon, with nearly two hundred casualties, and Light, commanding from the foot of the mountain, was almost at his limit. Finally, as night fell, a breach was opened; no way he would miss this opportunity.

"Quick! Tell Roy to lead his men and push forward, break through their defenses in one go!"

But as the players on the mountain gradually approached their limit, the Chaotic Blade Association at the foot of the mountain was no better off. Over a hundred wounded were moaning in pain within the camp, dismembered all over the place. Several cyber doctors were busily attending to the situation, the support personnel completely overwhelmed, though fortunately, there weren't many with original limbs; a missing hand or foot simply needed a replacement, or else their workload would've increased several folds.

"Ah, still fighting?"

Wrapped in two layers of bandages, Roy was stunned when he heard the adjutant say that Light wanted him to lead his men to continue charging to fill the line.

"I haven't been down here for an hour yet. For God's sake, let us catch our breath and drink some water."

They rotated three troops up the mountain just to keep continuous pressure on the defense line.

This afternoon alone, even not accounting for the defense line on the slope, they'd climbed up and down the mountain three or four times; their legs would have snapped if they were normal people.

"The situation is critical now; the front line has already breached the trench. Just one more push, and after charging down, you'll have whatever you want."

"It's not that I don't want to charge, but the brothers really can't take it anymore. Is that place meant for humans to charge down?"

Roy was also aggrieved. They'd bombarded with grenade launchers, shelled with rocket launchers, and charged back and forth several times; it's not like they're slacking off out of fear. Even the mountain head, if made of iron, would have been flattened by now, yet these people were still pinned on the mountain, like stones in a latrine, foul and hard.

He dragged the adjutant over to where his men were resting—the small open space crowded with over a hundred people, nearly everyone there was injured, expressions despondent.

The high-intensity war severely tested the soldiers' will, with countless examples of mental breakdown on the brutal battlefield.

The adjutant was also at a loss at this moment, whose own scalp was tingling just from watching, let alone these brothers who had fought intensely for an entire afternoon. Olivia's subordinates were already considered the strongest group in the Chaotic Blade Association, significantly stronger than those over at Stone Ridge Mountain.

For a time, he didn't know what to say but couldn't just go back without an explanation to Light.

But at this moment, several people suddenly walked into their resting area.

"I know you've worked hard fighting all afternoon, but the opportunity is fleeting, and we can't delay."

It was Light and his service soldier who had arrived, with a box in the service soldier's hand.

Light opened the box in front of everyone present, revealing a full case of brand-new European currency; roughly estimated, there was at least over three hundred thousand.

Many members of the Chaotic Blade Association were mesmerized, staring intently at the thick wads of cash, unable to take their eyes off it as if they'd spotted a peerless beauty. Their eyes were filled with greed, and their breathing became heavier.

Light: "I'm putting up this money myself. As long as we take the valley entrance, everyone who returns alive will have a share."

Using cash for battlefield motivation is a tactic only third-rate troops would employ, but what else could Light do? The Chaotic Blade Association is like this—you can't talk about national sentiment or ethnic future with a bunch of bandits.

They can't even see their own future; what they can see is living in the moment, and only the most tangible European money.

The appearance of a large amount of cash was like a hypnosis app in a notebook; the effect was immediate.

Many of the Chaotic Blade Association members sitting on the ground resting immediately stood up.

Roy even changed his countenance, no longer showing his previous reluctance.

"Let's go! Brothers, it's just a hill. If we can't take it down tonight, we won't sleep! Finish it and come back for drinks and meat!"

"Yes!!!"

Seeing the money, they suddenly felt an unlimited surge of energy. Some even began administering morphine and other drugs to themselves to dispel fear, preparing to confront the people on the mountain.

———

As the last rays of sunlight vanished from the sea horizon, darkness engulfed the earth, and the cool moonlight bathed the land—the skirmish battlefield belonging to the players and Chaotic Blade Association, however, had just begun.

There were no lighting facilities on the slope trenches, and even if there were, they had already been shattered by earlier shelling.

The battlefield in sight was only illuminated by the shattered wooden composite panels set ablaze by the artillery, serving as the sole light source. But that weak light didn't affect the players' and Chaotic Blade Association's vision in the slightest.

The night vision function of cyber eyes is arguably one of the most basic features. In the bizarre world tinted green, every corner or backside in the interconnected trenches could produce an enemy, the shock no less than a jump scare from a horror game.

"Ha! Let me show you the magic of Great Britain's chief archmage, Merlin—the Five-Linked Fireball Skill!"

The players never confined themselves to details or rules when crafting or equipping weapons, they did whatever they wanted.

The Sword Saint, whose bullets from the electromechanical machine gun were exhausted, switched to his second set of equipment during a brief respite—a flamethrower.

And it was a flamethrower in the trenches.