Chapter Sixty-Six: Massacre (Part One)

Yet Ark Bevin could never have imagined that, as he sneered viciously, a thousand meters away, hidden beneath a great tree in a tangle of grass, Huang Xiwen let out a sly, sinister chuckle of his own: “Damn those giant American fools, do they really think I can’t hold them off? If I didn’t want to wipe out every last one of them, if I didn’t plan to lure them all to that place at the same time, would I need to go to such trouble, dragging them in circles and pretending to play some cat-and-mouse game?” Huang Xiwen’s laughter was wicked. “Wait until they run into Lei Dong—then they’ll know what true terror is…”

Nor could Ark Bevin have guessed that, at that very moment, Lei Dong was quietly lurking at the edge of a dense black fog. Under Shui Yaoxian’s widening gaze of astonishment, he listened intently to distant sounds as he slowly and carefully reached into the bottom of his pack and drew out a somber, dark axe.

Yes—not a combat knife, not a military dagger, but… an axe.

The axe was not long; its handle was about fifty centimeters, ten centimeters in diameter, and five centimeters thick at the grip. The blade, thirty centimeters wide, took up half the head; the back was over ten centimeters thick. The ends of the handle were tipped with oddly shaped spikes.

No one could say what material the entire battle axe was forged from, but it was painted in a blackened camouflage, making it look ominously dark.

Shui Yaoxian’s lips parted slightly, her expression strange as she stared at the black axe. “What… what is that?”

At this moment, Shui Yaoxian was some six hundred meters behind Lei Dong, swathed in thick black mist. If she hadn’t been the one to conjure the fog herself, it would have been almost impossible to see anything, yet Lei Dong seemed to sense her gaze. He smiled faintly and said, “This is a battle axe I modified from the Republic’s number one weapon—the Q5 engineer’s shovel. Crafted entirely from quenched high-carbon steel and reinforced with premium alloy, hand-forged, weighing thirty kilograms. It can chop, slice, cleave, stab, hook, and slash—a true essential, whether for home or the battlefield!” A look of pride sparkled in Lei Dong’s deep, dark eyes.

Hearing his voice through her earpiece, Shui Yaoxian paused. Can he see me? But she quickly put it aside; his cultivation was far deeper than hers.

She couldn’t help but laugh at Lei Dong’s playful boasting, but then she realized: thirty kilograms? Sixty jin? My god…

The thought of a sixty-jin axe crashing down on an enemy’s skull sent a chill through her, but also a tremor of excitement. “It’s just so… brutal…”

In the distance, Lei Dong tilted his head slightly and whispered, “They’re here. Be careful.”

Perched high in a tree’s crown, Shui Yaoxian heard Lei Dong’s final words: “This battle axe is called Thunderclap!” And then, as if the entire forest filled with a murderous aura, she opened her eyes and saw that Lei Dong’s figure had flickered and vanished without a trace.

A faint, almost inaudible “crack” followed, and Lei Dong’s calm, soft voice drifted through the air: “The first one.”

The first to die under Lei Dong’s battle axe was Private Locke, Third Squad, Bevin Company, Sixth Platoon of the Poseidon Assault Team.

This poor soul, having joined the Minia Federation Army only two years before and survived a year of the Poseidon Team’s so-called “hell training,” had just been through a grueling march on this island with his squad leader, Sergeant William.

Their squad of eight, ordered to reinforce the dock road, was attacked by a terrifying figure. In the chaos, a red demon—whose face Locke never even saw—killed two of his comrades in a flash.

Soon after, Third Squad was ordered to shift northwest. According to Sergeant William, they were to besiege the enemy’s stronghold, draw them in, and with overwhelming numbers, crush them from three sides.

The route was exhausting. Their hidden foe seemed to anticipate their every move, ambushing and harassing them with ever-increasing ferocity. Yet under William’s command, their formation held, and despite two wounded, they reached their designated position.

But the cunning enemy who had hounded them all the way vanished at the edge of the dense forest ahead.

This left Locke feeling uneasy, oppressed, and strangely afraid. When Sergeant William ordered them to be on alert, Locke suddenly realized he was still nearly a hundred meters from the treeline, but darkness suddenly swept over him—he could see nothing, hear nothing, as if the world itself had been swallowed by night.

A terror and helplessness rose from the depths of his soul, seizing him. He tried to cry out, but it was too late. An icy object pressed silently against his throat—almost a lover’s touch—and a wave of numbing cold swept through his body. Locke realized in horror that his head was now entirely separate from his body…

Lei Dong reached out, catching Locke’s body and laying it gently on the ground before moving silently toward his next target. The Thunderclap in his hands was unstained by even a drop of blood, as if the blade had sliced not flesh, but the surface of a tranquil lake.

Lei Dong moved with such lightness—his control over his body so refined that every muscle seemed visible to his mind’s eye, each fiber perfectly obedient to his will. His tremendous strength, honed since childhood, made the sixty-jin battle axe feel lighter than a feather.

This paradox of weight and agility made Lei Dong’s every movement seem ethereal and mysterious—reaping lives with effortless, silent precision.

At this moment, Lei Dong crouched like a wildcat, body tightly coiled to minimize his silhouette and avoid detection by enemy infrared scopes. Though the area for several kilometers around was shrouded by Shui Yaoxian’s “Dark Guardian,” muffling sight, sound, and sensation, Lei Dong, as a special forces soldier, remembered his first lesson: be bold, bolder, and bolder still; be cautious, cautious, and yet more cautious.

In the darkness, Lei Dong’s eyes narrowed, his pupils black and bright, as if shooting out beams of shadowy light. Twenty meters away, a Poseidon commando stood, scanning around in confusion. Rifle in his right hand, his left adjusted the monocular of his night-vision scope, speaking into his throat mic:

“Visibility poor, no sight of the target. Bearing two-zero-eight, repeat, two-zero-eight, converge on my position…”

Sergeant William finished his report and exhaled, adjusting his night vision once more. The constant harassment had exhausted him, and now, with the attacks ceased, he found himself alone in this fog-shrouded forest, separated from his squad.

He could finally relax, if only a little. Although communications were oddly garbled and unclear, contact with Captain Bevin had been restored; his squadmates had confirmed their positions and would regroup in minutes. The heavy fog might hinder their action, but it would also make it hard for the enemy to attack.

A few minutes to rest and check his gear. But suddenly, William’s gaze froze. Less than five meters ahead, a figure appeared—two black, gleaming eyes shining with a sharp light, even through the thick darkness.

William opened his mouth, but before a sound escaped, the shadow flickered—moving with a speed that seemed slow, yet in truth transcended time and space. In an instant, it was before him. The right hand flashed, and a black blade, like a streak of lightning, crashed down on his head. The high-strength, nanomaterial helmet split in two without resistance. A cold rush of air poured into his skull, his chest, his abdomen—a freezing wind mingling with his hot blood, instantly choking his throat.

“I’ve led my men to their deaths…” In his final moment, Sergeant William felt no shock at his foe’s lightning speed, nor at his overwhelming strength. Instead, he realized, with a crushing clarity, that just a second before, he had given the last, and gravest, order of his life.