Chapter Eighteen: Masters Gathering

Mr. Tie appeared not to be very old, probably in his thirties, though his stern expression and the abundance of wrinkles on his face made him look all the more shrewd.

Then, Tian Na began to introduce the new companions one by one.

The first, naturally, was the team captain and leader: Dragon Warrior Starfield. Not only did his name carry an imposing aura, but his physique was burly and his face resolute, exuding the cold, determined air of a soldier. Wu Hua guessed he was likely a retired soldier in real life, as his bearing was unmistakable.

Dragon Warrior Starfield was a level 30 Gene Warrior, a fact alone enough to command everyone’s awe. His level was remarkable, yet he himself was a man of few words, only giving Wu Hua a slight nod.

What surprised Wu Hua was that this elite squad actually included four gunners. Besides himself and Motorola, there was a machine gunner and a rifleman, whose names were “Shooting You Is No Crime” and “So Ugly It's Handsome.”

These two made Wu Hua respect the team even more. Until now, he had never seen a machine gunner in the world of Star Wars. Shooting You Is No Crime wielded an M249SA model mini-machine gun. Although somewhat antiquated, even a basic version was formidable, with a muzzle energy of 1572 joules, a firing rate of 12 rounds per second, a magazine holding 200 rounds, and an effective range of 300 meters. It used the 5.56mm NATO standard rounds, notorious for their tumbling wounds—perfect for causing massive blood loss—though its armor-piercing capability was far below that of the FAMAS.

Notably, this gun alone weighed over ten kilograms, and without sufficient strength specialization, one simply couldn’t lift it. Wu Hua tentatively asked, “Brother, what level are you?”

“I’m about to hit level 31,” Shooting You Is No Crime replied, his voice booming like thunder, leaving everyone speechless.

The rifle used by So Ugly It's Handsome also widened Wu Hua’s horizons—the “Chicago Typewriter,” the famous American submachine gun from World War II, which looked similar to an AK but with a huge round drum magazine—so old it could hardly get any older.

Of course, there had to be a reason for bringing such an antique. This gun had many drawbacks: it was bulky, heavy, underpowered, with a short range and a muzzle energy of only 569 joules. It fired 11.43mm pistol rounds, but boasted a magazine capacity of 500. Using it could still send bullets flying everywhere, making for havoc—essentially a miniature heavy machine gun, more than enough to give any ordinary person a hard time.

Wu Hua surmised this weapon was at least above the rare (red) equipment tier.

There was also a level 27 Esper and a level 25 Electromancer, named “Su2o” and “Drifter in the Underworld.” Clearly, Tian Na had chosen well—favoring gunners and warriors, for survival was paramount.

When introducing the other two chip warriors, Tian Na’s face flushed for the first time, because one of them, a level 26 chip warrior, was named—“Just Finished!”

Wu Hua couldn’t help but burst out laughing: “Brother, are you really that desperate for a woman?”

The other warrior’s name made Wu Hua laugh even harder—“Rustic Yam.”

Rustic Yam looked Wu Hua up and down and commented, “Is this all you’ve got? What are you even doing here?”

Wu Hua didn’t argue. He wasn’t well-equipped or high-leveled to begin with, and there was no point in bickering—money isn’t made by talking, after all.

The tenth member was the team’s doctor, a pure and adorable young lady, with an equally outlandish name: “Oh Wow!”

“Hehe, hello everyone, please take care of me,” Oh Wow greeted politely, bowing.

“Don’t underestimate little Oh,” Tian Na explained. “She can use area-based spatial healing, restoring 3000 health to all allies within ten meters in a single cast.”

Wu Hua was impressed. “Everyone here is an expert.”

The eleventh member was, of course, the Metalmancer Fly, whose role needed no further elaboration.

The final two members left Wu Hua flabbergasted: one was a broadcaster holding a microphone, and the other a cameraman lugging a video camera.

The broadcaster was a mature and elegant woman named “Why Aren’t You By My Side, My Dear?”

“A long name doesn’t mean you’re impressive,” Wu Hua mused, then looked to the reporter, whose name nearly made him faint—“A News Reporter’s Name Doesn’t Have to Be Too Long.”

“Damn, you’re worried your name isn’t long enough?” Rustic Yam cursed.

The new reporter grinned, “Brothers, from now on, I’ll be following you all 24/7, documenting your heroic deeds on site.”

The broadcaster also smiled, “Rest assured, friends, we’ll never get in your way. As war correspondents, our defense and speed stats are extremely high—no need to worry.”

Dragon Warrior Starfield’s lips twitched and his brow furrowed. Seeing this, Mr. Tie stepped forward and announced, “Everyone, these two are reporters from our company’s radio station. The purpose is to film the operation for advertising. Since I’m not clear on what exactly the ‘Road to Survival’ entails, everything depends on you. If you trust me, I’ll make a personal promise here: if even one of you returns alive, I’ll add a bonus on top of your contract—” He raised his hand, “Six hundred thousand credits.”

A roar of excitement swept through the hall, and Wu Hua felt his blood boiling.

Money—nothing but money! Cold, hard cash! They were truly burning money here, Wu Hua thought.

The scorching sun hung high in the sky, with not a cloud in sight. A military truck loaded with people sped down a desert highway beneath the blue sky and white clouds.

The entire Strange Tactics Squad was aboard. In the cab sat Just Finished, the broadcaster, and the new reporter, while Wu Hua and the others stayed in the truck bed.

This Mercedes S2000 military truck looked almost identical to the domestic Dongfeng heavy trucks, but in fact, its defensive capabilities were superb. The body was reinforced with seven-millimeter quaternary alloy armor plates, especially underneath, effectively guarding against landmines.

Tian Na had thought of everything for this mission. Each person wore the green camouflage uniform of the US Navy SEALs, rented from the Federal Government as mission gear. The uniforms concealed their original armor, and though they had no attributes, they had many extra uses: for example, they could equip mission radar, allowing everyone in the group to see each other’s positions clearly; shoulder straps could hold radios with a range of up to 500 meters; the belt, made with spatial technology, was weightless and had five units of capacity—enough to fit a sniper rifle in a single unit.

In addition, supplies were fully stocked: bullets, potions, energy crystals, tents, alloys, night-vision goggles, binoculars, gas masks, spatial backpacks, and so on. The M18 landmine, nearly the size of a micro-missile, was carried by team leader Dragon Warrior Starfield.

“Damn, if only these weren’t just mission items,” Rustic Yam grumbled, glancing at Wu Hua. “Hey, shorty, you’re only level sixteen. Are you scared? If you are, just yell—it’s not too late to turn back.”

Before Wu Hua could reply, Shooting You Is No Crime spoke up, “The electronic contract is for 3.73 million credits. If you kick him out, you’d get a bigger share, right?”

“Well, well, Shooting, didn’t expect you to be that sharp,” Rustic Yam was surprised.

“Who do you think I am? You think you can hide your little schemes from me?” Shooting You Is No Crime sneered.

“Oh, getting cocky now, are you? Brother, being high-level doesn’t mean you’re all that,” Rustic Yam replied.

“So what if I am? You gonna challenge me?” Shooting You Is No Crime’s temper was as sharp as a blade.

“Let’s see who’s tougher, then.” Rustic Yam leapt from his seat, ready to throw down right in the truck.

Dragon Warrior Starfield cleared his throat twice, and both men instantly quieted down. In every gesture, the captain exuded an invisible, commanding presence.