Chapter 42: Predators Of The Desert

POV: Phoenix Kade

The morning sun climbs higher, unleashing scalding heat upon the world. Light spreads across the desert, kissing the faces of Blackflag's warriors and bathing them in fiery, blood-like radiance. Even when the sun grows so bright we can barely see, we continue squinting and staring as the battalion draws closer.

They are the true predators of the deserts. The locusts of the Shatterlands. The most terrifying and notorious beings these barren lands have to offer.

Sweepers delight in roving the wastes, attacking caravans and small units. But they usually never dare launch direct attacks against bases as large as Blackflag. The outpost has a population of more than ten thousand with thousands of able-bodied fighters. It's a tough bone to chew for any sweeper unit.

But things are different now. The disastrous beast wave just ended. Multiple breaches in the barricades, heavy casualties among the defenders, everyone exhausted. This is as weak as Blackflag has ever been. If a sweeper battalion wants to destroy us, this is the perfect opportunity.

Even figures like Mad Dog and Slyfox have heavy looks on their faces. A sweeper battalion is every bit as dangerous as a beast wave, but there's a difference. Beast waves might be savage, but they're nothing more than foolish animals. Sweeper battalions are formed by human mutants.

Mutants aren't necessarily stupid. Some are quite intelligent, and the smart ones often take leadership roles. They forge armor, craft weapons, tame beasts, drive vehicles, even operate firearms. Sweeper battalions have their own military tactics. They understand reinforcement and can analyze weaknesses. Dealing with them is completely different from dealing with beasts.

"Listen up, rookies. Don't do a single damn thing without orders."

Slyfox slowly loads bullets into his pistols.

"I've never heard of such a large sweeper battalion operating in this area. There's something seriously fishy going on here."

In this age, ultraviolet radiation is so heavy it can virtually cause blindness. I force myself to keep my eyes open as I stare at the impending battalion. I can't tell how many there are, but this is definitely a large force.

I suddenly tremble. I hear a strange sound ringing out from far away. I can't describe this sound to anyone because it isn't something I hear with my ears. I'm hearing it with some other type of perception. It's as though an invisible guitar string hangs in the air before me, and when the wind blows it plucks the string, creating a thrumming sound.

What in the world is that? Why does it seem so familiar?

I can't help but think of the similar, strange feeling I experienced in that underground passageway. I followed that sensation until I found the strange stone I now wear around my neck. Do these sweepers have equipment similar to my stone? That seems impossible.

Mad Dog sees my face turn pale. He squeezes a grin onto his hideously scarred face and spins his snow-white machetes in the air.

"If you're afraid, kid, you can hide behind me. Rookies like you aren't equipped to deal with foes like them."

"Fuck that! When have I ever been afraid!"

I fought by Mad Dog's side in that inn, so I can say this without reservation. However, a solemn look crosses my face.

"But I have the feeling we shouldn't be in a hurry. Let's not be the first to act."

I don't try to explain the strange feeling. If I did, the mercenaries would probably think I'm going mad. But I really can feel some sort of energy blowing toward us like dandelions on the wind. The strange energy has already surrounded the area around our base, and I have a very bad feeling that something is about to happen. This type of sensation, a feeling of mortal danger, is almost never wrong.

Slyfox also has the feeling that being in the vanguard is a bad decision. He immediately orders the mercenaries to withdraw slightly. The outpost guards and elite squads can form the front lines. There's no need for Tartarus to fight over that honor.

The dozens of Tartarus mercenaries fall back by several dozen meters. Right at this moment, a powerful tempest suddenly arises, sweeping up all the pebbles and sand on the streets. It's like a small sandstorm has suddenly attacked the outpost, catching all the guards off guard.

"Goddamnit!"

"Why is there wind?!"

"Not good. I've got no vision!"

Although the weather in the Shatterlands is always bad, the timing of this minor sandstorm is too suspicious. Everyone's field of vision is completely blocked, making it impossible to see what maneuvers the enemy is carrying out. The sweeper battalion picks up the pace. The ground begins to tremble. Stones on the streets rattle like drops of oil and water in a frying pan. Everyone can sense the danger drawing closer.

"They're here!"

"Careful, careful!"

Multiple ferocious, heavily modified trucks slam into the city barricades like giant battering rams. Thud. Thud. THUD. The enormous heavy trucks ram into the barricades, causing earth-shaking explosion sounds. Stacked sandbags and heavy boulders tumble downward from the force of the great collisions. Quite a few trucks ram straight through the barricades, bowling over and crushing sand-blinded guardsmen caught off guard.

Every single vehicle bristles with sharp spikes. When they drive past the guards, they're like meat grinders that kick up a storm of bloody rain. The outpost guards howl miserably as they fall to the ground. Some are impaled on the spikes of the vehicles.

"Damn them."

Captain Grizzly of the elite squad roars furiously.

"Retreat!"

But the sandstorm makes it so his voice simply cannot carry. Right at this moment, several of these crude vehicles slam into each other, causing the deaths of at least twenty warriors. The vehicles then reverse a few meters before slamming into the walls again, causing near complete destruction of the outside perimeter.

The wind turns inward, bringing with it the sound of hoofsteps that ring out like raindrops in a storm. Ten or so scale-covered, twin-horned mutabeasts shaped almost like bulls are driven into the outpost. Every single one is covered with ugly plates of iron armor. The iron plates not only provide protection but have razors and spikes fixed onto them.

The eyes of the mutated bulls are covered by swathes of black cloth, preventing them from seeing where they're going. Their tails have been set alight. The blazing fire behind them causes them to lose control completely, and they charge straight into the masses of guards within the outpost.

Guards are sent flying, one after the other. Some are gored to death, others trampled. These wild beasts are overwhelmingly strong, and they have those iron plates for protection. There's no way ordinary base guards can stop them. Within just a few short minutes, the bodies of the mutant bulls are stained with blood and gore, the outpost defenses in complete chaos.

"Kill those things!"

Ten or so outpost guards howl angrily as they charge forward in unison toward one of the wild bulls. The bull knocks two flying, gores a third, then lifts its hooves and tramples a fourth while the sharp spikes on its body tear into the chest of a fifth. The attacks of the guards don't seem to have much impact. In the end, Captain Grizzly has to personally intervene. He severs the bull's neck with one chop from his saber, and only then is the maddened beast's rampage brought to an end.

That wild rush from the ten or so mutant bulls isn't enough to actually defeat the outpost, but they have a major impact on our defenses. By now, the sandstorm has already stopped. The sweepers have been given more than enough time to penetrate the outpost, and all the soldiers are forced to fall back to the second line of defense.

When Slyfox sees the haggard state of the defenders, the fat on his face jiggles as he laughs.

"Fuck me, good thing we withdrew. Otherwise, those fuckers would've gored us in our asses as well."

"This isn't the time to revel in their misfortunes!"

I'm truly rendered speechless by this damn fatso.

"We're in really bad shape right now!"