Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 992 Blood Sea and Sandy Road

The entire Sand Valley has been completely transformed into a slaughterhouse.

The flickering firelight distorted and magnified the frantic fighting figures, projecting them onto the sand dunes like a chaotic dance of demons.

Gunshots and explosions—someone detonated a grenade in desperation.

There were also sounds of metal clashing, blades piercing flesh, bones cracking, the screams of the dying, desperate curses, and the sounds of fighting over a kettle…

All the sounds blended together to form a frenzied and bloody symphony that echoed under the cold desert night sky.

The intense smell of blood and gunpowder, thick and heavy, pressed down on the lungs of every survivor.

Song Heping was like a tireless killing machine, charging left and right through the chaotic crowd.

The bullets were all used up, and the Mad Dog Tactical Knife had turned completely dark red, with thick blood dripping down the blade.

His sand camouflage uniform was already soaked with the blood of both the enemy and himself, clinging tightly to his body, and each swing of his knife sprayed out a trail of blood droplets.

His breathing was like a broken bellows, each inhale carrying a heavy stench of blood and gunpowder, each exhale spewing out scorching white mist.

Sharp pains shot through multiple parts of his body—his arm was grazed by a stray bullet and burned; a bayonet had slashed his ribs, and blood was seeping out, staining his belt red.

The thirst seemed to be briefly numbed by the fierce fighting, but each powerful swing of his sword and each heavy breath reminded him of the rapid loss of moisture from his body. Exhaustion, like a cold tide, crashed against his will wave after wave.

But he can't stop!
He was the alpha wolf of the pack, the leader of this bloody feast!
A GNA soldier with an unusually tall stature, a face full of scars, and eyes flashing with the ferocity of a trapped beast, brandished an iron hammer he had somehow acquired and roared as he charged toward Song Heping!

The hammer slammed down on Song Heping's head with a dull thud!

Song Heping's pupils contracted, and his body leaned back as far as it could!
The hammerhead whizzed past his nose! He could even feel the cold touch of the metal and the strong wind it generated!

Just as his opponent finished his move and leaned forward, Song Heping sprang up like a spring compressed to its limit!

Before he could even raise his hand to wield the knife, his body slammed into the other man's arms like a bullet!
With lightning speed, his left hand gripped the opponent's wrist holding the hammer, while his right hand, with its five fingers together, gathered all the remaining strength in his body and, like an iron chisel, fiercely stabbed at the opponent's unprotected Adam's apple!
"Uh!"

A short, muffled sound of a throat bone cracking rang out! The burly man's eyes widened instantly, filled with disbelief, horror, and excruciating pain, and the hammer fell from his hand.

Without pausing, Song Heping spun around and slammed his right knee into the opponent's groin like a battering ram!
"Ow—!"

A horrific scream escaped the burly man's throat. Like a mountain of flesh whose foundation had been removed, he collapsed to his knees on the cold sand, clutching his genitals with both hands, his body curled up in a ball and convulsing violently.

Song Heping didn't even look at him. Just as he straightened up, he caught a faint glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye—from the shadow of the wreckage of a pickup truck next to him!

A soldier whose movements were clearly more professional and whose eyes were calmer was kneeling, with the muzzle of his assault rifle already pointed at him!

It turns out he's from SBS!

The iconic weapon silhouette of the British Special Boat Squadron!
Song Heping's heart suddenly clenched!

A chilling premonition of death instantly gripped him!

No time to think!
The body's instincts outpace consciousness!
Song Heping suddenly lunged to the side! At the same time, he roared with all his might, "SBS! Take cover!"

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—! ! !
The scorching bullets, like the fangs of a viper, swept past his rolling body and bit into the sand where he had just stood, sending up columns of sand!

Thud! Thud! Thud! The bullets struck the metal of the pickup truck wreckage with a piercing sound, scattering sparks!
"Hold!"

A roar came from not far away; he had clearly also noticed the deadly threat. A burst of bullets immediately sprayed at the wreckage of the pickup truck, sending sparks flying from the metal.

The bullet pierced through the thin metal plate of the carriage, riddling the SBS member inside with holes.

Song Heping rolled several times and hid behind an overturned sand motorcycle, sitting down on the ground next to the vehicle.

The cold metal shell pressed against his back, giving him a false sense of security.

He was breathing heavily, his lungs burning with pain; the last bit of strength he had just used up was almost gone from his desperate dodge.

Cold sweat mixed with blood slid down his forehead, flowing into the corner of his eye and causing a stinging pain. He wiped his face, his hands covered in sticky blood.

The appearance of that SBS member was like throwing a block of ice into a boiling pot of oil.

It instantly extinguished the brief fervor in Song Ping's heart caused by the killing and plundering of water resources, replacing it with a bone-chilling cold and a strong warning.

Those well-trained and well-equipped SBS special forces soldiers!
They are the real threat!
That string of bullets was a warning of death brushing past us!
Don't stay here for long!

The chaotic massacre is nearing its end.

Corpses littered the sandy valley, their blood staining vast swathes of sand, which gleamed with an eerie blackish-purple hue under the cold moonlight.

The sporadic resistance was like a candle flickering in the wind, quickly extinguished.

The calamity star and his men were clearing out the last remaining corners, while the wrench-wielding men held a firm grip on the precious water bags, all the while vigilantly scanning their surroundings.

The thirst, like a demon awakened, fiercely returned, and the burning sensation in my throat was ten times worse than before!
水…

You must drink water immediately!
Otherwise, he would collapse on his own before SBS even had a chance to intervene!

Just then, a familiar figure, hunched over, nimbly weaved through the corpses and debris, quickly approaching him.

He's a jinx!
His face was splattered with blood, and a long gash was cut into the sleeve of his left arm, the fabric soaked with blood.

He clutched a military water bottle tightly in his hand—a bulging water bottle that had been pulled from the corpse of a GNA soldier.

"boss!"

The jinx's voice was hoarse, carrying a hint of barely perceptible worry.

He rushed to the wreckage of the vehicle where Song Heping was hiding, knelt on one knee, and handed over the water bottle without hesitation.

Song Heping's gaze was fixed on the kettle.

The pot was covered in blood and sand, but the sound of the sloshing liquid inside was more beautiful than heavenly music to his ears at that moment.

He almost snatched the kettle, the cold, heavy touch making his fingers tremble slightly.

His movements as he unscrewed the kettle lid were somewhat clumsy due to his eagerness, and his fingers were trembling.

A crisp, slightly plasticky scent wafted towards him. Without hesitation or tasting, Song Heping tilted his head back, brought the spout to his lips, and greedily gulped it down!

The cool liquid, like a spring of sweet water, instantly gushed into his throat, which was as dry as a crack in the desert!
He could almost feel every cell on the verge of drying up frantically absorbing this life-saving nectar, emitting joyful groans.

He put down the kettle and exhaled a long, satisfied breath, tinged with the smell of blood.

His eyes, which were originally bloodshot and almost burned red by thirst and murderous intent, have now regained some clarity.

"A jinx! A wrench!"

Song Heping's voice, hoarse from the moisture, pierced through the bloody slaughterhouse that had just quieted down. "Hurry up! Clean up the battlefield! Only take water! Ammunition! Food! Throw away all the other junk! Get out of here quickly! Five minutes!" The order was like a cold steel needle, piercing through the brief relaxation brought by surviving the ordeal and the slight satisfaction brought by replenishing water.

The soldiers, their eyes bloodshot like hungry wolves, sprang up from the piles of corpses and the wreckage of vehicles, their movements as swift as if they had been whipped.

Water bladder!

That became the only goal at that moment.

They roughly turned the warm corpses over, ripped bulging canteens from bloodstained belts, and pulled well-sealed field ration packs from scattered backpacks.

Ammunition boxes were pried open, and rows of magazines and grenades were stuffed into tactical vests with a dull thud.

There was no mourning, no hesitation, only highly efficient plunder.

Wrench and a few others, like fierce hyenas, firmly guarded the mountain of precious spoils—dozens of water storage bags of varying sizes.

Song Heping leaned against the cold, sandy wreckage of his motorcycle and quickly checked his condition.

The wound under his ribs was soaked with sweat, and every breath brought a tearing pain. The burning sensation of the stray bullet grazing his arm also became clear again.

Exhaustion filled my limbs like molten lead, but my brain became unusually clear-headed under the stimulation of the cold water and a strong sense of crisis.

The SBS team member's calm, focused gaze before his death pierced his consciousness like a poisoned ice pick.

That was a truly well-trained hunter; those shots just now almost cost him his life.

"Boss!"

The jinx crouched low, like a shadow skimming the ground, and reappeared beside him, throwing a bulging tactical backpack on the ground. "Water, food, and this!"

He pointed to a black cuboid stuck in the side pocket of his backpack. "Stripped from a GNA communications soldier's body. It's an encrypted radio, and it still works."

A cold glint flashed in Song Heping's eyes, and he instantly understood what the jinx meant—the enemy's ears.

"Take it! Retreat!"

He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. The weight made the wound under his ribs throb violently. He gritted his teeth, his expression unchanged. "Wrench! Lead the way! Target: Kurtan, full speed ahead!"

"OK!"

Wrench responded with a low growl.

The soldiers, who had already been resupplyed and rearmed, quickly assembled, with Song Heping and Wrench as the spearhead, while Calamity Star led a few skilled men to cover the rear.

They no longer ran, but instead took long strides with a strange rhythm that allowed them to conserve energy on the sand, like true desert wolves, silently and swiftly disappearing into the deep darkness at the northern end of the sand valley.

Under the moonlight, more than a hundred figures, trailing long shadows, swept across the carnage of the battlefield, leaving behind only the nauseating stench of blood that lingered in the cold night wind, and the desolate scene of death.

Dead silence.

A chilling silence replaced the lingering echoes of the frenzied symphony that had taken place half an hour earlier.

Captain Dorn stood on the hood of his convertible military jeep, his expensive desert combat boots sinking deep into the dark red sand that had been repeatedly soaked in blood and then solidified into clumps.

This is the second time I've seen this scene in one day.

His face, etched with deep lines by the desert sun and his long-term tension, was now as stiff as a weathered rock, with only a bulging blue vein on his forehead throbbing, revealing the turbulent fury within him.

What you see is a true depiction of hell.

Around the sand dunes, corpses lay scattered across the valley floor in various twisted and bizarre postures, some piled together, others lying alone, their pale gray color a chilling sight under the dim moonlight.

The congealed blood stained large areas of sand a sticky, dark purple, emitting a pungent, suffocating stench of sweet, fishy smell mixed with gunpowder smoke.

The burning wreckage was reduced to charred skeletons, still emitting wisps of smoke, the twisted metal reflecting a cold, faint light in the moonlight. Scattered weapons, broken canteens, torn pieces of uniforms, and even severed limbs...

No one is left alive.

Or rather, there is no one left to breathe.

Only swarms of sandflies, as if discovering a feast, began to buzz and gather, eagerly rushing towards the fresh wounds still stained with uncongealed blood.

"Fucking animals!"

Dorn squeezed out a few words through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse and low, like sandpaper rubbing against pig iron.

Behind him were more than a thousand GNA soldiers who had survived the sandstorm. At this moment, everyone was as if they were frozen in place, standing around the sand dunes, their faces filled with shock, fear, and a hint of barely perceptible sorrow for the fallen.

The scene before me was more impactful than any battlefield propaganda film, silently telling the story of the mercenaries' cruelty and efficiency.

"Boss!"

A lieutenant with fresh abrasions on his face came running up, panting, his boots covered in blood and mud.

"We've counted them... no survivors..."

The lieutenant swallowed hard. "It seems the other side only took all the water and some of the ammunition supplies; the other equipment... they barely touched it."

"They only took water... and for anything they couldn't take, they punctured the water bags and poured it all into the sand..."

Dorn chewed on those words, each syllable feeling like an ice pick pricking his nerves.

Song Heping!
That ghost!

He wasn't seeking a decisive battle at all; he was using the coldest and most efficient methods, like a scorpion in the desert, to precisely sting their most vulnerable spot—the water source!
He actually dared to turn around and launch a counterattack with a force of over a hundred men, instantly making up for his most fatal weakness with a bloody massacre, and then disappearing again into the vast desert.

Mobile, flexible, ruthless, precise, cunning…

This style of play made Dorn feel an unprecedented sense of frustration and anger.

He was like a giant wielding a heavy hammer, yet he repeatedly struck at the drifting smoke.

He jumped off the hood, his heavy military boots slamming into the blood and mud, splattering a few dark red stains.

"Signalman!" he roared, his voice piercing the deathly silence of the valley. "Get me connected to 'Eagle's Nest' (British command post codename) immediately! Top priority! I need to know which sand burrow those weasels have disappeared into! Now! Immediately!"

The communications soldier frantically set up his backpack radio, the antenna spinning futilely in the night sky.

The hissing of the radio became the only background noise in this valley of death, filled with anxious waiting.

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)