It was supposed to be a casual game, but the Long March dungeon brought tears to everyone's eye

"What kind of junk is this?"

Hawkeye's expression of disgust almost overflowed the screen.

He has touched at least eight or ten thousand virtual guns.

Even in those old-fashioned games, the guns are brand new, industrial works of art with a cold metallic sheen.

But what about this thing in my hand?

The bolt was rusted, the barrel sleeve was worn white, and there were even oil and blood stains on the wooden stock.

The system panel displayed an extremely shabby introduction on his retina.

[Item: An old Hanyang rifle (commonly known as an "old-fashioned rifle")]

Quality: Damaged (Very Poor)

Accuracy: Extremely high deviation

[Remaining ammunition: 3 rounds]

[Note: It's older than your grandfather; the rifling is almost worn down, but it still yearns for battle.]

"Hanyang-made? Or the old-fashioned version?"

Hawkeye chuckled and complained to the live stream audience.

"Guys, is this designer out of their mind?"

"Starting with this kind of industrial waste? How am I supposed to demonstrate my technology?"

The comments section was filled with agreement.

"I don't think this gun could even kill a bird."

"Three bullets? Hawkeye usually carries two magazines even in pistol rounds, right?"

"This difficulty is unreasonable; it's purely designed to disgust players."

To prove that the gun was "scrap metal," Hawkeye skillfully pulled the bolt.

"Click—Squeak."

The sound was dry and harsh, and there was even a noticeable sticking sensation when pulling the bolt.

"Listen to this sound." Hawkeye shook his head, adopting a professional commentary posture.

"They didn't even apply gun oil; the firing pin is probably rusted."

"In this maintenance condition, the probability of a barrel explosion is at least 30%."

Ignoring the astonished looks from the NPCs around him, he raised his gun and aimed it at the sky, intending to test fire and demonstrate the gun's terrible recoil feedback.

"Watch closely, I'm going to demonstrate what a 'human body outliner' is."

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes and his finger slipped toward the trigger.

"Smack."

A soft sound.

It wasn't the explosion of a bullet being fired, but the sound of a hammer weakly striking the primer.

It went silent.

Immediately afterwards, when Hawkeye tried to pull the bolt again to eject the bullet, it seemed to be welded to the chamber and wouldn't come out no matter what.

It got stuck.

In the wind and snow, Hawkeye remained frozen in his gun-holding posture.

The live stream chat exploded instantly, but this time it was all mockery.

"Hahaha! Hawkeye's got messed up!"

"Is this what they mean by 'it's all skill and nothing but luck'?"

"Hilarious! Stuck right at the start, this game is totally targeting you!"

Hawkeye's face turned bright red, he was furious and embarrassed, trying to make the most of the show.

"What a trash game! What a trash gun!"

He slammed the Hanyang rifle in his hand onto the snow and cursed angrily.

"This is no human being! Even an AK would be better!"

"Designer, come out here! Should we still fix this bug?!"

That fall was made with all my might.

The heavy rifle slammed into the hard ice with a sharp, chilling sound.

"What are you doing?!"

A roar filled with sobs suddenly erupted.

Before Hawkeye could react, a small, thin figure pounced forward.

He was the smallest soldier in the team, looking only fourteen or fifteen years old, and everyone called him "Little Bean".

Little Bean didn't care how cold the ice on the ground was; he knelt down and lunged at the abandoned rifle.

He picked up the gun as carefully as if he were cradling a newborn baby.

Then he frantically wiped the snow water off the gun with the cuff of his tattered cotton-padded jacket.

"Don't let water get in...please don't let water get in..."

Little Bean mumbled something shakily, tears streaming down his face, falling onto the rusty gun barrel and instantly freezing into ice beads.

Hawkeye was completely baffled by this scene.

"Is it really necessary? It's just a set of data codes." Hawkeye curled his lip dismissively. "If it breaks, just refresh the system."

"Shut up!" Little Bean suddenly raised his head.

Those once clear and timid eyes were now bloodshot, and the look in them was as fierce as that of a wolf cub whose scales had been touched.

Hawkeye was startled by that look and instinctively took a half step back.

Is this... really an NPC?

That anger, that heartache, it was all so real.

Little Bean used his body heat to warm the stuck bolt while choking back a sob as he roared.

"This was left behind by the company commander!"

"To seize this gun, the company commander was riddled with bullets by enemy machine gun fire! Even with his intestines spilling out, he refused to let go!"

"He gave it to me before he died... You're saying it's garbage?"

Little Bean struggled to pry open the stuck cartridge case with his frostbitten fingers, his fingernails were even turned up and blood was seeping out, but he seemed not to feel any pain.

"It's for fighting enemies! It's for defending our country! It's not for you to smash!"

The wind and snow seemed to be getting heavier.

Amidst the howling wind, the boy's cries sounded so thin, yet so deafening.

The other soldiers gathered around, but no one spoke.

But the way they looked at Hawkeye was no longer that of a comrade-in-arms, but that of an incomprehensible monster.

That look contained disappointment, anger, and a deep sorrow.

That's the look you give a "spendthrift son".

Ruan Ruan, who had been sobbing from the cold, forgot to cry at this moment.

She stared blankly at the little NPC who had worn his cuffs to shreds while cleaning his gun, and the sense of distance she felt from the game suddenly cracked.

Hawkeye stood there, at a loss.

He wanted to say, "This is just a low-level piece of equipment; who uses such a crappy gun in real life?"

But in front of that boy whose hands were covered in blood, yet who was desperately trying to protect a piece of "scrap metal," he didn't know what to say.

Just then, the old squad leader, who had been silent all along, walked over.

He pulled a dry rag from his pocket and took the gun from Xiaodouzi's hand with practiced and gentle movements.

"Click".

The old sergeant slammed his hand on the bolt, using a clever technique to eject the jammed bullet.

He then took out a small bottle of precious gun oil, almost empty, from his pocket and carefully applied it to the bolt.

After doing all this, he slung the gun back over his shoulder, turned around, and looked coldly at Hawkeye.

The old squad leader's eyes seemed to have become deep and profound.

"young people."

You complain that it's old, worn out, and clunky.

You called it a fire poker.

The old squad leader pointed to the distant, vast snow-capped mountains, and then to his ragged comrades behind him.

"But in this godforsaken place, in our hands, this is fate."

"This is the only thing that allows us to stand tall and fight those enemies with planes and cannons... our only advantage."

The old squad leader paused, his tone tinged with a melancholic self-mockery.

"If we had those good guns you're talking about, even just ten of them..."

"They might not have had to use their chests to block bullets."