Rion's eyes flitted back and forth between the two groups, his perception honed like a hawk scanning its prey. Since their first battle, he had noticed the stark contrast between the Normos Family retainers and the mercenaries in regards to battle preparation.
To anyone casually glancing at the two groups, the difference might seem superficial, but for Rion, whose livelihood often depended on noticing the smallest detail, the contrast was far more than skin-deep.
The retainers stood like statues, their precision as razor-edged as the blades they carried. Each movement was clean, purposeful. When one adjusted his weapon, there was no wasted motion. These men were clearly veterans—seasoned in battles beyond what most of the others present could ever imagine.
The smallest detail didn't escape their notice: the slight breeze that could shift trajectories, the exact balance of weight in their weapons, and the distribution of their forces on the battlefield. These weren't just combatants—they were professionals honed by years of discipline and experience.
The smoothness of their movements, the subtle but meaningful hand signals, and the synchronicity in how they moved as a unit suggested that most had a background of elite military service. Rion wouldn't have been surprised to learn that many of them had once served in special forces units, likely handpicked by the Normos Family for their lethal efficiency.
In contrast, the mercenaries were a stark display of ragtag disorganization. They were rough around the edges, a patchwork collection of individuals who looked more like they belonged in a bar fight than on a battlefield. Their armor and weapons were a mishmash of different styles and qualities, some pieces shiny and new, others worn down from use and crudely patched together.
Where the retainers exuded discipline, the mercenaries reeked of individualism. Each man seemed to be focused on his own preparation, his own survival strategy, as though the idea of working together had never crossed their minds.
One mercenary lazily cleaned his rifle, dragging a filth cloth over the weapon's surface as though the act of cleaning it was more of a ritual than a necessity. Another flicked the end of his cigarette with nervous fingers, his eyes darting around as though waiting for the fight to begin.
Nearby, two mercenaries laughed and exchanged a few crude jokes, but Rion could see through the forced nature of their laughter. They were veterans too, hardened by battle, but they lacked the professionalism that defined the retainers.
It wasn't that the mercenaries were incompetent—far from it. It was obvious that they had their own skills, their own talents, honed by years of surviving in environments where the rules were more fluid. But in contrast to the retainers, they seemed almost amateurish, their disorganization hinting at what was to come. Rion knew the mercenaries would fight, but they would do so as individuals, not as a cohesive unit.
And like before, when the battle began, it was obvious who would bear the brunt of the fight when the ants came swarming. The retainers were the spearhead, and the mercenaries were the loose shrapnel, unpredictable but still dangerous.
None of that, however, concerned him at the moment. He had his own preparations to focus on.
Leaning against the truck, Rion let the ambient chatter around him fade into background noise as he bent down to open the large, black case resting by his feet. The cool air hit his face as he unclasped the heavy locks and lifted the lid. Nestled inside were the components of his electromagnetic sniper rifle, neatly organized and polished to a perfect sheen.
He hadn't unboxed his rifle for the duration of this mission, preferring to use his handguns to take a few pot shots here and there. But the scale of the incoming battle required something with more oomph.
With practiced precision, he lifted out the components, the matte black finish glinting briefly in the pale, green-tinged light filtering through the trees.
Piece by piece, he began assembling the weapon. Each piece clicked into place with a satisfying snap, the familiar motions as ingrained in his muscle memory as breathing. His hands moved automatically, guided by the instinct of countless hours spent refining the design. It was a process he could almost do with his eyes closed. First, the stabilizer locked into the barrel, then the energy port slid smoothly into place.
Finally, he placed a Nova Core into the rifle's energy chamber, its soft hum bringing the weapon to life in his hands. There was a brief flicker of blue light along the barrel as it charged, locking into place.
"Time to get to work," he muttered, slinging the rifle over his shoulder.
He moved silently toward the rear of the truck and made his way up a small rise that overlooked the basin. The vantage point was ideal—he had a clear line of sight on the entire battlefield as well as a natural buffer between him and whatever hell was about to be unleashed. From up here, it all looked so peaceful. The basin below, with its quiet trees and the deceptively still nest of ants, seemed almost serene.
But he knew better.
His eyes scanned the horizon, noting the positions of both groups. The retainers had taken up the front, their formation already set, while the mercenaries scattered in loose clusters, seeking out whatever cover they could find. Beyond them, the massive ant nest loomed like a foreboding monolith in the center of the basin, its dark tunnels snaking down into the earth.
Rion could sense the anticipation thickening in the air like the oppressive humidity around. He adjusted the scope on his rifle, aligning the crosshairs with the ant nest.
"Forward!" Kellen's sharp command sliced through the humid air, carrying a weight of authority that spurred everyone into motion.
In an instant, both groups surged into motion, a little over twenty combatants in all. The retainers charged in perfect formation, their boots striking the ground in unison, rifles raised and aimed at the nest. It was a seamless, almost mechanical advance with every angle was covered, every step planned.
The mercenaries, on the other hand, moved with far less cohesion. They darted from tree to rock, seeking cover as they advanced in a disorganized mess of individual tactics. Some slung rifles over their shoulders as they moved, while others prepared melee weapons for close combat. There was no strategy, just instinct and experience guiding them.
Rion remained still atop the rise, his finger brushing the trigger of his rifle. Below, the archaeologists and support crew scrambled into the trucks, fear visible in their hurried movements. It was clear they had no intention of sticking around for the fight.
Smart move. Things are about to get real ugly....
He sighed softly to himself, adjusting the rifle's scope for optimal zoom, his body already in tune with the impending violence. Just as he had anticipated, the ants were already responding to the human intrusion.
On cue, the ground trembled, and a sharp, resonating sound filled the air.
«Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!»
The eerie hiss echoed through the basin, emanating from the massive nest at the center. At first, there were only a few—ten, maybe twenty Blackblood Army Ants—but the numbers grew exponentially within moments. Dozens upon dozens of them poured from the nest, their glossy, black exoskeleton reflecting the dull greenish light that filtered through the thick canopy above.
Rion inhaled sharply. The ants were larger than he thought. They moved like a fluid mass, their segmented bodies clicking in an unsettling rhythm as they advanced. Some were easily the size of large dogs, their mandibles snapping hungrily as they closed the distance with terrifying speed.
"Attack!" Kellen's voice rang out again, sharp and commanding, and the battlefield exploded into a cacophony of gunfire and battle cries.
Bullets whizzed through the air, striking the onrushing ants with deadly precision. Combatants with adept abilities or martial qi launched their powers into the fray, bursts of heat, kinetic force, and energy crashing into the swarm. The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder and the burning chitin of the ants as bullets tore through their armored bodies. Rion activated his [Enhanced Perception] technique and watched the chaos unfold through his scope, his finger twitching on the trigger as he lined up his first shot.
«Whizz! Crack!»
The shot hit the first ant squarely in the side, sending it tumbling to the ground. Rion didn't waste time admiring his handiwork; his hands were already reloading, zeroing in on the next target.
The ants, however, didn't go down easy. Even those that had been riddled with bullets and originabilities didn't fall immediately. They staggered, twitched, and with terrifying persistence, they continued to charge. It took concentrated firepower to bring them down, and even then, some seemed to enter a frenzy, their mandibles clicking madly as they lunged at the combatants.
Rion's finger hovered over the trigger as he
tracked one particularly large ant. It had already sustained multiple hits but still plowed forward, its mandibles clicking madly as it bore down on one of the mercenaries.
Have I got a surprise for you....
He switched out his standard ferromagnetic rounds for his new and improved Explosive bullets, crafted with thermite-a pyrotechnic compound that burned at extreme temperatures. A quick adjustment to the rifle's chamber, and he took the shot.
The bullet struck the ant's thorax, and a second later, the small area exploded in a brilliant flash of orange-red flame. The heat from the thermite burned through its tough exoskeleton, reducing it to little more than charred flesh in seconds.
"Hell yeah," Rion muttered, ejecting the now spent Nova core from the rifle and inserting another. He continued to fire, picking off ants that got too close to the frontline, each shot precise and devastating.
The battle below was intense. Mercenaries and retainers fought side by side, their formations shifting as they adapted to the relentless onslaught of the Blackblood Army Ants. Cultivators launched attacks that slowed the ants' advance, but it was clear that their abilities alone weren't powerful enough to make a notable difference. The mercenaries shouted orders to each other, their voices barely audible over the din of combat, while the retainers moved in sync, maintaining tighter discipline.
"Focus fire!" Kellen's voice cut through the chaos, directing the mercenaries into a tighter formation. They fired in controlled bursts, targeting the weak points between the ants' armored segments, Slowly, they were gaining ground.
Rion adjusted his position, keeping one eye on the battlefield and the other on the nest. His fingers were steady as he loaded another clip, Armor-piercing rounds this time. They'd been made with a hardened core, designed to penetrate even the toughest of armor. It was how he'd taken down Simke, the Blue Devil, in two shots.
"Watch out!" Vance's voice rang out, warning the others as a massive ant barreled toward one of the retainers, its mandibles wide open.
A retainer jumped back just in time, narrowly avoiding the creature's snapping Jaws. Rion adjusted his scope, zeroing in on the ant that was causing trouble. He pulled the trigger, and the armor-piercing round left the barrel with a sharp whizz, flying through the air in unbridled motion.
The bullet tore through the creature's head with unerring precision, its trajectory perfect. Upon impact, the ant's carapace erupted in a violent explosion of chitin and ichor. The force of the shot shattered the exoskeleton like a fragile eggshell, sending fragments of blackened armor and greenish blood spraying in all directions.
The ant's body convulsed violently, its legs flailing in a spasmodic dance of death. Then, with a shudder that echoed through its massive frame, the creature collapsed in a heap, its massive head, now a ruin of splintered chitin and oozing ichor, settling into the dirt.
The battlefield was chaotic, and yet Rion felt a strange sense of calm. From his elevated position, he was detached from the frenzy, methodically picking off targets one by one. It seemed like they had the upper hand, until Rion spotted movement from the nest.
"Here we go..." he muttered, watching through his scope as six massive figures emerged from the nest.
The ant guards.