OLD-WORLD EXTRA-Chapter 431: Templar’s Warmup

***

Thirty Minutes Earlier

Jake crouched behind a crumbling wall, the yellow light above, a reflection of the outside world, only now beginning to illuminate the decaying structures around him.

He was lying prone, a railgun before his face, which appeared to be stressed, waiting on something.

And it wasn't much longer for that something to arrive.

[The students are on the move.]

Emir's voice echoed in his mind, and he slowly smiled, his hand gripping the railgun.

[Roger.]

He was sure that others- the Shadow Squad and Elite Cohort-had replied as well, but he didn't hear them since this was a private channel between the two of them.

Jake leaned forward, pressing his eyes on the scope.

[Everyone, we got the signal. The rats will be on the move in under a minute.]

[Roger!]

He held the ring on the scope and turned it right, zooming in further, getting a better visual of their potential entrance points in the distance.

They had long since identified them, all in order to ensure that Templar's men would funnel in towards the main exit not so far behind him.

That wasn't all they did to guarantee such an outcome.

The cohort was spread out, each member was positioned near those points.

The big hitters from Templar were already gone through a portal, but the riffraffs and dregs, daring to call themselves soldiers, remained.

While they weren't much of a threat to the Academy and their staff, many students would certainly die at their hands, especially if they worked alongside the constructs that were fated to block their escape.

They were better off being eliminated here and now.

Unfortunately, the UEF Guard wasn't involved and wouldn't step in, they didn't want to, nor did the principal.

Amon had his reputation to uphold, and any sign of weakness or failure would tarnish that image.

It was up to them-the unfortunate ones-to fit the bill, deal with the consequences, and clean up the mess.

Well... at least this was going to ensure the safety of their business.

Still, a few might pass through and exit the slums, reaching the Upper District.

The cohort was Elite but not perfect, they couldn't cover all locations, but that didn't matter,

the rats wouldn't be able to inflict any sort of notable damage.

Jake inwardly chuckled, though a wave of bitterness followed.

'That Rag bastard is getting special treatment like always. We're out here losing sweat, and potentially blood, while he's just kicking back at the base.'

Ragnar's role was to protect the family, he knew that, but still, he couldn't help it, his frustration building up.

'And I knew him much longer too...'

Though that was what Jake showed, the root of his frustration wasn't the difficulty of the job.

It was the fact that his friend and boss trusted Ragnar more than him-a man he had only known for a month.

'It's unfair.'

Simply put, he was jealous, though he couldn't acknowledge that, so he stuck with the narrative of having the tougher job.

Jake and the others knew the basics of why Emir trusted Ragnar so much-both used to be Order's Chosen. But they didn't know the deeper details-what truly made them brothers.

As a result, they couldn't understand how they'd become so close, so quickly.

If seen from an outside perspective, one couldn't help but wonder... If they knew that Emir didn't have him sign a binding contract, how would they react?

Regardless, it was a fact that Emir couldn't trust anyone else but Ragnar with the task of guarding his family.

Even if it meant losing a significant amount of 'firepower.'

Sure, most of the Warp Weaver's Aether was spent teleporting so many people, but that didn't mean Ragnar couldn't recharge in time.

Emir simply couldn't afford to go all out if he was constantly worried about his family's safety.

That was why he had his left-hand man stay back-to allow for complete focus.

'Feels bad knowing that one guy's more capable than us, a beautified clean up crew but whate

"Sir."

Being called, Jake looked behind him, pausing his thoughts.

It was Longshot.

"Ah..."

Without saying anything, Jake stood up, leaving the railgun, and walked out of the room, heading to Emma upstairs.

It seemed that he was too lost in his thoughts, momentarily forgetting their plan.

Shaking his head, he climbed up and entered the room, spotting her near the right corner, eyes down below through the windows while she sipped whiskey from a small container.

Crunch...

Hearing his steps she snapped her toward him and immediately closed the small bottle, shoving it back into her pocket.

"H-Hey what's up?"

Jake ignored what he saw, giving up on reprimanding her, and stood beside her, looking out

to the street below.

"How's the guys?"

She coughed and donned a serious face, her gaze turning to where he looked.

"He's ready; the rest are too. They're just waiting now."

There, further ahead was Jamal.

He stood at the checkpoint they boobytrapped last night.

The rest of the squad, the unnamed others, were scattered around the perimeter, ready to

strike on Jake's command.

"Alright, go to your position."

"Yep~!"

Emma left at his command, and while he watched her go, his mind went over the plan for the

last time.

It was simple.

Funnel the enemy in and hit them before they could rally and join the main force.

Templar had made the mistake of presuming victory against Emir in their mental battle. Or perhaps they didn't care about their low-ranking soldiers, writing them off whether they lived or died. Either way, they'd underestimated the slum's potential for guerrilla warfare, and Jake intended to exploit that mistake to its fullest.

Click...

A sudden but faint sound from above resounded, signaling Longshot's readiness.

"Hmm."

Jake's eyes narrowed as he scanned the area, his hand hovering over his Akimbo submachine

guns resting on his augmented suit.

[Movement?]

[Emma, none.]

[Longshot, none]

[Jamal, noneee?... No, wait. I see three, all got that insignia.]

Jake didn't respond and quickly rushed out of the building, jumping through the room's many

holes, and landed on the street below.

As he continued forward, he took a deep breath, hoping for their impossible-sounding worst-

case scenario to not have happened.

And sure enough...

[I see more exiting the building. They spent the entire night there, no chance they'll give out

their base's location.]

It hadn't happened.

[Agreed.]

Sighing in relief, Jake couldn't help but think back to their boss's extremely paranoid words.

"There's a very very low chance of this happening, but those fanatics might just camp in the wasteland, traveling from there."

It would've gone against the information they had received from Emir's semi-omniscient future-knowing brain too, so the impossibility here was timed by two.

'Thankfully those fuckers aren't dumb enough to do that.'

Glancing at the distance between them and the soldiers on his HUD, Jake calmed himself, a

cold sense of reassurance settling in.

They had the advantage, and it wasn't just about firepower-it was the environment itself.

The tripwires-comm disruptors, pressure mines, and proximity grenades-were all strategically placed to maximize chaos and confusion.

Not just the slums but the entirety of Sector eleven's underbelly had ever seen this kind of

warfare before. No one was brave or reckless enough, too afraid to unleash such destruction

on gang-affiliated turf.

Unwanting of the backlash, they played by the unspoken rules, avoiding conflict here and

fearing the UEF's wrath for stirring too much trouble.

But Emir was not part of 'no one.'

He had Amon's permission, and more importantly, he didn't care about attracting the gangs'

attention.

He wasn't playing small-time politics-he was in a battle with far bigger dogs, his opponents

universal.

The slums, and whatever grudges came from it, were the least of his concerns.

Neither was it his men's.

[Alright, on my mark.]

Jake commanded, pulling up his terminal and pressing a large button that wrote {Start.}

{Three... two...}

A countdown appeared above the now grayed-out button and he matched it, only a fraction

slower:

[two... one... mark!] Longshot's armature round was the first to break the silence, a moment before Jamal's, the sharp crack of his railgun echoing through the alleyways.

Jake didn't need to see to know that the bullet had found its mark-Longshot seldom missed.

The signal was given, and the rest of the team sprang into action, shots echoing all over the

slums.

The three comm disruptors were activated, killing and disabling the network in the

surrounding area.

It had also disabled their own comms as well, since the pulses it sent out scrambled

everything in their vicinity without exception.

But they were fine because, unlike the enemy, they knew that it was going to happen and had everything coordinated before the operation even began, not requiring comms.

Those Templar soldiers weren't so ready however, they were almost immediately sent to

panic.

By the time they figured out what was happening, it was already too late, and the first ten of

them had already died.

But the shots didn't stop there.

Others had come out of their holes like rats, forming the first wave, and as they tried to

contact their fellow soldiers, no doubt they grew confused.

All they heard were shots and they couldn't know if their men had died or not; their status

unable to update.

So they, instead of finding each other, headed straight for the main exit.

That was their undoing.

With Jake at the lead, the Elite Cohort didn't give them a chance to adjust.

He opened fire, the continuous burst of his submachine guns tearing through the morning air.

Emma wasn't far from him, in the opposite alleyway, pincering the soldiers, unusually using

an assault rifle, as the UEF ruled for no Aether to be used within sector grounds.

Of course, the Academy was an exception, and this certainly wasn't that.

Ratatatatatatatat!

Jake didn't stop shooting, chasing after them as they ran away for cover.

They managed to fall behind abandoned crates, the Aetheric-infused kind, blocking Jake's

bullets.

But that couldn't stop him for long as they started to crack and splinter.

"We ain't dying here!" "Shoot back!" "You'll meet the creator!"

Before they did, the soldiers sprang out of cover, another three, weapons aimed at their

attacker.

Jake focused fire on the middle one, leaving the other two for Emma and Longshot.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

BANG!

Three shots from Emma, who peeked around the corner behind Jake, and one round from Longshot, took them down.

At least half of these Templar soldiers were well trained, but they were caught off guard, and

in the narrow confines of the slums, their numbers worked against them.

Boom!

That explosion announced Jamal's entry to the scene.

When the soldiers tried to move away from the gunfire, taking another route to the outside,

they triggered a trap.

They weren't the trip mines the "lovebirds" set-up, but pressure mines, Jamal's handy work.

They were hidden in the rubble and had exploded with lethal force, sending shrapnel that tore

through the pitful ones nearby. That formed a chain reaction.

The slum's residents were used to the usual gunfight here and there, so they hadn't reacted so

far.

But this was the breaking point.

An explosion went off and a building collapsed.

This was no gang skirmish but a war.

One or two screams resounded but otherwise, the slum's reaction wasn't so loud.

The homeless simply ran out of their so-called abodes, rushing to the black market for

security. Meanwhile, the residents of the remaining functioning buildings went deeper down their basements, escaping the fates of the homeless.

Bang!

Longshot, who stayed up in the building, shot down those who neared the traps, his breath

rapidly increasing as well as his pulse; the trauma of what changed his life relived in his mind.

But as he remembered Faye's cute little face he managed to calm down, his breath stabilizing, allowing him to accurately aim once more.

At almost the other end of the spectrum, Jamal went ham, uncaring of who he killed. His proximity grenades detonated in flashes of light and sound, disorienting those who

survived the initial blasts of his traps, and he killed them soon after, all his bullets aimed at

the head.

"Push forward! For Templar's glory!"

He barked, acting as if he was one of them, baiting them into his traps. That worked in the beginning, as he got a few kills out of it, but eventually, the soldiers grew

wiser, and a type of man Emir had warned them about had shown up.

A fanatic.