This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 461.1: The Gas Canister Falling From The Skies Reminds Me Of Us Back Then...

Chapter 461.1: The Gas Canister Falling From The Skies Reminds Me Of Us Back Then...

Although he hadn’t appeared on the frontlines for over a week, Chu Guang had been quietly observing his little players from the rear.

And after seeing the series of absurd moves his players pulled off, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Good grief... They’ve really figured out how to enjoy this game... What a nice play style.’"

Nothing taught them better than death! What a training method!

Not only did they help the Pangolin rack up kills, but they also helped their allies clean out old inventory.

In doing so, their cute little ‘Pangolin’ earned military supplies, the newbies gained experience, the Corps of the New Alliance received new equipment. The factories back home secured more arms orders... Whatever it was, he won at least three times without lifting a finger.

Which other genius could have done such a thing?

Seated on his desk, Little Seven tilted its head and curiously studied Chu Guang’s expression before whispering a suggestion. “Master, I feel like the undercover agent you placed in the Army might be in danger... Should I remind them not to go too far?”

“No need, let them be,” Chu Guang said with a smile, shaking his head. “That guy isn’t that easy to kill. Going easy on the battlefield would be suspicious. This is more realistic. If he gets injured, even better!”

Returning to the rear as a war hero recovering from injuries might even give him a chance to investigate the west and see what the Army was really up to.

He kept hearing Vanus boast about how grand and mighty Triumphant City was, yet he hadn’t even seen a single photo. It made writeups of the place rather difficult.

Little Seven nodded, half understanding Chu Guan’s meaning. “Okayyy.”

It didn’t really get it, but since its Master said it, there should be no problems.

Chu Guang scrolled through the forum posts, his index finger flicking the mouse wheel rapidly.

Just before logging off, their super spy appeared again in an ironically named chatgroup called [No Spies Here].

Battlefield Cheerleader: Broooos!!! I got a major inside scoop!

Sideline Slacking: What? 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Darkest: Did the newbies send you off the battlefield in a coffin?

Battlefield Cheerleader: Shut up! I’m serious. Remember how we were low on ammo? At first we were pulling ammo from neighboring sections within our own defense zone, but today they suddenly started pulling from other zones!

Escaping Mole: No way?!

Sideline Slacking: For real?

Spring Water Commander: Can you confirm which zone it came from?!

Battlefield Cheerleader: Hehe, that’s the juicy part, I saw the ammo crates had the numbers G40 and 41 engraved on them. Pretty sure they came from those two sectors!

Escaping Mole: Holy shit! Awesome!

Spring Water Commander: Make sure to keep track of the ammo we get! We can use that data to estimate stockpiles in each zone and adjust Plan C’s offensive accordingly!

Spring Water Commander’s palms were sweating as he typed those final words.

If everything went smoothly, by the time their operation launched the next week, they would be facing a defense force low on ammunition and morale!

Their defenses would be as fragile as an eggshell! As long as he tapped it slightly, it would collapse!

As long as they could tear a hole in the defense line, the Skeleton Corp’s armored divisions could surge through Oasis No.3, link up with reinforcements, and swiftly divide the battlefield, breaking enemy forces into pieces.

Wiping out the entire 100,000-strong Clone Corps wouldn’t be a problem at all!

Battlefield Cheerleader: Hehe, so what level of merit is this worth?

Spring Water Commander: It’s definitely going to be the highest merit for our New Alliance!

Sideline Slacking: 666!

...

In just one week, the 700-man unit led by ‘Pangolin’ had already wiped out a 1,000 soldiers of the New Alliance.

Victory after victory not only boosted morale among frontline troops, but also reassured commanders at every level.

Before they set out for the frontlines, they had only seen terrified deserters and heard rumors about how brutal and savage the New Alliance’s troops were.

Looking back, everything seemed too exaggerated. It was likely just their cowardly subordinates making excuses for their own failures.

Now, the legendary feats of sector G53-7 had spread like wildfire across the Army, thanks to Griffin’s efforts.

Those kinds of stories worked wonders for morale, much like having god snipers or ace pilots.

Even if a few elites couldn’t shift the tide of war alone, they inspired others to believe.

“If they can do it, so can I.”

As for why the New Alliance was so fixated on sector G53-7 but refused to commit more troops, opinions within the Army varied.

Some believed G53 was a key strategic point in the New Alliance’s next phase and was intended as their breakthrough location.

But most leaned toward a different theory. They believed that internal divisions within the New Alliance were emerging over whether to continue the war.

Such disagreements weren’t unusual during the Army’s campaigns.

Though vast in size, not every Army unit won every battle decisively.

Especially in wars not entirely dictated by the Army’s will, where local survivor factions occasionally pulled fast ones. Still, most of these settlements, intimidated by the sheer power of the Army, eventually chose submission.

A few even believed the reason was more direct, namely, the New Alliance was physically running out of steam.

War was a money-burning game.

The Enterprise aid to the New Alliance was real, but the ongoing losses were just as real. If the New Alliance had to bear all logistical costs alone, their economy and fledgling industry wouldn’t last a week.

The intelligence came from their business partners in the Bugra Free State, located north of the River Valley Province.

That explained why the troops launching suicidal offensives against sector G53-7 were showing worse equipment every time.

At sector G53-7, an officer came to collect spoils of war and couldn’t help but mock the pile of rifles and mismatched ammunition dumped on the ground.

“Did they just empty out their bottom-of-the-barrel inventory?”

Battlefield loot had high failure rates and usually needed to be repaired and reconditioned by a special engineer unit which functioned like a repair company under their division.

According to the Army’s regulations, unless under special circumstances, combat units weren’t allowed to keep captured gear, they had to send it to the repair team first, then logistics would redistribute it.

But in practice, the rule wasn’t strictly enforced. After all, whether a situation was special was up to the frontline commander. And since no one could predict when supplies might run out, most officers preferred to keep the gear for themselves.

Especially in their current state, when supply lines were clearly broken. Even faulty weapons were better than none.

But Pangolin was different. The honest war hero had generously handed over all captured supplies from the New Alliance.

Yeah right.

He wasn’t stupid!

He knew exactly what kind of junk Spring Water Fool had been handing out to the newbies. Those iron-pipe rifles weren’t even good enough for dogs to shoot.

“This really looks like a serious logistics failure on the Alliance’s part,” said the officer with a whistle. “Maybe victory isn’t far off.”

He continued with a sneer, “No idea what kind of war those rookies from Oasis No.9 think they were fighting.”

Battlefield Cheerleader chuckled, “Well, now we’ve got a chance to teach them in person!”

“Hah!” The officer burst into laughter.

Even though Pangolin wasn’t a Wislander, he had quite a sense of humor.

It didn’t matter where they came from, anyone who could beat up the New Alliance and help them vent their frustrations was a friend.

He was even starting to like the guy.

Just then, a woman with dark brown hair jumped down from the passenger side of the last truck in the convoy.

Her sudden appearance in the all-male camp immediately drew the attention of several captains, even the not-so-bright clones.

She looked great.

But the moment they saw her high-bridged nose, the officers who’d been about to catcall her instantly deflated like punctured balloons.

Wislander women didn’t even look their way.

Though they’d been lucky to be transferred from the reserve forces to the formal military, luck alone wasn’t enough to win any favor from the Wislanders.

They knew very well those big-nosed folks wouldn’t spare them a second glance, and might even whip them for being offensive.

Battlefield Cheerleader gave the woman a once-over.

With blue eyes, braided dark brown hair, the signature high nose of a Wislander... And even more prominent twin peaks below her neck, Battlefield Cheerleader’s eyes widened slightly.

There were women in the Army, but most were slaves. This was his first time seeing a Wislander woman.

And apparently, big noses weren’t always ugly. It depended on whose face they were on.

The woman walked straight up to him and spoke. “Hello, Mr. Pangolin.”

“You are?”

“Penny, reporter for the Triumphant Times. Pleased to meet you.” She smiled slightly and extended her right hand, showing her notebook and voice recorder. “Command sent me to get a report... Are you available for an interview?”

Hearing the name, Triumphant Times was probably Triumphant City’s newspaper and the most widely distributed publication within the Army. Due to communication inefficiencies, versions might vary by the region they were in.

In Triumphant City, the paper focused on local news. Frontline updates only showed up after page three.

On the front lines, though, the paper avoided homey topics and focused on victories, beautiful women, adventure stories, and anything to spike soldier morale. It also included puzzles and crossword games for soldiers stuck in trenches.

Most officers were literate and could read to the rank-and-file. Radio broadcasts would read from the paper on schedule.

To keep soldiers enthusiastic about conquest, officers needed heroes flexing on the battlefield, living like kings in survivor zones, or getting rich off wars. Even if it wasn’t real, the papers would fabricate it.

Just like bread, alcohol, and tobacco, it was provided as part of logistics. There was no need to pay extra.

When Battlefield Cheerleader heard Triumphant Times wanted to interview him, he remembered what Cowley had said the day before and grinned, shaking Penny’s hand eagerly. “It’s my honor to serve a beautiful lady. Ask away.”

Flattery might be old-fashioned, but it never got old.

Sure enough, Penny’s lips curled into a pleasant smile. “To avoid wasting your time, I’ll get right to the point.”

She flipped her bangs aside, turned on the recorder, and looked at her notes. “First question... Do you have any family?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “I’m an orphan. Commander Cowley, who took me in, is my family.”

Penny looked at him in surprise, sympathy flashing in her eyes. She continued, “I heard you’re an awakener?”

“Yes.”

“You must’ve trained hard to reach that point, right?”