This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 491.2: Its Finally Over...

...

But just then, a gunshot rang out from the distant watchtower. One of the guards, just reaching the gate, had his head burst into a cloud of blood mist.

The other guard, still unsure of the shooter’s location, was hit next. This time the bullet bored into his skull without anyone even hearing the shot, and he collapsed without a sound.

"Two."

Reporting his kills on comms, Night Ten lay on the roof of another tower nearby, eyes glued to the scope as he scanned the castle edges.

With his thermal scope, no living thing could escape his sight. His intuition for killing also told him if his position was compromised, or if another sniper had locked onto him.

Controlling his breathing, he pulled the trigger once more. With a sharp crack, another royal guard near the castle gate was shot in the head and collapsed heavily to the ground. The continued casualties placed immense psychological pressure on the gate's defenders, even the most loyal soldiers couldn't help but feel fear.

Compared to the suppressive fire of machine guns or the shrieking dives of aircraft, it was the distant sniper that struck fear in their hearts. A machine gun burst might not kill seasoned veterans, but that hidden sniper rifle... The second it went off, someone would die. Experience no longer mattered.

Everyone crouching behind cover became meat on the chopping block. No one knew who would be next.

Facing the New Alliance’s fierce and well-coordinated assault, the defense line at the castle gate began to collapse.

“... Three,” Night Ten calmly ejected the spent casing from the chamber, took a deep breath, and began searching for a higher-value target. At the same time, the fighting in the city had mostly ended.

Hearing distant gunfire, Old White pulled his steaming short axe from a corpse, raised his index finger to the side of his helmet, and spoke. “Urban district cleared.”

Gale’s voice came swiftly over the comms. “Nice work. Proceed to the palace.”

“Roger!” Old White grinned, slung the Thermal Cutting Axe onto his exoskeleton, and picked up the rifle hanging from his chest again. Sometimes playing support didn’t feel too bad. That said, the Falcon Kingdom still had a few elites. The person he had just taken down was actually an awakener. Originally, he thought all the strong ones had died in earlier battles.

It seemed that no game could escape the problem of a player’s snowball growth. Especially in a game touting full realism, the very concept of a player, who couldn’t die and only grow stronger, was absurd.

He could clearly feel that their enemies were growing weaker by the day. At first, a 10-man infantry squad would still be assigned a light machine gun. Now? Forget LMGs, even the grand capital city had only 30-odd anti-aircraft guns left. Two companies couldn’t even scrounge up three proper machine guns.

The near-insane mobilization had drained the last drop of vitality from the kingdom.

If a few months ago the Falcon Kingdom was a starving wolf armed to the teeth, now it was nothing more than a dying old dog.

Rather than being defeated in battle, it would be more accurate to say they had been worn down.

That was because players couldn't die, the New Alliance could mobilize indefinitely. As long as irreplaceable NPCs weren’t sent en masse to the frontlines, the manpower pool would remain largely unchanged, and thanks to the support from the Enterprise, the New Alliance even profited from the war.

In theory, against any non-player faction, the New Alliance could win through sheer attrition. As long as production continued, they could exhaust their enemies to death.

Old White couldn’t help wondering how Light would handle the problem of late-stage power creep. However... It clearly wasn’t the time to think about that.

“... Time to give this crumbling house one final kick.” He looked toward the castle gate that had already been breached. With a smile on his face, he led his squad charging toward the castle.

...

At that moment, the castle had become a sea of flames. The sound of panicked footsteps and screams echoed constantly.

No one had expected the war to reach the castle. Most assumed it would be just another air raid. It might be difficult to overcome, but they could live. But now...

Those naive thoughts had all shattered.

People who had never seen war, who had never even felt its effects, were now tasting the true fear of death.

The once-submissive servants completely shed their polite facades in terror.

Those desperate to survive fled and hid without hesitation. Those who gave up on living devolved into beasts in their final moments.

Some jumped into pools, some crawled into kitchen stoves, others fought violently over cupboards. One noblewoman, fearing humiliation by the New Alliance soldiers and chose to hang herself, but before she could kick away the chair, an old servant burst in and wrestled both her and her clothes away.

"What are you doing?!"

“Shut up, damn it! We’re all going to die anyway, what do you care what I do?!”

Gone was the old man’s humility. He stared hungrily at the pale flesh before him, madness and greed gleaming in his beady eyes.

Given what their soldiers had done at the frontlines, they knew the enemy wouldn’t spare them. The only instinct now was to flee.

She ran downstairs, only to run straight into the invading squad from outside the castle.

“I don’t mind women throwing themselves at me, but... Can we maybe wait until after the shooting stops?” Seeing the woman burst out unexpectedly, Night Ten awkwardly lowered his raised gun and joked to lighten the mood.

Would it count as a civilian casualty if he’d fired by mistake? Probably not...

“Cut the crap.” Old White tore off a curtain and tossed it at the woman’s chest. Staring into her terrified eyes, he asked, “Where is your king?”

Clutching the curtain tightly, she trembled and stammered, “H-he... I saw him heading to the throne hall this morning... He never came out...”

Old White pressed on. “What about the other members of the royal family?”

“I-I don’t know... but I heard... they were going to hide in the dungeon.”

Driven by survival instinct, she sold them out.

Night Ten quipped, “Well, damn. They knew we were coming and locked themselves in for us.”

Gale rubbed his nose. “It’s probably just to avoid the air raid.”

The girl was wearing only a thin cloth, and he honestly didn’t know where to look.

Old White nodded and waved his squad forward. “To the throne hall.”

The rest quickly followed and continued advancing.

Gunfire echoed from the front yard to the main hall. The two sides clashed in narrow stairwells as the Burning Corps spread throughout the castle, clearing out all armed resistance room by room.

Meanwhile, the throne hall remained eerily silent. The chaos and gunfire outside barely reached inside. On the throne sat Morgott, gazing out the window at the stillness of the night sky and the flickering fires below. He said nothing for a long time.

He knew everything. As ruler of this kingdom, how could he not know what had happened?

For the past month, not a single good report had come from the front, every minor deed by a 10-man squad leader was exaggerated as a heroic tale.

Clearly, that wasn’t the sign of imminent victory. The king might be old, but he wasn’t senile yet.

At that moment, the doors opened. Midal entered quickly, gesturing for the royal guards behind him to shut the door.

His face was covered in blood, his body bearing at least two gunshot wounds. He limped in pain, a testament to the brutal combat. Kneeling at the foot of the throne, he spoke earnestly, “Your Majesty, the New Alliance has breached the main gate! Please follow me immediately to the underground passage in the back garden...”

Morgott turned his gaze from the window, looked at him, but did not rise. Instead, he whispered, “Midal.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Tell me... Did I make a mistake?”

Midal froze.

Noting his silence, Morgott continued, “I want the truth... Swear upon the Spirit of the Desert that everything out of your mouth is the truth.”

“I... I don’t know, Your Majesty,” Midal lowered his head. Urgency and anxiety faded, replaced by confusion. “My honest answer is... I don’t know. I don’t know what the future holds.”

The Levee of Oasis No.2 was about to be destroyed. The oasis shrank each year. In just a few centuries, the desert would consume it, just like Oasis No.1, which had already disappeared.

The Spirit of the Desert had not gifted its blessings equally to all. They had neither the vast lands of the Lion Kingdom, nor the seaports of the Camel Kingdom. Even the Honey Badgers and Golden Lizard Kingdoms were better off.

They had no path but war. Yet if they continued to fight... He saw no future there either.

The Wislanders had never told them where the end was, nor what place remained for foreigners like them in a world ruled by Wislanders.

Morgott closed his eyes, gave no judgment on Midal’s answer, and remained motionless as if waiting for something.

The next second, the doors burst open. At the sight of the armed soldiers entering, Midal instinctively gripped his saber. But faced with so many gun barrels, he froze.

There was no doubt about it.

Even as a twice-awakened warrior, without automatic weapons, he stood no chance against a squad of armed awakeners, much less those clad in exoskeletons.

With just a twitch of their fingers, they could turn him and his blade into a human sieve.

Exchanging glances with Old White, Gale stepped forward and stopped in the center of the throne room, raising his head to look at the old man on the throne.

He looked like a weak, ordinary elder, bearing none of a king’s dignity, just like the dying kingdom at his feet.

Death’s scythe hovered at his neck.

“You’ve lost. Surrender,” Gale said.

Morgott looked calmly at the man before him. His parched lips parted slowly. “The Royal Family of the Falcon Kingdom does not surrender.”

Gale wasn’t surprised. His expression didn’t change. “We’re not asking.”

“We’ve taken this castle. What you say, whether you live or die, is irrelevant.”

“We’ll announce that you’ve surrendered. The New Alliance flag flying over the tower will be proof enough. We’ll synthesize your image, use your channels to broadcast to your troops, tell them to defect, to turn their weapons on the Wislanders. I believe many will hesitate, but someone will obey.”

“This war won’t end. We’ll keep fighting on your lands. Triumphant City will send its armies on endless crusades. And we won’t retreat either, we’ll fight to the last man, until your oasis becomes desert, until your blood runs dry...”

Midal shivered as cold dread overtook him. He looked at the young man in disbelief.

Morgott’s pupils contracted. As if realizing something, he let out a bitter smile. “... This is your administrator’s order?”

“That’s not important,” Gale replied coldly.

“The last thing you can do for your kingdom and this desert is sign an unconditional surrender, and order your army to lay down arms and report to Bist Town.”

“Then we’ll descend into endless hell,” Morgott said calmly. “Everyone will trample on us. I’d rather die as a warrior.”

Gale remained unmoved. “No. We are not the Wislanders. We won’t wipe you out. You can start over. But if you reject this final chance, I guarantee your nightmare is just beginning.”

Morgott stared at him.

His cloudy eyes didn’t move, as if weighing the pros and cons, or judging whether the man could be trusted.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, the old man seemed to have come to a decision. He slowly closed his eyes. “Which side leads to hell... that’s for future generations to decide. Either way... We have lost.”

That sentence seemed to drain all his strength. He relaxed his shoulders and slumped back onto the cold throne.

“... I surrender.”

When those weary words left his dried up lips, everyone, including Midal, or the remaining soldiers of the Falcon Kingdom, heaved a sigh of relief.

It was finally over.

Midal suddenly realized. At some point, he had stopped hoping for victory. All he wanted was for it to end, no matter how undignified it might be.