The spell's range covers the entire territory of China? Hand it over to the state.

The Atlantic Ocean, 500 meters below sea level.

A deep, deathly darkness enveloped the colossal vessel named "Zeus." Inside the nuclear submarine's private dining room, the air was precisely locked at twenty-two degrees Celsius by a temperature control system, without a trace of the chill emanating from the deep sea.

The pointer of a vintage gramophone slowly glides across a vinyl record, Wagner's "Ride of the Divine Horse" resounds with fervor, and the roar of the orchestra creates an absurd harmony with the immense pressure of millions of tons of seawater outside the bulkhead.

Old Ross sat at the far end of a long table covered with a velvet tablecloth. He held a silver knife in his hand, the tip of which rested lightly on the crispy crust of a Wellington steak.

"Sizzle—"

A very faint cracking sound.

The pastry cracked open, the knife sliced ​​into the tender meat, and bright red juices overflowed from the cut, slowly flowing onto the pristine white porcelain plate. Old Ross stared at the red hue, his gaze as focused as if he were admiring a work of art.

Across from him, the intelligence officer maintained an extremely humble posture. His waist was bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle, his forehead almost touching the floor, and sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, leaving a small, dark, damp stain on the carpet.

"The entire Scavenger Squad has been confirmed dead."

"The Black Mamba captain's vital signs last disappeared at coordinates 302. Based on the intermittent footage transmitted before the drone was destroyed... it is determined that they were all wiped out."

Old Ross's hands never paused as he cut the meat.

"Continue," he said softly.

The intelligence officer swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "The one who killed Black Mamba was a low-ranking officer from Longxia. Data shows that his normal energy response was only B-level. But towards the end of the battle, the target activated some kind of extreme 'overload mode,' enduring the S-level monster 'Abyss Stitched Corpse King' for a full sixty-seven seconds at the cost of self-destruction."

Only then did Old Ross stop using his knife and fork.

He forked a piece of beef smeared with red sauce, put it in his mouth, and chewed it slowly and carefully. Each bite was accompanied by the subtle sound of muscle fibers breaking.

After a while, he picked up a linen napkin and gently touched the corner of his mouth.

"What a pity."

The intelligence officer's tense nerves relaxed slightly. He thought his boss was lamenting the loss of that elite squad that had cost countless dollars to build.

"Unfortunately, the data core of the nanotech armor could not be recovered."

Old Ross picked up his wine glass, swirling the blood-thick red wine inside. "As for the people? They're dead, so be it. Trading six killing dogs for Long Xia's current maximum individual combat strength—that's a very good deal."

The intelligence officer looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with disbelief and astonishment.

Those were six top-tier A-rank and B-rank fighters! The resources required to train even one Black Mamba would be enough to buy a small African country. And in this old man's words, they were merely "rats" thrown out to test the power of a bear trap?

"Don't look at me like that."

Old Ross seemed to enjoy the fear in his subordinates. He stood up and strolled to the large, round porthole. Outside was eternal darkness, with only the occasional bioluminescent creature from the deep sea flashing by like a ghost.

Would you care if a lab mouse died while testing a new drug? Even if that lab mouse was very strong.

Old Ross turned around and lightly tapped his finger in the air.

The holographic projection instantly unfolded in the center of the restaurant. The image was extremely shaky; it was the last footage captured by the drone before it was shattered by the sound waves.

In the scene, the blood-covered Longxia soldier is swimming upstream, stepping on the slippery tentacles of an S-class monster. His bones are clearly deformed, yet his movements are so fast they leave afterimages, each swing of his sword carrying a resolute and tragic intensity.

"Take a look at this." Old Ross pointed to Zhao Tiezhu's twisted arm in the image. "The Dragon Xia people have fitted their soldiers with some kind of limiter. It's for protection under normal circumstances, but it's a stimulant in critical moments. It can make a B-rank mortal unleash power that can even threaten an S-rank monster... This technology is more valuable than six Black Mambas."

"Then... should we suspend Project Apocalypse?" the intelligence officer probed cautiously. "After all, this operation might completely enrage Long Xia..."

"Infuriated?"

Old Ross let out a short, snickering laugh, as if he had heard a ridiculous joke.

"Anger is the privilege of the strong; the anger of the weak is meaningless. Longxia is indeed like a tortoise shell now, very hard. But the more they pull everyone back inside the walls, the more that golden dome resembles a giant prison."

Old Ross turned around, his cloudy old eyes flashing with a cold, venomous light. His voice was low and hoarse: "Since it's a prison, as long as we cut off their water and food, the people inside will rebel on their own. Continue to release the new virus, increase the dosage. Ignore those rude soldiers; we need to rot their granaries and deplete their water sources at the root."

He raised his wine glass and toasted the empty space in the distance: "When they are so hungry that they start to eat their own kind, I want to see if Long Xia can still use his so-called 'miracle' to conjure up a Manchu Han Imperial Feast."

"yes!"

……

Southwestern border, boundary marker No. 77.

Heavy rain.

The icy rain, like countless fine steel needles, pierced the broken asphalt road, stirring up clouds of murky mist. Muddy water gathered into streams, meandering through the charred ruins, washing away the still-dry dark red bloodstains.

Several armored personnel carriers painted with red five-pointed stars rolled through the mud and slowly came to a stop. The heavy doors opened, and a group of soldiers who were usually loud and boisterous, known as the toughest men on this land, were silent.

They carried a stretcher carefully off the train carriage as if it were some fragile, rare treasure.

A bright red flag was draped over the stretcher. The rain instantly soaked the flag, making it cling tightly to the small bulge underneath.

too small.

That doesn't look like the size of a 1.85-meter-tall strong man at all; it looks more like a pile of cobbled-together remains.

"Company commander... Company commander..."

Li Erniu knelt down in the mud with a thud, his hands gripping the aluminum alloy poles on the edge of the stretcher tightly. His fingernails were torn off from the force, and blood dripped down mixed with the mud, but he seemed oblivious to it.

This man, who could grin and joke even when facing a horde of beasts, was now crying like a lost child, tears streaming down his face.

"Wake up! You haven't gone back to wash your socks yet! You promised you'd buy me that game console when you got back... I haven't even opened it yet! Company Commander, get up and play a round! You can even yell at me a couple of times!"

The sound of rain was deafening, but it couldn't drown out the heart-wrenching cries.

No one came forward to persuade him. The deputy captain, Lao Li, turned his back, tilted his head back, and let the rain pour into his mouth, making a gurgling sound like a wounded beast, his chest heaving violently.

"salute!"