There can't be a Harvest Moon in the RimWorld.

But they had barely finished their preparatory movements, and before they even had a chance to catch their breath, they felt a tremendous, dizzying change occur around them. Their hands and feet went numb for a moment as if they had been electrocuted, and then they lost consciousness. Their last conscious thought was of a deep roar: "Ordinary punch!"

Chapter 351 Winds from All Directions

The town's guards, who were lined up behind them, witnessed a horrific disaster within minutes.

Because the lord had issued a kill order, which was the first such order in five years since the Loaders' Territory was established, if they failed to complete the mission, they would all be sent to the gallows.

The sword and shield soldiers, who were originally lined up to protect themselves, were the strongest and most agile members among them. With their short swords, they could even pierce through thick iron armor, making them an absolute trump card in close combat.

But from twenty paces away, they watched helplessly as the sturdy shield array was easily pierced by a single finger, like a piece of twisted, deformed clay. At first, the clay had a little room to bounce back, but then suppressed, desperate roars rose from behind the shield array, as if people were cooperating to resist the external force.

Upon first contact, I instantly pierced through the thick, sturdy leather shield and made direct contact with the body behind it. What followed was the sound of naked, bloody bones breaking and blood gushing out.

The force was thus forcibly abruptly cut off halfway, leaving only a mangled corpse. Once the object receiving the force is determined, the loss during transmission is enormous, and the more layers involved, the more difficult it becomes to sustain. This is why masters fear situations where old force is exhausted and new force has not yet been generated—at this point, even the most skilled master cannot control their actions, often leaving them with significant openings.

But to their disappointment, what I called "a normal punch" was actually "charge mode." After accumulating like a sponge absorbing water, the power would reach a terrifying level in my body. At first, even I couldn't handle it, and it directly broke through the upper limit of my digitized body.

Therefore, after breaking one shield, even greater power erupted from my body, like the three tiers of the Yangtze River, surging forward with the momentum of smashing stones and sweeping away all obstacles.

I, clad in steel plate armor, shattered the shield formation in an instant, forcing my way through the gaps. The force spread out in an umbrella shape, and rows of soldiers in the core area were subjected to immense pressure. Their legs buckled, their hands broke, and they fell backward screaming.

A soldier's eyes flashed with ferocity as he drew his dagger and stabbed at my vitals, but the dagger struck my plate armor and was knocked away. I grabbed his head and with a sudden burst of strength...

The town's garrison stood silently, watching as the shield wall was violently torn open, as if they could see the steel-like demon grinning as it crawled inside to enjoy a blood-soaked hellish feast.

The soldiers forming a shield wall on the outside were unable to turn around due to the overly tight formation. They could only stand in place with their shields in hand, their scalps tingling as they heard screams rising and falling behind them, but they had no way to scatter and escape.

In this brief yet seemingly endless century, the town's garrison watched as the shield array resembled a crushed tomato, its bright red sap seeping out and nourishing the parched earth, like blooming red spider lilies paving the way for death on the other side.

Dismemberment, blood, screams, death—the cruel spectacle unfolded continuously, numbing them to the fact that life and death here were merely coincidences, and that the murdered were no different from the broken reeds by the roadside.

But after the final scream, the arena suddenly fell silent. A demon covered in blood and adorned with severed limbs and entrails emerged from the center. The cold blades on its gauntlets were spotless, as clean as a silver knife from a lord's kitchen.

The guards, as if waking from a dream, involuntarily took a step back in unison. Just moments before, they felt like they were watching a madman movie in a theater; the splattering tomato sauce might have been nauseating or exciting. But now, as the killer stepped out of the movie screen, grinning at them, a genuine, heartfelt fear surged through their bodies!

"Front line to rear line! Armored troops cover the rear, crossbowmen provide covering fire!"

The commander's voice rang out again, but this time he was no longer issuing an order to attack. In the two rounds of attacks, he had already exhausted most of his trump cards and could no longer afford the losses of a third attack. The remaining archers were absolutely insufficient to stop my advance.

However, their lack of intention to attack doesn't mean I'm willing to let them go easily. Allowing organized troops to safely withdraw from the battlefield is definitely not a wise move.

"Where is my halberd?!"

I strode towards the town's garrison, completely ignoring the machetes and crossbows the soldiers around me held aloft. I knew they wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. The way these men held their weapons was no longer to intimidate the enemy; it was merely a way for them to reassure themselves.

Those who survived this brutal cold weapon warfare today will likely suffer severe psychological trauma, spending every quiet night in fear and pain from now on.

I pushed through the crowd, grabbed the handle of the steel halberd, and swung it around, feeling the air whistling as I did so. I turned to the armored soldier beside me and asked in a low voice, "You commanded well."

The soldier was taken aback by what I said, but before he could speak, I interrupted him and continued, "No need to argue. Among these people, the archers have been guarding the rear for a long time and could not possibly have fully experienced and observed the battlefield. The swordsmen and shieldmen have all been killed by me, and it is impossible for them to be hiding the commander. So the last possibility is among you."

I swung my halberd, killing the man who was trying to escape, and continued, "I haven't finished speaking yet. No one is allowed to leave! There are so many people in the armored corps, and everyone was pretending to be dead with their heads down. Only you were secretly looking at me. This kind of occupational hazard of a commander is not commonly seen in ordinary soldiers who follow orders, don't you think?"

Upon hearing this, the armored soldier finally sighed in despair: "You guessed right... I surrender..."

Surrender? I thought this cold-blooded commander didn't care about other people's lives, nor did he care about his own. I even guessed he'd say something like "Do whatever you want with me," but he just surrendered right away? I suddenly think this guy is a professional traitor, he can't be allowed to live.

"It's not that bad, it's not that bad."

I waved my hand and pushed him into the crowd. "You don't need to surrender. I have no intention of letting you live. But you can choose how you die. What do you think?"

The commander replied after a long pause, but his tone was not pleading or subservient: "I'll trade a military secret for my life, what do you say?"

I said dismissively, "Tell me first. You have no bargaining power. If I'm not satisfied, you might as well just die."

The commander let out a soft breath: "Actually, even if you hadn't caught me, I would have told you this anyway..." His expression was obscured by his armor, but a hint of fear suddenly crept into his voice: "If I'm not mistaken, the lord's cannons are already aimed here. If we don't run, we'll all die here..."

Chapter 352 Nine Bends

"When I received the assignment, the lord ordered me to set off immediately and complete the combat mission. My men didn't understand the meaning behind those words, but I understand now..."

The commander, dressed in armor indistinguishable from the soldiers, had no personal guards and relied solely on skillful frontline maneuvering to oversee the entire operation. This reveals that he was not a strategist who planned from afar, but rather a frontline commander who personally led the charge, braving arrows and stones.

Such people often have a strong mass base, a deep understanding of their troops, and a very solid foundation. However, their concern for their subordinates exceeds that of a leader, and they almost treat the town garrison troops around them as their closest comrades-in-arms.

In this situation, what I admire most is his ability to watch people die one after another without hesitation and continue issuing commands. His actions are nothing short of cold-blooded, commanding this killing machine without any emotion. If it were me, I wouldn't be able to resist taking action even after hearing about the tragedy at Shisong Manor. If my men were slaughtered like that, I certainly wouldn't be able to stand here calmly and talk to the murderer.

But after listening to his analysis, I realized why he had such great courage.

His mission was to eliminate me as soon as possible, but he already understood something during our first encounter: my combat power was beyond human capabilities. Ordinary melee weapons and arrows were ineffective against me unless they were equipped with military-grade sniper crossbows capable of shattering an elephant's skull with a single shot. Otherwise, even the most valiant attacks would be futile.

Such advanced weaponry was only available to the lord's elite troops, who, as locally recruited soldiers, were limited to using ordinary weapons produced within their territory. So why would the lord issue such an impossible mission?

He instantly deduced the only possibility:

His attacks were ineffective, but that doesn't mean they were meaningless.

Since the significance lies not in achieving victory, then the significance of the attack lies in the battle itself. The lord's order means to control the invaders who may wreak havoc on the territory through a desperate battle, and to keep the battle confined to the slave plantation.

The key to victory will undoubtedly be the time gained by the town's garrison, allowing them to deliver a fatal blow through subsequent troop deployments!

"My lord, I led the town's garrison in this battle simply to fight for our lives..."

His voice was very calm, as if he were analyzing the situation for me, "I only have one last chance to find a way to survive, so I must do everything I can..."

Standing before him, I wore a thick stone war mask. Soaked in blood, the patterns hand-carved by tribal artisans on the mask became even more prominent, transforming into a fierce and glaring demon. When my eyes peeked out from behind the mask, everyone present felt a chill run down their spines and lowered their heads the instant I saw them.

Of course I understand what he means.

The lord's decision to send them on a suicide mission indicates that the situation has deteriorated to an unbearable degree. They are like a runaway train, embarking on a path of no return. The only way for them to survive is to fight and kill me before the lord can finish his preparations, thus completing the mission ahead of schedule.

But this task is no less difficult than appeasing the lord's wrath. If they could easily handle me, why would they bother with a suicidal mission?

"So, based on your analysis, my weakness is the assassination attempts of those sword and shield soldiers?" I asked coldly.

The commander nodded obediently: "That's right. Your armor and weapons are indeed powerful, sir, but weapons and armor often compensate for one's own shortcomings. So I made predictions based on these two aspects and decided to send sword and shield infantry into battle."

This analysis is quite accurate. Through clever planning, the commander in front of me used sword and shield soldiers to surround me. The confined space restricted the use of long-handled weapons like steel halberds, forcing me to switch to other weapons to fight. This undoubtedly rendered my strongest weapon useless.

Secondly, while close combat is dangerous, it allows for high-intensity output in a short period, testing the strength and weaknesses of my plate armor. The exquisite assassination moves are interconnected, leaving no room for respite. By observing my micro-moves during combat, the commander is confident that he can spot my weaknesses.

Unfortunately, apart from my head, hands, and feet—the exposed parts of my body—I withstood the attack without any resistance, not even leaving a mark. This left him, like a rat trying to pull a turtle, with nowhere to bite... No, that analogy doesn't suit me, but that's the gist of it.

His plan was correct, but my steel plate armor was produced by the colonist system, and its attributes were presented in an almost unbelievable way—it deducted the durability shown on the panel, which of course could not be seen on the surface!

Currently, the durability of my steel plate armor has only dropped from 290 to 237 after so many battles. If nothing unexpected happens, the durability will not be more than half lost by the time I finish fighting and return home. If you want to break my defense with continuous attacks, you are just selflessly offering yourself up for death. I will accept any challenge!

I glanced at the demoralized troops beside me and said to the commander, "You have nowhere to retreat. Do you intend to be killed here by me, or wait for the lord to come and blast you to death with one cannon shot?"

The commander glanced at the guards beside him and said with a wry smile, "If they could live, who would want to die? I understand their desire to leave, but I know even more clearly that whether they live or die today, the lord will not let them live..."

"Oh? Why are you so sure? What if you ran faster and survived?" I asked.

"A force that has been abandoned will never regain its loyalty. The lord will certainly choose to rebuild the town's garrison..."

I sneered: "That madman's style of doing things is really well-known. He loves killing so much, and you're still willing to risk your lives for him?"

The commander said helplessly, "Besides the appointment and support from the faction, the lord also has that turret mounted at the highest point of the town, whose shelling range easily covers the entire territory. It has repelled countless enemy attacks. With such military power, how many people can still muster the courage to resist?"

Afraid of death but want to live? Then I have a solution.

I shouted to the survivors present, "Don't you want to live? What's the point of living like this, where you're constantly on the verge of death? If you agree to join my forces and put on another show, I'll agree to lead you out of here!"

"I'll just ask you one question: do you want to die or live?"

Chapter 353 The Ten Deadly Scheme

The scene fell silent for a moment, seemingly surprised by the brilliant idea of ​​joining forces when they couldn't win. But the commander, true to his reputation as a strategist, understood my meaning immediately.

"My lord... what are you planning to do..." He then stopped talking, pointed to himself, then to the city wall, then looked around the room and pointed at the two of us with a knowing look.

I didn't understand what he was saying at all.

Even though my comprehension is perfect, I still need facial expressions to communicate with those animals using emojis. His behavior of trying to make me understand after just a couple of gestures is, to me, just asking for trouble… At least take off that helmet covering your face!

But to maintain my composure, I could only nod knowingly and say, "You have good comprehension."

The commander was startled by this, his tone tinged with surprise: "Sir, isn't this too risky!"

So what exactly are you talking about regarding this plan?! I have no idea, so please stop asking!

I coughed lightly twice and looked at the slaves at the foot of the city wall. "Not just you, I'm going to lead them out of here too."

The commander's tone was even more surprised, but I could also detect a hint of admiration: "There's actually such a method! I never thought of that! You must have studied at the Space Military Academy!"

I've never been to a military academy. Going to Tsinghua or Peking University is just for fun. If you really want to make a name for yourself, you have to come here to teach.

"Now that you know, don't say anything more. Just cooperate with me. Tell me about the bunker turret."

I quickly changed the subject to stop his wild imagination. Could it be that he's really smarter than me, thinking on a higher level, which is why I can't understand him? No, I don't believe it! He must be speaking in dialect!

"Yes, sir."

The commander rallied the remaining troops. Of the original 120 men, about 67 remained. Forty crossbowmen were still at full strength, and 37 armored soldiers were left, having lost 60% of their strength. The sword and shield soldiers suffered even greater losses, with none left, all of them killed by my hand.

I couldn't help but marvel that if it weren't for such a life-or-death crisis, no one present would have been able to so easily set aside their hatred and form a united front.

Because behind me lurks a large group of filthy slaves, most of whom are captured bandits and pirates, who often have irreconcilable hatred for these city defense troops.

The culprit that caused these attackers to fail was often the bunker turrets that the commanders referred to.

In terms of appearance, the bunker turret looks quite impressive—it's a square steel shell with dimensions of 3 meters on each side, and a 75mm tank gun with a 70mm length-to-diameter ratio is mounted on the top layer of the shell. This bunker-like structure is installed on the roof of the lord's hall, overlooking the entire territory from a high vantage point, and is guarded day and night by the lord's elite troops.

The turret basket extends deep beneath the floor slab, on the second floor of the lord's hall. This location serves as both a fighting room and an ammunition storage room. According to the commander's description, extending into the building, there is a folding bed and a generator for lighting and smoke extraction, with an escape door on one side—this area is reserved for the lord and no one is allowed to enter.

At this moment, an old soldier from the town's garrison stepped forward and shared what he knew. He was among the town's first residents and had participated in the construction of the Lord's Hall.

As required by the Andvarto faction's headquarters, the turret bunker was constructed from pre-produced parts. After initial assembly, it was divided into two parts and transported to a designated location. The parts were then assembled and combined in the town to complete the project.

According to his description, the entire anti-tank bunker weighs 40.8 tons based solely on the reinforced concrete used, almost the same as a tank. It can be said that this bunker has reached the level of a "juggernaut" in terms of weight, and it is definitely a top-level existence in this battlefield where cold weapons and rudimentary firearms are rampant.

"According to you, the lord could wipe us all out effortlessly with just one shot from inside the fortress, so why go through all this trouble?" I countered.

The commander realized that his description had been too detailed and could even undermine morale, so he quickly explained, "That's not how it works! Because the fortress here lacks the original hydraulic rotating mechanism on the turret, the turret can only be rotated by the gunner and loader at a constant speed while maintaining absolute horizontality. It takes about 8 minutes and 13 seconds to complete one rotation. If there is any tilting, the turret simply cannot rotate."

After he spoke out loud, the expressions of the soldiers around him finally softened slightly. A powerful enemy isn't scary; could they be stronger than me standing before them? But an enemy without any weaknesses is terrifying. No matter how powerful I am, I still act like an ordinary human being—able to speak, breathe, need to eat, and know how to avoid risks. But a cold, ruthless war turret paired with that cold-blooded, mad lord creates a profound sense of oppression.

From a weapon mechanics standpoint, I knew that the bunker's concealment would be ineffective in actual combat. If a bunker isn't well-concealed, it can't achieve the effect of surprise attack. Having gone through the descriptions of these traitors, I now understand the existence of this weapon, so the danger has decreased to an acceptable level.

Moreover, once such bunkers and artillery opened fire, as fixed firing points, they were easily destroyed by concentrated fire. Even more problematic was that if I attacked from another direction, these fixed turret bunkers became useless. It was precisely in the defense of such small towns that they held such a crucial, stabilizing position.

Just then, the bald man, who was still standing on the high ground observing, suddenly shouted in our direction: "Boss, there's movement in the distance! To the northwest!"