Chapter 106: The End of the Military Exercise

At last, Kevin was "killed in action." Having performed meritorious service, he had no regrets in death. The only imperfection was that he had accidentally killed a friendly soldier, but since it was just a military exercise, it was not a major issue. The group of "zombies" around him chatted and laughed, happy to have won such a brilliant anti-ambush battle.

Little Spoon walked over calmly from the dark night, pushing past the zombies while repeatedly stating her identity: "Third-party observer, thank you."

The rain was still pouring. Little Spoon was already soaked, her hair plastered to her face and her clothes dripping wet; as a third-party observer, the journey had not been easy. She took an umbrella from her spatial ring and opened it, then produced several pieces of half-cooked meat and a bag of charcoal.

Kevin accepted them one by one. Now that he was "dead," he could finally enjoy the afterlife.

After delivering the supplies to Kevin, Little Spoon immediately went to help the other "zombies" build a rain shelter. This was part of her duties as a third-party observer, and her spatial ring was well-stocked with various tools. Seeing a young girl working so hard for them, the men felt a bit embarrassed and began to help, and soon a shelter was erected.

The zombies retreated into the shelter to rest, lighting a fire without restraint. They found a relatively flat stone, poured charcoal onto it, and added fire-oil bombs from a spatial ring. Even in the damp, rainy conditions, the fire caught easily. Kevin set his meat over the flames, the savory aroma whetting everyone's appetite.

"Listen up, Blue Team corpses," Little Spoon announced after finishing her work. "You were bitten by zombies and have all turned into zombies. Please be sure to change the tags on your uniforms."

The Blue Team zombies looked dispirited, sighing at the fire. The Red Team zombies, however, were extremely excited. Many gathered around Kevin: "Hey brother, when should we find a way to do that again... you know."

Kevin shook his head. "I'm not a zombie. I was killed by a Blue Team archer."

"Oh." The others realized, and one sighed, "Actually, you might not have needed to die. There must be a way for us to do it ourselves. That would make things easier."

Kevin shook his head again. "Zombies, regardless of strength, have no intelligence. They can only wander within a limited range. It is impossible to claim I am a zombie and then wander around precisely wiping out their various legions. It first requires a living person to lure them, so I must be at the front. There is no other way."

"But this method could be used repeatedly, right?" someone suggested, drawing inferences. "As long as headquarters sends someone else to lure them, we could easily wipe out another group. Trading one life for a whole regiment—that’s a good deal!"

Kevin just smiled without answering, turning the meat in his hands and feeling the warmth of the flames on his face, which also dried his wet clothes.

Seeing the shelter finished and everyone settled, Little Spoon walked back out into the rain. Many kind-hearted zombies couldn't bear it and called out, "Hey little girl, come sit with us. We're all dead here anyway."

"I can't. According to the regulations, I cannot spend long periods with the Red or Blue teams; I must remain nearby to monitor," Little Spoon replied.

"Really?" Kevin was surprised. "I heard some observers stay in the command post all day. Why can't you stay with us for a while?"

Little Spoon remained silent.

Kevin felt a bit lost, sensing that Little Spoon had never said a single unnecessary word to him.

"I'm leaving now," Little Spoon waved casually and walked into the night. In truth, the regulation did exist for third-party observers, but it was aimed at low-ranking soldiers or officers to prevent them from being tricked into revealing information. Even a single expression or gesture could leak tactical movements. Therefore, only high-ranking officers or elite assassins—people who were masters of disguise and experts in deception and counter-deception—were allowed to serve as observers.

"Here, have some roasted meat. Catch!" Kevin tossed a piece of meat he had just finished roasting. Little Spoon had been lurking in the rain, and even if she had supplies in her spatial ring, she certainly didn't have hot, freshly grilled meat. In the cold, damp weather, a hot meal was a luxury.

Little Spoon happily caught it with her bare hands. Her hands got greasy, and the meat got a little wet from the rain, but they were in the field, so it didn't matter. She sniffed it, took a bite, and smiled at Kevin with satisfaction.

There were many more men than women in the camp, and everyone was delighted to meet such a pretty girl in the wilderness. Having gotten to know her while building the shelter, many immediately brought out their own meat: "Here, I have some too!" "Is that enough? Have another!"...

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh... A dozen pieces of roasted meat were thrown through the air, spinning and steaming as they flew toward Little Spoon.

Little Spoon: "..."

Pfft, pfft, pfft... Little Spoon didn't try to catch them; she let them fall to the ground, turned, and disappeared into the darkness.

Everyone sighed, then felt they had acted ridiculously, and a wave of laughter broke out. An officer-like man even cursed, "Waste of food!"

The "dead" were having a grand time, but those still alive were in agony. By midnight, all Red Team legions were moving toward the position suspected of housing the Blue Team's giant staff, but this movement was clearly expected by the Blue Team, who had set numerous ambushes along the way, easily annihilating large numbers of Red troops.

Not only was the Red Team's giant staff destroyed, but their crystal ball had also been wiped out. The enemy's giant staff, meanwhile, kept casting spells, taking out a regiment or half a regiment with every shot, causing heavy losses. Orson, the commander-in-chief, didn't even dare stay in the command post, instead dressing as a common soldier and rushing toward the front through the rain.

The Red Team's strength was not equal to the enemy's elite forces. In a head-on collision, the judging committee determined that they could only reduce the Blue Team's strength by a third. It took three of their regiments to equal one of the Blue Team's. Beyond the inherent settings, the Red Team's food supply was also a problem; even after digging tunnels, logistics couldn't keep up. They had fantasized about a great counter-attack during the thunderstorm, but unfortunately, it hadn't gone well.

Looking at the big picture, all the high-ranking officers realized the Red Team's defeat was inevitable. This wasn't something that could be turned around by individual strength or one or two regiments. The current situation was just a balancing act by the directors to provide the troops with as much training as possible. Orson and the others could only hope to take a few enemies down with them to save face. This was one of the reasons they, as commanders-in-chief, had rushed to the front lines.

However, Kevin’s trick of luring zombies to trade one life for a regiment seemed like a decent idea. Yet, this seemed like a shortcut or perhaps an "Easter egg" provided by the directors. How could the directors allow people to keep farming Easter eggs? The main point of the exercise was tactical competition, not an Easter egg hunt. A real commander should focus on practical combat tactics. Otherwise, the purpose of the training would not be achieved.

Thus, Orson never considered the tactic of repeatedly sending people to trade lives for regiments. Kevin was not a commander; he was a junior officer, so his actions were normal. But if the commander-in-chief issued such an order, it would be shameful.

Sure enough, a moment later, the directors ordered a Light Priest to pass by, who casually "purified" all the zombies. The directors didn't specify how, but it seemed to leave them with nothing left. In any case, the zombies were gone, taken directly off the field to rest in temporary barracks until dawn, when they could return to their own posts. For them, the exercise was truly over.

However, Kevin was left behind because he wasn't a zombie; he was a normal corpse killed by arrows. The directors followed procedure strictly: zombies could leave, but regular corpses had to stay.

Watching the zombies leave one by one, Kevin was left alone in the vast, empty shelter. Listening to the rain hitting the roof, he felt lonely and cold.

"Uh... Department of Affairs?" Kevin called out. "Why don't you come in and take shelter from the rain?"

There was no answer in the dark. Little Spoon must have still been there, but she was either unwilling or prohibited by regulations. In Kevin's view, such regulations should have some flexibility; did they have to be so rigid?

With no answer, Kevin could only roast his own meat. A moment later, the raven flew back and landed silently on his shoulder. Kevin handed it a piece of meat. "Want some?"

The raven didn't stand on ceremony, grabbing it with its claw, pecking several times, and tearing off a piece to swallow.

"So you can eat cooked food too?" Kevin looked at it. "You can eat with me from now on."

"Ah... ah... ah..." The raven flapped its wings twice.

"Don't make a fuss, and don't call out!" Kevin replied. "I'm dead, I can't give you any instructions. Just be a quiet corpse."

The raven lowered its head, searching around. A moment later, it brought back a stone and placed it on the ground, then jumped aside to gather pebbles, wood chips, and leftover bones, tossing them onto the ground and nudging them around with its beak like a child playing with blocks.

Kevin watched quietly. After a while, the raven looked up at Kevin, then fiercely pecked at a piece of wood, shaking its head left and right, scattering all the stones and debris everywhere. On the surface, it looked like a child throwing a tantrum after failing to build a structure.

But Kevin understood the meaning. The diagram the raven had made was the current exercise map. The stones and debris represented mountains. It hadn't been too detailed—it hadn't bothered with rivers, otherwise, it would have been too obvious. The spot it had pecked last was a mountain near the Blue Team's base.

After pecking it, it had scattered the whole map. Did this mean that once this place was taken, the Blue Team would collapse and the exercise would end? If so, this was likely where the Blue Team's headquarters was located.

If this was true, the raven’s capabilities were extraordinary, exceeding Kevin's expectations. It had managed to locate the Blue Team's headquarters without being detected. Unfortunately, Kevin was dead, and the raven couldn't talk to anyone else; even knowing the location, he was powerless.

"Let's wait. If there's an opportunity, we'll talk then," Kevin said to the campfire. "If not, don't worry about it. We've already done enough. Whether you're a person or a bird, you should be content."

The raven: "..."

The night passed. By dawn, the rain had finally stopped. The ground was full of puddles, and the sky began to clear. Kevin took the three wheels of a catapult from his spatial ring, placed them side by side, spread out a mat, and slept by the fire without taking off his clothes.

He woke up naturally at dawn. The right side of his body near the fire was dry, while the left side was still wet, which felt uncomfortable. He shifted his sitting posture and continued to roast meat. As a corpse, he had no desires; he just ate when hungry and slept when tired.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion behind him, as if someone was rushing through the woods. Kevin turned to look casually; he was dead, so it didn't matter who came.

At first glance, they looked like a few Red Team soldiers, but the number was small, and they didn't seem to be a formal unit. Could it be a remnant force? Looking closer, he noticed they were all quite old, not the age a soldier should be. When they ran closer, he was shocked.

"Commander! Oh no! General!" Kevin stood up hurriedly. He might not recognize others, but he knew this commander from his days as a recruit.

The group of commanders who had rushed from headquarters were covered in dust and drenched in water. Seeing Kevin, they just waved.

"Oh, it's you?" Orson smiled. "Good job."

"Unfortunately, I have been killed in action, so I can't help with anything," Kevin spread his hands helplessly. "I can't even offer the commander a barbecue."

Orson exchanged looks with the other commanders and said directly, "Well, here is the body of one of our heroic soldiers. Come, let's carry him. Let's continue the fight!"

"Yes!" A person who looked like a guard stepped forward without a word, grabbed Kevin, and threw him onto his back. Kevin was stunned, still holding half a piece of half-cooked meat.

"Let's go!" Commander Orson waved his hand, and the group of elite commanders began to move rapidly. Their target was clearly still the location of the enemy's giant staff. It was truly a case of doing the impossible.

Lying on the guard's back, Kevin felt the speed of these experts. The ride was so bumpy that he finally dropped the half-cooked meat in his hand.

"Although we are at a severe disadvantage, there is still an opportunity," Orson encouraged everyone. "We commanders are the Red Team's most elite force. No matter what, even if it's an assassination, we still have a chance to turn things around."

These words were clearly meant for Kevin. Kevin understood. He thought to himself that the general carrying him meant he hoped Kevin could be of some use. After all, he was a living person, not a corpse. After hesitating for a moment, he tapped the guard's left shoulder.

The guard didn't react, continuing to run straight ahead. Kevin coughed and tapped his shoulder again. The group understood, and Orson gave a look. The guard immediately put Kevin in the lead. Whenever Kevin tapped him, he turned; tap, and he turned again.

Honestly, this was a bit like cheating, but since no one had spoken and there was no evidence, it was a tacit agreement. Kevin, relying on the location the raven had scouted the night before and his memory of the map, led the experts forward at high speed.

However, since it was the Blue Team headquarters, how could there be no defenses? Although the Blue Team was small in number and it was hard to ambush troops for a long time, they were bound to have set traps. The commanders had only been running for a moment when arrows rained down like locusts.

Fortunately, these commanders were no ordinary people. They swung their weapons like wind, their battle aura forming a barrier that deflected all the arrows. The guard, however, unceremoniously pulled Kevin in front of him to use as a shield. Kevin was pelted with arrows and couldn't help but curse internally, though he didn't dare say a word. Fortunately, it was just a simulation, not real arrows.

"Quick!" Orson roared and charged out in the lead. Once the traps were triggered, the Blue Team headquarters would surely notice and take action immediately.

Suddenly, countless rope nets appeared on the ground ahead, sweeping toward them. Commander Orson drew his sword to clear the path, cutting the nets one by one. The ground ahead collapsed, revealing another pile of traps. Orson leaped, nimbly jumping over them.

The group of commanders followed their general, breaking through the traps until they reached a small cave. Above the entrance, the word "Headquarters" was written in large letters. The cave was pitch black, leading to who knows where.

Orson fell silent: "..."

Kevin felt awkward. Generally, a command post wouldn't be so obviously marked. If it was marked this way, it had to be a decoy. But this wasn't the spot he had scouted; it was the one the raven had scouted.

"Commander, should we go in?" a commander asked.

Before Orson could answer, a giant fireball whistled toward them from afar, exploding above their heads and raining down sparks. The fireball was about 50 meters above the ground, but the heat wave was still intense, showing its terrifying power. The environment was hot, but everyone's hearts turned cold.

It was over. According to the rules, this was a fireball from the giant staff. They couldn't let the staff aim directly at people, so an attack over the troops was judged as the total annihilation of the unit. Even these commanders couldn't survive such a hit.

All Red Team commanders and their headquarters were wiped out; the military exercise was truly over. Kevin had pulled another blunder, leading his own commander-in-chief into an obvious enemy trap. Kevin felt deeply ashamed.