Mua'dib led the scout team back to the main force's hiding spot without a sound. The player who could draw immediately spread out a sketch, drawn with a charcoal stick on the back of a cardboard, and told Robert everything they had learned.
When all the intelligence from the scout teams was compiled, an absurd yet consistent conclusion was presented to the commander: the massive Chemical Refinery's outer defenses were incredibly lax, almost as if it were undefended.
Robert's brows furrowed tightly. He also felt there must be something fishy going on; such abnormal phenomena often hid the most deadly traps.
But now was not the time for doubt and hesitation.
In the distance, the main battle had already begun. The muffled roar of gunshots and cannons came in waves like dull thunder, each tremor urging and reminding them that time was running out.
He took a deep breath, his voice low but exceptionally firm: "No matter what tricks they're playing, the arrow is already on the string, and it must be loosed. Everyone, prepare! Act immediately!"
The situation and orders quickly reached every player's ears. The previously somewhat noisy group of players instantly fell silent, an invisible pressure weighing on everyone's hearts. After all, this eerie laxity, to most people, indeed felt very much like an "empty fort strategy."
But retreating was certainly not an option. Their war plan was to attack this Chemical Refinery. They couldn't possibly turn back because of a ridiculous reason like "the enemy didn't post sentries," could they?
The Helldivers Company still had to proceed with their original plan, without change—otherwise, if the cultists threw a pile of gold on the ground, would they have to stop and pick up the gold first? The mission objective was always the priority.
The players, in this somber atmosphere, began to approach the Chemical Refinery.
This somberness was not without its benefits. At least, Robert had never seen these fearless players so quiet since he started playing this game. Hundreds of people, like ghosts blending into the night, moved with light and coordinated steps, easily reaching the vicinity of the Chemical Refinery without being detected.
The team stopped outside the rusty main gate. Everyone saw the cultist sentry leaning against the door, his head nodding, clearly dozing off, just as the first scout team had described.
Robert said nothing; he simply turned his head, looked at Mua'dib beside him, and gave him a look.
The latter immediately understood.
Mua'dib merely drew a gleaming combat knife from his leg. His body was pressed extremely low, his steps making no sound, like a predatory black panther, silently gliding out of the shadows.
The moment the cultist leaned forward from dozing, Mua'dib had already closed in behind him. One hand flashed out to cover the opponent's mouth, while the knife in his other hand, at a tricky and precise angle, plunged fiercely into the side of his neck and twisted with force.
Without even a muffled groan, the cultist's body twitched once and then completely went limp. Mua'dib supported him, gently dragging him into the deeper shadows. The entire process was clean and swift, alerting no one.
After dealing with the sentry at the gate, Mua'dib gave a "safe" signal to the rear.
Robert immediately gave the order, and the team began to advance with extreme caution.
The entire process was simple and effective: one to two agile players, vanguards like Mua'dib, walked at the very front, responsible for scouting and assassination; the main force maintained a distance of several tens of meters behind them, ready to react immediately if an alarm was raised ahead.
However, the anticipated alarm never sounded.
They were surprised to find that not only at the entrance, but also inside the factory, the defenses were incredibly lax. In the huge workshops, crisscrossing pipelines, and dark corridors, only at some key junctions or next to passages would there be one or two cultists acting as sentries.
And these sentries' vigilance was almost zero; some leaned against walls, spacing out, while others simply sat on the ground, muttering to themselves, indifferent to their surroundings.
Thus, the Helldivers Company, as if walking through an uninhabited land, smoothly and step by step infiltrated deep into the Chemical Refinery.
In the silent team, one player finally couldn't hold back. He muttered in a voice barely audible to himself, "So, after all this, these cultists are just plain stupid?"
Although the other players did not reply, maintaining radio silence and operational discipline, it was clear from their exchanged glances that everyone wholeheartedly agreed with that statement.
Soon, the Helldivers Company arrived at the central area of the Chemical Refinery. This seemed to be a huge reaction workshop, and they were separated from the inside of the workshop only by a heavy double iron door.
Dim red light seeped through the crack in the door, and waves of fervent, synchronized chanting came from within, assaulting everyone's eardrums like a tide.
Mua'dib pressed against the door, listened for a moment, and then said to Robert with some confusion, "They all seem to be gathered in here... What are they doing? It looks like some kind of ritual."
"I don't know what they're doing," Robert's gaze was sharp as he looked through the door crack at the shadowy figures inside, "but I do know this is a perfect opportunity to interrupt them."
He immediately called for the 7th Company's commander and had the three players assigned grenade launchers step forward.
"Prepare," Robert ordered in a low voice.
The three grenadiers immediately stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and steadily rested their grenade launchers on their shoulders, the dark muzzles aimed at the iron door.
With a nod from Robert, the three ready players suddenly stood up and, with a combined effort of shoulders and combat boots, kicked the iron door!
"Bang!"
The iron door was forced open by the immense power. One of the players yelled at the top of his lungs, "Heretics, I would ask you to say your prayers, but you bastards don't believe in the Emperor!"
Before his words faded, three grenades, with a whistling sound, arced in perfect parabolas and landed precisely among the densest crowd in the center of the workshop.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Violent explosions occurred almost simultaneously. The cultists, who were immersed in their fervent ritual and clustered together, were instantly plunged into devastating chaos by this sudden assault.
"Charge!"
The rest of the players surged into the workshop like a floodgate opening. When they saw the scene before them—the cultists packed together like sardines—everyone's eyes lit up. Without hesitation, they pulled grenades from their waists, removed the pins, and hurled them with all their might.
This was a great opportunity to earn exp!
The cultists, who had never expected humans to counterattack, were completely stunned by the continuous explosions. From their perspective, many didn't even hear the deafening shout at the door and had no idea the enemy had arrived—they only knew that explosions were constantly happening around them, fire and shockwaves consumed everything, and their comrades' bodies were torn to shreds, blood and flesh flying.
The instinct for survival overwhelmed fervent faith. Realizing that this was an extremely dangerous area, the cultists immediately fell into disarray, wanting to go to a safe place: some panicked and tried to flee, rushing indiscriminately towards various exits of the workshop; while others, more "pious" or foolish, instinctively gravitated towards the shaman standing on the high platform, seemingly presiding over the ritual, as if that were the only safe haven.