Chen Ergou suddenly snatched the megaphone from Qi Cheng's hands and shouted toward the outside, his voice raw and fierce.
"This factory doesn't belong to some greedy landlord—it belongs to the common folk! It belongs to us! I was once a vagrant rebel myself, but I turned back, washed my hands clean, and started over! I urge you to throw down your weapons and do the same!"
His impassioned plea earned him nothing but laughter.
He Zonghan, Liu Haoran, and Gao Jiaji burst into loud, mocking guffaws.
He Zonghan waved his hand sharply. Dozens of bandits immediately shouted in unison, "Enough of your damn nonsense! Hand over the goods, and we'll spare your lives!"
Chen Ergou shouted back without hesitation, "Every scrap of wealth here was hammered out by our own sweat and hands! There's nothing for bandits like you! Turn back while you still can—otherwise, the worker-elders here will teach you how to behave!"
The three bandit chiefs exchanged uneasy glances.
This factory was… strange.
Faced with five thousand armed bandits, most landlords would be trembling, speaking in honeyed tones even while surrendering their wealth.
But the people inside this factory?
They didn't seem afraid of death at all.
Were they all madmen?
Just as the three were puzzling over this, Qi Cheng suddenly turned to the surrounding workers and shouted, "Everyone, follow me! Let's sing! One, two, three—We are the glorious militia, the reserve force of the people's army!"
As soon as he began, the workers closest to him instinctively followed.
"One hand for production, one hand for the gun—!"
At first, the singing was weak and uneven. Fear still clutched many throats, their voices trembling and breaking.
But the song kept going.
And as it did, more and more Yellow Hats joined in. Courage spread like fire through dry grass.
"Defending peace, building our homes! Through tireless labor, we strive to be Labor Models, tempering our skills until we become hardened steel!"
"When the Motherland calls, we will answer without hesitation—charging to the front lines!"
"We are the glorious militia, the reserve force of the people's army!"
"One hand for production, one hand for the gun!"
The sound swelled into a thunderous roar, rolling across the steel transport factory, surging skyward as if to tear open the heavens themselves.
Outside the walls, He Zonghan, Liu Haoran, and Gao Jiaji were completely dumbfounded.
Behind them, the five thousand rogue soldiers were equally stunned.
"Do they think they can scare us just by shouting louder?" Liu Haoran snarled. "Sing! Brothers, sing! It's not like we don't know how!"
At the command, the bandits awkwardly cleared their throats and began.
"Ah loh ya ya dah…"
"My dear, my beloved…"
"Oh dearest, my brother walks through the door…"
"Glass blooms bright, inside and out—"
"On the mountain stands a lonely chicken, shilanga flies beneath the temple eaves—"
From the very first note, it was a disaster.
Each man sang a different tune. Different rhythms, different moods, different lyrics. Love songs collided with drinking chants, mountain ballads tangled with funeral dirges.
It wasn't a chorus.
It was a battlefield of sound.
The three bandit chiefs immediately realized their mistake. It would have been better if they'd never sung at all.
The moment their men opened their mouths, morale visibly sagged.
"Damn it," He Zonghan cursed, "their song's got force. Ours just drains strength."
Liu Haoran ground his teeth. "Their songs are made for mass chanting. Ours aren't!"
Gao Jiaji roared, veins bulging, "To hell with singing! Charge! Rush in and slaughter them all!"
The three of them shouted together, "Charge! Kill them all!"
But their orders were half-drowned by the workers' surging song. Only those nearby heard clearly; those farther back stood blinking in confusion.
As a result, only part of the bandit force surged forward. The rest hesitated, staring blankly.
Only when they saw their comrades rushing ahead did those behind finally react.
"Oh—was that an order to attack?"
"Charge! Charge!"
The moment the bandits began advancing, fear surged back into the workers' hearts.
These were not trained militia soldiers who drilled daily and laughed in the face of danger.
They were men who had chosen factory work precisely to avoid warfare—men who feared bloodshed and wanted quiet lives.
On any battlefield, momentum and morale decide everything.
Even strong men can crumble if fear takes hold, routed by weaker foes who simply dare to move first.
Now, the workers were facing that exact test.
Though years of forging steel had hardened their bodies—though a single punch from one of them could send five scrawny men flying—they were not used to charging forward into death.
As the rogue soldiers advanced, many workers faltered, voices dying mid-song.
At this critical moment—
A blue hat suddenly rose above the factory wall.
The bold character Test shone clearly upon it.
"Engineer Chen!"
It was Chen Ergou!
The factory wall wasn't built for climbing. To get up there, Chen Ergou had stacked a table, then a stool on top of it, hauling himself up with considerable effort.
He planted his smoothbore musket on the wall.
There was no need to aim.
The enemy outside was a dense, writhing mass.
He pulled the trigger.
"Bang!"
A sharp, resounding crack echoed across the field.
White smoke billowed upward.
The fastest-charging bandit jerked backward and collapsed onto the ground.
Chen Ergou roared, "What are you afraid of, you idiots?! They're nothing but a pack of trash bandits! Are we really scared of them? Bring out every weapon from the security depot! Open fire!"
From the cramped watchtower, where five or six workers were packed together, three muskets poked out.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The watchtower vanished in a cloud of white smoke as two more bandits fell at the front.
From a rooftop—
"Bang!"
From somewhere near a treetop—
"Bang!"
The hundred smoothbore muskets finally began firing, scattered and irregular.
The workers' training was crude, their coordination poor. The chaos of battle only made things worse. Shots rang out here and there, wildly out of sync.
Reloading took them painfully long—two, even three times longer than trained militia.
And yet—
Even these clumsy, sporadic shots formed a terrifying deterrent.
The bandits outside recoiled in alarm.
"Firearms!"
"These people have firearms!"
For these ragtag rogue soldiers, guns were deadly threats. Unease rippled through their ranks.
But after that initial wave of shots, a long silence followed.
The workers were still reloading.
Seeing no immediate follow-up fire, the bandits' courage surged back.
They shouted and pressed forward once more.
"Bows and arrows!"
The workers drew their bows and loosed them in frantic volleys—swish, swish—arrows arcing wildly over the wall.
There was no skill to speak of, just blind spraying.
But against such a dense mass of enemies, even random shots found flesh.
The bandits quickly responded, drawing their own bows and firing back.
Then—
Thud.
An arrow slammed into Chen Ergou's head as he peeked over the wall.
It struck squarely against the bold Test character on his blue hat.
"Ah—!"
Chen Ergou cried out in pain and toppled backward, tumbling off his makeshift perch.