Chapter 112: The Dog-Slaughtering Plan

The sudden gunshot startled the old woman.

She immediately raised her shotgun, aiming it at the narrow doorway. After waiting quietly for a few seconds and seeing no one enter, she hesitated for a moment, abandoned the foxhole, and turned to head into the basement.

Shalina was bandaging her daughter’s wounds, her eyes red-rimmed and her emotions frayed. She had set her shotgun aside, covering it with a piece of cloth—clearly trying to shield her daughter from the sight of the weapon. The old woman glanced at them but offered no help, instead standing before the staircase and leveling her shotgun at the basement entrance.

"There was gunfire outside," the old woman said in a low, grim voice. "The sound was muffled; it definitely wasn't from a revolver. You need to prepare yourself."

Prepare for what? The implied message was clear: prepare for the death of her husband. Shalina heard the unspoken words. Her hands paused for a split second, but she didn't look up, continuing to tend to her daughter's wounds.

Joey had already lost consciousness. After enduring countless hardships to reach her grandmother’s house, she had finally found a safe haven in this remote town. She could finally get some sleep. The night’s events had shattered her worldview; she had never imagined that such terrifying people could exist.

Shalina’s hands trembled slightly. She gripped her right hand, which held the gauze, with her left, squeezed hard, and took a deep breath, gradually regaining her composure.

Outside the house, right next to the husband’s corpse, Max lay prone on the ground. A large hole had been punched through his temple, and blood and brain matter were splattered across the floor, the pungent scent of raw meat filling the air. Yet, the moment he fell, his damaged tissue began to regenerate at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Max lay on the ground for about five seconds before his body gave a slight twitch, and he began to slowly crawl up. Just then, another bullet tore through his temple, and Max collapsed again.

Figures moved in the shadows. A dozen men holding various firearms slowly surrounded him. Even after Max fell, they continued to pull their triggers without hesitation, sparks dancing at their muzzles as shell casings danced on the ground. A barrage of bullets slammed into Max, quickly turning his corpse into a sieve as it continued to twitch.

The gunfire lasted for over a minute. Once it ceased, someone produced a bundle of hemp rope, and with coordinated movements, they quickly bound Max into a tight package. During this process, Max did indeed open his eyes again; his clothes remained tattered and covered in dense, bloodshot eyes, but the flesh beneath the bullet holes had already regenerated as if nothing had happened. Such eerie regenerative abilities would make any normal person’s skin crawl.

But the good news was that, after being processed by the training camp, the squad on site no longer fell into the category of "normal people." In terms of combat capability, they were barely on par with a standard military unit, but in terms of psychological stability, they were leagues ahead of any normal human. To them, carrying out orders was the only priority; no matter whom they killed, they would suffer no psychological trauma, nor would they even retain any memory of it.

The lead man, dressed like a cowboy, pulled a shotgun from behind his back and pressed it directly against Max’s forehead. He touched his earpiece, seemingly waiting for an order. Max’s pig-face mask was bizarre; the parts that had clearly been blown away earlier were now, along with his regeneration, as good as new. He remained silent, staring coldly at the men before him, as if contemplating how to kill them while remaining completely indifferent to his own plight.

Hidden in a secret location in the center of town, Liang Bing listened to the report and gave a swift order: "Keep firing! No matter how Max resurrects, suppress his mobility and keep killing him! The second group will stay hidden; if there are any changes, provide support immediately. The third, fourth, and fifth groups will guard the perimeter; if anyone attacks, engage at will. Be aware that your enemies may include a dog and a female ghost. Everyone, focus your fire on the dog; do not engage the ghost in close quarters. If the ghost targets you, deploy smoke grenades immediately."

Groups 6 through 10 formed the second line of defense; if the first line were breached, they would take over the battlefield. Groups 11 through 20 were to scatter; their task was simple: kill the dog! Whether it was a stray, a pet, or a product in a store, if they spotted a dog or anything resembling a dog, they were to shoot without hesitation. "If anyone tries to stop you, I authorize you to fight back, but try not to kill humans!"

The remaining groups were to stay on guard. Once the people currently queuing were converted, they were to immediately execute forced capture missions. "We must ensure high-efficiency conversion; we cannot leave the training camp empty. The enemy is powerful; we must give it our all!"

The radio remained silent, but Liang Bing knew every team was acting on her orders.

*Bang!*

A gunshot rang out. Liang Bing frowned. This was the third time, and still, there was no reward. It seemed that to complete the mission, she would have to do it herself, but now was clearly not the time. The female ghost was too difficult to handle; until she found her weakness, Liang Bing would not reveal herself.

Moreover, she had already killed Max once, which technically fulfilled part of the mission. Her only headache was that the team’s current score was negative; if she returned now, she wouldn't get a single thing. Being unable to earn time-currency and merely dragging out her existence in this mission plane was a complete waste of time. Future mission planes would only become more dangerous, and enemies more powerful. Strengthening herself was a matter of racing against time. A single step behind meant falling behind in every step.

If she ever fell into a desperate situation without the ability to save herself, that was a result Liang Bing could not accept. Therefore, her goal now was no longer just completing the mission, but breaking even on her score.

The female ghost was hard to kill, but surely a dog was easier? The battlefield was constrained—the entire town was only so big. Even if the dog could regenerate, once they killed every dog in town, let's see if it could still come back to life. No matter what, she had to gamble. Besides, she had a constant supply of help.

Currently, the number of soldiers from the training camp had exceeded 100. With the queue exhausted, Liang Bing had officially launched the capture plan. Although it was cruel to the original inhabitants, she couldn't afford to care—not if she wanted to break even on her points.

Ten groups, totaling 50 soldiers, fanned out. Starting from the edge of town, they searched house-by-house in a clockwise direction. They kicked in doors, held the homeowners at gunpoint, and swept the rooms. Any cat or dog found was immediately taken. Dogs were dragged to the lawn and executed, while cats were caged and thrown onto trucks. Before leaving, the soldiers would bind everyone in the house together and seize their firearms. Throughout the process, the homeowners couldn't utter a word before being handled. Though they were distressed by the death of their dogs, they were also bewildered: why were these people so obsessed with killing dogs?

The soldiers were clean and efficient. They bound their targets and left without a word. The homeowners initially thought these people weren't interested in them, but before long, another team would arrive to take them away, leaving them to be converted into new soldiers while still in confusion.

With ten groups moving in unison in a small town with few residents, the sweeping operation—taking both people and dogs—gained momentum. Although the initial speed wasn't fast, the continuous influx of manpower made the difference. In less than half an hour, the team had doubled in size, and a third of the town had been cleared.

Just as the soldiers finished off two dogs at a pet store, a change occurred on Max’s end.

Baozi and Jiumei appeared. Both were invincible and didn't fear sneak attacks; they entered this quiet, eerie night in a noisy and stumbling fashion. Baozi was furious. His current form was that of a black puppy, looking only about six weeks old. His legs were ridiculously short, and though he tried his best to run, he couldn't gain any speed.

Jiumei said coldly, "Can you hurry up? It’s less than 20 kilometers, and it’s taken you four hours. Have you no shame as a dog?"

"Screw you! Don't think I don't know that time is frozen in this space. Forget four hours; it wouldn't be late even if it took forty," Baozi retorted, then suddenly realized something and roared angrily, "Don't change the subject! You’ve clearly evolved to the point where you can touch food, so why didn't you find a car? Do you have any idea how tiring it is to run?"

Jiumei replied expressionlessly, "I don't know how to drive."

Baozi’s eyes widened, gasping in frustration. Just as he was about to speak, Jiumei’s eyes suddenly sharpened. "Something’s not right. Why are there so many people?"

Before Jiumei could finish, the first and second groups—who had been maintaining a fixed rhythm of shooting the corpse—suddenly turned their guns and fired without hesitation. Muzzle flashes erupted, and bullets rained down as if they were free.

Baozi shrieked and scrambled into hiding. Jiumei moved like a ghost, appearing directly before the soldiers as if she had teleported. Her right hand swept horizontally, and a bright crescent blade of energy flew out, sending a row of heads rolling.

The severed necks were frozen, the wounds iced over—the exact state of the bodies when Dong Huawen had died.

The first group was decapitated in one stroke. The men of the second group showed no emotion; they simply raised their weapons and pulled the triggers without hesitation. Simultaneously, shadows in the surrounding trees shifted, and a large number of figures rushed out, firing wildly in Baozi’s direction.

Baozi screamed, rolling on the ground. He tried to use his small, agile body to dodge the attacks, but the "metal storm" was too dense. Moreover, these soldiers’ marksmanship was well above the baseline—not a single shot missed the mark, each one clipping his heels.

Baozi tripped over a stone, stumbled, and was instantly turned into a sieve. His body fell, and the assault team soldiers scattered like a tide, vanishing in the blink of an eye.