Chapter 132: Chapter 132: Remember What He Said About "Chicken Ribs
It wasn’t until the fourth shot that Team Red realized someone was lying in ambush under the leaves on the central road. They all threw aside their shields, grabbed the sling around their necks, picked up their guns, and aimed at that pile of moving "leaves".
A mechanical voice rang in their earpieces at the same time,
"Team Blue sniper, Jay Monroe scores one point, total score 32."
"..."
"..."
"Team Blue sniper, Jay Monroe scores one point, total score 35."
Four shots, all on target.
As soon as Louis heard the score announced, he glanced at the silent communicator and knew: if it wasn’t a fight at Team Red’s Territory border, then it had to be...
"Stop!" he shouted urgently, halting everyone and making the passengers get out, shields in hand, to give chase.
"Team Blue assaulter, Hart scores one point, total score 3."
"Team Blue assaulter, Hart scores one point, total score 4."
"Team Blue assaulter, Boland scores one point, total score 6."
"Team Blue assaulter, Boland scores one point, total score 7."
"Team Blue assaulter, Bama scores one point, total score 5."
"Team Blue assaulter, Bama scores one point, total score 6."
"Team Blue assaulter, Vance scores one point, total score 3."
"Team Blue sniper, Jay Monroe scores one point, total score 36."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Team Blue sniper, Jay Monroe scores one point, total score 40."
The stream of score reports left everyone’s head spinning.
By the time Louis and his team rushed over, Jay Monroe and several other Team Blue assaulters had already vanished, leaving behind only their own nine surviving assaulters.
Louis did a headcount: twenty-five assaulters, sixteen taken out, nine remaining.
After hearing what happened, Team Red was outraged once again. Team Blue was just too cunning—only they could pull something like this off.
Jay Monroe had strung leaves together with vines, draped them over his body, and hid under a pile of leaves in the middle of the road, ambushing Team Red’s members. Caught off guard, they dropped their shields and raised their rifles to take him out, but Jay darted away the instant they made a move.
At the same time, someone in the shadows fired bolts at them with a makeshift crossbow, and as they fumbled for their shields in panic, five Team Blue members sprang out and swept them with fire—taking out a bunch in quick succession. ℯ𝕝.
By the time Team Red managed to respond and organized for a pitched battle—front liners with shields, the rest with rifles—Jay Monroe and his team had already beaten a clean retreat; there was no trace of them left.
Louis knew what Jay Monroe’s crew was after: to delay their reinforcements for the Territory border, giving Team Blue’s main force a shot at crossing over smoothly.
No one dared spare any more time—they got back into the vehicles. With only nine men left, they simply broke off some branches and spread them on the sun-baked car roof, letting everyone climb up so they could keep moving together. They needed to reach the Territory border as fast as possible.
Once everything was in place and before the car even started, Louis heard gunfire through the earpiece.
He turned around to look at the vehicles—nothing happening here. The gunshots could only be coming from three locations: customs, the base camp, or Team Red’s border.
Right now, it could only be Team Red’s Territory border.
A delayed report voice came through the earpiece.
"Team Blue assaulter, Isaac Bell scores one point."
Louis picked up the communicator, about to contact Team Red at the border, but before he could, the comms connected on their own.
Team Red’s Territory border was under sneak attack—probably Team Blue’s main force, launching the first wave to break through.
Once Louis got the update, he replied, "Received. We’ll get there ASAP," and told the driver to hit the accelerator toward Team Red’s border.
This time, they got through the mountain roads smoothly, but when they drove through the fields and encountered a narrow path just wide enough for one vehicle, they found a deep ditch dug right across the road. If they pressed on, their tires would be stuck for sure.
At first Team Red thought there was just a single ditch, but it turned out, in less than a hundred meters, there were ten—one every ten meters or so.
"..."
Were they planning to wear them down by making them fill in potholes?
Luckily, they’d been driving slow and watching the road. If they’d barreled in, they’d have tumbled straight into a ditch, and with no jack, getting the car out wouldn’t have been easy at all.
Even after everything they’d seen from Team Blue, Louis couldn’t help laughing in disbelief—ten ditches dug by daybreak?
"All fair in war and deception," or so they say, but is this even deception?
This is just plain murderous.
So, forced to choose between abandoning vehicles for a forced march to Team Red’s border and just filling the ditches to keep driving, Louis picked the latter.
If they dug so hard, what’s the harm in us filling them in?
Saved them a lot of trouble, really.
They didn’t have shovels, but they had shields—and with everyone pitching in, those ten ditches were filled in no time.
Louis curled his lips in a cold sneer. "They think tricks like this can stop us?"
Naive.
Back on the road, they soon rounded a bend to find loose hay scattered across the road, stretching for dozens of meters.
Louis got out himself, picked up a clump of straw and checked it out, but nothing seemed amiss.
He kicked the hay, stomped his foot—no collapse beneath.
What was Team Blue trying to do?
Their goal was to block timely reinforcements, buying Team Blue’s main force time to break through the border.
Scattering hay—were they hoping Team Red would stop and clear it, like they’d just done with the ditches?
Did they look that stupid?
Louis couldn’t figure it out, and didn’t want to waste time cleaning it up. He casually kicked at the straw again, and once he was sure there was nothing odd, he got back in, telling the driver to go slowly and stop immediately if anything happened.
All five vehicles made it through without incident. Louis, seeing nothing went wrong, stopped thinking about it and pulled out a map to check the route, estimating their arrival time.
He had just opened the map when gunfire crackled in his earpiece.
"Bang."
"Team Blue assaulter, Desmond Ulrich scores one point."
Louis’s eyebrow twitched as his half-folded map creased even more.
"Bang."
"Bang."
"..."
"Team Blue assaulter, Desmond Ulrich scores one point, total score 4."
A barrage of chaotic gunshots and a flurry of score reports—all of them about Team Blue racking up headshots.
Louis’s expression turned grave. As he was about to urge the driver to speed up, he heard a screech—the car came to a stop.
His mind was still on the border fight. With the sudden stop, he assumed there was trouble with the road again. He looked around—empty road, no obstacles, a smooth surface, not even stray hay in the way...
"Why did we stop?" Louis frowned. The border situation was critical and they were racing against time.
The driver hesitated, unsure what to say, then hurriedly opened the door and got out to check the tires.