If this were a normal army, they'd all be cursing their mothers by now. Charging through enemy fire at full sprint, storming trenches in close combat—finally take the position, your ass hasn't even hit the dirt yet and you're ordered to launch a new assault on the next line. You think we're made of iron or what?

But the players really are made of iron.

Literally and physically made of iron.

"Got it."

Wiping the blood off his stock, taking advantage of the fact the stream wasn't on him, the bro finally couldn't hold back the rant.

"This gun feels like total shit, man. Fire rate's stupidly fast, two trigger pulls and the mag's empty, the barrel's hot as hell."

The Propaganda Department guy in charge of switching camera angles at the rear was just there to stir the pot.

"If we don't let you mag-dump, how are we supposed to sell you ammo and make money? My big streamer, do your product promo properly, the more they buy, the more commission we get."

"I'm just worried the crappy performance will affect Super Earth's reputation, you know?"

The Truth Department on the other end chimed in.

"If it really sucks, the ones panicking will be Military Technology. Worst case we just swap sponsors. As long as we've got the skill, we'll never run out of money or guns."

This was pure slander against Military Technology, actually. The insane fire rate of this gun was entirely because it was designed to shoot armored vehicles, not people.

It's basically a flak gun lowered to horizontal—of course it feels weird to use.

And when the viewers looked down from the drone perspective and saw the infiltrator movements, they were even more stunned.

Why does this look exactly like they're about to launch an offensive?

You guys aren't even gonna stop for a breather and resupply ammo?

At least count your casualties or something!

The second lieutenant from Military Technology was also dumbfounded. Weren't they only supposed to take the outer defenses and push the enemy back to Hokuma?

Why do I get the feeling your playstyle is aiming to take the whole damn village?

Also—

The dude crawling on the ground in the lower right corner, his leg is broken, hello?!

Wait, what's up with that doctor?

What's that robot next to him doing carrying over a leg?!

Super Earth's combat medic proceeded to give a live global audience a demonstration of what "Super Earth–style treatment" meant.

He sprinted to the firefight line, directly took off the mangled half of the wounded soldier's thigh prosthetic and deformed components on the spot, then swiftly slapped on a new leg, checked the Subcutaneous Armor, swapped out the ballistic plates, ran diagnostics on internal organs, then topped it off with a dose of high-energy artificial blood.

Movements smooth as butter, skilled like he'd done it ten thousand times.

Constant artillery roaring in his ears, and it still couldn't make his scalpel hand tremble even a fraction.

The whole procedure took no more than fifteen minutes.

After the emergency treatment, the medic player kicked the guy who was pretending to be dead on the ground and spoke bluntly:

"Alright, you've been buffed. Get back in there!"

The blunt one flexed his new leg; it felt smooth as hell.

"Miracle worker, doc. Did you rip this leg off Baki the Grappler or something? Feels like a hot-swappable switch."

The medic was also a memelord and knew exactly what he meant.

"Yup. I'll take your old leg back to fix it up—guaranteed reusable next time."

This jaw-dropping treatment flow had the audience completely numb. They'd never seen medical care taken this casually in their entire lives, and these soldiers were just accepting it like it was nothing. Are they really not afraid of getting full-on cyber psychosis?

No.

Maybe they're already crazy. That's the only way it makes sense.

The second reason players didn't want to charge under jammer radar was the risk that the electromagnetic waves would mess with the electronic components in their cybernetic bodies and cause them to fail.

For iron-bodied players, that was fatal. Their immunity to interference applied only to the player comms network.

————

"Lunatics. I told you they're all fucking insane!" 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Major Skai paced back and forth in the village, cigarette stuck to the corner of his mouth, his face dark as coal.

"What bullshit 'feint'? You call this level of offensive a feint?"

Before, they didn't even fire a shot. Today, shells were raining on his head like they were free, and the bullets from the drones in the sky were falling like goddamn rain, forcefully burning through all the ammunition for their air defenses.

Skai only had one question about this:

Where's that so‑called 'small to mid-sized company' you promised?

Since when does your 'small to mid-sized company' throw drones around like they're worthless?

He'd been enlisted in Cuba for almost ten years, and the total number of drones he'd seen in all his battles combined was still less than what he'd seen today alone.

Crushed by pressure, he had no choice but to call his superior again.

"Colonel Hardlin, I suspect Hokuma is actually their main attack direction. These bastards have thrown humanity out the window, they're madly charging our positions, and the artillery is intense. I estimate at least eight self-propelled guns."

Hardlin had already learned through other channels that Skai's side was in heavy combat, but right now he was stuck too.

Because the unit on the western side had already closed in on Buena Ventura, and they had decent numbers—could launch an attack at any moment.

What if this side was just bait?

What if they'd learned their troop movements, and this crazy barrage was only to sell the illusion?

That's war: as a decision-maker, what you face is always multiple choice. It's a gamble. You use the intel you have to make what you believe is the best call.

The more you understand the enemy, the higher your odds of picking the right answer.

When both sides know jack shit about each other, the contest is about how fast you get intel, how accurate your judgments are, and how proactive your frontline officers and Soldiers can be.

Do you bet?

Bet on whether Hokuma or Naventura is their real primary target.

On the other end of the line, it was so quiet Skai could only hear Hardlin's heavy breathing. After a long while, he finally heard the man ask:

"What about Hokuma's people and cargo?"