My Players Are So Fierce

2094: Chapter 699: Hether’s Secret · Devour the Light of All Things!

2094 -699: Hether’s Secret · Devour the Light of All Things!

“Damn!

The development team is at it again, the Gate of Divine Punishment has been replicated!

The damn Werewolves’ plague buckets are falling!

Run, brothers!”

The crew of the five steam walkers left on station eight to hold the line and provide support have gone mad.

Hell Tiger is almost staring as those plague buckets fall and take effect.

He truly didn’t expect the development team of “Real Different World” to be so ruthless and use plague weapons in such a realistic environment.

Aren’t you bastards afraid of leaving the players with incurable psychological scars?

But given the situation, he couldn’t afford to think any longer.

It seemed in an instant, the previously bustling station eight fell silent, greenish smoke was everywhere, obviously toxic, and soldiers around began dropping one after another.

Fortunately, the crew reacted extremely fast.

As soon as the first plague bucket exploded in the Gnolls’ territory, the steam walkers began retreating from the battlefield at full speed.

After all, they all come from a different world; if they haven’t eaten pork, they’ve at least seen a pig run.

Such obvious chemical weapons, shouldn’t they run quickly?

Heck!

The damn Werewolves are resorting to gas attacks when they can’t win.

Hell Tiger, while controlling his steam walker to quickly retreat, didn’t forget to pick up those NPCs who weren’t poisoned to death, fortunately, the six-legged steam walker was agile enough to quickly traverse the ridge at the rear of the position.

But even so, the last steam walker couldn’t escape the plague’s coverage.

The three brothers on it lasted less than ten seconds and logged off while cursing all sorts of obscenities.

Hell Tiger was pained by the loss, but he didn’t dare to go through the spreading toxic plague gas to recover that walker.

His brothers could only run for their lives backwards.

They were only grateful that the Werewolves didn’t have many bipedal dragons or enough plague buckets.

The greenish things they saw were spreading, but their spread was slow enough that the lucky ones with fast legs could escape.

In Hell Tiger’s crew, Mouse-style Fatty didn’t bother operating the weapons.

He stood in the crew module, dragging along three or four half-dead warrior ladies, and when the walker charged through the artillery position, Fatty Mouse saw the Golden Flower Cannoneers standing there stunned.

This is high ground; it takes time for the gas to spread here.

“Quick retreat!

What are you standing around for?

Run!”

Fatty Mouse shouted to the soldiers over there.

Some people realized and immediately turned and ran for their lives, others with more chivalrous spirit carried the retinue army members still severely coughing on their shoulders and rushed out, but Major Ron’s reaction was a bit slow.

Not because Ron lacked sharpness, but because the green plague gas reminded him of some deeply buried experiences.

“Why do the Werewolves also use this!”

Ron turned back, looking at Iron Hand Captain with a grim face, his mind was hit by the scene and he shouted helplessly:

“This…

isn’t this what the Exploration Corps threw into Westerburg years ago…

the exact same…

why?

Could it be that this thing was obtained from the Werewolves?

What the hell is Marshal Loren doing!

Does my father know these things are connected to the Werewolves?

Didn’t he say it was a secret weapon developed by the Circle Tower?

Heck!

Are we using Werewolves’ weapons to fight humans?”

“Now’s not the time for this, Major!

Run!”

Iron Hand Captain grabbed Ron and ran to higher ground.

They were considered lucky because just a few minutes after the cannoneers retreated, a second round of plague buckets were thrown down.

Captain Dymes and his rangers formed an aerial line, forcing the Werewolves’ sky cavalry to stay near station eight, unable to approach further back, only dropping plague buckets near the front.

This gave the soldiers at the back a little time to escape, but honestly, this was barely comforting.

The plague gas spread quickly, and once the gas concentration at station eight hit a certain level, escaping from the remaining positions would be impossible, and worse, those first poisoned Gnolls were already showing “alterations.”

The gruesome and mutilated bodies were wobbling to their feet.

This time there was no need for the Banquet of Thousands of Souls or undead warriors prepared previously by Dusk, the Split Claw Clan was using the plague to form a breakthrough army.

This scene weighed heavily on Dymes.

During the fourth Black Disaster, the Werewolves’ plague didn’t raise the dead; apparently, these barbarians had modified the plague.

This didn’t sound like something they could have developed themselves.

The most reasonable explanation is that someone is secretly assisting the Werewolves in making war weapons.

“Captain!

The Werewolves are advancing; they’re crossing the ruins of the frontline position, and many Gnolls are digging up the blast pits.

These guys have calculated everything and brought peculiar huge totems.

Now that the plague has breached the defense, they’re directly targeting our rear positions from underground.”

A young elf riding a Wind Eagle reported anxiously, but Captain Dymes was already exhausted by the situation.

From the air, he looked down to see the Transia people, led like a migrating beast herd, taking everyone remaining on the position to escape backward.