This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 382.1: Pangolin?!

Exoskeletons were convenient to wear but not so easy to take off.

After a struggle in the bushes, Battlefield Cheerleader managed to remove all his gear and handed it over to Kakarot. "Brother, I'm entrusting my skin to you!"

Now, he was only dressed in a ragged sack, holding another in his hand. He looked more like a scavenger than actual scavengers. The sight was so pitiful that Kakarot almost felt like pulling out his wallet and giving him a few silver coins.

However...Kakarot simply extended his hand and growled, "What about the VM? Hand it over too."

"Damn! How can I mark the location without the VM?"

"Are you stupid? Can't you go offline and mark it on the official website?" Kakarot rolled his eyes. "Besides proving you're a shelter resident, what else is it good for?"

"Right... I can report online." Realizing his mistake, Battlefield Cheerleader quickly took the VM off his arm and stuffed it into Kakarot's hands.

Kakarot shot him a strange look until he disappeared into the woods.

Darkest couldn’t help but ask, “He won’t run into trouble, right?"

Kakarot smirked and patted him on the shoulder. "Who cares if he's alright or not, as long as his equipment is fine, all’s good! Let's go, we should head out too!"

The group split into two.

Kakarot and Darkest returned to the Storm Corps' camp in the east, while Battlefield Cheerleader, following the survivors' tracks, proceeded alone towards the northwest.

The journey was anything but peaceful. Perhaps due to his deceptive appearance, or because he was alone, even mutant hyenas dared to challenge him.

Luckily, he had already broken through the LV20 barrier and reached the third phase of gene sequencing.

Even without firearms, he managed to kill 2 hyenas with his agility and an improvised weapon, scaring off the last.

"Damn, I should have kept a dagger on me!" As he tossed aside a broken branch that was covered in fur and blood, he cursed.

He realized then that walking alone in the wasteland without a weapon was stranger than carrying one. Whatever it was, it was too late for such thoughts.

Picking up a stick and sharpening it into a spear with a rock, he continued following the tracks.

After walking about 10 kilometers from morning until noon, he finally moved through the dense forest to a relatively open area. Nearby, the sound of flowing water brightened his spirits.

"Water source!"

"It must be close by!"

Water sources were ideal for setting up camp, especially for larger groups, which typically settled upstream.

Realizing that the Army's camp must be nearby, he relaxed and walked over to the stream, planning to clean the sticky blood off his hands and wash his face.

However, just as he was about to splash water on his face, he paused.

"Damn... My character looks too good. Getting close will definitely blow my cover."

That wouldn't work.

Thinking quickly, he let go of the water, scooped up a handful of mud from the riverbank, smeared it on his face, and after a thorough rub, checked his reflection in the water and nodded in satisfaction.

Not bad.

Now he looked the part, although his smell was somewhat off.

He didn't linger by the stream. Holding his makeshift spear, he headed upstream, planning to find the exact location of the camp and then look for landmarks before leaving.

However, he didn't reach the camp before running into several soldiers armed with rifles and dressed in black.

The soldiers spotted him and stared directly at him.

His heart raced, and he tightened his grip on the stick in his hand.

But the elite troops in front of him, perhaps confused by his outfit, didn't immediately initiate combat. Instead, they raised their rifles cautiously.

"Halt!"

He obediently stopped, not waiting for them to ask him to drop his weapon, and threw his sharpened stick to the ground.

"Who are you?"

"I, I..." He began to respond, but his poor command of the Federation’s language made it difficult to express himself, causing him to sweat under pressure.

However, his reaction seemed to relax the soldiers.

Disdainfully, one soldier remarked, "Are you a scavenger?"

He quickly nodded. "Yes! Yes!"

"Where did all that blood come from?"

He shook the sack he was holding and slowly pulled out a bloodied mutant hyena with a branch sticking out of its neck.

Seeing the hyena, the soldiers exchanged looks, their following discussion was laced with mockery.

"I told you, the survivors here are like monkeys."

"Can't even find a decent weapon, fighting mutants barehanded."

"It’s a miracle they can survive."

"They'll thank us. At least we make them more civilized!"

The leader didn't speak but lowered his rifle, pointing at the ground and then behind him towards the woods.

"Drop your stuff here, move forward."

Although Battlefield Cheerleader only partially understood, he got the gesture and he chuckled to himself internally.

What now?

He had just planned to take a quick look and leave, but he was being processed as a scavenger. The soldiers clearly had no intention of letting him go.

He hesitated for only a moment before complying, setting down his belongings and obediently following where the soldier pointed.

After walking about 500 to 600 meters, a spacious camp entrance came into view.

The camp was located next to hills on the north and close to a stream flowing down from the mountains on the east.

The camp was large but the facilities were basic, consisting of a row of wooden fences, a few wooden watchtowers, and several tents.

Black-robed soldiers were standing guard and patrolling nearby, their numbers uncertain but likely not less than 200.

The center of the camp was crowded, obviously with displaced survivors whose numbers were also in the thousands.

Had they not been gathered together, he wouldn't have imagined so many survivors lived in such a small place like Lucky Valley Municipality.

Unlike him, empty-handed, everyone here carried bags and luggage, their faces a mix of confusion, fear, or numbness.

Most had been brought without explanation, forced to stay with strangers.

Before he could collect his thoughts, he was clumsily pushed to the back of a line at the camp entrance by a soldier with a rifle.

A desk was set up at the entrance, behind which sat an officer scribbling on paper and casually tossing a numbered tag to each survivor in front of the desk.

When it was his turn, the officer tapped the table with his pen. Seeing no response, he impatiently said, "Name."

He understood the common phrase, but he certainly couldn't give his game ID; that would be too bizarre.

In his rush, he blurted a random answer, "Pan-Pangolin."

The officer said nothing, just scribbled something on the paper and tossed the tag to him. Most wasteland residents were illiterate, using animals or even furniture as names wasn't uncommon.

He suspected the officer hadn't really listened to him, but he didn't linger at the entrance. He looked at the number on the tag and walked into the camp.

A group of people stood idly in the open area and just as he was at a loss, a survivor who looked much like him came over.

"Hey man, where are you from?"

He made something up.

"... Baker Street."

The survivor looked puzzled. "Baker Street? Never heard of it."

"It's a bit far from here... I was just unlucky to be caught," he wanted to explain, but his limited vocabulary made it a struggle, and the other party, confused, just assumed he might be stuttering.

"Really? Your luck is as bad as mine." The man sighed, "My name's Li Ba, from Ten Trees Village... Those black-robed guys drove us here without explanation."

"I'm Pangolin." He quickly asked about what concerned him most, "What do those people plan to do with us?"

"I don't know." Li Ba's face showed clear distress. "They didn't say anything. After we arrived here, they took our food and ox, said they would manage everything centrally, and then just left us here to wait..."

While they were talking, a man with a prominent nose, accompanied by a line of soldiers, stepped in front of all the survivors.

His gaze was vulturine, and just his look quieted the noisy crowd as if he poured a bucket of cold water over them.

After scanning all the survivors, Colwey slightly raised his chin and commanded, "From today, the Lucky Valley Municipality is designated as a war zone between the Army and the Enterprise. But don't worry, we will provide protection until the end of the war."

"As a bloodless exchange, you need to work in return for our grace!"

No one dared to object.

No one even dared to make a sound.

Fear was evident on everyone's faces, only Battlefield Cheerleader among them wore a bizarre expression.

What dumbasses... These Army fools really believe they’re fighting the Enterprise.

No wonder they didn't move forward even after repairing the engine; they seem to be planning to block the Enterprise reinforcements...

Colwey paused briefly, then continued, "I'm Colwey, in charge of everything here."

"The man standing next to me is Finod, the logistics officer, who will assign your work, set up living areas, and arrange daily tasks."

Finod, with a genial smile, contrasted sharply with Colwey's inherent authority.

He seemed approachable, but Battlefield Cheerleader could sense the arrogance that couldn't be hidden in his eyes.

Clearly, he didn't see the wastelanders before him as people but rather as materials, consumables, and the like.

Colwey looked to Finod. "Would you like to say a few words?"

Finod smiled and responded, "You go ahead, it's just the usual stuff."

Colwey nodded, then turned up the volume as he addressed the gathered survivors, "Don't think about slacking off. Everyone here must work, no exceptions! Those who fail to complete their tasks will not receive food, nor any sympathy."

"Furthermore, for those who excel, not only will their conditions improve, but they will also receive generous rewards. For instance, becoming a leader of ten, or even a hundred."

He paused, staring at the dull eyes around him, his mouth curling into a subtle sneer, "Or even become a leader of a hundred!" freewёbnoνel-com

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