"So we came here to fight for those who are still suffering."

"Not for the ambition or interests of any person, organization, company, or government, but to liberate the people who are still suffering here."

Learning from books always feels shallow; true understanding comes from practice.

David also began to understand what significance his actions actually held.

But he wouldn't rashly charge up to clash with the drug lords guarding the farmers, because reality is always harsher than ideals.

Killer Demon often taught that there are countless examples of failures due to rash actions; only through calm analysis and long-term decisions can ultimate victory be achieved.

Rushing to save people now will only harm everyone.

Killer Demon said, "Yes, this is called internationalism, but don't aim too high; the journey must be taken step by step. Right now, our urgent task is to find the local guerrillas. With these locals' help, our path will be much smoother."

According to the intelligence gathered over these days, the guerrilla's situation is very dire.

Not only do they have no liaison points everywhere, all their supplies come from raiding traffickers' convoys. Additionally, over the years, excessive urban centralization has made infiltration difficult, transferring repeatedly frustrated, and eventually gradually blocked in the resource-scarce swamp area.

Here, besides tobacco leaves, there's nothing to eat. The only advantage is that large vehicles have difficulty driving in the swamp area, preventing the traffickers' heavy equipment from coming in, giving them breathing space.

This guerrilla force is completely like a beast trapped in a cage, completely sealed in the swamp area—it's only a matter of time.

The expert scouting ahead suddenly returned.

"There are signs of activity in the woods ahead, very fresh, probably from yesterday, and they set up a few traps. They should be hiding in this area."

Now the expert doesn't care about the guerrillas' motives; they just need a reliable batch of guides.

After a brief thought, the expert said, "David, Olivia, stay here with the car while I go inside with him to check. If things go wrong, I'll notify you promptly."

Gloria advised, "Be careful."

Those people are hidden deeply; some marks hidden in the shrubs almost look like a pile of weeds unless examined closely.

But for the expert with Boris's advanced cybernetic eyes, scanning a few times reveals traces. Following these signs and the wind in the woods, he can pinpoint where the sentinels might be hiding even without infrared vision.

The enhanced senses from the cybernetics far surpass natural human organs.

He raised both hands to show he posed no threat and yelled into the empty woods in Spanish.

"Che, we're friends, not enemies."

(Che - Che, 'Che Guevara's 'Che' signifies brother, mate, not part of his real name)

Silence

No response

The expert and his companion repeated several times, then stood waiting for over half an hour.

Until a gun barrel pressed against the base of their necks.

The guerrilla's base is deep in the swamp woods, the path treacherous, one misstep might lead into mud or even water pits, without companions basically no difference from death.

The environment harsh, climate stifling, if not for replacing flesh with ample cybernetics, sweat would likely soak their clothes.

As for the sentinels escorting them, they appear very young, roughly sixteen or seventeen years old, dressed in patched clothes, lips dry, emaciated like skinny rods, without cybernetics.

That so-called base is nothing more than a few wooden shacks camouflaged with branches, and mounds of dirt can still be seen around the shacks.

Crude, tattered, even worse off than Night City's vagrants, who at least have their own bedding or tents.

Even at its worst, finding a dry place to sleep is at least possible in Night City.

But here, they sleep on straw mats.

The expert estimated no more than twenty people here, only a dozen or so guns, likely very few bullets, each looking malnourished.

Truly at the end of the line.

The guerrilla leader is a bearded man, his beard scraggly like a bird's nest, cheeks sunken, only his bright lamp-like eyes leaving a deep impression.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"

The bearded man took out a knife and cut the ropes binding the expert, then said to the two teenagers.

"Those drug lord henchmen wouldn't be Asians, and he's surely already noticed you."

The young soldiers exchanged glances, somewhat defiant, but the bearded man clearly knew the expert had many combat cybernetics, so ropes couldn't bind them.

Night City's vagrants could use cheap cybernetics because Night City is Night City; Cuba's poor couldn't install cheap cybernetics, neither industry nor import demand, ordinary people have no clear understanding of cybernetics.

Killer Demon flexed his wrists, looked at the bearded man, and asked.

"Are you the guerrillas left by the previous government?"

This question made the bearded man even more certain the people before him weren't locals, possibly sent by those people.

He pointed at a nearby mound of earth.

"The last person associated with the previous government is buried there; his grandfather was the government's archivist."