The scorching air of Isriye City solidified in the throat, as if a lump of charcoal was stuffed in, and each breath drew in thick smoke and the stench of burning.

Standing at the town's entrance, Song Heping's gaze passed over the still warm engine hood of the "Death God Squad's" armored vehicle, landing on the devastation of the street.

The suicide bomb attack launched earlier by 1515 "Martyr" had blown half of the buildings on both sides, with fragmented limbs scattered among the rubble, and dark red viscous blood meandering through the dust, attracting swarms of flies and mosquitoes buzzing in the afternoon sun.

"Tell Imes to count the numbers, gather ammunition, we're leaving here immediately."

After instructing Jiang Feng, Song Heping leaned against the car, took out a bottle of mineral water, drank half, and poured the remaining half over his head.

"This damned weather..."

He felt as if the ice-cold mineral water poured over his head was sizzling like it was on a hot pan.

"Wuu wuu wuu wuu—"

The sudden cry alerted Song Heping.

Just a dozen meters in front of the armored vehicle, a woman was kneeling on the messy rubble, tightly clutching a small body in her arms.

It was a little girl, at most three or four years old, wearing a floral dress of indiscernible color, hanging limply like a soulless rag doll.

The woman's face was buried in the child's neck, her shoulders convulsing violently, each spasmodic move seeming to vomit out her entire being.

Just now, 1515 members stormed into the city, and these people practically killed everyone they saw.

Although before the battle, Song Heping had already ordered Imes to notify the locals to hide in their homes to avoid stray bullets.

But bullets know no master, and the intense firestorm earlier still led to the deaths of innocent civilians.

War seems to be just like this.

Those involved can all possibly die.

Whether soldiers or civilians.

"Demons! You demons who bring death!"

As Imes led people back to rendezvous, passing by the woman, she suddenly screamed towards the soldiers with her daughter's corpse in her arms.

The boundless hatred in her voice was as clear as a poisoned blade.

"Allah will punish you! It was you! It was your bullet! My Laila... my little sunshine!"

She suddenly lifted her head, her bloodshot eyes fixed on the nearest person, Imes, eyes empty yet frenzied, as if to devour him.

Imes' throat bobbed with difficulty, instinctively gripping the cold rifle handle in his hand, but seeing the girl's corpse in her arms, he still restrained himself.

He opened his mouth, wanting to explain something—

That fatal stray bullet, its air-splitting trajectory, was clearly shot from the abandoned building occupied by 1515 militants on the street corner.

But the woman's completely collapsed, hate-fired gaze, like an invisible wall, blocked all his words.

He could only stand there stiffly, face a mixture of helplessness and a kind of frustrated innocence.

Song Heping, standing in the shadow of the armored vehicle, watched all this with a heavy heart.

The scene before him had a surreal, nauseating magic.

The logic was crystal clear: it was those madmen of 1515 who brazenly attacked this town, their bullets scything through the streets indiscriminately like the Grim Reaper's sickle.

Yet, logic on this ground turned into rubble appeared so pale and laughable.

In the shattered world of the woman, in her pupils consumed by endless darkness, all gun barrels pointed in the same direction—the source of the war flames.

No matter to whom those gun barrels belonged.

Perhaps, this long-standing war stripped away the so-called "right and wrong" façade from the very beginning.

In the eyes of countless civilians like the woman before him, war itself was the ultimate evil they cursed to their bones, pouring every ounce of their malice.

It indiscriminately crushed everything, leaving behind ruins and wounds that would never heal.

In the face of innocent death, there were no banners of justice, only blood-soaked pain and hatred.

Song Heping was suddenly overwhelmed by a long-lost sense of guilt.

He wanted to curse but didn't know whom to blame.

So he spat out the chewing gum in his mouth, waved to Jiang Feng, "Go!"

His voice wasn't loud but carried an undeniable determination and a weary weight.

"Everyone, on the vehicle! Move out immediately!"

Now, Song Heping didn't want to stay here a moment longer.

The engine roared again, the steel beast clumsily turning in the debris, its tracks grinding over dust mixed with dark red blood marks.

Song Heping glanced one last time at the rear-view mirror.

In the mirror, the woman clutching her daughter's remains resembled a statue frozen in immense sorrow, growing smaller, blurrier.

Her shrill curse, however, clung to him like a shadow, piercing through the engine's roar and metal grinding, indelibly etched in his ears, inescapable:

"Allah will curse you! Curse all who wield guns! Curse this damned war! Curse you all——!"

Inside the carriage, a nearly suffocating silence prevailed.

Song Heping sat in the passenger seat, his body gently swaying with the vehicle's bumps.

He closed his eyes, frowning, feeling a bit stifled.

This feeling was somewhat reminiscent of his first killing in Illiguo years ago.

He didn't expect, after so many years in defense, being battle-hardened, he'd be hit hard again by witnessing a little girl's corpse in a Middle Eastern town.

"Song, are you feeling bad?"

Utekin, sitting behind him, suddenly asked.

Song Heping instinctively wanted to deny it but finally nodded.

Utekin comforted him in a veteran's tone, "Give it a few more years, and you'll be completely numb."

Song Heping gave a wry smile, he touched the phone in his pocket, now he had an urge to call his younger siblings.

Perhaps only the voices of family could help him find his bearings in reality again.

But in the end, he still didn't take out the phone.

After all, now he was on the terrorist list, calling them would only add trouble.

Doing this work sometimes was so cruel.

The best way to protect your family is to sever ties with them.

The convoy shot off like an arrow, escaping the sorrow and hatred-drenched mire of Isriye, plunging into the vast desolate desert interior.

The monotone, yellow sand dunes rolled outside the window, stretching to the gray horizon.

Deir Ezzor.

The lone city standing tenaciously on the Euphrates River bank was their destination, also the entrance to Hell.

Intelligence support was almost nil, the only certainty was that it had been encircled by 1515 forces tightly.

They had to enter the city, then join forces with Wake Na Mercenaries to gather enough strength for a rescue mission in Ashara Town near Deir Ezzor.

Thinking of this, he turned back to Utekin, "Have you contacted your troops? Where have they reached?"

"They're far off, will be one or two hours behind us."

Utekin checked his watch.

"I just got in touch with them, they've just reached Baisili."

"Tell them to hurry up if you don't want to find just the cook's corpse, they need to reach Deir Ezzor before daybreak, we don't have much time to lose."

Five hours later.

The sky gradually darkened.

The sand beneath the wheels grew hard, rocks started to appear.

In the distance, the dark outline of a series of undulating mountains, like the sleeping back of a giant beast, became clearer under the harsh afternoon sun, straddling the horizon.

"Gelbi Mountain."

Jiang Feng's voice broke the prolonged silence in the carriage, pointing at a mark on the map, then gazing at the mountain range.

"Deir Ezzor's natural barrier. We've arrived."

"Park at the mountain foot, don't go further."

Song Heping immediately issued the command over the radio.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com