novelODS Chapter 44 Trap Invitation
Chapter 44 Trap Invitation
The supplies were brought back to the new dock, and the players in the camp were in an uproar.
New and veteran players gathered around the campfire, quickly brainstorming ideas about these heavy industrial materials.
"The tactics are simple: a tower defense funnel!" The little snail sketched on the ground. "Bury electromagnets along the main road to control the field, dig pits in the mud on both sides and pour quicklime, and finally force them into the container tunnel and spray them with liquid nitrogen. Once the whole process is complete, just go up and grab a screwdriver to strip their equipment without taking any damage."
At this moment, a new player who had just logged in raised his hand somewhat worriedly: "Hey, if you guys are digging a hole on this main road, what if the enemy commander isn't stupid and doesn't take the main road but detours into the forest? Wouldn't all our work have been for nothing?"
The agent beside him looked at him like he was an idiot, and blurted out the intelligence he'd just heard: "Do you think this is your village's asphalt road? On the other side are heavily armored infantry! Each one carrying hundreds of pounds of gear! Besides this paved main road, the outskirts of Pearl Harbor are nothing but muddy swamps and poisonous thorns. If they dare to wear heavy armor into the forest, the swamps will swallow them all up without us even lifting a finger!"
The agent sneered, "Besides, all their scouts have been assassinated by our allies. They're practically blind now. They have no choice but to charge straight in!"
The logical loop is perfectly closed, leaving no room for doubt.
"Get to work!"
Once the tactics were decided, the entire camp immediately transformed into a roaring war machine.
Xiaoyu was assigned the task of acting as a foreman, leading hundreds of indigenous laborers who were working themselves to the bone to survive, transforming them into human excavators. Shovels flew, mud splattered everywhere.
Xiaoyu, shirtless with her T-shirt tied over her head to absorb sweat, shouted orders, "Dig the pit deeper! Do you understand what an inverted trapezoidal cross-section is? Narrow at the top and wide at the bottom, even if he's wearing a mecha, he'll get stuck if he falls in!"
Although the indigenous laborers couldn't understand what an inverted trapezoid was, as long as they were given enough fried dough to fill their stomachs, they now wished they could dig through the Earth's core.
The chemical engineer, Iron Pot Stew, stayed in the back, precisely adjusting the lethal ratio of quicklime, and led a few mechanically savvy newbies to modify the liquid nitrogen tank into a trigger-type high-pressure nozzle.
"The quicklime should be laid at the bottom, then covered with a thin layer of soil and withered leaves. Make sure it doesn't get wet!"
He squatted by the mud pit, his eyes bloodshot, holding a makeshift rangefinder rope. "If these iron turtles slip and fall in, the weight of their heavy armor will break through the camouflage layer. Their sweat, combined with the moisture at the bottom of the mud pit, and the instantaneous high temperature from the quicklime coming into contact with the water, will scald them into a hot, sizzling mess inside their iron shells!"
A few newcomers with some mechanical knowledge nearby weren't idle either. They cut and polished the abandoned shipping containers, forcibly welding together a narrow alleyway that could only accommodate two or three people passing side by side.
Several heavy liquid nitrogen tanks were suspended upside down in a dead corner at the top of the container, with thin steel wires tied to the valves, extending all the way to the trenches of the players behind them.
A night of upheaval.
As dawn breaks and the rising sun dispels the fog over the sea, the outskirts of the new Pearl Harbor pier still appear dilapidated and muddy, showing no signs of any artificial fortification.
The disguise was perfect!
"The pit is dug; now we need bait to lure them into the center of the funnel."
The agent turned to the group of new players, including Birdsong and Flowers, and issued a ruthless order: "Take off your clothes! Strip down to your underwear! When the enemy appears in your field of vision, run to the other side of the minefield and taunt them! Dance, swear, be as vulgar as you can! If you can provoke them into rushing in, you'll be credited with the greatest achievement!"
"Wait, buddy... is this game even serious? Do we really have to progress the story this way?"
"Stop talking nonsense, that's how the first batch of players played. I'll just strip down and join you guys!"
Seeing that the seniors had said so, the new players didn't know what to say.
Moreover, in order to get the generous first-battle reward, I might as well take my clothes off. After all, it's not just me who's embarrassed; everyone is embarrassed, so it's the same as no one being embarrassed.
Several players quickly stripped themselves naked, stood barefoot on the muddy ground, and even began practicing stretching and taunting hip-twisting dances.
High up in the tower, Night Owl watched the group of naked outsiders below, eager to die, and his eyes twitched wildly.
Didn't they only have five people a few days ago? How come they've recruited 20 more lunatics like this today?
Not long after, the ground in the distance began to tremble faintly.
The Blood Axe Mercenary Group's synchronized, steely footsteps, like muffled thunder, pierced through the morning mist and gradually drew closer.
Lynn stood high in the morning light, hands in his pockets, silently gazing at everything. He looked down at the regular army, a forest of muskets, unaware that they were stepping onto the edge of a funnel of death.
There was no fear in Lynn's eyes, but rather a calmness as if he were looking at a dead man.
"Welcome to Pearl Harbor Meat Grinder."
On the main road outside Pearl Harbor, the Blood Axe Mercenary Group was advancing at a steady pace.
The heavy, full-body plate armor was faintly visible in the mist, and the steel combat boots pounded on the hardened ground with a uniform, rhythmic sound, as if stepping on a person's heart.
At the center of the group stood the mercenary leader, named Blood Axe. His class was a second-tier musketeer, belonging to the pirate class group.
As for why a pirate with a musket would be called Blood Axe, it might be related to his violent childhood experiences.
As the leader of a mercenary group who survives by shedding blood on Treasure Island, his survival to this day is not solely due to brute force.
He raised his right hand, which was covered by an iron glove, and the entire formation immediately stopped.
"Commander?" the adjutant asked in a low voice.
His eyes, sharp beneath the Blood Axe mask, were fixed on the mist-shrouded ruins ahead: "The seven scouts Bolton sent out haven't uttered a sound yet; they must have already fallen. Those rats in Pearl Harbor have definitely laid a trap ahead."
"A bunch of refugees, what trouble can they cause?" the adjutant sneered. "Against our heavy armor and muskets, any wooden spikes or pitfalls are a joke."
"Don't let your guard down," Blood Axe coldly ordered. "Everyone maintain a tight shield formation! Musketeers, load your guns! Don't go through the muddy areas on either side; just push forward along the paved main road. As long as our formation holds, no one on Treasure Island can take us down!"
"Yes, sir!"
The foundation upon which this heavily armed regular army survives lies in its rigorous tactical discipline.
However, Blood Axe had no idea that less than 300 meters away in the bushes and treetops, a group of young players were waiting for them with a completely different style of play.
"They're here! The footsteps match!" The agent, lying prone in the mud, ear pressed to the ground, rubbed his hands excitedly and shouted in a low voice into the team channel, "All units, attention! Prey's in! First wave of decoys, prepare to receive the client!"