In those days of Plants vs. Zombies

Chapter 615 Headquarters in Danger, Emergency Rescue

"Tsk, she still managed to escape."

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Fyodor, his face grim, strode out of the storeroom carrying his blood-stained gun and sword.

The remaining drops of blood dripped from the sharp blade, leaving small marks on the ground.

Upon seeing that blinding crimson, the rebel soldiers' previous noisy discussions instantly ceased.

Instead, there was absolute silence and quiet; many people even unconsciously stopped breathing.

The air seemed to solidify into a viscous gel, leaving only a suffocating silence that permeated the crowd.

Don't provoke your general at a time like this.

The same thought suddenly popped into the minds of many rebel soldiers.

"Damn Shadow Insects..."

Fyodor's deep curses rolled in his throat, each syllable brimming with the fury and resentment of his failed attempt.

A bold officer stepped forward, his voice trembling slightly: "General, that assassin..."

"waste."

Fyodor uttered those two words coldly, not even sparing a glance.

He casually tossed his gun and sword into the officer's arms, the gun slamming heavily against the officer's sturdy breastplate with a dull thud.

"Go, wash the blood off my guns and swords."

As he spoke, Fyodor casually extended his thumb to wipe away a splatter of blood that had fallen onto his cheek.

The officer hurriedly caught the weapon, bowed his head as if granted a pardon, and carefully retreated.

Several of his more senior and trusted generals pushed through the crowd and quickly approached Fyodor.

One of the older generals, with graying temples, looked around and then asked in a low voice, "General, should we send men to pursue that assassin?"

Fyodor didn't say anything, but simply raised his hand to stop the machine-pepper shooter, Plant Spirit, from making his suggestion.

He tilted his head back slightly, his nostrils flaring, the air still carrying the lingering smell of blood and gunpowder.

He took a cigar from the pocket of his overcoat and put it in his mouth. Another trusted general immediately came over and lit it for Fyodor.

"No need, Colonel Lormont. That Shadow Special Forces soldier is already far away; you can't catch her."

Slowly exhaling a wisp of thick white smoke, Fyodor said coldly, "Instead of worrying about a mere assassin, you should think about how to deal with this mess."

The Freedom Army's objective was to seize this military base and obtain the large amount of valuable supplies stored there.

To this end, they spared no effort, engaging in battles with both the omnics and the insectoid swarm.

After losing a significant number of elite troops, they finally managed to eliminate all the enemies and capture the military base.

But what was the result? Someone beat them to it, leaving only a few empty warehouses for the belatedly arriving Free Army.

This not only severely damaged the morale of the rank-and-file soldiers, but also led to a riot that should never have happened, further exacerbating the already impoverished Free Army.

"If I find out which bastard did this... the Freedom Armed Forces will never let this go!"

Fyodor abruptly stopped, an aura of battle-hardened killing intent emanating from him, forcing his trusted generals around him to involuntarily take a half-step back.

"Pass down the order to seal off all entrances and exits of this military base. We will remain here temporarily to rest and regroup, and collect all usable supplies."

"As ordered."

"In addition, have the officers ask each soldier in turn if they have seen any 'male black-haired human psionicists' of unknown origin. The more detailed the information, the higher the reward."

"Yes."

"And that assassin..."

Fyodor squinted, his fingertips gently tracing the burning end of his cigar, recalling the scene from not long ago.

"Her target is me."

He chuckled, took the cigar from his mouth, and flicked the ash hard: "I know her, You Ling, the captain of the Styx Squad, the undisputed ace special forces soldier of the Shadow Special Forces."

Turning his head to look at the warehouses behind him, Fyodor sneered, "Those parasites in the Federation really went all out for my head."

A trusted general lowered his head and asked, "So you mean..."

"I need to increase security. I don't want to see a second attack targeting me personally."

"Understood, I will arrange the necessary personnel for you immediately."

Several trusted generals, feeling as if they had been granted a pardon, immediately turned and left to convey Fyodor's orders.

As new orders were continuously issued, the previously chaotic military base gradually returned to order.

The rebel soldiers, exhausted, began to clean up the battlefield, piling up the remains of the omnics, the flesh and blood of the swarm, and the bodies of their comrades, preparing to burn them.

The charred ground still emitted wisps of smoke, mixed with a strong stench of blood, which gathered into a nauseating fog above the military base.

The original command post had been razed to the ground by Fyodor's orders, using corn cannons.

A number of temporary tents have been set up next to the ruins.

Fyodor stood in front of the tent that served as a temporary command center, his gaze passing over the busy crowd and landing on the distant horizon stained red by the flames of war.

The cigar in his hand had burned out, leaving only a scalding hot butt unconsciously held between Fyodor's fingers.

That blazing spot of light seemed to be a physical manifestation of his suppressed anger at that moment.

"General, urgent telegram from headquarters."

A communications soldier cautiously approached and respectfully handed over a telegram.

After becoming rebels, the Free Army had to abandon its high-tech communication equipment and turn to using various old radios for communication.

The headquarters mentioned by the communications soldier was the location of several other high-ranking members of the Freedom Armed Forces.

That is, a temporary base of the Free Army rebels in the southwestern part of the abandoned city of No. 59.

Fyodor took the telegram, the rough edges of the paper brushing against his calloused fingertips.

Unfolding the letter, Fyodor's gaze swept over the hasty yet hurried handwriting, and a hint of amusement appeared on his originally gloomy face.

"The outer reconnaissance units report that an Imperial battalion is rapidly approaching from the south. At the same time, numerous wolf riders have been spotted in various areas, confirming that they belong to the 'Howling Moon Hunt,' one of the Wild Wolf People."

Fyodor flipped through the telegram over and over, but only managed to decipher twelve words.

[Headquarters is in danger; urgent reinforcements requested]

As he pondered the contents of the telegram, Fyodor fell into deep thought.

[The Empire and the Howling Moon Hunters? Aren't they mortal enemies? How did they end up together?]

However, making such a big commotion doesn't seem like the kind of thing they'd do to deal with a federal rebel group.

The young general knew all too well that without his elite force, the remaining rebel troops were nothing but a rabble.

There is only one possibility: the Empire and the Howling Moon Hunters' target is not the Free Army, which happens to be blocking their path, but someone else entirely.

As for their true goal... Fyodor already had the answer in his heart.

Aside from 'Redemption Road', which is also located in the southwest city, who else would dare to provoke both of these major forces at the same time?