My Abyss Survival Diary

Chapter 24 Infiltration Operation

Theodore sat on the wooden crate, blood still seeping from the wound on his severed arm. The bandages were thick, and dark red blood seeped through the gauze.

He looked down at the empty sleeve, picked up the bottle with his left hand, and took another big gulp of wine.

The campsite was quiet. The campfire was almost out, with only a few charred embers still smoldering. His thin shadow stretched long in the dim light, like an upright tombstone.

One of his men ran in from the fog, stopped in front of Theodore, bent over, and gasped for breath.

"Boss, someone's died again..."

Theodore didn't look up: "How many?"

"This morning you sent Atu and four others with pieces of meat to the Ironwing Confession Room to exchange for some medicine, remember?" The subordinate's voice trailed off. "The patrolling brothers found their bodies in the woods."

With an indifferent expression, Theodore showed little reaction and took another big gulp.

"There are two more. Do you remember what you sent them to do with that old man last night? The two brothers are dead, and the old man has disappeared. I guess he was killed too."

The subordinate swallowed hard, cautiously observing his boss's expression.

boom--

With bloodshot eyes, Theodore swung his hand violently and smashed the bottle in anger, scattering glass shards and the precious wine seeping into the soil.

He wouldn't care how many brothers died, but with Loris gone, it meant his arm could never be reattached.

Theodore looked up, his ashen face expressionless, only the shadows under his eyes seemed deeper. He looked at his subordinate, his light gray eyes like two frosted panes of glass.

"Klein, and that bastard..."

When he uttered the name, his lips twitched, and his voice carried a long-suppressed hatred that seemed to seep from the very marrow of his bones.

"Someone saw him," the subordinate quickly reported, providing valuable information. "He's in the area to the west where we often cut meat."

Theodore's lips slowly parted into a grin, like a venomous snake opening its mouth to reveal its sharp fangs.

"Gather the brothers and have them all follow me."

The subordinate hesitated for a moment. "Boss, your injury..."

Theodore grabbed his neck with his left hand, his fingers digging into the flesh and blocking his trachea.

His subordinate's face turned from red to purple, his mouth opened, his tongue stuck out, and his eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out.

"I said, bring them all."

He let go, his hand collapsing to the ground, clutching his neck and coughing, his face streaked with tears and snot.

Theodore didn't look at him, turned around, picked up a brass-decorated pistol from the wooden crate, checked the magazine with one hand, and clicked it into chamber.

"Leave a few men to guard the camp; the rest of you, follow me."

The camp was empty.

The campfire went out completely, leaving only a single spark in the ashes.

Several tents swayed gently in the wind, making a rustling sound. A few guards were scattered around the edge of the camp. Some were squatting behind wooden crates smoking, some were leaning lazily against big trees and dozing off, and some were chatting in hushed tones.

Simon emerged from the fog, harpoon in hand, without making a sound.

The camp was terrible. He looked around and saw that there were only seven or eight tents in the camp, but they were accommodating more than fifty people.

In his camp, only those loyal to him were considered human; everyone else was a lowly slave, or even "human material" for raising the flesh of incriminating evidence.

The slaves were all thin and weak, people of no use to Theodore. They couldn't even afford shirts, and were all emaciated and pale. They were driven around by Theodore's men, and were beaten for doing anything wrong.

Some tried to rebel against Theodore, but their fates were tragically different. Simon, who infiltrated the camp, witnessed a horrifying scene: some people were tied to trees by Theodore, their arms slashed open and bleeding, being fed as precious evidence of their crimes.

According to Professor Loris, there were also rebels who were imprisoned by Theodore in earthen dungeons as backup "talents".

The first guard leaned against a big tree, his head tilted to the side, his eyes closed, a cigarette butt between his fingers...

Simon crept silently behind him, the harpoon blade grazing his neck but not cutting it. He reached out his left hand to cover the man's mouth, and pulled with his right.

Blood splattered on the tree trunk, dark red, gleaming black in the spore light.

The body slid down, and Simon caught it and gently placed it on the ground.

The second guard crouched behind the wooden crate, loading a nail gun. Simon circled around from behind, a harpoon protruding from above the crate, a steel crossbow bolt aimed at the back of his head.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then put away the harpoon, drew a dagger from his waist, walked around to the man's side, and stabbed him in the side of the neck.

The man opened his mouth, trying to call for help, but his trachea had been severed.

Simon pulled out his dagger, warm blood splattering onto his hand. He forcefully pushed the body behind the wooden crate, squatted down, and pulled the gun and dagger from the body's waist.

Simon stood up, looked around, and found the simple earthen cell near the guard's body.

He lifted a heavy wooden lid, and painful screams echoed from the darkness. Simon surveyed the dungeon, which was cramped and narrow, holding five or six badly wounded criminals, all of whom were beaten black and blue, some barely clinging to life.

"Take it."

Simon opened his backpack, threw his three nail guns into the earthen cell, turned around to search the corpse, and threw in another gun and two daggers.

The sinner raised his head, his face covered in mud and tears, his lips trembling.

"Take it," Simon repeated.

The sinner reached out and picked up the nail gun. His hand was trembling, but his fingers gripped the handle, his knuckles turning white.

"Do you want revenge?" Simon asked them. "Do you want to stay in the dungeon and wait to die, or do you want to take a gun and poke holes in those bastards, making them suffer terribly?"

No one speaks.

A sinner broke the silence; he was as thin as a bamboo pole, his face was covered in bruises, and one eye was so swollen he could not open it.

He walked over, picked up a nail gun from the ground, pulled back the bolt, and checked the magazine.

"I'll fight you!" he gritted his teeth, his voice weak but filled with hatred.

"Damn it, kill them!" someone else stood up.

The second person stood up, the third person, the fourth person...

Simon grabbed one man's hand and pulled him firmly out of the dark, sunless dungeon, until all the imprisoned sinners were out of the dungeon.

The camp erupted in commotion as the last criminal was dragged out of the dungeon.

The body was discovered by the guards, and chaos erupted outside. Theodore's men roared, loaded their guns, and the entire camp went on high alert.

"Kill those bastards, kill them one by one, take their guns, and then distribute the guns to your comrades," Simon coldly instructed.

A sinner raised a nail gun, aiming the muzzle at the guard's figure. His fingers trembled, but his bloodshot eyes did not blink.

Simon gripped the harpoon tightly; he had more important things to do before he went to kill.