Chapter 142: Harvesting Wool

Zhang, who had seen many war films, both domestic and foreign, had never encountered such a peculiar kind.

Realistic, too realistic.

Real pilots, real planes, real warships, and even the bombs were real… they looked exactly like the real thing.

Moreover, he could swear the scenes where fighters dove through artillery fire were filmed with live rounds, because this bizarre, patched-together crew had zero special effects capability.

No, Shen Tian, beneath the shield, sensed the opponent's technique wasn't finished—he immediately cast a spirit incantation; blue light flowed over the shield, and from above, it looked like a pool of emerald water.

Anyone who thought calmly would never make such reckless moves as mine; there were many ways to ignite the oil bottles—in fact, all you needed was to pour out a portion of oil into a fuse line and detonate it from afar.

Su Yang's words were orders, so Luo Sha, Dapao, and Niucha did not enter the villa.

He wanted to urge Old Mo not to go too far, lest it lead to an irreversible outcome, but he knew full well he wouldn't listen—Meng Lianling had just been injured, her life barely saved, and he had just gone through a bout of terror; for her, he had been insane then—how could he possibly hear anyone else?

Hu Feixue ignored me and bent down, carefully sniffing my bed. Her actions made me uneasy—it was my personal sleeping space, where I sometimes farted, ground my teeth, or smacked my lips; her doing this felt somewhat inappropriate.

The cavalry charging out from the front gates of Mor had long since been annihilated by the formidable cavalry of the Golden Legion; the dawn of victory was clearly approaching, and the curtain-raiser for victory was the "Meteor Strike" targeting the entire city of Mor.

At this moment, looking into the eyes of these two ghost officers, they seemed to be looking at me—meaning, they called me Yan Jun.

After being kicked by Director Huang, Cao Shuang stepped back and cursed: "Fuck, you hit me? You're asking for death—I'm killing you today." As he spoke, he kicked out, aiming for Director Huang's abdomen.

Now, when they called him "Mr. Wu," he stopped—so now they obviously knew who he was.

Lin Peiqi had previously instructed them: this mission allowed only the capture of Tian Sheng, not the slightest harm to him.

Even Ma Long beside him was stunned; similarly, the substitute sitting on the bench, Sibingsai, looked grim, for he had seen Jielislong's eyes gleaming—he knew he was truly facing competition.

Meanwhile, Ying Zheng's face was as pale as paper, devoid of any color. Human bodies contain little blood essence to begin with, and Ying Zheng's blood essence was nearly gone. This time, he had truly suffered a major blow to his foundation. But he felt no regret—a true man acts in this world: some things he does, some he does not.

Frostfang grunted, turning its gaze toward the giant bear before it—this guy must taste delicious, right?

Hong'er pleaded repeatedly, so Yang Tian agreed. He was also a little frightened—frightened of what might have happened if Xuan Yuan Qingrou hadn't released him from the Beast Storage Bag; it seemed being human was safer than being a beast.

Even though the bald team leader had extreme confidence and looked down on Qin Liang's Third Squad, devising no tactics, intending only to crush them with overwhelming strength, the unpredictable element of Liyang emerged. Relying solely on Feng Wujie as the breakthrough point was clearly insufficient—he needed to establish a much greater advantage.

Now, I ostensibly judge people's temperaments by observing details after speaking with many, then assign suitable individuals to suitable positions… my guidance to Grant and others was on how to perform.