Chapter 505

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

Ayla wasn't dodging bullets; she was predicting the shooter's aim line, the range of the gun's movement, the vehicle's firing dead zones, the window during reloading, and the gaps in firepower switching.

As long as she predicted every step correctly, all firepower would actively avoid her as if it had eyes.

She moved forward like a shadow hugging the ground, advancing along shell craters and the wreckage of scrapped motorcycles, every step landing in the gaps of the enemy's firepower.

The first exoskeleton hulk to charge up was strong as an ox, one punch capable of deforming steel plates.

In her first exchange, Ayla was shaken back half a step, her arm going numb.

The moment the second punch came, she saw it clearly.

This junk modification, in order to stack power, had pushed the drive units beyond the structure's limits, and the connecting pin on the right leg joint was severely worn.

Normal longitudinal load-bearing could hold, but when the knee joint bent to the extreme angle, lateral force was as brittle as a biscuit.

Ayla withdrew with the momentum, luring him into lifting his leg to step.

Just as the knee reached its highest point, she turned sideways and slammed into him, the gun barrel smashing hard into the outside of the joint.

With a crisp "crack."

The connecting pin fell off directly, the hydraulic pipe twisted to one side, and the entire exoskeleton jammed in place on the spot.

The hulk's face turned red from holding his breath, desperately trying to move but as if welded inside an iron shell.

Ayla squatted down, even leaning over to look at the structural interface.

"Why is the load-bearing part installed on the outside?"

Hulk: "?"

Then she smashed the gun butt into his temple with a backhand, and he went limp.

Continuing to charge forward, at the second firepower point, the bandit's old automatic gun suddenly jammed.

Ayla rushed over in a few steps and reached out to snatch the gun away.

She pulled back the bolt and took a look; the feed spring was fatigued and deformed, and the feed lips had been bent by its owner, being able to keep firing until now was a miracle.

"It's been able to fire until today; it should thank the person who made it."

The bandit looked at her blankly, not yet reacting, before being knocked unconscious by a gun butt strike to the ground.

Rolling Stone was far more cunning than these miscellaneous soldiers.

He deliberately kept a pump-action shotgun in his hand, just waiting for her to rush close.

When the distance was still three steps, he suddenly drew his gun, the muzzle almost pressing against Ayla's ventral side as he pulled the trigger.

"Boom!"

Ayla was already dodging to the side, but still had seven or eight pellets graze her left abdomen and ribcage.

Intense pain like electric current surged through her whole body, her movement instantly lost balance, and she staggered half a step.

"Bleeding, soft tissue damage, ribs suspected fracture, mobility decreased by about eight percent, mission can continue."

A judgment that automatically popped up in her brain, like a cold broadcast.

She didn't stop, but instead lunged forward with the momentum, the power spear precisely stabbing into the transmission gap of Rolling Stone's mechanical prosthetic leg, then prying upward.

The sound of gears flying off was crisp and piercing; the bandit leader shrieked and fell to the ground, clutching his mechanical leg broken in half, rolling around.

It was a pity there was no power battery to charge the power spear; otherwise, this strike could have directly blown Rolling Stone into "gravel" with the decomposition force field.

The remaining people saw the leader was crippled, morale instantly collapsed, and they threw down their weapons one after another, shouting surrender.

The battle ended faster than Ayla had estimated.

She stood in the smoke leaning on the power spear, her first reaction was to take stock.

Dead, wounded, usable guns, remaining ammunition, vehicles that could still be repaired, recyclable parts.

Calculating it, the settlement's actual losses were a bit lower than predicted.

"Success!" she concluded.

Immediately after, she saw Mei running over from the camp direction, eyes red, face mixed with dust and tear tracks.

Ayla went to meet her, tone flat: "We won."

With a "slap," Mei slapped her across the face.

The force wasn't great, but it left Ayla dazed.

Immediately after, the woman hugged her tightly, hugging especially hard, squeezing her until her wounds hurt.

Ayla could feel Mei's body had been trembling, not from anger and cold, but from fear and lingering fright.

She froze in Mei's arms, her brain racing. She was alive, the battle was won, all the numbers were correct.

Why would a correct answer make Mom so pained?

She couldn't figure it out.

Ayla leaned against Mei's shoulder, feeling for the first time that her calculation system seemed to be missing something.

The battle was over, but things had only just begun.

Ayla returned to her little nest; the first thing was to treat her wound.

Alcohol, needle and thread, hemostatic forceps lined up in a row; she lifted her blood-stained top, pried open the wound edge to look, confirmed there were no remaining bullet fragments, and prepared to thread the needle and suture.

Her movements were skilled as if drinking water.

When Mei pushed the door open and came in, she saw Ayla biting her teeth as she pushed the needle into her skin and flesh, not even furrowing her brow. The woman said nothing, stepped forward and snatched the needle and thread away.

「Lie down. 」

「I can handle it. 」Ayla looked a bit confused.

「I know. 」

「Then why? 」

「Because you're injured. 」

Ayla shut up.

She couldn't figure out why, for a quest she could complete herself, another person's labor cost had to be added.

In terms of efficiency, this was entirely a redundant operation.

Mei's expression brooked no objection; she pressed her shoulder to make her lie flat and began cleaning the blood around the wound's edge.

There wasn't enough anesthetic; when the needle pierced skin and flesh, Ayla instinctively flinched.

Mei's hand stopped, and she looked up at her: 「Does it hurt? 」

「Pain is essentially nervous system feedback, used to judge the extent of damage. 」

Mei didn't wait for her to finish; the needle tip sank down and pricked another stitch.

Ayla swallowed the rest of her words in an instant, biting her teeth without making a sound.

Mei just looked at her, saying nothing.

After a long while, Ayla spat out a single word very softly.

「... It hurts. 」

The battle was won, but two people still died: an old Qi Diao Zhe in his fifties, and a sixteen-year-old boy.

Ayla went to the place of death, crouching beside that half-collapsed fortification and measuring for a long time.

If this fortification were moved one point seven to two meters to the left, the cross firepower received would clearly decrease, and the survival rate could increase by at least thirty percent.

She stood up and subconsciously wanted to tell Mei the optimization plan for the next defensive fortification.

Mei didn't wait for her to speak, gently shaking her head.

「Go see who he is first. 」

Ayla was stunned.

Is the analysis wrong? Isn't analyzing the cause of casualties meant to reduce deaths next time?

She didn't retort, following Mei to where the corpses were laid out.

The old Qi Diao Zhe's family cried for a while and took the relics.

The key was that boy; he didn't even count as a militiaman.

When the battle just started, he was so scared he hid behind the fortification, his hands shaking so much he couldn't hold a dirt grenade steady.

Later, seeing the big brother from the neighbor's house moving ammunition, he hesitated for a moment, then ran over to help.

After that, someone was hit and fell down; he and two others rushed out to drag the person back. Then they went out again. On the third trip, a stray bullet hit his chest. Just like that, he died.

The boy's mother sat beside the corpse, not crying much, just with empty eyes.

Ayla crouched beside her and asked: 「Did he know he'd die if he went out? 」

「Probably not. 」The woman thought for a long time, her voice very hoarse.

「He probably thought... he should help out a bit; he's that kind of person. 」

Ayla fell silent. 「He should help out a bit. 」What kind of profit model is that?

No reward, no command, no certain return, possibly even paying with his life.

Why?

Even more incomprehensible to her was that the woman ended up thanking her.

Saying that if it weren't for Ayla charging out, more people would have died, and maybe not even her own son's intact corpse would be left.

Her own child died, yet she still had to thank someone else.

Ayla stood in place, motionless for a long time.

This variable, she couldn't fit into any existing formula no matter what.

The funeral was held in the afternoon.

The coffin was pieced together from old metal plates and waste wood, rough, drafty, without even a coat of paint.

But in this Wasteland where human life is worth less than straw, having a coffin was already not bad.

Several dozen people came to see him off, all Qi Diao Zhe from the Camp.

Usually they'd quarrel over half a Nutrient Paste, come to blows over a scavenged part, and bear a grudge for half a month because someone took an extra rain shelter.

At this moment they carried the coffin together, their footsteps slow.

Someone started singing the local Funeral Dirge, very unpleasant, off-key, and raspy.

More and more people joined in singing, and just then Ayla suddenly felt a strange Fluctuation.

Not a sound, not a vibration, more like a sense of Direction.

The grief of several dozen people, several dozen heavy sorrows, were originally scattered and fragmentary.

But as they sang, they slowly came together, condensing into the same thought.

「Life must go on. 」

Those carrying the coffin unconsciously fell into step.

Someone's shoulder ached, and the person beside them, without a word, automatically shifted a little to the side to share the weight.

Someone cried so hard they couldn't straighten their waist, and the person beside them lent a hand, taking more of the load themselves.

No one's strength increased, no one's grief lessened.

But the whole Team, oddly enough, was more stable than when one person was alone.

Ayla stood behind the crowd, watching this scene, and the confusion in her heart rose like a tide.

One person is so fragile, so inefficient, with so many flaws.

Why, after coming together, do they become something completely different?

Ice Cold Wind swept across the barren land, carrying Smoke and dust.

She stood there for a long time without moving.