In the wilderness, a group of three to four hundred heavily armed sweepers was enough to traverse and crush any enemy, presenting a far more terrifying scenario than facing a beast tide.

The camp warriors had no advantage in individual combat power, and most of them were exhausted and injured. How could they continue to fight?

Cloud Eagle was more concerned not about the sweepers themselves, but about something he alone knew in the entire camp: the sandstorm was no coincidence.

It was most likely the work of a certain person or a certain weapon.

Cloud Eagle couldn't fathom what kind of thing could possess such supernatural power. People always feel fear in the face of the unknown, mysterious, and unexplainable, and Cloud Eagle was no exception. Therefore, he felt that the motives and background of this sweeper were inscrutable.

The two sides confronted each other at a distance of one or two hundred meters.

The sweepers didn't seem to be in a hurry to attack immediately.

A figure clad in a tattered cloak emerged from a vehicle, with a large hood covering his face, making it impossible to see who he was. Compared to the fierce and restless mutants, he appeared strangely calm.

This calmness even extended to his breathing rhythm; if he stood still, he would be indistinguishable from a cloaked statue!

Cloud Eagle noticed a peculiar detail.

Even the most terrifying and powerful ogres, when the mysterious figure passed by, would instinctively move aside to let him through, as if they were afraid of blocking his path.

Despite their severely diminished cognitive abilities, these trolls could still discern strength from weakness and recognize who the real leader was.

This memory had been imprinted in their souls in the simplest and most direct way possible.

This was why they acted almost instinctively!

The atmosphere in the arena was as heavy as being trapped in a mass of cement, walking on a precarious tightrope. Everyone had to be cautious even in their breathing, fearing the slightest change might disrupt the fragile equilibrium.

The cloaked figure slowly approached, step by step.

Cloud Eagle stared at him intently, trying to find any discernible difference.

No matter how hard he tried, he could no longer sense the strange fluctuations. It was not him, not him!

A sweeping regiment clad in steel armor, armed with heavy blunt weapons, various machetes, axes, bows, and guns, and even forming well-organized convoys, could not have appeared out of nowhere. Where did this force come from?

The two captains of the camp's elite regiment were deeply perplexed.

Why didn't the Sweeper Regiment storm the walls and forcefully charge in? The current standoff instead gave the camp fighters time to catch their breath... Why did they act this way? Did they have absolute confidence in their power? Or were they waiting for something? Or perhaps they were concerned about something?

Bows were drawn taut.

Bullets were loaded.

Regardless of what the sweepers were thinking, the camp guards spontaneously reorganized their defense. But everyone understood that the camp side was at a disadvantage now, and if they engaged in this battle, no matter who won or lost, a large number of participants would be killed, and the entire camp would be drenched in blood.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

The cloaked figure made a slight movement, lifting the hood to reveal a face as pale as paper. His skin was lifeless, and his eyes were as dark as the endless night. When he blinked, his eyelids didn't move up and down but closed and contracted horizontally, giving a very bizarre feeling.

The mysterious man pointed at the camp, "This camp is ours."

His tone was casual, his voice sharp and eerie.

The expressions on the faces of the camp fighters turned grim.

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The mysterious man continued, "Surrender!"

Even Cloud Eagle's face became odd. How could the sweepers, who always killed and plundered, now want to occupy the camp? This was too strange!

Who would agree to such a request? Those large-sized ogres could devour a person in a single meal without even spitting out the bones!

No one could be so foolish as to willingly offer themselves to the sweepers!

In response to this obvious provocation, a lean youth stood up. It was the second captain of the elite group, nicknamed Wolf. His eyes blazed with anger, and he declared, "Ask if I agree with my sword first! Come and get it if you have the guts!"

Curses filled the camp.

People were infuriated by the arrogant attitude of this guy and...

"No way."

The cloaked man raised his hand gently, the entire motion was very casual, as if he was greeting his neighbors on a sunny morning. However, before making his final decision, he scanned his surroundings, as if waiting for something.

After the mysterious man glanced around and waited for several seconds, something he expected didn't seem to appear. His eyes showed a hint of disappointment, and his voice, as cold as ice and full of death, resounded clearly in the ears of everyone present.

"Fine, then kill all of you!"

So casually.

So directly.

It was as if he were giving a simple order, asking someone to drink a glass of water in front of him, effortless and without argument.

Perhaps, in the eyes of the Mystic Sweeper, these campers were nothing more than bugs to be crushed with a flick of his finger!

"Ho ho ho!"

The sweepers had been waiting for this order for far too long!

A dozen ogres started advancing, with at least a hundred thugs following closely behind. Their bodies were rough and simple, but clad in thick iron armor that made a clunking friction sound, like an old rusty locomotive. Each step sent a slight tremor through the ground, firm and strong, destined to crush anything flesh and blood in front of them.

The camp guards wore shocked and fearful expressions.

Was it starting already? They had thought there would be another standoff, at least enough time to replenish their depleted arrows and ammunition. Who knew these accursed Sweeper Regiments would fight without any half-hearted procrastination when they said they would.

Bear quickly yelled, "Fire arrows! Shoot fire!"

The camp fighters fired their bows, crossbows, and guns in unison, but the formation was too scattered, and their firepower couldn't be focused.

A dozen or so huge ogres raised their arms to protect their eyes. The thick steel armor on their bodies was enough to shield their vital parts, and these unusual arrows or bullets couldn't cause fatal damage.

"Watch out!"

"They're coming!"

A dozen or so gargoyles charged into the crowd with astonishing strides.

The ogres, each wielding a several hundred-kilogram heavy sledgehammer, treated these weapons no differently than small wooden sticks. They raised their heavy hammers high in the air, possessing enough ferocious power to smash five or six cows into pieces, and then slammed them fiercely into the middle of the crowd.

Boom!

Two people were crushed into a splattered mess of flesh and blood!

When that violent force struck the ground, it was as if the earth itself trembled, causing people to feel a tremor in the soles of their feet. The berserk aura and power sent out waves of qi and air, knocking down a circle of people around them.

The camp warriors' lances stabbed through, and even when they managed to pierce the ogres' skin through the gaps in their armor, it was difficult

"Then just kill all of you!"

So casual.

So direct.

It doesn't seem like issuing a difficult task, but rather commanding someone to drink a glass of water in front of them – simple and with no room for argument.

In front of the mysterious Sweepers, perhaps all these camp people are nothing more than bugs that can be easily crushed!

"Roar! Roar! Roar!"

The Sweepers have been waiting for this command for too long!

Over a dozen ogres start to advance, followed closely by at least a hundred thugs. They are rough and rudimentary, yet heavily armored, making clanging sounds like an old rusty locomotive. Every step causes the ground to tremble, resolute and formidable. Anyone standing in their way will be crushed to pieces.

The Black Flag Camp defenders wear expressions of shock and fear.

Is it starting so soon? They thought there would be a standoff for a while, at least to replenish their depleted arrows and ammunition. Who would have thought that these damned Sweepers would just start the attack without any hesitation?

Xiong quickly shouts, "Fire the arrows! Ignite the explosives!"

The camp warriors fire their crossbows and guns, but the formation is too chaotic, and their firepower cannot concentrate.

Over a dozen enormous ogres shield their eyes with their arms. Their thick steel armor protects all vital areas, rendering ordinary arrows and bullets unable to cause fatal injuries.

"Be careful!"

"They're coming!"

Over a dozen giants stride into the crowd.

The ogres raise their arms, wielding iron hammers weighing hundreds of kilograms that are as insignificant as small sticks to them. Their violent strength is overwhelming, and they fiercely strike the middle of the crowd.

Boom!

Two people are instantly crushed into a bloody mess!

When their violent force strikes the ground, it feels as though the earth itself is trembling, causing everyone to feel a jolt under their feet. The ferocious momentum and power generate a wave of air that knocks down everyone around them.

The camp warriors' long spears thrust forward, but even through the gaps in the armor, it's difficult to pierce the ogres' skin.

The ogres' massive hammers easily sweep away anyone in their path.

The second one, the third one, the fourth one...

These giants advance relentlessly, completely unafraid of any attacks due to their thick armor. Every swing of their hammers crushes all bodies they can reach into a mass of mangled flesh.

Each brawny ogre is surrounded by a group of thugs holding self-made steel shields and wielding large axes.

These wild thugs may not possess the ogres' astonishing physical strength, but among the Sweepers, they are the elite, all approaching two meters in height, twice as robust as ordinary humans. Their left hand holds iron shields capable of blocking any attack, while their right hand wields battle axes, tearing apart human bodies as if cutting vegetables.

A group of lightly-moderately mutated people armed with bows and firearms stands behind them.

Although these mutated people lack the formidable melee abilities of the first two groups, their intelligence surpasses that of the highly mutated Sweepers. They are responsible for sniping and intercepting dangerous targets from a distance.

The Sweepers' crossbows and guns are specially made, and each shot possesses tremendous power and uncanny accuracy. All the shots go straight through the forehead to the back of the head, with hardly anyone surviving after being hit.

Some wild warriors riding lizards or motorcycles patrol the flanks with sickles or long weapons, responsible for cleaning up the sides.

With such a diverse and powerful lineup, the strength of this Sweeper group is undoubtedly evident, and it's almost a one-sided slaughter!

The camp warriors have no chance to resist!

The warriors' cries of agony, bone-crushing sounds, deformed bodies, arrows and bullets whistling through the air—all intermingle, culminating into an unforgettable concerto of terror, drowning any brave fighter and leaving them without any fighting spirit.

Yun Ying has witnessed and experienced many fierce battles, and he is well aware of the enormous gap in strength between the two sides. Even if the camp warriors fight desperately, it is futile. Their resistance is utterly worthless.

The Sweepers' merciless assault crushes all hope!

The two sides' combat power seems to exist on entirely different levels!

The ferocity of this war far surpasses yesterday's beast tide by tenfold!

The mysterious man quietly watches the unfolding slaughter as if enjoying a good show after a meal, not showing any intention to intervene.

Yun Ying has a strong intuition.

The danger posed by these ten ogres combined is still less than that of this one individual. The mad and cunning expert in front of them exhibits an even greater disparity. The reason he has not acted yet is simply that he doesn't find it necessary.

How will this war end?

And where will the Black Flag Camp go from here?

Yun Ying deeply experiences the sorrow of the weak; he can do nothing!