Chapter 1280: Disguise

Fish Ball crested the mountain and the world opened up.

Orange flowers stretched across the valley floor in every direction, a riotous carpet cut through by a road that wound down toward the town below. Wind moved across the field in long waves, and the smell of it reached him — cool, alive, something that washed the road-dust out of his lungs. After six crossings over these mountains, the flowers had begun to feel like a landmark: the signal that the hard part was behind him.

Frost Town sat below, nestled against the valley walls.

“Six crossings,” he said quietly.

Behind him, nearly a thousand people. Soldiers of the First Army, like him — Fish Ball was a machine gun squad leader, but the order to expedite evacuations had made everyone a guide. He had encountered no demons on this route in all six trips; either the Red Mist hadn’t reached this far, or the demons had decided the refugees weren’t worth chasing. Either way, the math was simple: more people evacuated meant more people safe. He kept coming back.

Standard procedure: pitch tents outside town, make contact with the refugees, organize them for the journey to Neverwinter in manageable groups. The First Army had warned residents during the first visit to wait — don’t attempt the mountain road alone, it’s dangerous, we will come for you. Most listened. Not everyone. Fish Ball had found desperate stragglers mid-mountain on almost every return trip, some of them out of food, one or two past helping.

But this time something was different.

From the crest he could see people. Many people. Frost Town looked full.

“A major city must have fallen,” said Hanson, the squad scout, with a low whistle. He sounded almost pleased. “Ten days and this many refugees? We’ll be busy for a while.”

Fish Ball felt it too — the particular satisfaction of a rescue that had outpaced your expectations. Maybe a thousand people, maybe more. All of them waiting.

He pushed the column faster. Downhill, the distance collapsed quickly. Half an hour later they reached the encampment outside the town, and the refugees had already seen them: people streaming out of the buildings, filling the street, converging on the army with more urgency than Fish Ball had ever seen from a waiting crowd.

“They’re in quite a hurry.”

“Didn’t we tell them to stay in town?”

“Maybe they ran out of food.”

Fish Ball watched the crowd and didn’t slow it down as fast as he usually would. If something had happened in a neighboring city — a siege, a sudden arrival of Red Mist — it would explain the numbers, and the pace, and the hunger.

Still.

“Set up checkpoints,” he said. “Ten soldiers with me, rest maintain order. If we let them rush us, this turns into chaos.” He kept his voice flat. “A crowd that size and no structure — there’s no difference between refugees and a mob.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldiers spread out. Everyone took hold of their weapons.

Fish Ball raised the amplifier and turned the volume up.

“This is the rescue team of the First Army of Graycastle. Stop where you are and wait for instructions. We have food and medicine, but you need to cooperate. Stop, or we will take measures.”

A ripple moved through the crowd. Some people hesitated. Then they started forward again, as if something behind them were pushing.

Fish Ball gave a nod, and a soldier fired a warning shot into the sky.

“Hmm,” Hanson said beside him.

“What?”

Hanson didn’t answer immediately. He had the telescope to his eye and was very still. “Leader. Have you ever seen refugees carry a roll of cloth?”

Fish Ball reached for the telescope.

Through the lens, at maybe three hundred meters: the crowd, coming fast. He scanned the front rows and found it — yes. Most of them were carrying something at their backs or tucked at their waists. A roll of cloth. Standard cloth, nothing that explained itself.

He kept looking.

The clothes were wrong. Ragged, visibly worn — but the wear was wrong. Not the gradual erosion of poverty and road use, but something done quickly, deliberately, to fabric that was too new underneath. The kind of old that was performed rather than lived.

And they were all wearing shoes.

Every single one.

Two hundred meters.

The second warning shot cracked overhead.

The crowd split — and the rolls of cloth came apart.

Fish Ball’s vision locked on the rifles underneath. First Army standard-issue weapons, unmistakable, one after another as the rolls fell away. Behind the firearms: swords, tridents, blades of every kind. Three hundred people at minimum, armed and closing.

A trap.

“Retreat to the encampment! Run!”

The disguised refugees opened fire before he finished the word. Bullets came in from multiple angles, raising little geysers in the dirt around Fish Ball’s feet as he sprinted, head down, toward the sandstone fortresses the unit had built on previous visits. No trenches, no real defensive works — just barriers of sand and stone designed for demon engagements, which had a different shape than this. He reached the cover and crouched.

Behind him, one after another, his nine soldiers made it in.

He did a quick count. Everyone present.

“Hanson — check everyone. Go.”

Hanson was already moving, crouching along the line. The enemy continued to fire, bullets chipping at the barriers, the sound constant and close. Fish Ball held his rifle, found a gap, and sighted on the running shapes coming across the field.

Not refugees. Never refugees. Only the demons could have distributed this many First Army weapons — the demons, and the nobles who had surrendered to them.

They used our own guns against us. They wore rags over their good clothes. They walked through our lines disguised as the people we came here to protect.

The bile of it rose in his throat. He kept his breathing steady.

Hanson came back faster than expected.

“Nine people,” Hanson said, breathing hard but grinning slightly. “One minor wound. He can still fight.”

Fish Ball stared at him. The enemy had opened fire at three hundred meters against a group of ten men in open ground. One minor wound.

“Just one,” he repeated.

“We’re lucky.” Hanson’s voice was still carrying that grin, strange and fierce. “Everyone’s at their positions. We’ll hold to the last.”

Fish Ball turned back to the field, rifle up, and found his first target.

Chapter 1280 - Disguise

Translator: Transn Editor: Transn When Fish Ball ascended the crest of the mountain, his view suddenly expanded. Orange flowers carpeted the field and formed a glaring contrast with the road that meandered through the mountain. Wind rustled the flowers and refreshed the exhausted travelers. Against the sea of flowers loomed a small town, which was the destination of their trip, Frost Town. It was his sixth time climbing over the mountains. Although Fish Ball was the leader of the machine gun squad, he was also a soldier of the First Army. After receiving the instruction to expedite the evacuation process, like many soldiers, Fish Ball came to rescue refugees. He had not encountered any demons so far on this route, possibly because the Red Mist had not reached here or because the demons did not really want to waste their time on those refugees. Anyhow, the more people he brought to Neverwinter, the better. There were nearly 1,000 people following him. According to common practices, the army would first pitch their tents outside the town and get in touch with the refugees before they sent them to Neverwinter in group. The First Army had warned the residents during their first visit not to travel to the south alone, as the trip could be dangerous. They asked the residents to wait for the Graycastle army to retrieve them. Nevertheless, not everyone would listen. In fact, Fish Ball had met many desperate refugees who had run out of food on their way. For those who were less fortunate, they simply died in the mountain on their own. But this time, Fish Ball found that things were a little different. From the mountain, he, surprisingly, saw many people in Frost Town. “Did some major city fall?” the squad scout Hanson whistled. “So many refugees in just around 10 days. We’ll be very busy in the next few days.” Fish Ball also felt excited. Only about 1,000 people had departed for Neverwinter over the past one to two months. It seemed that the number of the refugees this time would exceed that of the previous trip. Although Fish Ball did not understand why these refugees chose to come to this small town down the valley instead of other more accessible cities, he still had the obligation to send them to safer places. At this thought, the army sped up. Going downhill was apparently much faster than going uphill. About half an hour later, the unit reached the encampment in Frost Town. Many refugees had noticed them, and they soon swarmed up to the street and rushed toward the army. “Well, they’re in… such a haste,” someone joked. “Didn’t we tell them to wait in town?” “Perhaps they ran out of food and want some from us?” Most of the soldiers held the same opinion. “If there’s a catastrophe in a neighboring city, then it makes sense that these people don’t have food,” Fish Ball commented and quickly made the decision. “But it’s hard for us to count them and maintain the order. We have to stop these people. I need ten soldiers to help me set up the checkouts. The others shall keep them in order.” Fish Ball knew there would be serious consequences if they failed to stop the refugees. If they all rushed forward at once, those refugees would be no different than bandits. Most of the time, there was a very thin line between refugees and bandits. “Yes, sir!” The soldiers were soon dispersed. All of them grasped their guns. As the refugees slowly approached, they could see them more clearly. Fish Ball raised the amplifier and turned up the volume to the maximum. “This is the rescue team of the First Army of Graycastle. Please stay calm and stop right away to wait for further instructions. We have ample food and medicine, but you’ll need to cooperate. Again, stop where you are, otherwise, we’ll take hard measures!” Some people hesitated but soon resumed to run, as though something were pushing them from behind. Fish Ball frowned. He then asked his team member to fire into the air as a warning. Just then, Hanson whistled. “Hmm.” “What’s the matter?” Fish Ball asked. “Leader, they look a bit strange…” Hanson said while watching through the telescope. “Have you seen any refugees take a roll of cloth with them before?” “A roll of cloth?” Fish Ball echoed in bewilderment. He grabbed the telescope from Hanson and saw about 300 meters away, these refugees were running toward them. He could roughly tell what they were wearing and carrying. Like Hanson had said, most of them were carrying a roll of cloth on the back or at the waist. It was indeed very strange. Refugees would normally take all their belongings with them, and the First Army would usually ask them to abandon heavy luggage and take light items that would not cause inconvenience to the trip, such as gold royals. Generally, the army would not interfere with refugees’ personal affairs. During the past two months, Fish Ball had seen various strange personal items, but it was his first time seeing rolls of cloth. The more he looked at them, the more strange they appeared. These refugees were all in rags, but surprisingly, they were all wearing shoes. Their clothes were not old or worn at all. Instead, it appeared to Fish Ball that the clothes had been made look old just very recently. Now, the two parties were only 200 meters away from each other. “Bang!” His team member again issued the warning. The crowd was immediately dispersed, and the next moment, Fish Ball froze to the ground. The shot frightened some refugees at the front, who unrolled the cloth and revealed the rifle that the First Army usually used underneath! Soon, all of them revealed their weapons from underneath their cloth. They were carrying all kinds of weapons, including swords and tridents. Fish Ball suddenly realized that this was a trap! “Retreat to the encampment!” Fish Ball yelled at his team members. “Run!” No sooner had he finished than the disguised refugees started to fire. Bullets whistled past Fish Ball and exhaled dusts and earth. The other nine soldiers from the First Army finally realized what had happened and hurried to the campsite while lowering their heads. The unit had camped their several times. Although there were no trenches or blockhouses, they had built fortresses. These fortresses constructed with sand and stones were designed to fight demons, but now, they had to rely on them to avoid the attack of the refugees. By the time Fish Ball reached the fortresses, all his team members had crouched down. They were now utterly outnumbered, for there were more than 40 enemies while they only got nine people. Fish Ball’s heart leaped to his throat when he thought of the possibility that all of them would be shot dead unprepared on the battlefield. He seized Hanson’s arm and said, “Go see how everyone’s doing, now!” Hanson immediately left, and Fish Ball held up the gun and aimed at the running “refugees”. No… they were not real refugees but nobles that had submitted to the demons! Only the demons could obtain so many weapons from the First Army! “Damn it!” Fish Ballswore under his breath. He had never expected that his own kind would disguise as refugees and set up such a nasty trap. Did they not know who they were helping? In a few minutes, Hanson came back, which was faster than Fish Ball had thought. Hanson reported, “Everyone’s fine, except one soldier. He’s got minor injuries, but he can still fight.” Fish Ball stiffened for a second. “Just one person?” He remembered that the “refugees” had shot quite fiercely. “Yes,” Hanson confirmed, looking hugely relieved. “We’re pretty lucky. Now, everyone has returned to their positions. We’ll fight to the last!”