MC Bookstore Chapter 46 The Path to Atonement! Undying Fight!
Chapter 46 The Path to Atonement! Undying Fight!
The cement ground of the square in Hegang Town was bleached white by the midday sun.
The wind blew from the direction of Lake Erie, sweeping through the container stacks and bringing with it the smell of rust and engine oil.
Seven dried Gundams hung on a wooden frame in the center of the square, their outer armor shrunken to a dark brown from the sun, covered in battle damage.
Those were the last core members of the Gildi family, three men and four women, bound by hemp ropes, their head cameras hanging unnaturally to one side.
People were standing around the shelf.
a lot of.
From the edge of the square to the main street at the entrance of the town, every available space was occupied.
They wore different styles of bulletproof vests, black or olive green, with the words "government office" or "National Guard" printed on the chest in white.
Underneath the vest were various camouflage combat uniforms, work pants, and old military pants.
Everyone was wearing tactical helmets with their masks pulled up over their heads.
Holding AR-15s, M4s, and Remington 870s, some people had state flag or cross stickers on their gun stocks.
No one speaks.
Sweat streamed down his temples, dripping onto the bulletproof plates and leaving dark dots.
The sound of breathing was very soft and was carried away by the wind.
They looked at the high platform.
The platform was a temporary structure, welded together from shipping container panels and scaffolding steel pipes, and covered with military-grade waterproof tarpaulin.
There was a person standing on the stage.
Carl Jensen.
He was wearing the same bulletproof vest as the people in the audience, but not a helmet.
The 47-year-old's face had deep wrinkles from the wind and sun, his beard was clean-shaven, and his hair was cut into a military-standard short buzz cut.
His left hand hung at his side, while his right hand held the old, worn-out cross pendant.
Two live streaming devices were set up on either side of the table.
The phone was fixed to the gimbal, its screen lit up, displaying the live stream interface of the YinYin platform. The number of online viewers was fluctuating: 12, 13, 15…
Carl looked up at the camera.
Good afternoon, everyone.
The sound was amplified by a microphone clipped to the collar and emitted from portable speakers around the square, accompanied by a slight electrical noise.
"I am Carl Jensen."
He paused.
The wind blew across the square, stirring up fine dust from the ground.
The corpse on the shelf swayed gently, and the hemp rope creaked as it rubbed against the wood.
"In the past two weeks, under the Lord's watchful eye, we have successfully liberated this place from the clutches of sinful capital."
He raised his right hand.
Open your palms out, palms facing upwards.
The cross-shaped scar was clearly visible in the sunlight, with slightly raised edges and a darker color than the surrounding skin.
The cross pendant hung above his palm, swaying slightly with his movements.
"This is the path of atonement that I, as a saint, should follow."
The sound was flat and without any inflection.
"It is also our path of atonement under the witness of the Lord."
The moment he finished speaking, a dark red wave emanated from him.
It resembles ripples on water, but the color is extremely faint, making it almost invisible in the air. It can only be perceived through the senses.
Stephen Taylor, standing in the front row, took a deep breath.
He felt a surge of heat rise from the base of his spine and instantly spread to his limbs.
Muscle fibers tighten, blood flow increases, and the heartbeat becomes steady and powerful.
David Miller stood beside him, his young face flushed.
He gripped the rifle tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.
A powerful, clear sense of power surged through my veins.
"This is it, this is it!"
He was breathing heavily through his nostrils.
The ripples covered the entire square.
More than 3,000 people simultaneously felt the changes.
His breathing deepened, his back straightened, and his grip on the gun became more steady.
The fatigue in his eyes, accumulated from long hours of staying up late and stress, faded away, replaced by an almost excited clarity.
The live stream chat started scrolling.
"Which saint is this?"
"A rebellion is a rebellion, what's with all this talk of divine intervention!"
"Did something come out of his body?"
"Is this a miracle?!"
Karl didn't read the comments.
He took a step forward, his boots making a dull screech as they hit the tarpaulin.
"but."
The volume increased by one notch.
"Those who occupy this land, tempted by the greed of capital and seizing the Lord's gifts such as land and medical resources, will send their corrupt henchmen to our liberated holy land to disrupt the Lord's watchful eye!"
He gripped the cross tightly.
The metal edge dug into my palm, and the scar began to burn.
"You say—"
pause.
The sound of the wind, the sound of breathing, and the cries of seagulls in the distance.
"Shall we agree?"
The silence lasted for about two seconds.
Then--
"No way!"
The first sound exploded from the left side of the crowd.
He was a middle-aged man with burn scars on his face.
"No way!"
The second, the third, the tenth, the hundredth.
The sounds rose from every corner of the square, initially scattered, but quickly merged into one.
More than three thousand people spoke at the same time, their volume drowning out the wind, crashing against the surrounding building walls and bouncing back, creating a murky echo.
"No way!"
The live chat exploded.
"This is our army!"
"What the hell kind of army is this?!"
"What kind of American are you?"
"No way!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Karl raised his left hand, palm down, and made a pressing motion.
The sound stopped.
The entire process, from deafening deafness to absolute silence, took less than three seconds.
Everyone fell silent, their eyes still fixed on the platform, their chests heaving from the shouts they had just heard.
"We are servants of God."
Karl spoke, his voice returning to its previous even tone.
"We are the agents of divine punishment on earth. Our mission is to exterminate even the last vestige of the flesh and blood of the blasphemous fools."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face in the audience.
"The battle itself is a prayer. When our prayers are fulfilled, God will descend, and God's kingdom will come!"
With his right hand raised high, the cross reflected a dazzling white light in the sunlight.
"For the Lord's will! For the path of atonement! We will fight to the death!"
The moment he finished speaking, he swung his arm downwards violently.
Like pressing a switch.
"For the Lord's will! For the path of atonement! We will fight to the death!"
Three thousand people roared in unison.
The sounds were no longer uneven, but uniform, with each word clearly pronounced and the volume so loud that the gravel on the square floor trembled slightly.
His chest heaved violently beneath the bulletproof vest, the veins on his hand gripping the gun bulged, and his eyes burned with the same dark red light.
The corpses on the shelves swayed in the noise.
Carl stood on the stage, looking at the boisterous crowd below, his face expressionless.
Only on the palm of his right hand, at an angle unseen by anyone, the cross scar was emanating a faint, dark red glow.
It flickers like breathing.
The number of viewers in the live stream exceeded 300,000.
The comments were still scrolling, but the content was no longer visible; there was only a dense stream of white text that flooded the screen like a blizzard.
"Set off!"