Chapter 60: Who Is the Traitor?

The rifle butt, carried by the force of a hurricane, swung toward the back of Chen Cao’s head. Yet midway through the air, it halted as though striking an immovable stone; the soldier wielding it felt as if his hand had sunk into cotton, unable to bring it down any farther.

In the dim light, Chen Cao had caught hold of the rifle butt, utterly unafraid of the muzzles trained on him from all sides.

“I can’t afford to get wounded now. If I do, it will surely be a dead end!” At that moment, Duan Tianya’s words echoed in Chen Cao’s ears. Emotion was useless here—only counterattack, counterattack, counterattack. Now, even if it meant killing Zhou Hongye, he could not allow these people to leave this room alive.

Chen Diwen and the others were still outside, facing the constant threat of betrayal and annihilation. If he were injured now, the entire squad dispatched by 0611 would be wiped out, their bodies left for terrorists to trample and exploit. He had made one mistake already—there could not be a second.

With a sharp crack, Chen Cao yanked the rifle butt toward himself, his other hand darting out to grip the neck of the soldier who had tried to strike him from behind. A slight squeeze, and there was the sound of tendons snapping; blood frothed from the man's mouth as his body went limp.

Chen Cao’s eyes were now pitch black, his entire being radiating murderous intent. He did not let the body fall but spun it around, using it as a shield to block the line of fire from the neighboring soldiers. In a flash, he moved before Xibastin, gripped his throat, and as Xibastin’s Adam’s apple quivered, Chen Cao drew the curved blade from his belt and pressed it to his neck.

“Drop your weapons!” Chen Cao commanded.

He knew that even if these soldiers did not understand his words, they would know what he was about to do.

But the soldiers did not lower their weapons. Instead, they kept their aim steady on Chen Cao and the hostage Xibastin.

A cold laugh rang out. “Mr. Chen, you are truly the elite of the elite trained by 0611—your skills are indeed formidable!”

Chen Cao’s heart jolted. The Xibastin he was holding had not laughed; his breath was rapid, betraying his terror of the blade against his throat. The voice did not seem to be coming from him at all—it seemed… to come from within his stomach.

Was this Xibastin merely a decoy?

Now, the “Xibastin” in his grip was speaking from the belly—perhaps this was the real Xibastin’s voice.

“Mr. Chen, can’t you see this entire performance was prepared for you? The goal is to capture you alive. I have never been to Dacheng, but as an envoy of the True God, I know the history of your 0611 unit well. With your skills, how could I dare appear in person?”

Looking at the holy warriors before him, Chen Cao suddenly laughed. “Is that so? They say Xibastin is the Desert Fox—clearly, that is no exaggeration.” He glanced around; the soldiers’ fingers were glued to their triggers, waiting for Xibastin’s command. The moment it came, he would be riddled with bullets.

He pressed the blade against the fake Xibastin’s throat, his other hand gripping the back of his neck.

Chen Cao smiled. “I think unless absolutely necessary, you, Xibastin, will not kill me. After all, I have the core secrets in my hands!”

Xibastin’s voice replied with a chuckle, “Honestly, Mr. Chen, I have no interest in your intelligence organization. Do you imagine there is a shortage of foreign spy agencies in Oderu? If our Holy War organization went to such trouble for each one, we’d be worked to death. Spy games are for great nations; small countries like ours have no need.”

Chen Cao continued with a smile. “Now I’m curious—who exactly is your friend? But I dislike this method of meeting.”

Xibastin seemed to catch his meaning. “As long as you put down your weapon, you’ll see him at once. But if you don’t, my patience has limits.”

“That’s not certain,” replied Chen Cao. “Even if I can’t get out, I won’t let you get any evidence on me—or on my comrades outside. Even if you record everything, as long as you have no live captives, it won’t be convincing. Dacheng has many politically astute minds. If you try to fabricate evidence, and provoke Dacheng Republic into economically sanctioning Oderu, it would be a losing bargain. With your wisdom, Commander Xibastin, I doubt you’d ever do such a thing. You know we donate relief supplies worth billions of Long coins each year through international peace organizations.”

Xibastin fell silent, clearly deep in thought. And then—

With a swift motion, Chen Cao drew the blade across the fake Xibastin’s throat. Blood spurted in all directions, gushing forth as powerfully as a smoke grenade. The soldiers, although professionally trained, were stunned by the suddenness of Chen Cao’s attack.

This was a lesson from Linghu Ruomu’s anatomy class: when a person is agitated, blood flows three times faster than normal, and the brain—the center of blood circulation—is served by the major arteries in the neck. Chen Cao had gripped the fake Xibastin’s neck, and while talking with the real Xibastin, restricted the flow, building up pressure like water in a hose, then released it all at once.

Without pausing, Chen Cao’s blade flashed, each strike deadly. Two soldiers nearby, still wiping blood from their faces, suddenly felt a chill at their throats, followed by a rush of searing blood. Dropping their weapons to clutch their necks, they collapsed to their knees.

Chen Cao did not stop. In mere seconds, he spun, recalling the knife techniques taught by Instructor Zhou Anshi, and let instinct guide him. The blade gleamed again and again. In an instant, the already dim iron chamber was transformed into a blood-soaked hell.

They all fell, without even a great noise—only the choking, gurgling sounds as they clutched their throats and swallowed.

Chen Cao wiped the blood from his face, his eyes bloodshot. He set the blade aside and, seeing any enemy still moving, finished them off. In the blink of an eye, several lives were snuffed out in this darkness, vanishing like smoke.

“I’m sorry, but if you don’t die, I won’t survive,” Chen Cao whispered in his native tongue to the motionless corpses. When he finished, he walked over to Zhou Hongye, tapping his fingers lightly to send a signal to Moxika and the others.

“They should have arrived by now,” he thought. But what awaited them was a trap—0611 would face unprecedented losses.

Yet, all that greeted him was silence. Chen Cao tapped again, as before—still, only silence.

Xibastin’s voice came from within the decoy’s belly. In the shadowy, bloodstained chamber, the sound was eerie and sinister. He showed no sadness for the dead soldiers, but continued with a laugh: “Mr. Chen, I knew these soldiers would never stop you. But leaving here is impossible, and that is precisely my friend’s goal!”

Xibastin sighed. “Well, the show is over. Next, I’ll hand you over to my ‘friend.’ Once he has finished hunting down your comrades, it will be your turn to meet him. Don’t bother trying to send signals; this room is jammed. You cannot transmit anything. Just wait here for our victory.”

“Brother Chen…” Zhou Hongye struggled to open his eyes and called out.

“Hiss!” Before Zhou Hongye could finish, Chen Cao pressed the blade to his neck and said coldly, “Zhou Hongye, you and Yu Hongxiu are both spies. Yu Hongxiu got the transmitter out of me with her romance act, and you played the martyr, didn’t you?”

Zhou Hongye felt the icy blade against his throat, the faint scent of blood rising as it touched his skin. He closed his eyes and said quietly, “Kill me. I know now—no words can change anything.”

Chen Cao stared coldly at Zhou Hongye—once his dearest brother. His heart was in turmoil. This was all a trap. Who could he trust? His hand tightened on the hilt, wavering, but in the end, he could not bring himself to cut Zhou Hongye’s throat.

Who should he believe now?

At that moment, Zhou Hongye seemed to sense something, and slowly opened his eyes. “Kill me. I’ve lost the ability to fight. I’d only hold you back. Brother Chen, have you forgotten the 0611 rules of engagement?” With that, Zhou Hongye tried to jerk his neck into the blade.

Chen Cao reacted fast, lifting the blade just in time. Even so, Zhou Hongye’s throat was grazed, leaving a thin line of blood.

Chen Cao, knife in hand, said angrily, “So you want to die? It’s not so easy. No matter who the traitor is, we must get out of here first!”

Zhou Hongye panted, staring blankly at the white lamp hanging from the ceiling, his gaze utterly lifeless. “Do you really think we can get out? These walls are solid iron.”

“There’s always a way. I’ll check the place first.” Chen Cao, blade at the ready, examined the surroundings under the faint light. It was a space of just over twenty square meters, the walls all made of thick iron plates. When he tapped them, they gave a dull thud—solid.

The room was airtight. Chen Cao widened his eyes, stepping over the corpses he had just felled and scanning for any air vents or similar features. But to his disappointment, there were none—not even a pinhole camera.

Just as he was about to search further, the light went out with a sudden click.