Chapter 69: Death Caravan

Screams rang out one after another. Many of the men died before they even caught a glimpse of Finn. Blood streamed across the ground, staining it dark crimson, while the stench of charred flesh filled the air.

The blond twins hiding on the roof of the sheet-metal shack realized the situation had turned against them and immediately tried to jump down and flee.

Flames poured from Finn’s longsword as he unleashed Crimson Flame Torrent without pause. The scattered tongues of fire suddenly converged, forming a blazing dragon that swept across nearly a hundred meters and swallowed the shack in an instant.

The extreme heat reduced the entire shack to a pool of molten metal. The twins plunged into the glowing liquid, screaming in agony before they were burned to charcoal.

Finn swept his sword in every direction, sending fire roaring across the battlefield. One man after another rolled through the flames, their bodies blazing like human torches. Explosions erupted all around as ammunition, grenades, and rocket warheads cooked off in the inferno.

“A Tier 5 Vanguard… He’s a monster!”

Old Tom’s legs shook uncontrollably. For some reason, Finn had not burned him yet. But he knew that once all his men were dead, Finn would take his time roasting him alive.

“Diego! Do something! You’re our last hope!” Old Tom shrieked.

Diego—the last mercenary and the only Tier 4 Vanguard still alive—struggled to his feet. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he knew that if he did not fight back now, he was as good as dead.

Finn stood in the middle of the battlefield like a demon wreathed in flame, seemingly unstoppable. Even so, Diego hoisted a rocket launcher loaded with a depleted-uranium armor-piercing rocket. Gritting his teeth, he crept past several charred corpses and took aim at Finn’s back.

The instant he pulled the trigger, the launcher’s steel casing gleamed with golden light. The depleted-uranium rocket suddenly doubled in size—and so did its destructive power.

With a piercing whistle, the golden rocket streaked through the air, leaving a brilliant trail behind it before slamming straight into Finn’s back.

A tremendous explosion erupted.

Blinding white light outshone the sun, and the thunderous blast shook the sky.

Thick black smoke churned at the center of the battlefield as the flames slowly dispersed.

“By the Holy Radiance! Did that get him?!”

Old Tom stared hopefully into the smoke, tracing the sign of the Radiant Path over his chest. The ambush had landed perfectly. More than anything, he wanted Finn to have been blown to ash.

Before the smoke could clear, gunfire erupted.

A burst of bullets tore through the dark cloud and ripped open Diego’s skull, sending gray-white brain matter spraying through the air.

Finn burst from the smoke with the force of a cavalry charge, heading straight for the last man alive—Tom Walker.

Huge beads of cold sweat rolled down Old Tom’s forehead. Terrified, he turned to run, but his legs had gone so weak they felt like two strands of limp noodles.

He had barely taken two steps when Finn caught up and kicked him to the ground.

Old Tom lay there like a dead dog, trembling from head to toe. He hunched over and curled into a ball as he begged, “Please spare me! Please! I’ll pay you anything!”

“Get away from my father!”

An angry shout came from behind Finn, followed by a man leaping toward him at high speed, a long blade in hand.

Finn did not even look back. He simply swung his sword behind him.

The airborne figure split in two, blood spraying skyward.

“Mack! My son!”

Old Tom screamed. Tears welled in his eyes as he scrambled up in a frenzy and reached for Finn’s wrist.

Finn planted a foot on Old Tom’s chest and pressed the tip of his bloodstained sword against his throat.

“Calm down. You can always have another son. Lose your life, and it’s gone for good.”

Old Tom struggled furiously, but Finn’s foot pinned him to the ground like an iron spike.

In the end, a merchant always knew when to cut his losses.

After a long while, Old Tom regained his senses and slumped back onto the ground in defeat.

“What do you want?”

Finn looked down at him.

“One piece of information. Did the Wilderness Rhino armed caravan pass through here? Which way were they headed?”

Old Tom gave a bitter smile. “If I tell you the truth, you can’t kill me.”

“As long as you don’t lie, I won’t. I’ve killed enough people today,” Finn said expressionlessly.

“I don’t know why you’re looking for the Wilderness Rhino caravan, but I can tell you this: they were wiped out in Red Rock Canyon to the northwest a year ago.”

“What?”

Finn frowned slightly.

“You’re saying the Wilderness Rhino caravan was wiped out?”

“Yes. Hardly anyone knows about it. I only heard about it by chance. Another caravan picked up their distress signal. They had gotten lost in the desert, run out of water, and exhausted all their food and ammunition. They took shelter in the canyon, but a pack of mutated hyenas still tore them apart.”

“Is that true?” Finn asked.

“I’m ninety percent sure. Wilderness Rhino was just some small, unknown caravan. Outfits like that have little money and even fewer resources. To save time, they take risks and cut through dangerous zones. Then everyone dies. There’s nothing unusual about it. It happens every day out in the wasteland.”

If Old Tom was telling the truth, then where had the Wilderness Rhino caravan that had sold a nuclear reactor at Black Mountain just a few days ago—and triggered the nuclear explosion—come from?

The situation was becoming more confusing by the minute.

Finn thought for a moment, then asked, “Do all the caravans that buy water from you register their names?”

“Of course not. Some caravans smuggle goods or trade slaves, so they prefer to remain anonymous. But most caravans want to spread their name and build a reputation wherever they go, so they register.”

With death hanging over him, Old Tom did not dare utter a single lie.

Finn estimated the period when the Wilderness Rhino caravan would have left Black Mountain and arrived at Antonio Refuge City. He then asked how many unregistered caravans had bought water during that time.

“Three,” Old Tom answered uncertainly. Then he added, “One of them belonged to slave traders.”

“What about the other two?” Finn asked.

“I don’t know. You know how it is. Most caravan vehicles look the same—just a random assortment of cars and trucks with steel plates welded onto them and weapons mounted on top. Nothing distinctive.”

Old Tom spoke with complete sincerity, desperately hoping Finn would spare his life.

“Anything else?” Finn asked coldly.

Old Tom racked his brain for a long time before answering, “No. That’s everything.”

Finn suddenly raised his hand.

Old Tom shuddered violently and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he saw that Finn had withdrawn his sword.

He let out a long breath, relieved to have escaped with his life.

“Oh, right.”

Finn had already walked several meters away when he suddenly stopped.

“You charge for information, don’t you?”

Before Old Tom could answer, Finn tossed him something small and round.

“Thanks for the information. Here’s your payment. It should be worth about thirty dollars.”

Old Tom caught it instinctively. Only after it landed in his palm did he realize what it was.

A grenade.

A grenade with the pin already pulled.

“Ah!”

Old Tom screamed and tried to throw it away, but it was too late.

Boom!

The explosion swallowed him in a flash of fire, blasting him apart until not even a scrap remained.

Finn glanced back at the blast to make sure Old Tom was truly dead, then calmly walked away.