As the small unit charged forward, the rebels hiding behind cover quickly mounted their weapons and opened fire.
In an instant, muzzle flashes lit up the scene, bullets continuously pelting the light tank—only to bounce off harmlessly. They couldn't even scratch the armor, let alone penetrate it.
With a loud boom, the rebels' X-class heavy assault tank finally fired, scoring a direct hit on the front of the opposing tank.
Sparks and flames erupted, but the armor-piercing shell was deflected by the light steel plating, veering off course and blasting into a nearby building, collapsing part of the wall on impact.
The light tank, now under attack, adjusted its gun barrel and opened fire in return.
Its heavy machine gun roared, riddling the rebel tank with holes and completely disabling it. The crew inside died on the spot.
After neutralizing the tank, the machine gun swiftly shifted targets and began sweeping the flanks.
Bullets tore through walls. Buildings were shredded in an instant.
Using the tank's suppressive fire, the twenty soldiers immediately launched a direct assault, breaking through all rebel defenses within moments.
Even though the rebel side had superior numbers—over a hundred men, and multiple heavy and light machine guns—they were the ones being overwhelmed.
The twenty-some regular army soldiers, either carrying rifles or submachine guns, advanced relentlessly.
Bullets sparked off their bodies as they were hit, only causing them to stumble at most. It was nearly impossible to kill or even knock them down.
Once they got up close, the squad leader at the front turned into a blur of blood, cutting through the crossfire in an instant and appearing right inside the rebel line.
He grabbed a man, flinging him like a rag doll—sending him spinning three meters into the air before crashing into a second-story wall.
Completely ignoring the gunfire raining down on him, the squad leader pulled out a shotgun and started blasting anyone in sight. He showed no regard for enemy retaliation.
When a rebel tried to shoulder a rocket launcher to take him out, the squad leader transformed into mist again and reappeared beside the would-be attacker. With a single shot, he killed the man—and even picked up the launcher to use it himself.
In just a few short minutes, the street that had only just been captured by the rebels was retaken once again.
Of the more than a hundred rebel troops, fewer than thirty survived—and all of them were taken prisoner.
And the ones who had done it? Just one tank and twenty light-armored soldiers. That's all.
This squad—or rather, the unit they belonged to—was none other than the so-called Demon Legion: the Hound Corps.
After dragging the prisoners into a group and checking the perimeter to confirm the area was secure, the Hound squad gathered together and started whispering among themselves, troubled by what to do next.
"Captain, what are we supposed to do with this lot? Where the hell did they even come from? We already crushed them once—how are there still so many? That geezer Moden's influence is way too strong!"
"Turn them over to another unit. Hand over this street while you're at it."
"But those guys can't hold it! We give it to them one second, and the next, the rebels take it back again!"
"Not our problem. Our job is to put down the rebellion. Holding the street isn't our responsibility."
Just as the soldiers were whispering among themselves and eyeing the prisoners, a dull set of footsteps sounded nearby—followed by a calm voice.
"Let them go. Forget the street. Where's your commanding officer? Take me to him."
The sudden voice startled the whispering soldiers. They all turned around and raised their guns in unison.
When they saw someone walking out of the ruins—not wearing a rebel uniform—they exchanged confused looks.
"Stop right there! Who are you? Identify yourself!"
Seeing Qin Ming still approaching, the squad leader at the front couldn't help but raise his voice in a low growl.
Hearing the question, Qin Ming did stop walking—but his face instantly darkened.
"Who am I? Who the hell do you think I am?! I'm your damn boss!"
He pulled out a satellite phone and casually flung it over. It struck the squad leader square on the helmet.
The force of the impact knocked him flat on his back. The surrounding soldiers immediately tensed up, racking their guns in alarm.
Even the nearby light tank swiveled its gun barrel toward Qin Ming in a flash.
But before they could surround him, the squad leader—hand pressed to his helmet as he struggled to stand—suddenly came to his senses.
"That voice... Wait—General?! General?! It's really you, sir?!"
He picked up the satellite phone and looked at it, then glanced over at Qin Ming. Finally recognizing who he was, the squad leader's face lit up with excitement.
Qin Ming, striding over in large steps, snatched the satellite phone back and shot him a fierce glare.
"Took you long enough to recognize me! What the hell kind of soldier are you?!"
"Apologies, General! It's just... I've barely ever seen you in person. Last time, I was all the way at the back of the formation—never even got a proper look at your face."
"Who's the officer in charge around here? Shuke or Beta?"
"Neither, sir! The commanding officer here is Major Claude!"
"Claude what now?"
"Major Claude! He's a company commander under Vice Commander Shuke! He's the one managing this entire area!"
"A company commander? Claude? Never heard of him. What's your rank?"
"I'm the squad leader of the third platoon, sir! Sergeant Colon!"
"Colon, huh? Take me to your company commander."
"Yes, sir!"
Snapping a salute, Sergeant Colon ordered his squad to quickly escort Qin Ming back.
He even kicked the machine gunner out of the tank to make room for Qin Ming.
Once aboard, Qin Ming reached out and took the military coat and cap Colonel handed over.
He brushed some dust off the cap, placed it on his head, then turned to glance at the prisoners in the distance.
Among the thirty or so captives looking up at him, one figure stood out—the squad leader who had spoken to him earlier. Qin Ming's eyes narrowed slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"What did you just call my troops?"
"I... I said..."
"'Demon Legion,' was it? Not bad. I like that new nickname. But calling me 'Demon General'—now that pissed me off."
Adjusting his cap so it sat at an angle, Qin Ming lifted his brow under the heavy military coat.
"Next time, make sure you say the full title. I'm no ordinary general—I'm the youngest three-star general in the entire Federation. The future Five-Star Emperor. Supreme Commander of the Hound Corps. Sergeant Hyena. My rank's way above a mere general. You should be calling me Demon Marshal instead!"
He patted the tank and signaled the crew to move out.
Then, turning back to face the front, a twisted grin gradually spread across Qin Ming's face.
"Let's go. And make sure those Federation weaklings hear this—their Emperor has returned."
(End of Chapter)