Chapter Thirty-Two: Encountering Some Trouble

Watermelon found himself in a bit of trouble. He had been waving a certain banner—not out of any real intent, but merely for the sake of amusement, like a dramatic outburst from someone in the throes of adolescent delusions, wanting to attract attention. It was as if he were living out a dream of invading America, a fantasy of the five-cent brigade finally coming true. Yet, his words had drawn the immediate attention of the upper echelon at Base Three in Los Angeles. These people had taken Watermelon’s bluff as fact, believing he could not possibly be the only one—surely there must be an entire force behind him.

They sighed inwardly at the fearsome nature of the Chinese, thinking them wild beyond measure. Having already claimed the whole of Asia, they were still unsatisfied, now crossing the Pacific and turning their sights to this land?

“Let those damned Chinese know our strength!”

“Damn it. We should never have chosen these overly ambitious Chinese as trade partners. Those nations whose bloodlines carry a strong sense of national identity are always terrifying. The higher-ups made a mistake here.” A bearded lieutenant spilled his coffee in agitation.

A nearby major hurriedly handed over a white napkin, eager to ingratiate himself with the lieutenant.

The bearded lieutenant’s status was clearly not as simple as his rank suggested. His name was Thaddeus Roth Rockefeller.

Of course, he was not a direct descendant of the Rockefeller family—indeed, he had little real connection to them. Thus, the blood-catalyst developed for the Rockefeller clan had little effect on him. His abilities were merely those of a high-level Gene Human, not even having broken through to Gene General.

The major beside him was clearly a Gene General, and from his demeanor, one could tell the Rockefeller family’s status among these officers.

“Of course. I’ve already sent a team—ten Gene Generals. I believe they’ll handle the situation perfectly,” the major replied with a smile.

“Only ten? That’s not nearly enough! How could it be? You’re being far too careless, Major Ferret! With your intelligence, you shouldn’t make such mistakes. Even I, with my brain, can see that ten Gene Generals can’t resolve this crisis,” the bearded lieutenant exclaimed, his whiskers bristling.

“But sir, there are only twenty Gene Generals in Base Three, including myself, that makes twenty-one. If we deploy all of them, and the enemy attacks from another flank, we’ll be dangerously exposed,” Major Ferret patiently explained.

He certainly couldn’t say that the lieutenant’s brain was no better than a pig’s and incapable of grasping the truth.

“In that case… ten will do! Major, I trust your men will resolve this perfectly, right?” The bearded lieutenant’s eyes rolled, then he added, “But shouldn’t we send some Gene Soldiers along?”

“I’ve already arranged that. I’ve also included all the gifted personnel brought over from China. I believe Chinese against Chinese will achieve outstanding results!” Ferret displayed a confident smile.

“You’ve done exceptionally well, Major Ferret. I’ll report your achievements to the family. Believe me, you’ll be praised,” Thaddeus said with a nod and a smile.

“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor—just what I ought to do.”

Meanwhile, Watermelon was under siege from ten Gene Generals and numerous Gene Soldiers.

Among these Gene Soldiers, many were Chinese. Seeing their opponent—a clearly Chinese individual—they showed no mercy whatsoever. They served their master, worrying for his interests. In this apocalypse, there was no debate about right or wrong; they simply knew that if they didn’t fight, they would die, but if they did, they might continue to survive. It was a simple choice.

Watermelon, being a transmigrator, though somewhat eccentric, was certainly not foolish enough to shout brainlessly about why Chinese fought Chinese. He thought: betray them all and take down these Americans!

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“Ha!” Watermelon didn’t speak, but shouted loudly, startling everyone. He raised one hand, and the surrounding concrete and previously smashed stones all gathered at his side.

People like Watermelon weren’t just reckless fools. He often played the clown, complaining and joking, but if you truly believed he was without cunning or plans, you’d be mistaken. The constant tossing of concrete chunks earlier was all preparation for this moment!

Countless broken bricks converged perfectly, forming in Watermelon’s hand, soon taking the shape of a colossal hammer.

This hammer was entirely made of those fragments, not very hard—one shot would take a chunk out of it. It looked almost useless, but now it was incredibly fierce simply because of its sheer size: nearly sixty meters long, five meters tall, far larger than Watermelon himself. The way he gripped it seemed almost bizarre.

Yet he held it simply, and with his abilities of Strength Enhancement and Earth Manipulation, Watermelon could easily achieve this.

“I’ll flatten you traitorous dogs!” Watermelon swung the hammer wildly, sending a dozen American soldiers flying, charging straight at the group of Chinese.

These men were initially quite fearful: before the apocalypse, they were just ordinary folk, never having faced such a spectacle.

Seeing Watermelon wielding an invincible giant hammer, they were terrified to their core! Though they possessed great strength, they had nowhere to use it, and in panic, they scrambled out of the way.

Watermelon didn’t pursue them. He still had stronger enemies to face, and he couldn’t be bothered to kill them.

“Hey!” With a twist of the massive hammer, Watermelon swept sideways, wrecking the shops on both sides of the street, even toppling a building.

“Boom!! Boom!! Boom!!”

The thunderous noise accompanied Watermelon’s frenzied assault, dust and smoke billowing out, but the battle did not cease. That previous strike hadn’t killed anyone, or even wounded the enemy.

Watermelon was in trouble. He felt his body unable to move.

Even breathing became extremely difficult. The powerful sense of restraint filled him with dread—what strange ability was this?

Space Manipulation?

Impossible. No three-dimensional creature in this world possessed such power, so it must be something else…

As Watermelon struggled, he heard two phrases in English: “Go! Go!” “Finish him! He can’t move!”

Eight figures charged forward, abilities at the ready, intent on killing Watermelon.

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Naturally, Watermelon was unwilling to die here. He thought, I, a proper transmigrator, not killed by monsters but by you damned Americans? What a disgrace! I still want to keep traversing, to experience the madness of other worlds!

How!

Could!

I!

Die!

Here!

“Roaaar!” Watermelon suddenly broke free, straining against the restraints, then swung the massive hammer toward the rapidly approaching enemies!

“Can’t kill you monsters, can I?!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

As the hammer struck three of the attackers, Watermelon suddenly let go, dropping it and leaping from his spot. At that precise moment, five attacks landed where he’d been standing—clearly premeditated, powerful enough to pulverize the distant ground.

Watermelon dodged the blow, but didn’t feel safe yet. He opened his mouth, not to roar, threaten, or proclaim himself a city officer—none of those dramatic lines. Instead, he spat a jet of flame!

‘Whoosh!’

The fire surged—not toward the targets below, but into the air.

There, though no one was visible, Watermelon sensed a presence, and so he attacked.

Sure enough, a Gene General appeared, badly wounded, fleeing in panic.

Having eliminated all threats, Watermelon prepared to escape, but at that moment, he was once again bound by that strange sensation!

Damn!