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墨書 Inktalez
It was merely a command, yet it mobilized thousands of Armed Helicopters. Originally scattered, they could only see a few at a time. If they unleashed an RPG barrage on Zheng Yifan, they would truly be overwhelmed, for those who had not yet revealed themselves were like moles hiding underground. Zheng Yifan enjoyed games where he could hit moles, but if he were actually tasked with hunting them down, that would be utterly foolish.
Zheng Yifan had to admit that he absolutely could not accomplish this task. Therefore, he decided to use the maximum density of armed forces to completely shatter their confidence and deploy powerful weapons to eliminate them.
It was important to note that Armed Helicopters were not just equipped with rotary Machine Guns; they also carried numerous Missiles. Now, all the Armed Helicopters were in full combat readiness and equipped with infrared thermal imaging devices, which allowed them to pinpoint everyone’s location.
Humans and Zombies were fundamentally different. Humans had high body temperatures, while Zombies could almost be considered cold-blooded. The temperature in the area had already dropped to a certain range; under these conditions, even the slightest warmth could be detected. Human body temperatures were above 5 degrees Celsius, so by resetting the scanning temperature to 5 degrees, effective identification could be achieved.
This method proved highly effective. Those high-tech Armed Helicopters used this technique to locate Survivors. The Survivors carrying RPG Rocket Launchers appeared quite different; their stances were very peculiar as they aimed closely at windows.
This provided ample targets for the Armed Helicopters, which swarmed like locusts, causing excitement and fear among the Survivors. They had no idea what their future lives would look like, but at least they knew they could survive. No matter how the world transformed, it had to develop. Development required a population; they were not fools. Ordinary citizens were essentially basic components that generated wealth through their contributions.
As long as this demand never ceased, their survival would pose no issues. The only consideration was what the future would hold for them and how their lives would unfold.
This was what they most wanted to know. After all, even slaves lived, but that existence was fraught with suffering. Moreover, they noticed that none of the Armed Helicopters belonged to their own country. As for the nationalities of the soldiers aboard, they couldn’t discern any specific identities; there were people of all nationalities and skin colors—a true melting pot.
Zheng Yifan recognized that among international Mercenaries, every nation’s elite was represented. These individuals sought opportunities in the global market and made a living worldwide.
Of course, they were all elite; otherwise, Berry wouldn’t have chosen them. It was worth noting that there were still many in this crowd—millions scattered across the globe like pepper flakes, quickly consumed by demand.
In Zheng Yifan's Hope Group, only the best of the best were present.
Now, facing those foolish adversaries, he could easily slaughter them at will. Eliminating them was effortless and didn’t require any overly complicated maneuvers.
They were highly sensitive to the battlefield, and dealing with dozens or even hundreds of enemies was a piece of cake for them.
On the other side of the city, near the palace where the royal family resided, there were over a thousand regular soldiers huddled together. They heard the sound of machine guns outside, and they could also hear helicopters.
They had simply been too afraid to show themselves.
"Lord Matsubaka, is it possible to go out and negotiate with the troops outside? Although we have sufficient food reserves and enough drinking water, being trapped here is ultimately not a solution. Our ammunition is not enough to clear out these wretched zombies." A young man in his twenties looked anxiously at the commander of the guard in front of him.
The once-mighty Self-Defense Forces had dwindled down to this small number. At first, they had thought about resisting and fighting against the zombies, but now they realized just how vast the enemy numbers were. The entire population of Tokyo had turned into zombies—millions of people. This was no joke; to deal with such a massive horde would require an unimaginable amount of ammunition—billions of rounds. Yet, what did they have left? Only a few hundred thousand rounds. Under normal circumstances, that would be more than enough, but now the situation was worse than during wartime. With so little ammunition, it was nearly impossible to defend the palace. They could only stay in the palace's shelter, designed to withstand nuclear attacks, which was sufficient for survival. However, humans were not willing to hide away indefinitely; they needed the outside world and more resources for living. Life in the shelter was worse than being in prison.
"Lord Mutou! You must not go out; we do not yet know what kind of forces are out there. I will inform Sister Yuko to send special forces to make contact and investigate their background," replied the leader of the Self-Defense Forces, bowing respectfully to the royal member before him.
Now, all the older royal members who held power had turned into zombies, and there was no need to mention the cabinet. The only one who could make decisions was this young man.
But in reality, he felt powerless. After all, he was not like the wise monarch from the Meiji Restoration period; they were merely a group enjoying royal life left behind by that monarch. They could enjoy a rich material life because they were royal members, but in truth? They were just mascots supported by the state, without any real authority. It was only now that all political figures had met their end that royal members could step forward to take charge.
Although they might not have the capability, at least having a leader to rally behind made future paths easier. Even if he were useless, he could still form a think tank to strategize.
This was the plan of the leader of the Self-Defense Forces. However, this plan fell apart when people appeared outside—who were these individuals? They had no idea where they came from; every armed helicopter was different, representing various countries' designs, making it impossible to discern which faction they belonged to.
What on earth was that emblem on top of those helicopters? It seemed every armed helicopter bore some sort of insignia.
With no other choice, he decided to contact the highest-ranking intelligence officer still alive—a woman named Yuko Yamamoto who seemed as terrifying as a viper.
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