"What... what's happening?"
"Sand? Is that sand?"
Survivors across the streets of Iwahato Station stared in shock at the swirling grains rapidly encircling them. No matter how the Kabane outside lunged forward, they were instantly flung away by tremendous centrifugal force upon touching the sandy barrier, granting those within an unparalleled sense of security.
'Ah, it's a deity!'
"Has a god finally descended to save us mortals? Could this sand and wind be Lord Shukaku from Nara?"
Overcome with tearful joy, their fleeing footsteps unconsciously halted—much to someone's displeasure.
"Run, you fools! Head east toward the station!"
Crocodile, his upper body materializing midair amidst the swirling sandstorm where he'd concealed himself, bellowed across the city, a smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth. How he managed to shout without dropping it was a feat in itself.
"The angry god speaks!"
"Quick, quick! Obey Lord Shukaku's command! We're saved! We'll live!"
Thousands of men, women, and children jolted awake by the furious roar immediately surged eastward. Shielded by the rotating sands, they ignored the Kabane along their path, their faces alight with exhilaration and growing conviction in divine intervention.
In a land steeped in polytheism and spirits, such miracles only reinforced their beliefs.
From above, Iwahato Station appeared veiled in pale yellow dust—all Crocodile's doing. Though his Sand-Sand Fruit powers hadn't awakened, these so-called "Stations" were merely modest ancient towns. Enveloping one was well within his capabilities.
"Tch. What a bothersome mission~~"
The newly appointed Army Vice Admiral scowled at the ant-like scurrying masses below. Senior Director Addison had insisted they prioritize civilian safety—"population equals labor force." As World Government personnel, he recognized the logic: post-conquest development required local hands. Letting them perish would mean importing workers from headquarters.
Too costly.
"Halt advance!"
"Maintain vigilance!"
"Halt advance!"
"Maintain vigilance!"
Black-clad soldiers from the World Government's mainland Army Headquarters fanned out along the railway tracks after exiting the station. After clearing nearby Kabane, officers barked orders to secure the eastern perimeter of the urban area, rifles trained on the sand-shrouded city.
Soon, a cacophony of ecstatic and panicked cries approached as dust-wreathed civilians came sprinting into view.
Among them was a young city guard, still clutching a Steam Rifle that had turned into a mere stick after the high-pressure boiler at his waist ran out of steam.
There was also a young mother, her face pale and breath ragged, yet gritting her teeth as she ran while clutching her small child. Then there was the grown son, drenched in sweat, desperately trudging forward with his elderly father on his back.
"Ah, it's the troops!"
"Hahaha, could it be that the Shogunate hasn't abandoned us? Have they sent soldiers to rescue us?"
"Idiot! Look at their black uniforms—those are definitely the Hunter Group!"
"No way! I heard it was the Hunter Group who led the Kabane into the city!"
Some of the more energetic survivors shouted excitedly as they ran, their voices filled with the relief of having narrowly escaped death.
First, a divine being descended, and now troops had arrived—how could they not rejoice?
"Eh?!"
But then something strange happened. When they were about thirty or forty meters away from the first row of Army soldiers, the protective layer of sand that had been silently shielding them suddenly began blocking their advance, causing panic among the crowd.
"Stay where you are, fools! Either stand still or sit down and rest. If any of you dare move recklessly, I'll throw you right back!"
Crocodile's voice rang out again. Though his tone was impatient and his attitude far from gentle, none of the survivors took offense.
Instead, they sighed in relief, their faces brightening—this meant the divine being hadn't abandoned them. Meanwhile, Crocodile issued orders from above to his troops.
"First squad, enter the city in teams. Free fire authorized. Disable all Kabane—clean this place up!"
"Yes, sir!"
Upon receiving the command, the soldiers—organized in five-man squads—first pulled down their tactical goggles from around their necks. Then, arranged in a formation of two in front, one in the middle, and two in the rear, they advanced swiftly, gripping their heavy assault rifles.
They marched past the survivors, who had been forcibly separated by the swirling sand, paying no attention to the mix of awe, gratitude, and admiration in their eyes.
Because in the soldiers' line of sight, hordes of Living Dead—their skin purplish-black, eyes pitch-dark, with glowing pupils and chests—were chasing after the fleeing civilians.
"Ghhh—"
"Roooar!!"
"Gah—"
There were many of them—far too many. For a moment, the air was filled with the Kabane's eerie shrieks. But soon, the deafening roar of gunfire drowned them out as the first soldier pulled the trigger.
[Ratatatatat!]
The first squad unleashed a furious barrage, muzzle flashes flaring as 7mm bullets tore through the air, forming a deadly net that instantly mowed down the leading Kabane before biting into the ones behind.
The bullets were devastating—wherever they struck a Kabane, massive wounds erupted. Limbs were severed, necks snapped, and heads exploded like watermelons on impact.
This was the terrifying firepower of a heavy assault rifle against human bodies, though its effective range was somewhat limited. However, its penetration at close quarters was formidable.
It was a firearm meticulously selected by the Army headquarters based on the characteristics of the Kabane.
The trade-off for such firepower was strong recoil and greater weight compared to standard rifles, but these factors barely affected the native soldiers of this sea-star-shaped land.
Judging by the current results, they were indeed satisfied. Though the swarming Kabane resembled an oncoming black tide, under the alternating volleys of three firing lines, they crashed against an invisible cliff.
The soldiers didn't even need to aim for the glowing hearts—hitting the legs or heads was enough to halt their movements. Gradually, they even began pushing forward.
The front line was responsible for delivering a finishing shot to each downed Kabane, blasting their heads apart, while those behind provided covering fire.
Truth be told, this batch of Army soldiers personally trained by Bullet had begun to exude an elite aura—though their numbers were pitifully small, totaling no more than five thousand.
This time, Crocodile had brought only a thousand of these five thousand.
As for the majority of the Army left behind in their homeland, they remained largely unchanged. In terms of combat composure alone, they couldn't even compare to the Hunter Group soldiers who engaged the Kabane in close-quarters battles year-round.