I searched and fought in America.

(I have revised everything from the end of Chapter 46 to this Chapter 50; you can take a look.)

The Viper Squad was very efficient; in just ten seconds, two demolition experts had already attached the directional explosives.

"boom!"

With a muffled bang, a hole was blasted open in the wall, just big enough for one person to crawl through, behind which was a spacious main passage.

Captain Viper was the first to enter, followed by the rest of the team members who followed with practiced ease. Just as the last member was about to leave, he glanced back, a smirk playing on his lips, and picked up his assault rifle, firing a burst of bullets at the area in the center of the hall where the survivors were most concentrated.

"Da da da da!"

Several more screams rang out, and the remaining survivors fell like wheat being harvested. The old intellectual, who had been kicked to the ground earlier and was wearing tattered glasses, had two bursts of blood erupt from his chest.

He didn't even have time to scream before he died in a pool of blood. In the face of bullets, his former dignity and knowledge became the cheapest waste.

The gunfire finally stopped as the Viper Squad withdrew.

The ghoul priest also noticed the fleeing armed squad. His smile finally faded, and he clicked his tongue regretfully, letting out a sigh.

"Alas, what a pity, I couldn't witness these elites being roasted alive... But what does it matter if we live for one more minute? Kchina's divine power will eventually envelop everyone."

He stood up, straightened his human skin robe, walked to the megaphone, and opened his arms to the believers below:

"Children, the real feast is about to begin! Retreat! Let these useless sacrifices wail in the holy wrath!"

Upon hearing the priest's instructions, the cultists in the underground hall let out excited cries and began to retreat methodically towards the hidden doors in various locations.

Even on their way out, these madmen, who had completely lost their humanity, did not forget to have one last "entertainment."

A cult member suddenly reached out and grabbed a girl by the hair as she tried to hide. He roughly pulled her in front of him and, amidst her desperate cries, slit her throat with a machete.

He watched the blood gush out like a fountain, and was overjoyed. Then he burst into wild laughter and plunged into the hidden door.

Beside a load-bearing pillar on the other side, an old man was tied to a pillar. A cultist poured a whole bucket of gasoline on the old man, then leisurely lit a match and flicked it at him.

With a deafening roar, a pillar of fire shot into the sky, and the old man's agonizing screams echoed throughout the empty underground hall.

Before leaving, the priest took a deep breath of the air filled with the smell of burnt flesh and blood, revealing an expression of extreme enjoyment.

He glanced at the detonator in his hand, which was about to reach zero, and gently flicked the knob on the side.

"drop--"

The numbers on the detonator screen flickered and then jumped back to [01:00].

He extended the countdown.

Not out of mercy, but because he wanted these people to struggle a little longer in the flames and the wait for death, the priest's figure disappeared into the depths of the hidden door on the high platform.

Immediately afterwards, explosions of varying sizes were heard from all directions. All the hidden doors were destroyed, including the relatively secluded small pipe from which Rosen and his group had come.

The gunfire ceased, the cultists withdrew, and an eerie silence descended upon the vast underground space.

All that remained were the crackling sounds of flames burning the corpses and the groans of the dying.

More than twenty corpses lay on the floor of the hall, their blood pooling into streams that slowly flowed into the sewage system below.

Only a dozen or so survivors remained, huddled in dark corners like frightened birds, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.

The young mother remained kneeling in place, seemingly unmoved by the hail of bullets and the massacre. She simply held the child tightly in her arms, but the child's faint cries were now almost inaudible.

Rosen holstered his gun, strode over, and knelt down on one knee in front of her.

The mother slowly raised her head, her face filled with sorrow. She looked at Rosen before her, her lips moving with difficulty, but only a hoarse whisper escaped her lips: "Please...please..."

Without hesitation, Rosen grabbed the child's arm.

The situation was extremely bad. The cultist's knife had severed the child's vena cava and even the peripheral arteries, causing severe blood loss and deep shock.

The little face was ashen; if the bleeding wasn't stopped immediately, the child wouldn't survive more than three minutes.

With a thought, Rosen retrieved a roll of bandage from his system inventory and deftly wrapped it around the child's wound.

A miracle happened.

The blood that had been gushing from the wound congealed at a visible speed. Although it couldn't completely heal the wound, it could at least keep the child alive for an hour.

The mother stared in disbelief at the healed wound, her lips trembling, "You...you are a messenger of God...?"

Without saying a word, Rosen gently placed the bandaged child back into the mother's arms.

After doing all this, Rosen stood up, ready to call Caesar and the others who were not far away to leave immediately.

Rosen glanced at the system's countdown display: [00:45].

This time it shouldn't change. I don't know why the priest kept extending the time before, but this time it shouldn't change.

Although time was of the essence, if they only used the hole created by the viper, it would be enough for them to evacuate from the epicenter of the explosion.

However, he had only taken half a step when he felt his trouser leg being pulled by a very light force.

He lowered his head.

It was that mother.

She knelt on the ground, holding the child in one arm and gripping Rosen's trouser leg with the other. She didn't speak, and didn't even dare to look Rosen in the eye. She just slowly swept her pleading gaze across the surrounding ruins.

Rosen followed her gaze.

He saw a surviving girl in the corner, her arms slashed and bloodied by the cultist's knife, her body curled up like a broken rag doll, her eyes staring blankly at the blood on the ground.

He saw an old man with a broken leg, his kneecap shattered by a stray bullet. He sat helplessly against the wall, not calling for help, but calmly and numbly waiting for the explosion to engulf him.

He saw a teenager who was clutching the unrecognizable corpse of a boy in his arms; it was his younger brother.

The boy didn't make a sound, but just opened his mouth wide and silently shed tears.

There were four other children, the youngest of whom looked like he had just learned to walk, and the oldest was no more than ten years old. They huddled together tightly, like a nest of fledglings ravaged by a rainstorm, shivering.

---

Someone just asked me, "Has your book been abandoned yet?"

I sneered, opened the backend, and said, "Look, I still have monthly tickets!" To preserve my last shred of dignity, I beg you all to lend me a ticket to slap him in the face.