Chapter 457 - 295: A Food Documentary Forced Off-Topic, Part 2

Chapter 457: Chapter 295: A Food Documentary Forced Off-Topic, Part 2

"Eat your food!"

The Corps Leader slapped the Warrior on the back.

Although the two of them never stopped making sarcastic digs at their leader, they deeply respected him and thought this might actually be a good idea.

So, the small team immediately decided to go to Augustine City.

One of the advantages of being an Adventurer was being incredibly bold and extremely quick to act.

Once they had their objective, they set off at once. After a few short-range teleports, they arrived at the border of Villain. They purchased some supplies like food and clothing before entering the Augustine City State from Villain to find one of the designated safe zones.

Although Adventurers live on the edge, they rarely take part in actual wars.

There is a vast difference between small-scale conflicts and large-scale warfare.

From the border of Villain, they traveled deep into the city-state, barely seeing a single intact building along the way.

As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but ruins and wreckage.

The air was thick with the stench of death—the smell of decaying human bodies.

It was so potent it inspired a primal fear.

A danger signal for the death of one’s own kind, written into the human genome.

They had no guide and could only rely on a map to find the designated safe zone themselves.

After trekking for nearly half a day, the filming crew finally reached their destination.

Only after repeatedly confirming that this was the location marked on the map could the Corps Leader bring himself to believe that this chaotic place, enclosed by barbed wire, was the so-called safe zone.

The place was crammed with people. A shabby tent was considered a luxury residence; most just lay directly on the ground. It was hard to find anyone who wasn’t injured.

Their eyes were numb. It was hard to say if it was despair; it was more like nothing mattered anymore.

The newly arrived Adventurer Corps looked at each other in dismay. The Corps Leader couldn’t tell who was in charge, or even who to hand over their supplies to.

But the Half-Elf’s keen eyes came in handy. He soon noticed people wearing special armbands decorated with two clasped hands.

They had done their homework before coming and knew this was the symbol of an aid organization.

This organization only provided supplies and medical care, with no combat personnel, which was why Villain had permitted them to enter.

The Corps Leader and his two companions had been subjected to the same process. Before entering, they were searched to confirm they carried no weapons and were required to explain the planned content of their filming.

They were only allowed through after stating they were filming a food-related video. However, all their footage would be inspected upon their departure to ensure it was consistent with their stated plan.

"Hello!" The Half-Elf hurried over to a volunteer.

The volunteer looked up, sized up their attire—clearly not local refugees—and said wearily, "New arrivals? Doctor or cook? We’re short on everything right now."

"Uh, no, we’re here to..."

The Half-Elf hesitated. ’If I say we’re here to film a video, are we going to get beaten up?’

"We’re here to film a video," the Corps Leader said directly. "A video about the current situation in the safe zone, focusing mainly on the food."

Contrary to what the Half-Elf expected, the volunteer didn’t look angry at all.

"Oh, great. You’re welcome to film. It’d be good if you can get the real picture out there. As for the main food source here, it’s being distributed over there." The volunteer pointed into the distance.

"Thank you."

The group went to the place the volunteer had indicated and could smell a sour, rancid odor from a distance.

It was hard to tell if the smell came from the food or if the entire area reeked.

Only when they got a clear look at what the people were eating did they confirm the smell was indeed coming from the food.

The Corps Leader wasn’t sure if this stuff even counted as food.

People were lining up to receive a staple food that looked worse than the cheapest black bread on the market.

He suspected the main ingredient in that bread wasn’t even flour.

As for a side dish—you can’t survive on starch alone, so they had to have something with it.

Each person held a bowl, into which a scoop of "side dish" was ladled.

This so-called "side dish" came from a large barrel.

It was a slop bucket.

The Corps Leader was absolutely certain. Having reviewed so many restaurants, he knew exactly what a slop bucket looked like.

A volunteer scooped out the solid matter from inside, rinsed it with water, dried it, and sprinkled it with a bit of salt. It had a lingering, sour smell of rot, and was accompanied by ever-present flies.

’It probably won’t kill them.’

That’s all the Corps Leader could tell himself.

’It probably won’t kill them...’

For some time after the start of the industrial revolution, famine had become a thing of the past for the common people.

Even the most Ordinary person had gone from just having enough to eat to pursuing better quality food.

Cities faced problems of distribution, not shortages of supplies.

But what the people here were eating made the Corps Leader’s stomach churn.

According to their filming plan, he was supposed to try the food in the safe zone, but now he couldn’t even muster the courage to take a single bite.

He looked back at his two companions; the expressions on their faces weren’t much better.

But there were so many children here in rags, fighting over the food made from slop like stray dogs rummaging through a trash heap in winter.

"You can film, but please don’t film the logo on the barrel," the volunteer reminded them.

"Why not?"

"Many of these donations are from restaurants within Villain. It would be bad for them if their logos were exposed," the volunteer explained.

Slop was already a rare donation.

It wasn’t that no one was donating better supplies, but the quantities were small and rather difficult to transport in.

The supplies the filming crew had brought were also screened and limited by the authorities in Villain.

The Corps Leader scratched his head and looked at his companions, his eyes seeming to ask what they should film.

’If we film the reality of this situation, it will never pass Villain’s inspection.’

"Let’s just cook the supplies we brought and hand them out," the cameraman suggested. "I remember you being a pretty good cook back in our wilderness days, Chief."

"That’s all we can do."

Fortunately, there was no shortage of cooking utensils.

The Corps Leader set up a pot on the spot and started cooking. A fragrant aroma, a rare scent in the dilapidated safe zone, began to spread.

Every refugee who smelled it surged toward them. A spark of life returned to their numb eyes as they descended into a frenzy, like sharks smelling blood in the water.

"Don’t push! Get in line! It’s not ready yet!"

The Corps Leader hadn’t expected the scene to dissolve into chaos. Someone even plunged their hand directly into the boiling pot.

"Barton!" the Corps Leader shouted the cameraman’s name.

Years of working together had forged a remarkable understanding between them.

Barton, the former Warrior, grabbed the pot lid and, using it as a Shield, executed a pushing Combat Technique to shove the frenzied crowd back.

Although he didn’t use much force, the people were so weak from long-term malnutrition that a large number of them were knocked over, unable to get back up for a while.

"Form a line! Children first!" the Corps Leader commanded.

The crowd finally regained a bit of sanity.

The Corps Leader cooked, the Half-Elf distributed the food, and Barton set up the camera. There was no time to frame a shot; he just held up the pot lid to maintain order.

"Here, take it. Don’t rush, it’s hot."

The Half-Elf handed a portion of the cooked food to a small child in front of him.

"Thank you. Can I get a portion for my mom, too? Her leg is broken, so she can’t come."

"Of course." The Half-Elf didn’t care if the child was lying. He turned to get another portion and was just about to hand it over.

Suddenly, a red beam of light shot toward them.

Time seemed to slow down in that instant.

The Half-Elf watched, wide-eyed, as the beam pierced body after body, heading straight for the child in front of him.

He tried to push the child away, but his hand was slower than the beam of light.

The crimson light made contact with skin, instantly carbonizing it. Like a wooden stick punching through water-soaked paper, the child’s head was effortlessly pierced.

There wasn’t even any blood.

Only the smell of something burning.

"Scorching Beam! Attack!" the Half-Elf yelled, recognizing the Magic.

Professional habit helped the team snap into a combat stance instantly, but the civilians lacked such training.

The three of them immediately formed a defensive formation.

Meanwhile, the civilians in the safe zone were cut down like wheat during an autumn harvest.

"Three o’clock!"

The Half-Elf called out the enemy’s position: a tall, mobile Mechanical Armor.

He grabbed a handful of sulfur and began chanting a Spell, preparing to cast a 5th Ring Flame Strike Technique.

But the Corps Leader grabbed him.

"Go!" the Corps Leader yelled. "Go! Get this footage out!"

"But—!"

"We can’t win!"

There wasn’t just one Mechanical Armor sent to "clean up" the safe zone.

...

The new model of Mechanical Armor was highly efficient. In less than an hour, the safe zone was thoroughly "safe." Not a living thing could be seen, only smoke drifting from the scorched remains.

As a former elite team, the filming crew managed to escape. They stared at the horrific scene from a distance, silent.

Finally, the Corps Leader spoke. "Let’s go."

"Go where?"

"Into the warzone. We’ll cross the combat zone and get out through the city-state’s border that isn’t blockaded by Villain. We have to get what we filmed out of here."

"Cross the combat zone?" Barton asked. He was holding a Magic Crystal Stone in his hand. The camera was destroyed, but he had managed to remove the Magic Crystal Stone before it was ruined.

"Cross the combat zone," the Corps Leader replied affirmatively.

"It’s dangerous."

"So?"

Hearing this, Barton just smiled. "Alright, let’s go. You lead the way, Chief..."