The next day, all but Qin Mo, clad in their elite power armor, gathered and ventured deep into enemy territory. It was rare for all five of them to be mobilized at once.
"What are the legion commander's orders?" Grote asked, walking beside Grey and eyeing the strange flamethrower-like device in his hand.
Only Grey was equipped with the new weapon, and Qin Mo had entrusted him with the mission to relay the orders to the others.
"The command is simple," Grey replied, raising the device. "It's a flamethrower-like weapon, but it sprays liquid instead. Our task is to locate the rebels and spray it on them."
The others exchanged confused glances, unsure of what this meant.
"So, it's just a test for the new weapon, right?" Anreda asked.
"Yes and no," Grey shook his head. "This is the final version. We're not testing it; we're using it. Of course, we'll also observe its effectiveness."
The response only deepened their confusion. After some thought, Anreda posed the key question, "This weapon is meant for the rebels, but why would we spray it on individual soldiers? It might kill a few, but it doesn't seem like it would be very effective."
Grey wanted to explain further, but his words failed him, so he remained silent. Although Qin Mo had said they could spray it on any rebel, Grey still thought it best to find high-ranking targets.
That was why he led the team deep into the heart of enemy territory.
After advancing for about twelve kilometers, Grey stopped in front of a building, signaling the others to halt and prepare for combat. Bio-scanners showed a large number of rebels inside, huddled together, though it was unclear what they were doing.
"Seal every window, every door," Grey ordered as he approached the structure, armed with the insecticide.
Grote stood guard at the entrance with his gravity hammer, while the others positioned themselves by the windows. Inside, the rebels, engrossed in prayer, were unaware they had been surrounded. They knelt in devout reverence before a statue of a handsome man with four arms.
"Perfect opportunity," Grey muttered as he nudged Anreda aside and set up his weapon by the window. It resembled a cross between a flamethrower and a sniper rifle, sleek and formidable.
Before pulling the trigger, Grey couldn't help but imagine the weapon's devastating power. Would it unleash a torrent of energy that instantly corroded the rebels into nothing but blue residue?
"Hurry up and fire!" Grote urged impatiently.
Grey squeezed the trigger.
A stream of blue liquid arced through the air, landing squarely on the back of a rebel soldier. The soldier scratched at the spot and turned to look out the window, locking eyes with Grey.
Panicking, Grey quickly unleashed the rest of the insecticide, then fled, dragging a battle-ready Grote with him.
"Why don't we just kill them all?" Grote complained.
"Because we need time for the insecticide to take effect," Grey replied.
The rebels, upon spotting the heavily-armored figures, abandoned their prayers and charged after them. Grey led them on a wild chase, observing their condition as they ran.
Suddenly, something happened. Some rebels' legs began to swell, others' chests, and still others' heads. Then, as if they had been inflated, they burst like balloons, dissolving into blue liquid.
"Emperor above..." someone whispered.
"The insecticide works better than expected," another remarked.
"If we could mass-produce this and use it as a flamethrower, clearing out buildings would be much more efficient."
Grey remained silent while the others discussed the weapon's efficacy. He knew he had only hit a small number of rebels directly, yet even those untouched by the insecticide were dying.
"Listen up," Grey said quietly. "This weapon is far stronger than we thought. This will be the first and last time we use it."
"Hmm, because the rebels we're facing will be wiped out after this, right?" Grote joked.
Without elaborating, Grey turned and led the team away.
On the transport back, no one mentioned Grey's ominous remark, each assuming the weapon would soon see widespread use. That is, until the transport flew over a battlefield.
Grote saw it clearly: a rebel soldier exploded into blue liquid on the battlefield below. At first, he thought it was a hallucination, but then came a second, a third...
"Is someone else using the insecticide?" Grote asked.
"No," Grey replied. "We were using the prototype."
Grote fell silent, lost in thought.
Two days passed in a blur.
Qin Mo sat in the underground fortress, reviewing reports from the frontlines. Every unit claimed to have witnessed rebels dissolving into liquid mid-combat. In newly secured areas, they found remnants of dissolved rebels in defiled churches and buildings.
All of it confirmed the insecticide's remarkable efficacy. There was no need for further refinement; it was only a matter of time before the rebels were entirely eradicated.
During the wait, Qin Mo turned his attention to anti-psychic technology. His test subject was, naturally, Vanessa, the psychic.
"What's the principle behind this insecticide? How does it spread so quickly? Don't the rebels isolate the infected?" Vanessa, bound to an operating table, asked incessantly.
Qin Mo, already repelled by psychics, was even more irritated by this talkative one. Sensing his rising frustration, Vanessa fell silent, faintly hearing a voice urging her to comply and submit.
Qin Mo performed a bioscan on her and studied the data carefully.
"How can you be a genius in both biology and engineering, yet completely clueless about psionics?" Vanessa asked.
"Shut up, psychic," Qin Mo muttered as he continued his analysis, though he had to admit she had a point. He was utterly inept when it came to psionics.
He knew his ability to develop power armor and other technologies wasn't innate, like an Ork's genetic knowledge, but rather a result of his methodical learning and study. It was as if he had been guiding himself to enlightenment.
Yet, when it came to understanding psionics, it felt like wading through a swamp.
"Let me teach you," Vanessa offered.
"Forget it," Qin Mo dismissed her, thinking she was talking nonsense.