In progress

The waves on the sea surged, relentless and vast, mirroring the turbulent emotions simmering beneath the surface of the distant, dim sky. A storm felt imminent, hanging heavy in the humid air. At the edge of the island, a fishing boat, modest but seaworthy, swayed precariously with the restless ocean. Within the dense, emerald forest along the island's coastline, fifty hardened gunmen had fanned out, spreading like a silent, deadly virus, running in groups of three in all directions.

"Whoosh!"

A soft, almost imperceptible whisper of an arrow cutting through the humid air. Two of Mr. Fussar's sun-baked subordinates, grotesquely engaged in the act of hanging the mutilated bodies of rebel slaves from gnarled trees, suddenly stiffened. Each was pierced through the chest by an arrow, sunk deep.

"Ugh…ugh…" The two men crumpled instantly, collapsing to the ground with wet, gurgling sounds. Blood, thick and dark, already overflowed from their mouths and noses as they thrashed faintly on the jungle floor before falling completely, terrifyingly silent.

"Shit! These damn people are still using slavery here? John, can you go take a look at the person they just dragged over?" Mac, his face a mask of profound shock, emerged from the nearby bushes with John at his heels, gazing at the gruesome tableau of bodies swinging gently in the breeze.

"Sure, I feel like we're more civilized compared to them," John muttered, a grimace on his face. He nodded, walking over to the two Spanish soldiers' bodies, and with a grunt, pulled up the half-naked, tortured body of the enslaved man that lay between them. "Oh, Mac," he said, scrutinizing the corpse, "this should be a black person, looks like he was tortured la." He held the body aloft for a moment, then, with a sigh, gently lowered it back down.

"Damn it, this place is simply hell!" John declared, looking up at the trees, now adorned with their grim harvest of swinging bodies. The gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, swaying the corpses and carrying a strong, cloying stench of putrefaction through the humid air.

"Alright, let's get to work then," Mac said, his voice hard, snapping himself out of his revulsion. "Completely clear out the outer areas of Guarma! Especially those damn gun emplacements; we need to capture all of them, so Dutch doesn't get shelled when he makes his grand entrance!" Mac nodded, then gave a sharp wave of his right hand. The fifty-man force, their faces grim, who had been waiting in the dense foliage, instantly dissolved, moving swiftly and silently through the thick jungle.

The area controlled by Mr. Fussar wasn't limited to the meager outpost shown on the outer map of Guarma; in truth, the entire island of Guarma bowed to his iron will. Otherwise, how could he possibly be deemed a "governor"? The combat zone depicted in the game was merely a flimsy defensive point, a trap set by Mr. Fussar to intercept escaping slaves and any audacious pirates foolish enough to venture near his shores. Mac and his team's mission was simple, brutal: to clear out these coastal defensive points that threatened their ships. As for the more deeply entrenched troops, their fate would await the inevitable arrival of the main force, when they would be completely, mercilessly wiped out.

With Mac's decisive wave, the fifty men splintered into a dozen smaller, highly efficient teams, silently advancing through the unforgiving, dense forest.

"Thud!"

"Whoosh!"

Accompanied by faint, barely perceptible sounds – an arrow piercing flesh, a blade expertly slitting a throat – the hidden sentries, strategically placed in the dense forests of Guarma to prevent slave escapes, were silently, efficiently eliminated by each team.

Watching the shadowy figures of gunmen occasionally flashing through the surrounding dense forest, seeing those familiar, handsome, utterly lethal uniforms, Mac and John completely abandoned any notion of dirtying their own hands. They simply stood in place, exchanging exclamations of astonished awe.

"Damn it, is this the power of authority, John? My goodness, we don't even need to kill people ourselves now!" Mac muttered, a hint of genuine bewilderment in his voice. He felt a profound, almost unsettling unaccustomedness. Before, their lives were a desperate, knife-edge existence, a constant struggle. But now, when they embarked on missions, they simply issued orders; they didn't even have to move a muscle. A whole group of eager, disciplined men rushed forward, fighting over the chance to get things done. This made him sigh with a profound, newfound appreciation: power was, indeed, a magnificent thing.

"Wow, alright, I don't know what to say, but I do want to say… Dutch. Dutch… he has led us down a completely different path!" John's hoarse voice was filled with astonishment, a raw wonder at their transformation. Even though he had already handled several significant matters with the main force, witnessing such a scene still left him breathless, unable to fully adapt. Damn it, he thought, when in the first half of their lives did the gang ever experience such a thing?! They used to always rob the gentlemen, preying on the powerful. And now, it was their turn to be the gentlemen, the undisputed power, which made them feel profoundly out of place, unaccustomed to such privilege.

Watching the increasingly rapid advance of the silent, deadly teams, Mac shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Alright, John, once we've completely flattened this place, thoroughly cleansed it, I think you can take Charles and Flying Eagle back to notify Dutch that he can bring the main force over."

"Sure!" John nodded, just about to turn his head to look at the distant, disappearing team, when Mac suddenly chuckled beside him, a mischievous glint in his eye. He leaned in conspiratorially.

"Oh, Marston," he drawled, his voice laced with mock concern, "it's all water around here. I guess you must be very scared, right?"

"SHIT! Callan!" John roared, his face flushing crimson, instantly forgetting the seriousness of their mission.

The team in the dense forest advanced rapidly; these first-class gunmen, honed by sharpshooting training, were incredibly strong, a lethal force of coordinated precision. Their mutual cooperation was seamless, meaning that even if one of them made a mistake, the others could instantly compensate, covering their comrade. Additionally, their sheer numbers — fifty well-trained men — allowed their assassinations to be carried out simultaneously. Even if there were several interconnected outposts nearby, they could eliminate every single person inside at the exact same moment.

A faint, metallic smell of blood permeated the humid forest, sending a chill through the hidden rebels, deep in the woods, who had discovered the Van der Linde Gang's movements. They felt an increasing, profound terror. The large number of the Van der Linde Gang certainly caught their attention, but the powerful strength and well-trained combat methods of these gunmen left them paralyzed, daring not to approach. They only dared to observe their terrifying, efficient actions from a safe distance with binoculars. However, as the saying went, the enemy of my enemy was my friend. These gunmen, for now, posed no threat to them, but were brutally slaughtering the Spanish, which made the rebels only want to hide, ultimately waiting to see the purpose of these sudden, devastating arrivals. However, these new arrivals seemed far, far better than those Spanish overlords. After clearing out the Spanish, though they did not directly liberate the slaves who were tied up and imprisoned inside, they also took no hostile action, merely warning them not to cause a disturbance. This, ironically, led the rebel leader to follow cautiously behind the Van der Linde Gang, constantly rescuing the slaves who had been overlooked by the Van der Linde forces.

Fifty people carrying out assassinations simultaneously; this level of assassination progress was far beyond anything the Van der Linde Gang in the game could ever compare to. The strongholds they had needed to defend, back and forth, in the game were now almost entirely wiped out by these ruthless gunmen, with no pause, under the synchronized assassination of these fifty individuals. Mac and John, watching from behind, secretly clicked their tongues in awe. Good heavens, they thought, if these fifty gunmen were unleashed upon Saint Denis, those damned Saint Denis dignitaries would all be dead within a single night!

Time passed quietly, marked only by the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of jungle birds. In just one afternoon, all the strongholds around Guarma had been completely cleared. The outposts, once bristling with cannons, were now thoroughly cleansed, their formidable artillery captured intact. Each sentry point was now strictly guarded by the silent, efficient gunmen of the Van der Linde Gang. Mac, John, Charles, and Flying Eagle, the four primary commanders, had gathered outside the humble wooden hut where the captain of the enslaved was imprisoned in the game.

"Alright, John, Charles, Flying Eagle, you three can leave by boat now," Mac said, standing in front of the wooden hut, addressing John and the other two. "Go back and tell Dutch that we have completely controlled this place, and he can bring the main force over! I will wait for you here with the men, and of course, clean up this damned place as well. These damned Spanish have made this place reek; they're truly despicable!"

"Well, Mac," John nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes as he looked at the surrounding sugarcane fields, "this place is really nice. It's hard to imagine what it would be like for us to produce weapons here!"

"Oh, the Guarma arms plan that Dutch has been mentioning since the snowy mountains is finally about to begin!" John exclaimed, a rush of pure excitement flooding him. The Guarma arms plan! This audacious, ambitious plan had permeated everything the Van der Linde Gang had done over the past few months. All their cunning actions, every calculated risk, every act of violence, had been meticulously paving the way for entering Guarma. And now, at long last, it had finally come to fruition!