Apocalypse Gachapon Chapter 1947: 19 against 11

The thirty warriors from the Bronze Camp in this fight understood they absolutely couldn't afford defeat.

This battle's result wasn't merely about their own fates anymore; it also tied directly to the reputation of these mid-tier officers. It was clear that a loss would mean these Thousand-Person Commanders would extract their humiliated pride from them harshly.

"Can I head back for my gear?" one Bronze Camp fighter abruptly called out.

Having shown up earlier for a quiet demonstration, most hadn't carried their formal battle equipment. With only everyday items on them, the plea made sense.

Though the ask felt a bit shameful, the Thousand-Person Commanders swallowed their irritation, figuring victory outweighed embarrassment, so they turned their gazes toward Ye Zhongming.

Ye Zhongming gave a nod, signaling permission to proceed as desired, and then signaled to the Assault Camp's troops as well.

Few gave it much thought, assuming he was cautioning the Assault Camp fighters to stay alert.

Minutes later, the Bronze Camp combatants returned, and the clash kicked off for real.

The spot remained unchanged from before. Following a flash of light, the Death Corner layout materialized. Since this setup consisted purely of towering barriers, side viewing proved impossible. Thus, the terrain creator beamed a holographic display onto a close-by massive monitor.

Troops from each faction slipped in via facing gateways and readied themselves. As the huge timer overhead hit zero, both groups surged into the fray simultaneously.

Right away, observers spotted the clear strategies diverging between the teams.

The Bronze Camp fighters splintered almost instantly into multiple directions, assigning folks to every route.

After all, every corridor was extremely tight; a single defender could block it fully, and extras would serve no purpose.

This setup boiled down to a pure measure of raw power in the end.

In contrast to the Bronze Camp, the Assault Camp's strategy baffled onlookers.

They picked just three routes, stationing ten individuals per path.

Within such confined tunnels, the broadest fit merely two abreast, and that squeezed their movements badly. Packing ten into one was sheer inefficiency.

Yet, thanks to their prior triumph, no one voiced the skepticism aloud.

The layout wasn't vast, so the sides rapidly met in the core zone. Tension mounted among the watchers as hand-to-hand fighting loomed.

Shi Yong guided his squad swiftly along the corridors. Lacking a set foe, they didn't mind who crossed their path.

Before long, rounding a junction, they spotted a Bronze Camp warrior ahead. The foe likewise detected the Assault Camp group and, with a fierce yell, barreled toward them.

Shi Yong's crew held their pace steady. At a safe gap from this lone figure, Shi Yong in the lead pressed on, while his follower abruptly dropped low. The third jumped lightly onto that back, borrowing the push to vault past Shi Yong's head and strike at the enemy.

But that wasn't everything. As Shi Yong and this leaper, front and rear, locked onto the target, the rest of the team spun about and dashed back along their entry route.

What sort of maneuver was this?

The audience viewed this technique as hardly fresh; it had appeared prior. Their confusion lay elsewhere: sure, two-on-one offered an edge, but it left half the force exposed behind.

Regardless of the maze's twists, all trails linked up eventually. With clashes sure to cluster in the heart, sounds of battle would draw arrivals swiftly. In that brief window, even if the Assault Camp seized a temporary manpower edge, their personal prowess lagged behind the foes', rendering fast kills tough.

Should the other side's stragglers show up, wouldn't it devolve back to a raw power showdown?

Yet shortly, the outsiders detected an odd twist.

Each of the Assault Camp's three units bumped into rivals. The leftover eight in every unit retreated, but rather than hunt anew, they halted at the split guiding to this route.

Quickly, close-by Bronze Camp reinforcements arrived, only to get stalled by the blockers. These eight-strong groups repeated the pattern, detaching two to handle the arrivals while the other six held the remaining crossings.

By now, it dawned on all that the three Assault Camp squads had picked their ways with intent. Routes lay near one another, picked as neighbors, and once fighting ignited, most branches funneling here fell under Assault Camp sway.

Even should bunches of Bronze Camp fighters converge, they'd get split and encircled, locked in outnumbered scraps ongoing.

The Bronze Camp's initial spread proved too wide, while the Assault Camp claimed the middle lines. They traded layout for precious time buffers.

The Assault Camp troops' solo might fell short, but two-on-one assaults, always pinching from both ends, yielded swift gains.

It started as thirty against thirty, but swiftly turned to thirty against twenty-nine, thirty against twenty-eight, twenty-nine against twenty-seven...

As the shifting tallies flashed, the Bronze Camp onlookers wore grim faces. How had they overlooked so basic a ploy? Overreliance on their edge had bitten them. Helpless, they witnessed the rivals chip away at their ranks steadily.

Via the glowing display, the surviving Bronze Camp folks hurried forth, but the Assault Camp shifted too. Their collective aim veered toward one wing, hammering that front while widening the gap to those approaching from the opposite flank.

To further stall aids, the Assault Camp dispatched small detachments to seal vital nexus points—spots where paths merged—like sacrificial pawns, crafting chances for the core to maintain outnumbered brawls.

White Robe and Cheng Liujin eyed the unfolding drama, shock gleaming in their stares, more stunned than by the troops' sudden Micro-level mastery.

"How did they pull off such flawless order obedience in mere days? Their movements sync so seamlessly?"

Both served as Order Leaders, tasked with drilling their underlings, so they grasped the feat's rarity. The Star-Eye Clan excelled in stealth kills and ambushes, not this disciplined, streamlined head-on warfare.

"This fellow truly possesses talent," White Robe whispered, glued to the feed.

As the Assault Camp pushed to the Death Corner's brink, the foes on that edge lay vanquished. The score now stood at nineteen to eleven, favoring the Assault Camp.

The Thousand-Person Leaders' countenances, though sour, eased a touch.

Number-wise, disadvantage lingered, but they deemed the verdict all but sealed. Still, that assurance blended relief with residual dread.

Earlier, the gap had yawned wider than eight—reaching twelve. Key Bronze Camp standouts turned the tide: some endured till backup hit, others notched rapid triumphs, halting further slides.

Now, though shrunken, the holdouts shone as top picks. The nineteen adversaries bore wounds aplenty. Best for the Bronze Camp, the Assault Camp's spot featured just three outlets, every one now sealed.