Chapter 70:

The Man on the Battlefield

Resident Evil: The Mad Dog of Edonia

New chapter is live.

Settle in, take your time, and let's see what waits in the dark 🖤

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On a windless night, pale moonlight covered the broken earth and lit the ruins left behind by war.

A group of local fighters carrying AK-47s gathered around a fire. They wore small red caps and ragged military-green clothing, laughing and shouting at one another. There were many more like them throughout the ruined town. Some patrolled in groups of two or three. Others sat on the ground, speaking in a language outsiders could not understand.

As several of them talked by the fire, one man suddenly began convulsing violently. He fell to the ground like someone suffering a seizure.

The men around him did not panic. Instead, they broke into grotesque laughter.

In the next instant, the convulsing man's neck tore open. Blood sprayed everywhere. A mass of flesh swelled rapidly from the rupture like a sponge taking in water. Tiny tendrils and spiderlike limbs pierced through the irregular lump of meat and waved wildly in the air, as if the thing were trying to drag itself free from the man's body.

The man rose slowly like a walking corpse, dropping the gun in his hands. His neck was nearly split apart, blood pouring down it, while the thrashing foreign mass grew out of the wound.

The sight was strange beyond words.

The men nearby seemed used to it. One laughed, raised his gun, and aimed at the thing growing from his companion's neck. Gunfire erupted. After an entire magazine had been emptied, the torn-necked man finally collapsed. The meatball protruding from the wound sprayed yellow and red fluid, then deflated quickly like a punctured water balloon.

The remaining men burst into laughter as if what had just happened was entertaining.

The shooter said something in that same unfamiliar language. The others immediately brought over a bucket of gasoline and poured it over the corpse.

A moment later, flames roared up.

The men gathered around the fire made from their companion's body and continued talking and laughing. The atmosphere somehow became even more cheerful.

On a distant watchtower, a tall white man lowered his binoculars, his expression grave.

His blond hair was parted neatly. He wore a thin fitted shirt on top, jeans below, and sneakers on his feet. A bloodstained AK-47 hung across his back. He took a phone from his pocket and made contact. Before long, the screen showed the face of a woman wearing glasses.

"Oh, Leon. Thank God. You've been out of contact for more than twelve hours," the woman on the screen said, looking visibly relieved.

"Relax, Hunnigan. Just got delayed by a few minor things. The locals were a little too enthusiastic toward outsiders and warmly invited me without my consent. I didn't enjoy the hospitality, so I slipped away before the banquet started."

"That is quite the diplomatic wording." Hunnigan smiled faintly. "What is the situation on your end?"

"Bad. I've confirmed B.O.W.s are appearing on the battlefield. They resemble the Las Plagas parasites that appeared in Spain. I can say with certainty that forces on both sides have been infected. They execute members who begin to burst and burn the bodies afterward."

"All right, Leon. Next, you need to obtain solid evidence that B.O.W.s are being used in the war. With that, outside organizations will have a valid reason to intervene in the civil conflict. Once you finish, take our local informant and move around through Somalia. We'll extract you from there."

"There is no informant."

"What?"

Hunnigan did not immediately understand.

"There is no informant," Leon repeated. Seeing her stunned expression, he explained, "Our contact was captured by the anti-government forces during a clash with government troops. They roasted him alive."

"Oh God." Hunnigan pressed a hand to her forehead.

"The scene was basically Black Hawk Down with bioweapons. Honestly, I've had enough of this place. I haven't eaten a single bite today, and I'm starving."

"All right, Leon." Hunnigan sounded helpless. "Then you only need to secure the relevant evidence and, if possible, investigate who provided them with the B.O.W.s. After that, you can withdraw through Somalia. I still need to file a report about the loss of our informant."

"Talk to you later, Hunnigan."

Leon ended the communication, raised his head, and looked down at the ruined town with a serious expression.

This was Malvia, a small and deeply unstable country in southern Africa. The conflict between government forces and anti-government forces had been intensifying for some time.

Normally, a poor and remote country like this could tear itself apart and the outside world would barely care. Yet one month ago, intelligence agencies received reports that monsters had appeared on Malvia's battlefield.

Leon S. Kennedy, survivor of the Raccoon City incident and a U.S. government special agent, had arrived here roughly four days earlier. He had received an especially warm welcome from the local anti-government forces. His contact had been roasted in public, and Leon himself had been forcibly kept in a military camp until government forces attacked the town. In the chaos, he slipped away and recovered his communicator.

Unfortunately, he had lost another jacket.

That was not worth mourning too much. His salary was genuinely high.

Leon was considering his next move when he suddenly saw a figure flash through the ruins not far below the tower.

He quickly raised the binoculars.

In the distant ruins, a woman in her early twenties was hiding. Her skin was a deep tan, her black hair tied into a single ponytail. She wore a black athletic tank top, olive-green pants, and high boots. A tattoo Leon could not identify marked one shoulder. At the moment, she held an AK-47 and watched the other side of the ruins with caution.

'Who was she?'

"Please enjoy your tea, sir."

Rita's voice reached Adrian's ear.

The perfect maid, dressed in a black lace rose-patterned backless maid uniform, gracefully removed two bone-china cups of black tea from the tray, placed them gently on the table, then stepped back with a smile.

Adrian lifted his cup, took a sip, and crossed one leg over the other. Then he looked at the bespectacled man in a suit sitting across from him and realized the man's eyes were fixed on Rita without moving.

Adrian lightly kicked the table.

"Sir," he said coldly, "can we discuss the actual business?"

"Oh. My apologies. That was rude of me." The man with glasses was startled by the kick and apologized with an awkward laugh. Even so, his eyes still drifted toward Rita now and then.

"Where were we?"

"Tricell," Adrian reminded him coldly.

"Oh, yes. Tricell. I am a senior consultant for Tricell's Africa division. My name is..."

"Lucien Omar. I know."

Adrian kicked the table again, impatience written across his face.

"Tell me something I don't know. What is the commission?"

"Yes, of course. The commission. Mr. Voss, we hope you can make a trip to Africa and help us deal with a certain person."

With an embarrassed smile, Lucien Omar, senior consultant for Tricell, pushed a photograph across the table.

Adrian picked it up and studied it.

In the photograph was a woman with a black ponytail.

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