The path ahead lay between two mountains — a narrow valley strewn with rocks and boulders of all sizes. Tanks couldn't possibly pass through, and even infantry movement would be heavily slowed.
No wonder the Germans had left such an apparent "gap" in their defensive line. As long as they stationed heavy artillery and machine guns on the surrounding slopes, even a single company could lock down this entire choke point, making it impossible for anyone to cross.
And that was exactly what they had done.
From his vantage point, Chen Mo could clearly see two heavy cannons positioned atop each ridge, their barrels aimed south toward the Allied front — ready to blast apart any armored advance that tried to support an infantry attack.
The Germans never expected anyone would attack from behind — from the direction of their own supply lines.
Even so, their fortified high ground, lined with rifles and machine guns, could easily block any approach along the valley floor.
If Chen Mo's group tried a direct assault, their captured tanks wouldn't be able to turn the tide fast enough. Within minutes, those same guns would swing around and rain destruction down upon them.
Charging head-on would be suicide.
But for Chen Mo — the man who had infiltrated Hydra strongholds and single-handedly annihilated heavy weapon emplacements — this was nothing new.
To avoid alerting the Germans, he ordered the main force to stay hidden far back, then set off with Steve to recon the area alone.
They split at the base of the valley, each climbing toward one of the mountaintop gun positions.
The steep slopes posed no challenge; they scaled them like mountain cats, silent and swift.
Within minutes, both had reached the enemy camps from behind.
Their eyes met across the valley — a brief flash of mutual understanding.
Then, simultaneously, they struck.
Chen Mo drew the Sword of the King from his back and charged straight for the twin cannons at the center of the ridge.
Each 150mm Krupp gun was a beast — capable of obliterating a tank with a single shell. The thunder of such a weapon could tear through any line of defense; as long as these guns stood, no force could pass through this valley alive.
They were his first priority.
The soldiers manning the artillery barely had time to react. A blur of black swept through their midst, a rush of wind, and Chen Mo was already upon them.
Those who saw him raised their rifles and opened fire.
Bullets hammered into his armor, but Chen Mo didn't even slow. He sprinted up to the first cannon — a towering machine over eight meters long, its barrel angled skyward like a steel serpent ready to strike.
Without a word, he swung.
The gleaming blade sliced cleanly through the massive barrel near its base.
Metal shrieked — and then the cannon split apart, the severed barrel crashing to the ground with a deafening clang.
Before the dust even settled, Chen Mo was already at the second gun.
He raised his sword high — and brought it down like a bolt of lightning.
The blade tore through steel and base alike.
Both heavy guns were destroyed in seconds.
The soldiers around him froze, stunned beyond belief.
Those two artillery pieces — the very weapons Allied soldiers feared most — had been cut in half… by a sword.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Chen Mo did.
He spun, plunging back into the trenches, dismantling every heavy weapon he saw — machine guns, submachine guns, ammunition racks — all reduced to twisted metal in his wake.
Then, like a storm of steel, he turned on the stunned soldiers.
The Sword of the King shimmered with a deadly silver light.
Each swing carried the weight of a thunderclap.
Everywhere the blade passed, men and weapons alike were torn apart — blood and shattered steel raining through the air.
There had been about 170 German troops stationed here, split between the two mountains. Chen Mo faced roughly half that number himself.
In just a few minutes, more than forty were dead.
The rest began to break.
The enemy was too terrifying — appearing from nowhere, destroying their guns in an instant, and cutting down scores of their comrades without taking so much as a scratch.
Bullets ricocheted uselessly off his black armor, only chipping the paint to reveal the silvery metal beneath.
It was like shooting at a tank — except faster, deadlier, unstoppable.
With their cannons gone, the Germans had no way to stop this invincible intruder.
Even if the artillery were still intact, Chen Mo's speed made him nearly impossible to target.
As their bullets failed and their numbers dwindled, fear overtook loyalty.
The first few soldiers dropped their weapons and ran. Then more followed.
Some fled screaming down the slope toward the north — back toward German-held territory.
A handful, however, refused to retreat.
Even knowing their rifles couldn't hurt him, they stood their ground and fired until the very end.
Those men were true soldiers — brave, stubborn, and doomed.
But Chen Mo didn't show mercy. On the battlefield, hesitation was death.
He moved swiftly and mercilessly, cutting them down within moments.
By the time the last one fell, the survivors were already scattering down the mountainside in full retreat.
Chen Mo didn't chase.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement below — Allied soldiers charging up the slope, their morale surging.
Behind them rumbled captured tanks and armored cars, while the fleeing Germans tripped over themselves in panic, some tossing away their weapons entirely.
The outcome was already decided.
Chen Mo turned his gaze to the opposite ridge.
Across the valley, Steve was finishing his own battle — his side of the line lay littered with defeated German troops.
Moments later, the Allied soldiers converged at the base of the valley.
The enemy artillery unit was wiped out.
Victory, however, brought with it a new problem.
To reach the Allied camp, they would have to pass through the valley between the mountains — the same rocky corridor now strewn with debris.
The men could walk through easily enough, but their captured tanks and armored vehicles were another story.
The terrain was too uneven, too narrow.
If they wanted to move forward… they would have to abandon the machines they'd fought so hard to seize — and continue the journey on foot.