The battle instantly reached a fever pitch.
Louis kept his promise to everyone and didn't charge with Rick and the others; instead, he stayed hidden behind a massive tractor tire.
But he wasn't idle.
With his wand tucked into his sleeve, his blue eyes calmly scanned the battlefield, searching for every opportunity to exploit.
A thug hiding on the roof of a truck grinned as he lit a Molotov cocktail, preparing to hurl it at the cover where Rick and the others were gathered.
"In your dreams," Louis muttered, his gaze narrowing as he pointed his wand slightly.
Just as the man raised his hand to throw, the Molotov cocktail suddenly seemed to be yanked by an invisible hand; it slipped from his grip and fell straight down at his own feet!
"Smash!"
The glass bottle shattered, flammable liquid splashed everywhere, and flames instantly engulfed the thug.
"Aaaaah—!!"
The man let out a blood-curdling scream, turning into a human torch as he tumbled from the truck roof, rolling frantically on the ground and igniting nearby oil drums.
"Holy shit! Is that dumbass an idiot?! Slipping at a time like this?!"
Seeing this, the leader cursed loudly, "Useless piece of trash!"
However, the bad luck didn't seem to end there.
On the other side, the garage door burst open.
A heavily modified pickup truck, its front welded with sharp steel plates and spikes, roared out.
This "war chariot" was the leader's trump card; it roared toward Daryl's defensive line, intending to plow through and tear the line apart.
"Get out of the way!" Daryl roared, trying to push Glenn aside.
At that critical moment, Louis flicked his wand, aiming at a patch of spilled oil and loose ground in the pickup's path.
The originally flat concrete ground suddenly became uneven, and the oil slick seemed to come alive, sliding precisely under the pickup's front wheels.
"Screeeech—!!"
The tires of the high-speed pickup instantly lost traction, the steering wheel jerked violently, and the entire vehicle began to spin wildly like it was drunk, completely out of control!
"Boom!!"
With a deafening crash, the out-of-control pickup slammed into a nearby concrete support pillar; its front end crumpled, black smoke billowed out, and it was completely totaled.
A sub-leader sitting in the passenger seat was thrown out by the massive inertia, crashing right into the leader who had just run over; the two tumbled together, drenched in gasoline.
"Cough, cough... Fuck!"
The leader pushed his subordinate off and scrambled up in a mess, nearly going wonderful as he watched the battle collapse before him.
"Dog shit! Did these bastards eat that powder for breakfast today?! Doing such fucking stupid things!"
He wiped the oil from his face, a strong sense of unease rising in his heart.
The luck today was too bizarre!
First the Molotov cocktail self-destructed, then the pickup went out of control; his subordinates might be stupid usually, but they had never been this stupid!
It was as if they were being targeted by the God of Misfortune!
He glanced at the invaders across from him; every one of them was fighting with increasing vigor, as if they'd been injected with chicken blood.
In contrast, his own men were constantly falling, and their defense was rapidly crumbling.
"These people are trouble..." The leader began to consider retreating.
The leader was a smart man, and more importantly, he valued his life. He realized that if they kept fighting, they would suffer a major loss and lose everything.
"Retreat! To the back door!"
The leader made a snap decision, scrambling up and shouting, "Grab the supplies! Let's go!"
"Boss!"
The lackey he had just kicked away approached again, pointing toward the workshop behind them and shouting anxiously, "But... our families are still inside, we have to take them!"
Several other subordinates also hesitated, looking at the leader.
The leader's footsteps faltered. Listening to the approaching gunshots, a flash of ruthlessness crossed his eyes.
Take those burdens? Then no one would escape!
"There's no time! We can't save them!" the leader said coldly. "Move!"
"No way! I'm not leaving!" The lackey's eyes were red as he turned to run back. "I'm not leaving! I'm going to save—"
"Bang!"
A gunshot rang out.
A spray of blood erupted from the back of the lackey's head, and his body slumped to the ground.
The leader held his still-smoking gun, looking expressionlessly at his shocked subordinates, his voice cold:
"Anyone else want to stay behind with him?"
Total silence. Looking at the corpse on the ground, none of the remaining thugs dared to speak.
"No one? Then move!"
The leader holstered his gun and led the charge toward the back door.
However, when they rushed breathlessly to the back door and pushed open the heavy iron gate, thinking they were escaping, the scene before them filled them with despair.
"Vroom—!"
A heavy trailer had somehow been reversed to block the back entrance, its massive body like a wall of steel, sealing the exit tight.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?"
Shane was hiding behind the door of the trailer's cab, revealing only half his body and the dark muzzle of his gun, a mocking sneer on his face. "Didn't you want to chat with us?"
"Bang! Bang!"
The two thugs in the lead were instantly riddled with bullets.
"Damn it! We're blocked!"
Seeing the blocked escape route and the heavy fire from above, the leader could only retreat miserably back into the workshop, slamming the iron door shut.
"Dammit!"
Forced back to the workshop entrance, the leader watched Rick and the others closing in, about to burst through the front door, and his anger boiled over.
Pursuers in front, a blockade behind. This was a meticulously planned hunt.
He leaned against the wall behind the door, panting heavily.
The arrogant air of "catching a turtle in a jar" from before had long since vanished, replaced by a mixture of shock and madness from being pushed into a corner.
But the life-and-death crisis also brought back a shred of reason, and his brain began to work rapidly.
He felt that the group attacking today was a bit strange.
At first, he thought they were just a group of rivals looking to seize territory or pull a double-cross. But now, it didn't seem like that at all.
If it were for territory, who would use a rocket launcher to blow a huge hole in the second floor? That one shot had ruined the structural integrity, which meant they had no intention of staying in this dump.
Then... was it for supplies?
But if they were nomadic raiders, they would have just taken the goods and left after suppressing them with fire; there was no need to block them when they were already preparing to leave!
They were willing to waste precious ammunition and risk attracting a horde just to seal off the front and back doors, clearly intending to fight to the death and wipe them out.
This style of fighting had no cost-effectiveness.
The leader's gaze suddenly shifted to the other closed workshop door behind him, where the "Hostages" and laborers were kept.
A thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
Could these lunatics be here for revenge, or to rescue someone?
"Time to gamble!"
Since they couldn't run, they could only fight to the bitter end!
If these people really were here for those Hostages, then those captives, who were previously seen as burdens, would be his last lifeline.
"Go drag those captives out!"
The leader roared at his few remaining subordinates, "Quick! If they don't want us to live, then those Hostages will die with us!"
A few minutes later.
Rick led Shane and the others to clear out the remaining enemies on the perimeter, their guns pointed at the final workshop door as they slowly approached.
"Don't move! If anyone takes another step, I'll kill them!"