Chapter 761: Credited with Another Achievement?

Chapter 761: Another Meritorious Deed?

Little Conifer stood with her hands tucked behind her back, leaning her head out to admire the fiery spectacle of interwoven blood below, a fleeting, awkward smile crossing her lips from time to time.

Just then, Cullen shifted his posture ahead, turning to speak with Alfred while casually shaking out his wrist.

Little Conifer immediately mimicked the motion, shaking her own wrist while carefully noting the amplitude and frequency of his gesture.

"Alfred, do you think things will quiet down a bit for us after tonight's retaliation?"

"I am afraid not, Young Master, for the world possesses far too many fools, and they can never be truly eradicated."

"True enough, but at least it brings some peace of mind."

"Indeed. Leon must feel a great deal of relief now."

In the distance, Leon knelt upon the dragon’s back, his fists clenched tightly as his gaze remained fixed on the ground below.

If the others, including Little Conifer, viewed the scene with a sense of mild gratification, Leon was entirely consumed by it; his obsession with vengeance burned fiercely.

Alfred continued, "Recognizing the melancholy in his heart, I have intentionally burdened him with extra duties of late, keeping his days as occupied as possible."

"Mhm."

When caught in a downpour, a person might run home only to find that while the rain is kept outside, the body remains cold and shivering.

Cullen called down to Oggie beneath him, "Oggie, we can head back now."

If they lingered any longer, were they meant to keep pretending to be the Whipper-in, accepting obeisance from all sides? Or perhaps stay behind to offer guidance on local administrative affairs?

Oggie veered around and flew back, descending upon a teleportation array belonging to the Church of Order.

Reverting to her human form, Oggie massaged her neck as she watched Cullen walk past, her voice tinged with a hint of schadenfreude.

"Hey, you've caused a disaster, you know that?"

Cullen glanced at Oggie, remaining silent as he continued inward.

Little Conifer, however, turned to Oggie and said, "You big, foolish dragon, have you eaten something foul recently? You seem to have grown even stupider."

"I haven't... I don't think I have."

"Then you must have. Is there a problem with your medicinal pills?"

"What is that supposed to mean? Don't you realize your master has courted disaster?"

"First of all, he is not my master. We are equals. For your information, we even share the same surname."

Oggie lapsed into silence.

Taking a deep breath, Oggie asked, "What do you know anyway?"

"I may not know much, but I understand posture."

"Posture?"

With her hands behind her back, Little Conifer strutted past Oggie with an air of immense pride.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"You really are a fool!"

Through a series of transfers via the teleportation arrays, dawn was just beginning to break by the time they returned to York City.

"Young Master, I suggest we visit a roadside stall for some grilled sausages. What do you think?"

"Surely they have closed for the night by now."

"No, I believe they have not."

Having received notice of his master’s spontaneous team-building initiative, Alfred had not only prepared the radio but had also dispatched someone with reles to ensure the late-night sausage stall remained open.

At the stall, the group ate their sausages against the background music playing from the radio.

The only difference in this post-mission gathering was Neo's absence; what remained unchanged was that the sausages were as unpalatable as ever.

Upon returning home, Cullen retreated to his office to bathe and sleep.

When he awoke, it was already afternoon. Stepping out after washing up, he found Little Conifer seated behind the small table in the office, diligently working on her homework.

"Where are they?" Cullen asked casually.

The house had been left to Dena and Oggie the previous night, though Little Conifer had stayed behind as well.

"They eat and sleep, then sleep and eat," Little Conifer replied.

Cullen nodded. "A very disciplined lifestyle."

Setting her pen down, Little Conifer left the office. Gili was at home, and she intended to help fetch Cullen's meal—a task previously managed by Filomena, who was currently away in the desert.

Taking his seat behind the desk, Cullen pressed the desk bell to notify Alfred and the others that he was awake and ready to resume his duties.

Under normal circumstances, unless a matter was of grave importance, no one would disturb Cullen while he rested.

Before long, Wick walked in carrying a thick stack of documents.

"Director, these are inquiries sent during the day by several district directors and the Chief Bishop of the Regional Management Office. Since they called personally, you will need to reply to them yourself."

Had these been formal official inquiries, Alfred and the others could have simply replied under their own names.

However, given Cullen’s current prominence, everyone had politely called in person to check on the situation. Even if Cullen had missed the calls initially, he was expected to return them personally upon waking.

"Understood," Cullen said, scanning the list of names.

"Director, this is the latest progress on the restructuring of the new department, along with the budget proposal..."

"There is no need to show me these. Handle them yourselves; I only care about the final results."

Wick offered a bitter smile. "The issue with the vouchers is proving rather difficult."

"Even if we have to divert resources from elsewhere, we must satisfy their demands first. The pace of the reform cannot be allowed to slacken."

"Yes, I understand."

In truth, the primary issue lay in the fact that the militia regiment had yet to generate any revenue. Neo had spent some time serving on the front lines there before finally seizing an opportunity to slip away into the distance to rob tombs, only to dig up a living person instead.

The merit of the deed was undeniable and precisely what was needed at present, yet the issue remained that it could not be liquidated into tangible assets for the time being.

"How are things progressing in the desert?" Cullen asked, taking a sip from his teacup. "Have they begun moving against the next target?"

"At present, it appears somewhat difficult. With the arrival of militia regiments organized by other regions and systems into the desert, the Knights Templar intend to take the lead in consolidating forces for a major campaign."

"A major campaign?"

"Yes. It may be due to the live capture of Mille, the second-in-command of the desert rebels, which has disrupted their command structure. Alternatively, they may be eager to reclaim their honor and restore morale. As a result, the rebel forces previously scattered across the desert are rapidly massing, intending to launch a proactive offensive. The Knights Templar wish to exploit this opportunity to wage a large-scale war of encirclement and annihilation. Commander Neo has already detailed his operational proposals and views in the report."

"Oh?"

Cullen set the list aside and picked up the report.

Owing to communication constraints, a significant window of time existed between Neo's capture of Mille and the arrival of the news on this end.

While communication arrays were infinitely more potent than radio stations, they shared a similar vulnerability: they were easily monitored. Furthermore, even temporary long-distance arrays required substantial time and effort to construct.

Coupled with Neo’s frequent need to conduct covert operations, he was naturally fastidious about maintaining the secrecy of his regiment. Consequently, the information received by Cullen was lagging by several days compared to Neo’s actual progress.

Because Neo knew exactly who this report was meant for, his choice of words was incredibly casual.

First, he fiercely cursed that secret realm—the burial ground of the desert sages—for having absolutely no funerary goods, failing to yield even a single mummified corpse!

The remains of a priest were highly valuable; the older they were, the better preserved, and the more exceptional their power and status in life, the pricier they became, especially considering that the foster son of the Desert God was supposedly buried there.

In reality, however, the desert people themselves had cleared the place out unknown years or generations ago, leaving behind nothing but a stone tablet recording its existence.

This was something even Kevin had failed to foresee.

Immediately after, Neo went on to berate the militias sent by other districts and departments for shamelessly dogging their footsteps—not out of any malice, but because seeing the Yorktown District militia make such a massive stir caused everyone to instinctively converge, hoping to scavenge some leftovers.

Consequently, Neo had to evade the searching eyes of the Knights' command structure while shaking off the pursuit of these fellow militias, all while keeping a watchful eye out for the desert rebels, driving him to absolute madness.

Grave-robbing was meant to be done behind closed doors; there was no sense in turning it into an open-air exhibition for all to see.

"Sigh."

Reading up to this point, Karen could not help but let out a sigh of his own; Neo was airing his grievances to explain why the expected revenue had yet to materialize, well aware of the financial straits they were facing here.

Finally, Neo appended the orders from the commander of the Knights, which demanded that the various militias cooperate with the Knights to cast a net for a grand encirclement.

The Knights would spearhead the main assault, while the militias were tasked with filling the lines, stretching the net, and incidentally scooping up whatever small fry came their way.

This was precisely the designated role of the militia—maintaining order in the war zone, sustaining logistical supplies, plugging gaps in the front lines—they were not the primary fighting force, yet the main army could scarcely wage war without them.

Originally, Neo could have evaded this altogether; by simply shutting down the communication array, he could later claim he was in hot pursuit of desert remnants. But surrounded as he was by a swarm of spotlights, shutting it down would achieve nothing, as the neighboring militias from other districts could easily send couriers to hand-deliver the orders.

Therefore, Neo would now have to go to war in earnest, his grave-robbing days put on a temporary hold.

Quite possibly, Neo's militia was already in position at this very moment, holding down the trenches somewhere on behalf of the main Knights.

Karen laid down the report, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and said, "Vic, go inform Alfred that I have agreed to issue the bonds. Raise the funds under the guise of supporting the frontline militia."

"Very well, District Head."

The revenue from the desert had yet to arrive, but the financial crisis at home was already glaringly apparent. New sources of funding had to be found to sustain the pace of reform; after all, robbing Peter to pay Paul was a temporary fix, and he could not allow the district's operations to grind to a widespread, prolonged halt.

In truth, Karen could apply for funding now; he could attempt to submit reports requesting it from his own department or the relevant ministries of the Holy See.

However, one had to realize that even when children took money from their parents, they had to accept their parents' interference in their lives.

Let alone seeking outside help within this kind of political ecosystem; no department had a surplus budget, and asking for money inevitably came bound with a series of political strings attached.

For Karen, who wished to forge the Yorktown District into a power base uniquely his own, this was entirely unacceptable.

Ultimately, this was because the Holy See of the Church of Order had seized far too much financial authority, and since the Grand Priest took office, the centralization of power had only intensified, forcing local authorities to tighten their belts even further. This was the direct reason why Karen's financial system remained so strained, even with Byrne's cooperation.

"They want the horse to gallop, yet they refuse to let it graze. What kind of logic is that?"

Karen felt a deep aversion to such constraints, a resentment he believed would endure until the day he finally entered the inner circle of the Holy See.

"District Head, dissonant voices have started emerging from the other districts that followed and mimicked our reforms."

"Oh?"

"They began with the University of Order as well, copying our model for introducing and integrating talent locally."

"The academics wouldn't fixate on my territory alone, and the other districts certainly wouldn't let the opportunity slip by. But has a problem arisen?"

"If our district's finances are this strained, the others are in an even worse state. Now, the faculty, students, and projects they introduced have begun flowing back, and numerous articles written by the parties involved have cropped up in newspapers and internal journals lambasting them, claiming that the Whiplash of Order in those other districts is mistreating and oppressing them, leaving indelible scars on their minds and bodies."

"What sort of mistreatment and oppression?"

"Simply making those teachers and students accept the same stipends and benefits as ordinary local priests."

"Heh." Karen shook his head with a smile. "Does that mean every low-ranking priest is enduring oppression and abuse on a daily basis then?"

"District Head, the treatment and funding our district provides are the absolute best."

"I know. Right now, we need them to do the work and build the stage. Once the job is done, we will keep those who truly want to accomplish something; as for the rest, they can go right back to where they came from. I cannot afford to pamper these self-important aristocrats.

It is clearly an era where the gods do not manifest, yet how has the University of Order managed to cultivate so many deities who deem themselves above mere mortals."

"Heh," Vic chuckled.

"Alright, go attend to your duties."

After Vic left, Karen began making phone calls one by one.

To those unaware of the situation, Karen offered a brief explanation; those already in the know spoke to him with a tone of close familiarity: "Brother, you acted far too impulsively this time."

Every call concluded in a friendly atmosphere, for after all, those who wished to be hostile would not have taken the initiative to call beforehand.

Little Kanna and Shiri walked in carrying insulated food containers. Karen checked the time; it was slightly early for a regular dinner. Once they finished eating, he began reviewing documents while little Kanna continued with her homework.

At midnight, a late-night snack was brought in, delivered by Auggie and Dana.

The moment Dana stepped through the door, she grumbled, "Hey, Karen, are you really just going to leave the two of us at home and completely ignore us like this?"

Karen set down his fountain pen, raised his head, and looked at her.

Dana's body stiffened slightly as she remembered once more that Karen now occupied the seat of the District Head. Although a district head was hardly worth her concern as the adoptive daughter of the Grand Priest, she was acutely aware of the potential Karen was currently displaying.

For a second-generation scion who still drifted by on ancestral privilege, unable even to step onto an official battlefield, facing a rising star of the younger generation who relied entirely on his own competence invariably evoked an unconscious sense of timidity.

It was only because she was accustomed to being headstrong that her words and behavior always carried a lingering trace of delayed regret.

Ignoring them, Karen returned his attention to the documents in his hands.

Dana and Auggie arranged the midnight snack on the coffee table in front of the reception sofa, while little Kanna dropped ice cubes into Karen's water, saying, "Time to eat. Going hungry is bad for the stomach."

This was what Sister Pu'er had taught her, though she had no idea what a stomach actually was.

Karen stood up and walked over to have his snack, while Dana and Auggie remained uncharacteristically quiet this time.

Having finished, Karen returned to his desk and began drafting a report.

The war in the desert continued to simmer, its influence extending far beyond the battlefield; the first day of the war between Order and Samsara had ended far too quickly, and this campaign, destined to endure for a long time, was sufficient to revitalize the entire apparatus of the Church of Order.

It was not just the Whip-Wielder who sought to seize power through this war; the other high-ranking figures were no fools either.

Comparatively speaking, the Whip-Wielder was still in a position of weakness, because the only two militias recognized on the desert battlefield as bearing the stamp of the "Whiplash of Order" were the Yorktown District militia—owing to Karen wielding the actual power of the district—and the Dinger District militia, which was organized by virtue of the sheer size of the capital district.

In other local districts, the Whiplash of Order could only cooperate with the district administrations, rarely accounting for even half the share—usually only twenty to thirty percent, or even a mere ten percent.

Naturally, command, control, and "naming rights" were entirely out of the question.

The Whip-Wielder wanted to alter this state of affairs and was trying to push for a change, but Karen felt it was unrealistic; while certain authorities could be secured through internal council meetings with the Grand Priest's nod, other forms of power depended entirely on actual financial contributions.

The newly revived Whiplash of Order held varying shares of power across the local districts, remaining at a disadvantage in most of them; such was the reality of the grassroots foundation, and even the Whip-Wielder could hardly conjure a miracle from it.

Yet this was a matter of swinging the stick regardless of whether any fruit would fall; Karen surmised that the Whip-Wielder had no intention of taking such a massive leap forward anyway, knowing that asking for the moon meant any small gain would still be a profit.

Thus, the article Karen was currently drafting was meant to assist in shaking the tree; in his capacity as the District Head of Yorktown, he would present himself as a case study, expounding on the efficiency and systemic advantages of having the Whiplash of Order command the militia.

Mmh, this was a vacuous piece that could well be titled "Where I Sit Determines What I Say".

Its sole selling point lay not within the text itself, but purely in the fact that the Yorktown District militia had achieved merit; when you have merit, you earn the right to flaunt it.

Having quickly finished the piece, Karen pressed the desk bell, and Leon, who was on the night shift, stepped inside.

"Send it out. Oh, right, don't just submit it to our internal journal; send a copy to the Order Weekly as well."

The editor-in-chief of the Order Weekly had requested a piece from him, hoping he would share his insights.

It wasn't as though he had personally led troops onto the battlefield; he had been sitting in his office the entire time, so what insights could he possibly share?

Yet in the eyes of outsiders, every achievement the militia secured in the desert would be credited to Karen's name—a case of frontline soldiers risking their lives in battle while he sat safely in the deep rear, counting the accolades.

Yet, upon reflection, Cullen realized he truly had no reason to feel ashamed. He had planned and formed the militia well in advance, personally discovering and nurturing every single officer. Nearly his entire maternal family had marched onto the battlefield, and he had even managed to reform the chief remnant of Light, bringing him under the banner of Order to lead troops.

"Yes, I have actually done quite a lot."

The telephone rang. Very few people could have their calls put through at this hour.

"Hello, this is Cullen."

"Heh, you've caused quite a bit of trouble, you know," Miguel's voice came from the other end of the line.

"Heh, I know."

"The Whiplash demands your presence; he wishes to reprimand you personally."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."

"When is the appointment?"

"Tomorrow, the Whiplash must accompany the High Priest to the Temple. The day after, his schedule takes him to the Localin District to attend the funeral of a senior figure. The day after that, he will accompany Cardinal Crede to inspect the First Knight Regiment under the guise of escorting the deceased's spirit.

Let us do this: come at noon on the day following that last engagement. Arrive a little early; I will arrange it for the Whiplash's lunchtime."

Cullen asked, "Is it acceptable to delay the reprimand for so long?"

Factoring in the time difference between York City District and Dingge District, it would be nearly five days. By then, the Whiplash would likely have forgotten.

Miguel laughed. "I shall remind him."

"Thank you, Miguel."

"We can dispense with the expressions of gratitude in the future. Passing the ball back and forth is quite unnecessary, and it makes us seem like strangers."

"But, Miguel, those are words only you have the standing to say."

"I believe that one day in the future, I will be the one repeating those exact words back to you, haha."

...

Over the ensuing period, Cullen's professional and personal life proceeded as usual. However, following that particular night, only a single assassination attempt occurred over the course of those five days, and even that was anticipated and neutralized in advance by the Whip of Order. It seemed that throwing an occasional tantrum did serve a purpose, though the memory of fools is destined to be brief; the frequency of assassinations would likely return to normal before long.

Therefore, it was little wonder that Muri's Benda family had held the hereditary position of Captain of the High Priest's Guard. It was a conclusion drawn from bitter experience. For a mere District Chief like himself, the assassinations were already this frequent; the High Priest of Order would only ever be in far greater peril.

On the desert front, Neo had officially entered a prolonged phase of defensive entrenchment. His daily routine consisted of leading the entire regiment in constructing fortifications along their defensive line.

It was not that Neo was being overly cautious. In truth, provided both sides retained their organizational structure, the combat effectiveness of the desert rebels was nothing extraordinary. Furthermore, the Knight Regiment was responsible for handling the most intractable positions, leaving the militia merely to intercept and mop up the routed enemy forces.

Neo's rationale was simply that since there was nothing else to do, he might as well lead the men in practicing digging holes. In essence, this was "tomb-robbing training," aimed at ensuring they could operate faster and with greater precision during future excursions.

Concealment arrays, high wall barriers, perimeter traps, internal excavations, and spatial control—this entire suite of techniques, originally designed to prevent external detection and counter the mechanisms within ancient tombs, was now being rehearsed repeatedly under the pretext of constructing military fortifications.

The tombs of the clergy were far more perilous than those of secular nobles and dignitaries.

The Commander of the Knight Regiment, Daan, had even made a point of single-out "Muri" and Senroll for praise regarding their attention to detail and attitude, earning Neo a "little red flower" of commendation.

Senroll was the commander of the militia regiment dispatched by the Whip of Order from the Dingge District. In Neo's reports, he was described as the most clinging piece of nougat imaginable.

Perhaps because they hailed from the same Whip of Order system, the man felt a natural affinity and stuck as close as possible, even ordering fortifications to be built in his own sector simply because Neo was practicing hole-digging in his.

One could say he had truly elevated the art of imitation to its zenith, earning himself a "little red flower" as well.

However, this arrangement likely reflected the intentions of the higher-ups within the Whip of Order. After all, as the only two militia regiments bearing the stamp of the Whip of Order, it was only natural for them to watch over and assist each other—and, of course, to share in the easy merits.

Before Cullen set off for the Dingge District, the latest battle reports he reviewed in his office indicated that the militia had already formed a vast dragnet, while the Knight Regiment had begun its fierce assault on the core territory of the desert rebels. The operational situation was favorable. Having lost Millie, the desert rebels seemed truly deficient in intellect, actually daring to engage the Knight Regiment in a frontal confrontation.

Diana had already been placed into the second echelon and was currently undergoing training. Though the young lady was willful and spoiled, she offered no complaints when made to undergo training as an ordinary soldier; after all, having been raised in the Knight Regiment since childhood, she possessed the fundamental military discipline.

Astonishingly, Ogier had not departed either. She remained under the pretext of protecting Diana, and aside from being responsible for escorting Diana to and from training each day, she spent the vast majority of her time with little Canna.

In her bones, Ogier harbored a sense of dread toward little Canna, and she knew full well that little Canna disliked her. Yet, she simply could not help but gravitate toward her. It was only because she was a female dragon that Cullen chose to turn a blind eye.

Had she been a male dragon, Cullen would have sent it back to wherever it came from long ago. Other families raised dragons as pets or even slaves, whereas little Canna was raised by himself and Pu'er as a daughter.

Cullen returned to the dormitory to fetch little Canna before heading to the teleportation array hall. Ogier was at home; she knew where they were going, but she deliberately feigned being deep asleep, presumably worried that upon her return, she would once again be locked inside that cage known as the "office."

Arriving in the Dingge District, it was precisely mid-morning. Cullen took little Canna by the hand as they left the teleportation array hall and headed to a secular restaurant to dine. The food inside the teleportation hall was too exorbitant; even though Cullen could expense his business travel using public funds, those public funds, after all, now belonged to him.

Little Canna ordered a great variety of Dingge District's specialty snacks to wrap around her medicinal pills, eating with immense delight.

When they had finished and Cullen was leading her toward the headquarters of the Whip of Order, she recalled something and asked, "But aren't you supposed to have lunch with the Whiplash?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you still eat just now?"

"That meal won't fill me up."

"Oh."

Arriving at the headquarters slightly ahead of schedule, Cullen submitted his official documents and was shown to the guest waiting area. The waiting areas were divided by rank, and the quarters where Cullen was placed were excellent. Within them lay an inner door which, when opened, revealed a natural waterfall; one could even enjoy a picnic there while awaiting the Whiplash's summons.

After a short while, an adjutant arrived to conduct Cullen and little Canna to the Whiplash's office. Miguel, seated in the antechamber, nodded to Cullen before rising to enter the inner office. He emerged shortly thereafter, gesturing for Cullen to enter.

Cullen led little Canna into the office. The Whiplash, seated behind his desk, raised his head, his gaze immediately falling upon little Canna. He remarked:

"When Ogier was small, she was also very endearing."

Cullen was well aware that when the Whiplash had first acquired Ogier during her infancy, he must have been exceedingly thrilled and fond of her. In those days, the Whiplash's standing was nowhere near as elevated as it was now, and Ogier was not nearly as foolish.

The Whiplash continued, "Regrettably, as she grew older, Ogier became increasingly foolish."

As expected...

"Cullen, I was negligent in her upbringing. This dragon of yours—see to it that she is properly educated."

"I shall do so, Whiplash."

At that moment, Miguel entered at precisely the right juncture to inquire, "Whiplash, shall I postpone your lunchtime?"

Forden replied, "Let us dine together."

"Understood, Whiplash."

Thus, Cullen secured the opportunity to share a luncheon with Forden.

The two sat at a dining table meticulously carved from ice blocks. The fare was by no means extravagant, yet it was exceedingly refined.

"Regarding that night, did you allow your blood to rush to your head?"

Cullen immediately set down his knife and fork, rising to his feet to offer a self-examination. "Whiplash, it was an impulse on my part."

"Sit down and speak."

"Yes, Whiplash." Cullen resumed his seat.

"It is a fine thing for a young man to possess drive; that is a virtue. However, you are now a District Chief, and you must correct the habit of doing everything with your own hands."

"I understand, Whiplash."

"Certain matters need not be taken too deeply to heart. They knew they could not assassinate you; their sole intent was to disgust you. If your emotions are truly swayed by it, then the vouchers they spent to hire those assassins will have been well worth the price."

"Yes, I understand. Thank you for your counsel."

"How has your work been progressing of late?"

"The implementation of the reforms is proceeding smoothly."

"Are there any difficulties?"

"There are difficulties, but they can all be overcome."

"Excellent. I intend to use your region as a benchmark for demonstration, so do it well."

"I will."

"That article of yours was not published."

Hm, which article?

Karen had written many articles recently; he was highly prolific with those formulaic pieces, completely reshaping his colleagues' established impression of him as a youth who only knew how to hack and kill in person.

Yet Karen could not ask the Whipper-in which one it was, so he could only inquire:

"Why?"

"The Knights cannot be touched; they are highly insular. The garrison forces were already carved up long ago, directly subordinate to the Holy See. As for this militia regiment, even after the war ends, it will remain as a new wave of independent strength to cope with the potential turmoil in the church circle ahead. Therefore, every faction is scrambling for it fiercely."

Oh, it was that article.

This must mean a struggle had broken out, with other factions beginning to suppress them, and the suppression of public opinion was one such method.

Karen said, "Our grassroots power is still not solid enough."

"Yes, you are right, but rebuilding and replenishing grassroots power takes time." Verden let out a sigh. "If all the regional directors could handle things like you, I would be much more at ease."

"The situation faced by each region is different. I was merely fortunate to encounter a Chief Bishop willing to cooperate with me."

"Bern, I know of him. He is not an easy man to deal with."

Miguel pushed open the office door, holding a document in his hand, his expression exceedingly grave.

"Whipper-in, the desert war has taken a turn!"

"What happened?"

Verden reached out to take the document, while Miguel explained beside him, "The Knights launched a fierce assault on the gathering core of the desert rebels, successfully routing them. However, the militia regiments forming the outer perimeter encirclement suffered a massive blow when facing the fleeing desert forces, essentially collapsing completely. Now, all militia regiments have lost contact through their communication arrays."

"All militia regiments?" Verden confirmed.

"Yes, because before contact was broken, the messages sent back by all regiments indicated they had discovered the routed forces and were preparing to surround and annihilate them. Then came news that the routed forces were too powerful, their own side could not hold out, and after that, the connection was cut. Perhaps..."

While reading the document, Verden pressed on, "Perhaps what?"

"Perhaps..." Miguel looked toward Karen. He wanted to say they might have been completely wiped out, but felt the words were too hard to utter and somewhat too arbitrary. Ultimately, he was a secretary who hadn't had the chance to be sent out for a gilded post yet; even if he had, what could he possibly know about military matters?

Karen took up the thread, "Perhaps they were broken and routed by the rebels."

"Routed?" Verden frowned slightly. "Are the rebels truly that formidable? And routed rebels at that."

Karen speculated, "Then it is highly likely they are not desert rebels at all."

Verden glanced at Karen. "Go on."

"Although the strength of our Order's militia cannot match the Knights, the desert rebels absolutely do not possess such formidable combat power. Unless this was a deliberately planned trap. The rebels the Knights attacked were indeed desert rebels, but those who took the opportunity to scatter and rush toward the outer defensive lines held by the militia were regular forces from the major orthodox churches, clad in desert robes.

Whipper-in, those orthodox churches that originally stood only in the background may have personally entered the fray."

Verden licked his lips and nodded. "Then this game has only just truly become interesting."

Previously in the desert, Order and the desert rebels were essentially playing a game of cat and mouse. Now, rivals of equal caliber had finally entered the field, allowing for a formal confrontation.

As for the damaged militia, well, they were just militia... To put it bluntly, if they were gone, they could be reorganized and rebuilt. As long as Order's Knights and garrison regiments suffered no losses and the main field forces remained intact, it was of no consequence.

At this moment, the second secretary arrived at the door cradling a document. Miguel went over to take it and walked back, saying, "Whipper-in, the latest battle update. Two militia regiments have restored communication. They are gathering the other retreating militia regiments and reconstructing the defense system while waiting for the Knights' reinforcement.

They belong to the York City region and the Dingle region, two militia regiments under our Order's banner."

Verden took the document, scanned it briefly, and tossed it to Karen.

Karen looked down and saw the designations of the two re-connected militia regiments clearly written upon it, along with the communication signatures of the two commanders: Muri and Senrol.

Verden looked at Karen and asked, "Why aren't you smiling?"

"I..."

"Heh, after this, who will dare say my Whip of Order shouldn't meddle in militia affairs? Their true mettle has already been displayed here. As for that article of yours, I will go inquire about it again later to see if he dares continue holding it back."

As the creator of the Order Church's workplace culture of "ear-washing," Karen knew it was inappropriate to smile now, and there was a high probability he would be scolded in a sudden reversal. Yet, since the Whipper-in desired such a performance, he could only satisfy his supreme boss's whim.

Therefore, Karen offered a smile.

The Whipper-in's face tightened as he pointed a finger at Karen, lecturing him:

"You, oh you. A defeat was suffered on the front lines, what is there to smile about? Be serious."