Chapter 762: Militia Regiment's War

Chapter 762: The War of the Militia Regiments

The desert landscape was not one of pure monotony; it possessed a peculiar richness all its own.

This particular region was strewn with boulders, buffeted and rounded into smooth symmetry by sand and wind over untold ages.

A large golden retriever bounded through the expanse, panniers laden with various implements slung across its flanks, carrying a black cat perched upon its back.

Suddenly, the golden retriever braked hard, coming to a halt before a massive stone.

Purr leapt down and began to pace carefully around the boulder, lifting its paws with studied deliberation.

Philomena’s figure materialized, her eyes betraying a quiet bewilderment, entirely uncertain of what Purr was doing.

Further back, nearly twenty Order priests emerged, their divine robes tailored to a snugger fit and draped with cloaks—relics of invisibility.

They were scouts, led nominally by Philomena, though the true command lay with Purr.

Philomena crouched low, scrutinizing the boulder and the sandy floor without discovering the slightest abnormality, yet Purr continued to press its pads gently against the sand, as though intrigued by a subtle curiosity.

"Is something amiss?" Philomena finally ventured to ask.

"Nothing is amiss."

"Then—"

"Because someone went to great lengths to expunge their tracks."

"Expunged their tracks?"

"Albeit somewhat carelessly. Judging by the terrain and the wind's direction in shifting the sands, this spot should be slightly shallower than the surroundings, not perfectly level. Pass the word down; have everyone inspect beneath the other stones using this metric."

"Understood."

Philomena immediately relayed the order, and before long, the findings were brought forward: another thirty-odd stones were found to have unnaturally leveled sand beneath them.

Meanwhile, Kevin sniffed at the rocky flank, then shook his canine head.

"Has someone been here recently?" Philomena asked. "A scout platoon from the desert rebels?"

Purr shook its head and replied, "The rebel main force is engaged with the Knights in the heartland; why would they dispatch men to reconnoiter this far out? And on such a scale—this was a platoon of at least thirty.

Furthermore, the stupid dog couldn't catch any natural scent upon this stone, which means they deployed purification scrolls to mask their breath during their retreat, ensuring no detection by our tracking beasts.

The grade of those ritualistic scrolls is by no means low.

Therefore, I do not believe this to be a scouting party of the desert rebels."

Philomena remarked, "The rebel ranks have always harbored instructors dispatched by the various great churches."

It was an open secret that the orthodox faiths trained the desert believers, supplied them with armaments and provisions, dispatched instructors, and even reinforced them with small bands of mercenaries.

"Let us see what lies over yonder. Point B-3A on the map—there is a depression among the dunes there."

Philomena offered a reminder: "That falls within the defensive sector of the other militia regiment."

"Are we not both militia regiments under the Whip of Order? I recall the fun-seeker spending the last few days cursing their commander, Senroll."

"Indeed, for he has kept his regiment fastened tightly to our heels. In the operational tasks delegated by the Knights this time, their line-filling position adjoins ours."

"Let us go see, and we shall treat it as a training exercise. Tell your men to leave no trace behind. Whosoever blunders and is discovered shall fail the assessment, and may abandon all hope of post-war promotion."

"Very well, I shall give the order."

Bypassing the perimeter picquets of the neighboring militia proved uncomplicated. First, the conflict ahead had already commenced, and the vanguard Knights were advancing smoothly; the line-filling militia on the periphery needed only to bide their time to round up stragglers and claim unearned laurels, leaving them universally lax in vigilance.

Second, Senroll had elevated the art of copying others to its absolute zenith; his men were largely clustered within, frantically competing with Neo in digging fortifications.

Upon reaching the hollow among the dunes, the York City scouting party went to work using the same methodology employed back at the boulders, and soon, reports arrived: this place, too, bore the hallmark of tracks having been "expunged."

Kevin's nose sampled several more spots before he barked. "Woof, woof, woof."

"They used purification scrolls here as well, but the efficacy differs, meaning they employed a different manufacture of scroll."

Purr sat atop the dog's back, its feline countenance grave with contemplation.

The men stood around in quiet anticipation.

At last, Purr raised its head and spoke, "The main desert rebel force is currently absorbing a severe thrashing. How could so many well-equipped, seasoned scouting platoons appear out here on the periphery? There is undoubtedly a conspiracy afoot. I must report this to the fun-seeker. Come, turn back!"

Neo stood with a damp towel draped around his neck, his torso bare. His physique was not overly muscular, yet it possessed a fine, symmetrical proportion; the sole imperfection was that it was perhaps too flawless, the delicate skin devoid of even a single scar, a complexion to move women to envy.

Of course, this was not the fruit of any skincare regimen on Neo's part, but rather the reality of his lineage, which seldom tolerated the preservation of scars. Every major injury required him to shed his skin like a serpent; it would be a wonder if his skin were anything but pristine.

Yet Neo never found his appearance amiss. In his view, after Cullen ascended from the polluted cavern, his skin had become preposterously fine; while Neo merely repaired and patched his old frame, Cullen had undergone a comprehensive renewal of his parts.

"Inhale... Exhale..."

Neo drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled the smoke. Holding the cigarette between his fingers, he leaned down to look at the black cat perched upon the golden retriever's back.

"I wish to know your meaning. What exactly is it?"

Purr replied, "You are the actual commander."

"No, I merely wish to ask what you would do were you in my stead."

"I would retreat. Seasoned adventurers never harbor a fondness for unknown risks."

"Is that not precisely what adventurers pursue?"

"Those are dead adventurers, not seasoned ones."

"Oh?"

"We delight in the process of unraveling a riddle, not in courting the mockery of the unknown."

"I catch your drift. Yet I cannot retreat now. If we achieve distinction here, the credit belongs to Cullen. If a blunder is committed... Cullen shall bear that as well."

"Then see to the defenses, and hold ourselves in readiness to slip away and relocate."

Neo inquired, "Very well, though I hope the worst-case scenario does not come to pass."

"Nor do I, meow."

Neo stepped out of the military tent into the heart of the encampment, where a great multitude of priests were currently toiling bare-chested. In truth, wearing divine robes was not hot; the self-contained arrays within many robes actually served to regulate the temperature with cool air. However, the desert environment combined with such a punishing training regimen wrought a mental exhaustion far exceeding the physical, leading them to collectively agree that a bare torso offered greater comfort.

Directing operations from a platform in the distance was Mr. Eisen.

Neo felt a sudden urge to seize a camera, snap a photograph, and dispatch it to Cullen in Wayne. Look, this is your biological uncle; could you ever conceive of your uncle leading a chorus of work chants with a bare torso?

Since arriving in the wilderness, Mr. Eisen seemed a transformed man, shifting from an extreme introvert to an utter extrovert; he would even proactively seek out homesick and emotionally volatile formation masters to offer counsel and solace.

Even Richard had harbored suspicions as to whether his father had been possessed by some demon.

The reality, however, was likely that the demon which had long possessed his father had finally been exorcised.

"Eisen."

"Present." Eisen turned instantly to face Neo.

"Set aside the internal drills for a moment. Augment the outer fortifications further."

"We must add more to the exterior?" Eisen gestured to their surroundings, to the towering ring of black walls that completely encircled the camp—the very masterpieces of their recent labors, to say nothing of the dense thicket of concealment and defensive arrays on the periphery.

Every grave-robbing protocol dictated that one secure the perimeter before proceeding within; with limited space, the interior works were completed only to be dismantled and begun anew, while the exterior layers were continuously accumulated.

"Find a way to add a bit more. If all else fails, extend outward a fraction, or invest some extra strength. We are not lacking in formation materials, correct?"

"We are not. The rear guard has been funneling supplies without cease."

"Then don't try to save money for our District Head; our leader is facing financial hardship, but the deficit isn't here with us."

"Is something about to happen?"

"Just follow orders."

"Understood."

After giving Eisen his instructions, Neo called over Count Rekal, and the two of them led a squad of cavalry out of the camp.

You wouldn't know until you left the camp, but going out allowed them to actually experience just how densely packed the outer perimeter was with defensive arrays; even with the planning map, Neo had to lead the squad on a long detour before they could exit safely.

After a thorough scout, apart from the few details Pur

......

In the distance, a vanguard of Night God clerics clad in desert robes advanced at a rapid clip. Upon reaching their designated zone, the summoners halted to take their positions first, drawing forth their sacred summoning artifacts to call down the giant night-wing birds. Soon enough, the massive avian beasts soared over the airspace ahead, disrupting the frequency of the communication arrays in that sector.

The remaining forces pressed onward at a frantic pace, eager to seize the final shroud of darkness before dawn to shatter the Order militia regiment ahead.

A similar scene was unfolding at this very moment before numerous other Order militia camps, albeit executed by the armed forces of other orthodox churches.

Mosa chewed on a plant root, spitting out his orders: "Night-walkers, accelerate the infiltration. Priests, bestow blessings upon the greatsword wielders. Tell everyone that those ahead are merely the Order Church's militia. Everyone is competing to see who shatters their line first and who takes the most captives. Do not lose face for our church here!"

Once the command was issued, hundreds of night-walkers blended into the final vestige of the dark night like spectral phantoms, thrusting forward swiftly.

Meanwhile, three hundred greatsword wielders clad in heavy armor halted in formation, surrounded by priests who were busy bestowing blessings upon them. Once the night-walkers successfully infiltrated and threw the Order militia camp into chaos, the greatsword wielders would push straight in, piercing through the enemy in a single blow.

The sole flaw in this plan was that, in order to conceal their movements and achieve total surprise, none of the individual armies could bring heavy siege engines. Fortunately, the enemy was weak, and such implements were unnecessary anyway.

"Phooey."

Mosa spat out the pulpy residue in his mouth, and just as he was about to replace it with a fresh root, he suddenly spotted a succession of fiery flares appearing in the mid-air distance. After the flares died out, they ignited once more, and upon fading a second time, they flared up yet again.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Mosa frowned slightly, and soon his brow furrowed even tighter, for he saw a cascade of magic-crystal cannon beams, resembling a shower of falling meteors, arching through the sky on a parabolic trajectory straight toward their position.

The area where they converged was precisely where the greatsword wielders stood arrayed, receiving their blessings!

Mosa instantly bellowed: "Scatter! Disperse immediately!!"

The greatsword wielders and priests scattered at once, but the destructive power of the magic-crystal cannons was undeniable. Back in the naval battles, a synchronized volley of these cannons from the warships could obliterate even the divine avatar of a temple elder. Though these greatsword wielders wore thick armor, any unfortunate soul caught within the blast radius would find both steel and flesh melted away together.

Once the explosions ceased, Mosa scrambled up from the ground, his gaze sweeping crudely across the surroundings. Counting the wounded, barely half of the greatsword wielders remained alive; the vast majority had been vaporized in the preceding magic-crystal cannon bombardment.

The sounds of detonation echoing from the rear did not deter the night-walkers ahead from steadfastly executing their mission. Yet, the moment they breached the outer perimeter of the camp, an absolute deluge of diverse magic arrays was instantly triggered—lightning, fireballs, frost, spikes, curses, hypnosis...

Along the path, those at the front practically used their lives to pave a way for their comrades behind. As the regular armed forces of an orthodox church, their discipline was indeed exemplary. However, by the time they had sustained massive casualties and waded through the flesh and blood of their companions to finally approach the militia camp, the night-walkers were uniformly gripped by despair and horror.

Due to the dual effects of illusion and isolation arrays, the true layout of the camp remained invisible until one arrived at absolute close quarters.

And now, revealed before the eyes of the night-walkers was a towering, unimaginably colossal rampart, its surface visibly and densely packed with countless minor trap arrays.

"O Gods, please tell me, how are we supposed to infiltrate this..."