Chapter 763: The Cautious General Neo

Chapter 763: The Prudent General Neo

Neo stood upon the city wall, peering through his brass spyglass at the unfolding scene below, a faint smirk gracing his lips.

At this very moment, he finally understood the sheer joy Karen felt whenever he draped himself in layer upon layer of protective turtle shells before a fight.

The bewildered, helpless expressions on the enemy's faces were like the finest tobacco leaves in existence; one did not even need to smoke them, for the mere scent was enough to induce a rush of pure exhilaration.

Neo turned to Richard, who stood at his side, and commanded, "Crossbowmen."

Acting as the signaling adjutant, Richard immediately relayed the order, hoisting a glowing flag and sweeping it through the air to semaphore the command, though he did not neglect the power of his own lungs:

"Attention! Crossbowmen, take your positions!"

The crossbowmen stepped up to the battlements in unison, drawing their bows and nocking their bolts as they stood sideways against the crenellations.

These crossbows were all magical implements, items that would command an exorbitant price whether found in the seminary halls or on the black market; even now, they were strictly rationed for military use, meant to be surrendered upon the conclusion of the war rather than kept as personal property.

Even if one's original weapon chanced to be a crossbow or a magical musket, any personal carrying was strictly forbidden unless granted a rare, approved exception; everyone was required to use the standardized issue, a measure designed first to ease logistical supply and maintenance, and second to ensure that comrades could easily utilize one's weapon in a pinch.

Neo spoke again: "Summoners, Protocol Three."

Richard shouted: "Summoners, take your positions! Execute Tactical Protocol Three!"

Upon the circular dais within the city, Aisly issued her command to those around her: "Begin!"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Yes, Captain!"

Aisly was the captain of the militia brigade's summoner squad, a position she had secured largely due to Karen's deliberate intention to elevate and compensate her; after all, her squad contained quite a few individuals who had once been colleagues of her parents.

However, there was no issue of anyone refusing to defer to her authority; she belonged to the original inner circle that had followed Karen from the beginning, and as Karen climbed step by step to the position of District Director, this cohort of his had likewise enjoyed rapid promotions, transforming into the highly sought-after younger generation—a status bestowed upon them by the sheer fortune of their life's convergence.

With the activation of the summoner squad, the phantoms of various flying beasts were called forth into existence.

"Oh, my most beloved friend, Cindy..."

When Cindy had first been summoned long ago, she had been vivid, proud, and free, instinctively displaying her own innate beauty and majesty.

Yet, as the summons grew more and more frequent, Cindy's countenance upon this arrival seemed almost numb, her eyes bearing the weary wisdom of one who had seen through the ways of the world, as though she could glimpse the ending from the very start.

It was much like a young maiden who always harbored beautiful illusions of romance, while the elder sister at the pastry shop began calculating her reasons for refusing your bargaining the very instant you stepped through the door.

But what must be done still had to be done; such was life.

Under Cindy’s guidance, a flock of avian beast phantoms soared beyond the encampment walls, plunging downward to circle at a low altitude.

The night-walkers below immediately launched their counterattack, various spells and artifacts exploding in the air, sending the beast phantoms into a chorus of pained wails.

This flock of flying phantoms possessed little actual combat capability; to put it simply, it was merely one Cindy leading a crowd of "Cindys" who were not even as fair as she.

Many of the phantoms vanished into nothingness under the heavy onslaught, leaving behind only a sky filled with drifting, multicolored feathers.

Cindy pulled upward sharply, climbing away from the low altitude; fortune favored her today, for she had somehow avoided being blasted to pieces, which left her heart harboring a touch of regret, as it meant she would likely have to dive down to endure another round of explosions.

Neo ordered: "Crossbowmen, lock targets."

Richard called out: "Crossbowmen, calibrate and lock targets!"

Neo said: "Triple volley."

Richard barked: "Prepare for rapid triple volley!"

Neo shouted: "Fire!"

Richard echoed: "Launch!"

Every single feather from the beasts that drifted onto a night-walker carried a homing effect; if Kevin had previously been using his vast, sensitive perception to designate a general landing zone for the artillery, then the method employed now was point-to-point sniping.

This was precisely why, back in the desert, Karen had dared to challenge the elite youths of various churches one by one, yet chose to retreat without hesitation when encountering the rebel army.

The power of an individual, unless truly magnified to a terrifying degree, remained pale and fragile when pitted against a fully structured ecclesiastical military organization.

The crossbowmen swiftly unleashed their triple volley, the bolts automatically locking onto the targets provided by the feathers; a foe might manage to dodge or block the first strike with a protective sacred artifact, but evading the subsequent two proved immensely difficult.

Furthermore, each bolt carried its own elemental effect, making them exceedingly troublesome to deal with.

Among the night-walkers below, men were continuously transformed into blazing human torches, bodies dissolved into festering pools of pus, and others were fried to cinders by arcs of lightning, each death more gruesome than the last.

The city walls ahead towered high, entirely unscalable; to facilitate their infiltration, they wore no heavy armor, leaving their defensive capabilities inherently weak, and they carried no engines of war.

In short, this was a massive gathering of assassins cornered beneath the barbican, enduring a merciless slaughter from above.

Seeing the situation turn dire, the leader of the host could only issue the command to retreat, and the surviving night-walkers began to fall back.

The artillery squad initiated yet another round of bombardment, though its destructive effect this time was quite limited; it served more as a fireworks display to celebrate the victory of this siege defense.

Muri stood upon the command platform, remaining entirely silent from beginning to end.

Bart, meanwhile, gripped his great shield, anticipating the order to pursue the enemy outside the gates, but he was destined for disappointment, as no such command descended from above; they were merely instructed to take inventory, replenish consumables, and cooperate with the priests to restore their vitality.

Neo glanced at Count Recar beside him and inquired, "Shall we pursue?"

Count Recar shook his head, replying, "To sustain such heavy losses and still disperse and retreat in an orderly fashion signifies a tactical withdrawal, not a rout. Better not to give chase."

Neo voiced his agreement.

Holding this position and inflicting massive casualties upon the enemy while keeping their own losses so low as to be practically negligible was already an immense profit; there was no need to overextend their hand now.

Had he truly ordered a pursuit, they might well have been turned upon and decimated by the foe.

The militia brigade was, after all, a militia brigade; relying on pre-constructed fortifications and the coordination of various squads to assault the enemy with war implements was not an overly difficult task, but charging out into the open field for a battle was the ultimate test of an army’s true mettle.

Had Neo been commanding a knight order, he certainly would have thrown open the gates and charged out by now—no, if it were a knight order, they likely would not have been defending a city here in the first place.

Though he had severed his ties with the Church of Order, Neo still held the same ingrained perception as the vast populace of Order believers: that the Knights of Order were the pinnacle of combat might.

He believed the orthodox churches shared this sentiment; otherwise, they would not have chosen to squeeze a soft plum like the peripheral militia brigade tonight, but would instead have launched a pincer attack on the advancing knight orders.

Recar remarked, "We managed to hold our ground here because we possessed pre-constructed fortifications and early warnings. I worry that the other militia brigades will find it difficult to endure."

"No need to worry, they have undoubtedly collapsed by now," Neo replied. "The batch we just slaughtered beneath the walls were the night-walkers of the God of Night, reputed to be the finest assassins in the world. Imagine what the outcome would be if they were allowed to infiltrate our encampment. The other militia brigades might not be facing the forces of the Night Church, but every orthodox church possesses its own hidden trumps; their situations will be no less grim. I suspect the entire peripheral defensive line formed by the militia brigades has essentially collapsed by now. Richard, send a message to Sonrol next door and ask how things fare on his end. Then, release the crows into the wild; gather as many stragglers from the other militia brigades as we can. We shall stir no further, but simply await the return of the knight orders from the front lines to reinforce us."

By the time morning arrived, routed militia soldiers began to appear around the encampment in succession, their numbers quite substantial.

Under normal battlefield conditions, these defeated troops would essentially become sheep led to the slaughter, but the enemy feared the return of the knight orders; thus, after shattering the militia camps, they did not linger to indulge in further slaughter, choosing instead to withdraw decisively, which granted these routed soldiers a chance at survival.

Neo ordered that they be received, providing them with tents, food, and medicine outside the city walls while dispatching priests to aid in their healing, yet not a single defeated soldier was permitted entry into the city, even if they held flawless identification documents.

Until he laid eyes upon the banners of the knight orders, Neo intended to ensure the absolute security and stability of his own encampment.

This left Muri and the others wondering how such a prudent Commander Neo had managed to ascend to the rooftops time and time again in the past.

The method used to gauge the current state of the entire peripheral militia brigade was simple: one only had to see if communication links had been restored. As an outsourced military unit, maintaining contact was the finest proof of whether a regiment's structure remained intact.

The result was that the original "group chat" had dwindled into private conversations accessible only to the "next-door neighbor."

Every time the York City Archdiocese issued a communication query, only the "next-door neighbor" would check in.

Furthermore, that "next-door neighbor" never missed a single opportunity to log in; one could even discern from their active status a sense of schadenfreude that practically spilled over the margins.

By noon, a contingent of the Knights had confirmed their arrival nearby, meaning the two militia regiments in this sector once again had a powerful pillar of support. Neo ordered the gates opened to admit the gathered stragglers into the stockade.

Muri stood at the entrance of the camp, offering warm greetings and individual solicitations to each man, expressing his apologies for keeping them shut out earlier.

Meanwhile, the commander of their "next-door neighbor" grew utterly impatient; he personally rode a falcon, soaring through the sky to pay a neighborly visit.

Senroll was a rather stout, rotund fellow, perfectly suited to play a villain in a Viennese court cinema production.

Over the past few days, he had withstood the pressure by copying and plagiarizing to the absolute limit, and finally, early this morning, he had reaped a bountiful harvest.

Neo had no need to entertain him, as Muri was the commander in name; thus, Muri received him for a meeting inside his own military tent.

The moment he arrived, Senroll launched into a torrent of profound admiration for District Head Karen, and had Karen not been so remarkably young, Muri suspected the man might truly have claimed he "grew up listening to the tales of District Head Karen's deeds."

Next, Senroll mentioned his close relationship with Sousse, who happened to be Karen’s predecessor's predecessor, and then brought up Minister Andylao, claiming he too had benefited from the man's teachings.

In short, the opening pleasantries between the two dragged on for an age, consisting primarily of Senroll expressing his deep sense of kinship.

Then, Senroll revealed the true purpose behind his hurried visit, which was... joint command authority.

In name, all militia regiments accepted the orders of the Knights, but in practical operations, they actually retained a great deal of autonomy.

As for who would command whom... it went without saying; Senroll was proactively seeking to hand over the command of his own regiment to Muri.

It was truly a case where even the process of copying was omitted; he simply chose to join outright!

On the surface, everyone remained equals, but in actual operation, his unit would become Muri's subordinate, taking direct orders.

This posture, lowered to the absolute dust, left Muri momentarily at a loss for words, forcing him to offer vague, polite platitudes to stall for time.

Senroll showed total understanding and approval of this, hinting that his own district head would certainly contact District Head Karen shortly, as it was those two who truly called the shots.

Once Senroll departed, Muri took Ventura along to find Neo and report the situation.

At that moment, Neo was soaking inside a bath barrel, a glass of red wine placed by his right hand and a cigarette held in his left; had it not been for Neo’s fiercely conservative romantic life due to Miss Elisa, the addition of a newly seduced priestess at his side would have made him the quintessential textbook definition of a greedy, corrupt warlord.

Having listened to the report, Neo felt none of the excitement one might expect from gaining command over two regiments, choosing instead to swear directly:

"What? The clingy tape wants to stick to us?"

Neo took a deep drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt away casually, and cursed again:

"Then how the hell are we supposed to rob graves? Have we actually fucking come all this way just to fight a war?"

Muri reminded him: "Going forward, we will be highly conspicuous, and our combat assignments will grow heavier."

Because only two militia regiments had preserved their organizational structure while the others were shattered, the reconstruction of those broken units would require personnel and equipment replenishment, which meant time; during this period, whenever the Knights needed coordinated combat missions, they could only deploy the remaining two.

Furthermore, if one became the star pupil of the class through excellent performance, it became rather difficult to hide in the back row to slack off and sneak snacks during lessons.

Neo remarked with some irritation: "I understand the logic, but you need to realize even more that your Lord District Head is currently waiting at home for our earnings; right now, he is like a starving infant, crying out to be fed."

Just then, Richard walked in and reported: "The disciplinary officer from the Knights has arrived to help us audit our battle spoils. Also, Muri, Commander Daan of the Knights wishes to see you; you must set off for the Knights' camp now, and it is a bit far."

"I understand. Help me prepare first, Richard."

"Very well, I will go handle that disciplinary officer to see if we can inflate the spoils a bit, and try to count those vaporized enemies as well."

After Richard left, Muri looked at Neo and asked, "How should I answer? Commander Daan will certainly ask how I managed to prepare defenses in advance."

Ventura, standing nearby, spoke up directly:

"Isn't that simple? It was all due to the brilliant leadership of our great District Head."

...

The High Priest was not at the administrative temple today, though the work within that temple continued to run as usual.

Here, within an exploited space, stood a vast mountain composed of black crystals, now drenched in thick, foul-smelling blood as the Priests of Order busied themselves hauling away the carcasses of various insects.

Inside a cavern, a mother insect resembling a gargantuan maggot was dragged out, trembling violently before the High Priest's carriage ahead.

It possessed intelligence; it knew precisely who the true master was among this terrifying throng of invaders, and its trembling was akin to a form of fawning flattery.

However, the High Priest, visiting the exploited space today, had little interest in entertaining the sycophancy of a monstrous beast; he had just received news from the desert front.

Yet he felt no fury; judging by the current reports, the gathered desert rebels had been smashed by the Knights, while simultaneously, the militia regiments of Order had been swept aside by the "mercenaries" sent by the various orthodox churches.

The desert rebels did not count as human beings; neither Order nor the orthodox churches backing the rebels viewed them as such; they were merely expendable materials casually utilized in the friction and confrontation between the orthodox faiths.

Thus, this time, Order had lost face and suffered a setback.

Nevertheless, the High Priest was pleased; the various orthodox churches had finally officially entered the fray, and from here on, things would get interesting.

What Order dreaded most was not the current losses, but a prolonged, hollow depletion.

As it turned out, those orthodox churches were even more impatient.

The High Priest thought to himself: Are they worried about the return of the God of Order? Heh.

A golden cube was placed before the High Priest by Mobiteng; as it rotated, the internal communication array activated, establishing immediate connections with the offices of the heads of multiple systems without requiring confirmation.

This was the authority of a superior; before him, even if one were the true boss of a system, one still possessed no privacy whatsoever, even within one's own office.

Seated upon his carriage chair, the High Priest exchanged a few brief words with the assembly.

"...I shall return to the administrative temple shortly. Since the opposition has proactively escalated the warfare, it is time for us to deliberate upon a plan for the next phase."

As the captain of the High Priest's guard, Mobiteng had been permitted to see the battle report delivered earlier; he had spotted the name of his grandson, Muri Benda, inscribed upon it—his grandson had achieved distinction.

At the same time, during the communication meeting just now, Mobiteng had clearly captured Karen's figure within the small frame of the Whipper's communication screen, standing in a corner with his head bowed in salute alongside the Whipper's secretary.

He had once had a grievance with Karen; back on the Volcano Island, when he had wished to discipline Muri, Karen had stood up for Muri on the grounds that he was Muri's superior.

Yet how much time had passed since then? The two unconventional youths who had once meant nothing in his eyes... one had become a district head, and the other was now leading troops on the front lines.

Among the third generation of the Benda family, the one holding the highest position and faring the best was actually the very grandson he had previously disliked the most.

The communication concluded, and the High Priest prepared to return to the teleportation array sector.

As the carriage rolled along, the High Priest looked at Mobiteng beside him and smiled, asking, "Muri Benda is your grandson, is he not?"

Mobiteng was not at all surprised by the High Priest's sharp memory; moreover, the surname "Benda" was highly conspicuous.

"Yes, High Priest."

"Mobiteng, you have raised a fine grandson."

To recruit a flock of noble playboys into a team carried an immense level of difficulty in taming them, but if they were tamed well, the convenience one could enjoy at a certain moment in the future would be equally immense.

"No, High Priest, my relationship with this child of mine has always been rather strained; he left the family very early to forge his own path, so I dare not take the credit. Rather, it is his longtime superior who has exerted a great influence and given him immense help."

"His superior is..."

"District Head Karen of the York City Greater District."

"Ah, yes, a very fine young man unearthed by Freden, possessing first-rate administrative capabilities. So your grandson works beneath him."

Mobiteng swallowed hard and spoke up:

"Your servant just saw him inside the Whipper's office."

"Oh."

The High Priest nodded, remarking quite casually:

"Then have Freden bring him along for a meeting."