Chapter 796: The Willant People Trying to Steal the Fruits

Chapter 796: The Wilant People Want to Pick Peaches

The time returns to the dead of night before dawn.

Just as the Burning Corps was locked in fierce battle with the remnants of the Torch, another abandoned urban district a hundred kilometers away was entering the final climax of a bloody, flesh-splattering campaign.

Hundreds of "Conqueror" Mark V tanks and their supporting infantry cut off all entrances from the ruins to the wilderness, while also severing any possibility of fungal mutants from the Heavenly Kingdom reinforcing the city ruins.

Immediately afterward, over ten thousand Wilant infantry and tens of thousands of clone soldiers, under the cover of artillery, launched simultaneous attacks from a dozen directions, encircling and suppressing the remaining Torch Church members and mutant tribes trapped within the ruins.

From the maps of the Prosperity Era, this abandoned urban district once belonged to a large city named Guangtian, with a permanent population of over eight million.

But now it is the Wasteland Era; the former prosperity has long since vanished like smoke, leaving only the rust-streaked street signs to remember its name.

Upon learning that this city might contain materials related to the Complete Lifeform Project, Lium unhesitatingly dispatched the nearest 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps to assault it, ordering them to occupy it before the Alliance's landing forces could claim the first victory.

The attacking side consisted of the Legion's 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps and a Glory Army of thirty thousand clone soldiers.

The defending side was the Torch's "Blazing Flame" Knights and the "Lame Leg" Clan.

Although the latter's name sounds comical, it is clear that the mutants of this clan are not actually lame; given mutants' ability to regenerate severed limbs, it is unlikely for a lame one to appear.

In fact, contrary to the ridiculous name, the mutants of this clan are not lame at all; rather, they are born hunters, active year-round in rugged mountain forests, highly skilled at making traps and using high-low terrain for ambushes.

In the initial phase of the offensive, the Legion's 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps suffered considerable hardship at the hands of these "lame" ones.

But that was only the initial phase.

Once the Wilants discovered that these mutants only had a few tricks up their sleeves, the rest became much easier to handle.

Whenever they encountered a place that might be ambushed, they either sent clone soldiers to probe or simply fired a few shells to blast it first, then advanced.

The commander of the 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps was quite cautious in his decisions, thus gradually compressing the Torch's living space and activity area through a nibbling approach, eventually forcing them all into a relatively open area in the city center.

This battle lasted a full three days, during which both sides suffered considerable casualties.

But the Torch was ultimately a hopeless situation, like oil running out and lamp dying; the troops trapped in the city, no matter how they resisted, were only putting up a deathbed struggle, unable to change their eventual defeat.

By the third day of the offensive, the Legion had successfully breached the last line of defense, with tank barrels practically shoved into the nostrils of the mutants and Torch cultists.

The remaining 200 Torch cultists and fewer than 1,000 mutants were trapped in an abandoned commercial department store.

Presumably, the entrance to that research facility was also there.

Not only that, but the Legion also discovered a "livestock shed" where the mutants kept prisoners in a nearby gymnasium.

These prisoners were barely clothed, emaciated, most with sores on their bodies and marks of torture.

Some of them were presumably for the mutants' pleasure, fed large amounts of Naguo, and when dragged out of the dungeon, they still wore expressions of being broken.

The others were presumably experiments or "talent reserves" prepared by the Torch Church for themselves. Although these people were not fed Naguo, their mental state was also quite terrible, clearly having suffered much abuse.

Regarding how to handle these prisoners, a minor disagreement arose among the middle and senior officers of the 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps.

The traditional military aristocracy, led by Chiliarch Fafri, believed that according to common practice, the stronger should dominate the spoils of the strong... even if these spoils were all defective.

Some newly promoted officers thought they should maintain the Legion's dignity within the Cohesion Commonwealth, since what they were engaged in was not a war of conquest but a righteous war for the fate of all humanity.

A minority opinion suggested simply leaving it to other factions of the Cohesion Commonwealth to worry about, so that no one could find fault, and the Legion itself would save trouble.

The representative of this minority opinion was "Pangolin," a seconded officer from the civilian bureaucracy.

Although this man came from the civilian bureaucracy, his background was not insignificant; he was a talent discovered by General MacLenn, and it was said he had single-handedly hunted and killed a Deathclaw Mother, truly a hero among men.

After General MacLenn's defeat, he led Imperial officers across thousands of kilometers to evade the Alliance's pursuit and interception, eventually successfully rendezvousing with the Legion's main force in the desert, and killed nearly a thousand Alliance soldiers on the front lines!

With this achievement, he rose from the auxiliary army to the regular army, and followed General Griffin in the desert campaigns, only switching to the civilian bureaucracy after the Eastern Expansion faction fell from power.

This legendary experience was enough to occupy at least two columns in the "Triumph Gazette."

Moreover, this legendary experience had some connection with the immediate superior of the officers present.

The Myriarch of the 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps was Corway.

This man was precisely the officer that Pangolin had escorted back to the rear through thorns and thorns back then.

As for his promotion record, that is another story full of legendary color.

To be honest, the battlefield atmosphere team themselves thought it was too coincidental that the one sent to reinforce the front was exactly their old acquaintance, and then they themselves happened to be seconded there.

But this way, it saved him a lot of trouble.

Working under other Wilants often carried the risk of exposure, but working under this one required no worry at all.

Because after all, they were good brothers who had gone through life and death together; Corway had never once doubted him.

Seeing the endless debate around the command table, Corway coughed loudly.

"Enough, let me say a few words."

Everyone fell silent, pairs of eyes turning to him.

After a brief pause, Corway spoke slowly in a dignified voice.

"...I think Pangolin makes sense. Given our image in the eyes of the eastern survivors, even if we provide these prisoners with good food and drink, they would probably still think we are mistreating them. It's better to let them manage themselves."

Seeing General Corway, who had remained silent, step in to tilt the scales, Chiliarch Fafri, standing before the command table, twitched his brow fiercely and could not help but speak.

"General, I must remind you, according to our Wilant tradition—"

"Then go pick a few."

Fafri was stunned, looking at Corway in confusion.

"...Pick a few?"

Corway shrugged.

"If you find any among those prisoners that catch your fancy, pick them and take them home to keep. But I must warn you, here the Marshal's rules are the highest rules; you must treat your servants according to the standards of Triumph City, and don't think you can just kill them and be done with it."

If hearing the first sentence only caused Fafri physical discomfort, by the time he heard the latter, the corners of his mouth began to twitch.

Raise these trash according to Triumph City standards?

If he actually did that, he would be utterly mad!

Seeing no further objections, Corway tapped the table with his knuckles.

"Then it's decided. Gather the prisoners first, then wait for the arrangements of the relevant relief agencies of the Cohesion Commonwealth, whether to send them to Weifu City or find them a new home nearby."

After the campaign in Luoxia Province, or rather after getting to know Pangolin, his views on wastelanders had changed a lot, no longer as extreme as before.

In fact, it was not just him; many officers of the Eastern Expansion faction felt the same.

After returning to Triumph City in defeat, they had all seriously reflected on the reasons for their failure, especially considering whether they had gone too far in some areas.

As many wastelanders had commented, they had conquered a vast territory spanning the entire western part of the Central Continent, but in fact, they had not solved any problems.

On the territories controlled by the four legions, the cycle of rebellion and suppression of rebellion constantly repeated; nowhere except Triumph City had ever known true peace.

He wanted to try to solve some problems.

Before, he lacked the ability; now he was a Myriarch, and he had that ability.

Even if his shoulder insignia bore only one star.

The matter of the prisoners came to a close; it was just a minor episode in the entire battle.

Shortly after Corway announced the handling plan, the quartermaster brought tonight's late-night snack for everyone—two charcoal-grilled lambs sprinkled with cumin and peppercorns.

At that same moment, the signalman stood at the entrance of the command tent, announced himself, and brought news from the front.

“…The Torch commander refused to surrender, saying he would fight to the very last.”

Gazing at the two plump lambs inside the tent, the signalman couldn’t help but swallow a mouthful of saliva.

Corway, slicing at a lamb leg with his dagger, replied casually without a second thought.

“We respect his choice. Since he’s hell-bent on dying, let him drown in his stinking delusions under our artillery fire.”

The battle was already in its final stages; whether the enemy surrendered or not made little difference—at most, a few dozen more corpses would be left in that department store.

What the Legion needed were Torch’s researchers, especially those with knowledge of the complete lifeform project.

“Yes, sir!” The signalman snapped to attention and saluted, about to turn and leave, but Corway called him back.

“Hold on.”

Stopping the signalman, Corway tossed the cut lamb leg over to him.

Watching the startled soldier catch it hastily, he let out a hearty laugh and said,

“You must be hungry working so late. Eat on the way—don’t let it delay the real business.”

“Yes, sir!!”

The signalman looked at him with gratitude, saluted once more, and then hurried off with his orders.

After the signalman had gone, Corway didn’t bother with formalities and simply urged everyone to dig in while it was hot.

The officers around the command table didn’t hold back either; they drew their daggers, cut large chunks of meat, and ate with laughter and chatter, filling the tent with lively noise.

“This lamb is roasted perfectly!”

“If only we had a glass of wine to go with it!”

“Haha, you’re dreaming a bit too sweetly.”

“Wait until the war’s over! At the victory banquet, there’ll be endless wine and endless meat!”

“Now that’s something to look forward to.”

Not joining the conversation, the battlefield atmosphere group focused entirely on the buffet before him.

As a high-level awakened, his appetite could vary. If he only needed to maintain normal bodily functions and eat until about seventy or eighty percent full, three or four kilograms of lamb would suffice.

If he really let loose, he could wolf down both sheep, with just a few trips to the latrine.

If he were paying out of his own pocket, he’d usually take it easy.

But since it was on the public tab—free food anyway—he let himself go, devouring half a sheep in a few gulps, leaving Fafnir beside him dumbfounded.

Was this guy a pig?

By the time Fafnir snapped out of it, all that was left was the sheep’s rear end.

His brow twitched violently, and he was about to make some snide remark when the tent flap was pushed open again, and another signalman ran in.

“Report! Reconnaissance units report an explosion and firelight 100 kilometers southeast of our headquarters! Suspected air strike by the Alliance coastal forces!”

Hearing this, the officers stopped their feasting and turned their eyes toward the tent entrance.

“100 kilometers southeast?” Corway frowned slightly, studying the map in thought for a moment before locating the spot.

That was the site of Haibei City—the distance from there to Guangtian City was about the same as to the coastline, roughly 100 kilometers.

But getting to the coastline from there was clearly harder, since the tunnels built during the Age of Prosperity had collapsed, forcing a trek over mountains and hills.

Evidently sensing the issue, one officer frowned and mused,

“Are the Alliance landing forces advancing this fast?”

Another officer beside him also fell into thought, then said after a long pause,

“I heard they just took Vault 182, and now they’ve immediately shifted direction to launch an air strike 100 kilometers away… What exactly are they trying to do?”

“It’s not that simple,” Fafnir said, staring at the map for a while, his eyes narrowing. “…From the Alliance’s landing point to the area they’re striking, the terrain is rugged, and at least a third is hilly. If they were trying to link up with their main force, there’d be no need to take such a risk in this direction.”

He paused, glanced around at the other officers at the table, and continued,

“There’s only one other explanation: that area they’re bombing holds something extraordinary, and they don’t want it falling into our hands, so they’re trying to get there first.”

“I’d even bet that tonight’s operation isn’t just an air strike—there must be airborne troops following up!”

The officers at the command table exchanged whispers and opinions, all finding the analysis somewhat plausible.

The battlefield atmosphere group lowered his head to take a sip of water, pretending to choke on his meat, but inwardly he was sweating for his comrades in the Burning Corps.

The other officers might not know, but he was crystal clear.

The Burning Corps was indeed operating there, and the big fish they were after was no small matter—that place might well be the Torch Church’s main base in the entire Haiya Province!

To avoid drawing the Legion’s attention, they’d deliberately limited the density of their firepower, but they hadn’t expected it to still alert these people.

He glanced quickly at Corway’s expression, seeing that the latter was clearly convinced by Fafnir’s words, his face showing a contemplative look.

The battlefield veteran’s heart sank.

Even if the Valyrians discovered it, they probably wouldn’t dare to seize it outright, but it would still cause a dispute at the Conclave meeting.

This was too hasty…

Just as he was inwardly scratching his head in anxiety, Corway suddenly turned his gaze to him.

“I’d like to hear your opinion, Pangolin Chiliarches.”

The battlefield veteran let out a bitter laugh inside.

My opinion, huh…

What the hell can I say now?

Seeing the other officers also turn their eyes to him, especially Fafnir, who always looked down on his status, with a mocking expression on his face—as if he were already anticipating a blunder—

“My view is the same as Chiliarches Fafnir’s, General,” the battlefield veteran said, maintaining his honest and steady persona despite his deep reluctance.

Fafnir, who had been hoping to see him make a fool of himself, was clearly unsatisfied with this answer.

Before General Corway could speak, he said in a sarcastic tone,

“I thought I’d hear something different… Turns out our Pangolin Chiliarches, once in his own field of expertise, can only parrot what others say.”

A few officers from traditional military noble backgrounds couldn’t help but let out snickers; those who didn’t laugh still smirked with amusement.

Most had only heard rumors about this Pangolin but had never seen his real skills on the battlefield.

So far, the only trait they’d observed from this guy was his appetite.

But what good was a big appetite?

The big guys in the “Purge” squad were all gluttons, but that’s all they were.

The battlefield atmosphere group paid no heed to their mockery—mainly because he didn’t take NPC taunts seriously.

But though he didn’t care, Corway shot Fafnir a displeased look.

“Chiliarches Fafnir, a man should be practical. If there’s a problem, speak up; if not, shut your mouth. Don’t ignore issues just to argue for the sake of arguing. What do you think?”

Seeing his superior’s unhappy gaze, Fafnir’s mocking expression softened a bit.

"I think... you're right, sir."

Corwi stared at him without blinking.

"I hope you truly mean that. You really ought to learn from your comrade, the Pangolin Chiliarch. He never opposes every point you make just because you don't like the look of him."

"Yes..."

Under that burning gaze, Fafnir could only steel himself and nod, but Corwi was not satisfied with his answer.

"Is that all you have to say?"

Fafnir took a deep breath, turned, and looked at the Pangolin standing across the command table.

"I'm sorry, Pangolin Chiliarch. I, Fafnir... sincerely apologize to you."

The battlefield atmosphere group could sense that his words carried less than a tenth of genuine sincerity, but he had no interest in making things difficult for this fellow.

"I accept your apology."

"Thank you..." Fafnir gave a slight nod, his eyes not meeting the other's.

"Good," Corwi said, nodding approvingly at the two who had, for now, restored their amity. He paused before continuing, "Back to the matter we were discussing. The Alliance has been up to some tricks along our advance route. Whatever they've found there, we need to go and take a look, reclaim what belongs to us... Besides, the battle in Guangtian City is already over."

With that, Corwi turned his gaze back to Fafnir.

"Chiliarch Fafnir."

"Sir!"

Fafnir snapped to attention, awaiting orders.

"I need you to lead your men southeast. You must reach the ruins of Haibei City before dawn... The Alliance has already arrived there ahead of us. We need to expand our control area as much as possible before they find anything. Remember! Avoid direct military confrontation with the Alliance at all costs, unless they strike first."

"Yes!" Fafnir saluted, his eyes blazing.

Corwi nodded, then looked at the Pangolin.

"Chiliarch Pangolin, you will accompany Fafnir. Your task is to knock him unconscious and bring him back to me if he gets carried away by his hot blood. Your men need not follow."

"Yes, General..." The battlefield atmosphere group nodded in acceptance, but a trace of hesitation lingered on his face.

He still wanted to try, to do something for his old friends, but he was at a loss for any more ideas.

Seeing the Pangolin looking as if he had something to say but didn't know whether to speak, Corwi smiled kindly.

"If you have something to say, say it quickly. Don't keep it bottled up."

The battlefield atmosphere group nodded, his mind racing. Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he spoke with a flash of inspiration.

"I was thinking... the fastest route from here will take at least seven or eight hours. By the time we get there, it might already be too late."

"My view is just the opposite," Fafnir said, glancing at him without any mockery this time, just a chuckle. "By the time the Alliance forces have worn themselves out fighting the Torch, we'll arrive as reinforcements. Then, not only will we relieve their 'pressing need,' but we'll also naturally claim a share of the spoils from them. And they won't have any reason to blame us—they might even thank us."

"Haha, I was thinking the same thing," Corwi laughed heartily, looking at the dumbfounded Pangolin. "By then, the Alliance's paratroopers won't have many left. Even if they want to send more men to secure the territory they hold, it'll take time. We can use that time to create some fait accompli."

Damn!

Dirty!

These NPCs are too dirty!

The battlefield veteran cursed inwardly, but had to put on a look of admiration on his face.

"I see... I was too shallow in my understanding."

"Don't sell yourself short. I've seen your abilities. What you're good at isn't sitting in a tent giving orders," Corwi said with a reassuring smile, then added, "It's decided. You two, go quickly."

"Yes!"

Both responded, saluted, and then withdrew from the command tent.

Standing at the entrance of the tent, Fafnir lightly adjusted his collar, glanced sideways at the Pangolin beside him, and said with a half-smile.

"The General has seen your skills. I haven't, which is a pity. I hope to see you show your hand."

Annoyed by this fellow's persistence, the battlefield veteran looked at him with sincere eyes and said.

"The General told me to act when you get carried away by your hot blood. Are you sure you want me to show my hand?"

"... " A twitch at his brow, Fafnir finally suppressed the urge to lash out, merely glaring at him fiercely, snorted coldly, and strode away.

The battlefield veteran followed behind him, silently praying that his old friends down south would hurry up. He had truly done his best...

After a night of marching, punctuated by more than a dozen skirmishes with monsters within the Heavenly Kingdom's territory, Fafnir's thousand-man cohort finally reached the edge of Haibei City at dawn, having suffered over a dozen casualties.

Gunfire across the ruins had largely died down. Except for the battlefield veteran, who was still dawdling, everyone else involuntarily quickened their pace, heading toward the direction of the explosions.

Finally, near a pile of abandoned concrete rubble, the legion's thousand-man cohort "rendezvoused" with the Alliance forces that had landed from the Death Coast.

This was likely the first meeting between the southern and northern forces.

Even though neither side had wanted to see each other so soon.

But when they saw that the one leading the group was the battlefield veteran, many players widened their eyes in surprise.

"Holy crap!"

"Damn..."

"Battlefield?!"

Seeing these blue rats all staring intently at the Pangolin beside him, completely ignoring him, the true commander, Fafnir felt a surge of irritation.

"What are these guys muttering about?"

The battlefield veteran, frantically signaling with his eyes for these bastards not to cause trouble, lied without a blush.

"In the Luoxia Province, I killed quite a few of them... They're probably cursing my family."

Though both statements were true, together they were pure bullshit.

Fafnir, unaware, paused to think.

But then, he probably recalled some interview he'd read in the *Triumph Gazette*, and after a moment's thought, nodded in understanding.

"I see..."

But just then, his eyes suddenly shifted, and a meaningful smile crept onto his face.

"In that case, you go negotiate with them. Make them willingly hand over the ground beneath their feet."

Battlefield atmosphere group: "???"

What the hell?

Is this guy sleep-deprived and confused?!