The Militia's War

The desert scenery was not purely monotonous; it held its own distinct richness. This area was strewn with colossal boulders, worn remarkably smooth by countless years of windblown sand. A large golden retriever bounded among them, bags slung across both flanks packed with various instruments, while a black cat sat perched on its back. Suddenly, the golden retriever braked and halted before a giant rock. Purr leapt down and began prowling cautiously around the boulder in measured feline steps. Philomena's figure materialized, confusion in her eyes. She had no idea what Purr was doing. Behind her, nearly twenty Order priests emerged. Their clerical robes had been altered to fit more snugly, and each wore a cloak—a sacred artifact of invisibility. They were scouts; Philomena was their nominal captain, but the true leader in charge was Purr. Philomena crouched down and scrutinized the rock and the sand, finding nothing amiss. Yet Purr continued to lightly pat the sandy surface with her paw pads, as though having stumbled upon something intriguing. "Is something wrong?" Philomena could not resist asking at last. "Nothing's wrong." "Then..." "Because someone deliberately swept away their tracks." "Swept away tracks?" "Carelessly, though. Judging by the terrain and wind direction to deduce sand accumulation, this patch ought to sit slightly lower than its surroundings, not level with them. Pass down the order: have everyone check beneath the other rocks using this method." "Understood." Philomena went at once to relay the order. Soon enough, the findings were brought forward: they had uncovered over thirty more boulders where the sand underneath had been smoothed level. During this time, Kevin sniffed at the rock face, then shook his canine head. "Someone has been here recently?" Philomena asked. "Is it a scout team from the desert rebels?" Purr shook her head. "Aren't the desert rebels locked in combat with the Knight Order in the core zone? Why would they send people all the way out here to scout? And on such a scale—it's a scouting party of at least thirty people. "Besides, the dumb dog couldn't catch any natural scent on this stone, which means they used purification scrolls when withdrawing to mask their aura, preventing our tracking monster beasts from picking up their trail. "Those spell scrolls weren't low grade either. "So, I suspect this might not be a desert rebel scouting team at all." Philomena said, "The desert rebels have always had instructors dispatched by the major churches." It was no secret that the various orthodox churches trained believers for the desert, supplied equipment and provisions, sent instructors, and even added small detachments of mercenaries. "Let's go check over there—Point B-3A on the map. There's a dune hollow." Philomena reminded her, "That's the defensive sector of another militia regiment." "Aren't they all militias under the Whip of Order? I remember the thrill-seeker spent the past few days cursing their commander, Senrol." "Yes. Because he's been keeping his regiment glued to ours. In the combat assignments handed down by the Knight Order, their line-holding position is adjacent to ours." "Let's go have a look, and treat it as extra training while we're at it. Tell your people not to leave a single trace. Anyone who slips up and gets spotted fails the evaluation and can forget about promotions after the war." "Understood. I'll pass the word." Bypassing the neighboring militia's outer perimeter was not difficult. To begin with, fighting was already underway at the front, and the main Knight Order was advancing smoothly; the line-holding militias on the perimeter only had to wait around to round up routed stragglers and pad their military merits, so they were broadly lax. Furthermore, Senrol had pushed the art of copying homework to its absolute limit, keeping his personnel largely concentrated inside, busy competing with Neo in digging fortifications. Upon reaching the dune hollow, the Yorktown scout squad went to work using the same method applied at the boulder cluster. Soon enough, reports came in: here, too, signs of "swept tracks" were present. Kevin's nose snuffled around a few more spots. "Woof, woof, woof!" "Purification scrolls were used here as well, but with a different degree of cleansing, which means they used a different standard issue of scrolls." Sitting atop the dog's back, Purr wore a solemn expression, deep in thought. The others waited in silence. Finally, Purr looked up and said, "The main desert rebel force is getting pounded, so how could multiple well-equipped, seasoned scouting squads appear out here on the periphery? There's definitely something fishy going on. I'm going to report this to the thrill-seeker. Let's turn back!" Neo had a damp towel draped around his neck, his upper torso bare. His build wasn't heavily muscled, but it was exceptionally well-proportioned. Its only flaw was being too perfect—his delicate skin was entirely unmarred by scars, enough to make any woman envious. Naturally, this wasn't because Neo maintained a skincare regimen, but simply because his bloodline rarely allowed scars to remain. Every now and then, after suffering a grievous injury, he shed a layer of skin like a serpent; it would be a miracle if his complexion wasn't immaculate. Yet Neo never thought anything was wrong with his appearance. In his view, after Karen had emerged from the contaminated cave, his skin had turned absurdly pristine anyway—Neo was merely patching up old parts every time, while Karen had undergone a complete overhaul. "Ssss... Whew..." Neo took a deep drag and slowly exhaled the smoke. Cigarette between his fingers, he bent down, gazing at the black cat sitting on the golden retriever's back. "I'd like to know what you really mean by this." Purr replied, "You're the actual commander." "No, I'm just asking: what would you do in my position?" "I'd retreat. Seasoned adventurers never like unknown risks." "Aren't adventurers supposed to pursue that sort of thing?" "Those are dead adventurers, not seasoned ones." "Oh?" "What we love is the process of solving puzzles, not courting humiliation at the hands of the unknown." "Fair enough. But I can't retreat now. If we earn military merit here, the credit goes to Karen. If we make a mistake... Karen shoulders that too." "Then set up defenses, and be ready to cut and run at a moment's notice." Neo asked, "Fair enough, but I hope the worst-case scenario doesn't happen." "Neither do I, meow." Neo walked out of the command tent into the camp. A large crowd of priests was bustling about bare-chested. Wearing clerical robes wasn't actually stifling—the embedded formations in many robes could generate cool air to regulate body temperature—but in this desert environment and under such an arduous drill regimen, their mental restlessness far outstripped any physical heat, making shedding their shirts feel universally more refreshing. The one directing operations from a raised platform in the distance was Mr. Aisen. Neo really wished he had a camera to take a picture and send it to Karen in Wien: Look, this is your birth uncle! Could you ever imagine him bare-chested, leading work chants at the top of his lungs? Ever since arriving in the desert, Mr. Aisen seemed like a changed man, transforming from an extreme shut-in into an extreme extrovert. He would even take the initiative to heart-to-heart with homesick or emotionally unstable array masters in the team to cheer them up. Even Richard had wondered whether his father was possessed by some demon. In reality, the demon that had always possessed his father had finally been exorcised. "Aisen." "Here." Aisen turned around immediately to face Neo. "Put the drills inside on hold for now. Beef up the exterior fortifications a bit more." "More on the outside?" Aisen pointed all around them to the towering ring of black walls encircling the camp. All of this was their handiwork from recent days, not to mention the dense multitude of concealment and defensive formations layered outside. In every tomb-raiding protocol, one always secured the perimeter first before tackling the interior. With limited space, the interior was built up and torn down repeatedly for practice, while the outside simply accumulated layer upon layer. "Find a way to add a bit more. If there's truly no room, expand slightly outward, or reinforce their strength. We aren't short on formation materials, right?" "Not short at all. Shipments keep coming from the rear." "Then don't save pennies on behalf of our Regional Chief. Our Regional Chief is having budgetary troubles right now, but the deficit isn't here with us." "Is something about to happen?" "Just follow orders." "Understood." After instructing Aisen, Neo summoned Count Rekar, and the two rode out of camp leading a troop of cavalry. One wouldn't know without stepping outside, but riding out offered a real taste of just how densely packed the defensive arrays were. Even with the blueprint in hand, Neo had to guide the squad along a tortuous path for quite a while before safely clearing them. After scouting around, aside from the details Purr had pointed out, Neo couldn't detect anything else. Seeing the setting sun and the oncoming twilight, Neo smacked his lips and ordered: "Rest another ten minutes, then prepare to return to camp." Count Rekar asked curiously, "Why are you being so cautious?" "Remember, never use that tone to ask Karen a question like that in the future. His temperament is a hundred times more cautious than mine." "Thank you, noted." "You have ten minutes left. Take another look." "Will my opinion affect the outcome?" "No, because I trust that cat and that dog." "All right, thank you for giving me room to show what I can do." Count Rekar dismounted and walked up a sand dune. He stood there amidst the swirling sands, looking just like a captain on a mast gazing into the distance. In fact, he saw it. In the darkness gradually settling over the horizon as the sun sank, he saw irregular motion. Rekar reached into his pocket for a pinch of shredded tobacco leaves, chewed them in his mouth, and then spat them out bit by bit. He lay flat, pressing his ear to the sand, chanting under his breath: "This is a sea... this is an ocean..." He caught the faint rustling of scorpions, lizards, and other critters beneath the sea of sand, and then his perception expanded outward, further and further... Finally, he picked up a rhythmic cadence of marching footsteps. Far away, but heading straight in this direction. Count Rekar got up. By then, the cavalrymen had packed up and mounted their horses, ready to head back. Neo trotted over to Rekar and asked, "What's the situation?" "Danger. Heavy, ominous danger. The last time my fleet encountered a major disaster, I felt this exact same way." "And you relied on your gut to avoid that danger?" "No, I was full of confidence and thought I was overthinking it. Then I lost my fleet, floated back clinging to a plank, and had to work like mad to rebuild a new fleet." "Got it. Back to camp." Upon returning to camp, Neo issued three orders without delay: first, the regiment's array masters were to reinforce the defensive formations with everything they had; second, the remaining members were to rest and eat to keep themselves combat-ready; as for the third order, it was to send a warning to Senrol's regiment next door. "Oh, thrill-seeker, did that sticky candy cling to you so long that you've grown fond of him, meow?" "Having a solid stronghold next door does us nothing but good." Next came the waiting. Late at night, the array masters took turns resting, replenishing themselves with energy potions while priests administered soothing treatments. Neo stood atop the wall. Beside him sat a small magic crystal cannon; there were thirty such cannons in the camp, manned by a dedicated artillery squad within the militia. Karen had been exceedingly generous with the militia's equipment. It was only due to personnel limitations that he hadn't approved even more cannons. Neo figured this was because Karen had personally experienced the naval battle between the Moon God Church and the Church of Samsara, leaving him with an incurable phobia of insufficient firepower ever since. In the latter half of the night, around four in the morning, Neo ordered all regiment personnel to their battle stations. Furthermore, terrified that Senrol next door might doze off, Neo ordered Richard to transmit another message to him. As soon as Richard sent it, he returned with a reply, which meant Senrol next door had his eyes peeled wide open the entire time. This brought Neo no small amount of comfort; he had truly worried that sticky nuisance might suddenly stop clinging when it mattered most. At five-thirty in the morning, the horizon began to pale faintly. Neo pursed his lips and pulled out the last cigarette from his pack to light it. He noticed his hands were trembling slightly—perhaps from hunger after skipping a midnight snack, or perhaps from the desert's freezing nighttime air. The thrilling rush of tension plucked continuously at his nerves. He began to understand why the Mad Pope had climbed the Tower of Light; when humans were pushed to peak excitement, they genuinely needed some performative, exaggerated outlet. Defensive formations bristling like a hedgehog, fortifications so solid... they ought to hold, right? Neo looked back into the camp behind him. All campfires were out, but every unit was in position, waiting in silence. The militia he led was no ordinary militia: the rank and file had all been handpicked, and the command posts were staffed by the elite among elites. For instance, in the array squad, half were Jurists—a wildly luxurious setup. In other militias, a single Jurist might lead a team where everyone else was a servant apprentice. In other regions, once a Jurist secured a position, they crammed it with their own cronies, rushing from mobilization to deployment in the desert without preparation. His own unit, however, had undergone systematic training, and those few hundred connected freeloaders had been left behind at the logistical supply base rather than brought along. Neo kept hyping himself up with mental pep talks, shouting in his heart: *Karen, you damn well had it right—war really is a thrilling game.* A screech echoed from the sky. Right after, a gigantic dark figure appeared like a colossal bird, flapping its wings, conjuring a bizarre vortex of black clouds overhead. Richard reported immediately, "The communication array has failed! We've lost contact with the outside!" "Understood." Neo cracked his neck and stuck out his tongue. "Hahaha, here we go!" Immediately, Neo barked to Richard, "Order the artillery: blast them first!" "Yes, sir!" The nominal artillery commander of the militia was Fannie, but the Yorktown militia's luxury setup showed in how many posts had both an official face and a real operator behind the scenes. For instance, the artillery squad's actual commander was a dog. At that moment, Kevin stood in place, eyes shut, sensing outward. Even though Karen had undone several layers of Kevin's seals by now, truthfully, even if all the seals were lifted, he would still fall far short of Raniedal at his peak. When he descended alongside Karen during the divine advent, he was already thoroughly weakened and withered. Neo truly was an outstanding commander—so outstanding he even factored the utility of a dog into their combat strength. Kevin's greatest asset right now was perception; across their past experiences, Kevin had always been the first to detect danger and sniff out anomalous presences. Finishing his scan, Kevin snapped his eyes open. "Woof, woof, woof!" From his back, Purr immediately rattled off a string of coordinate numbers. Fannie jotted them down swiftly and passed them to every gun position. The drawback of small magic crystal cannons was limited firepower, but their virtue lay in higher precision. Over this past period, they had undergone meticulous calibration, with outer coordinates pre-mapped. While pinpoint strikes weren't possible, each gun could at least loose several consecutive rounds into roughly the same grid within a short window. "All ready!" Fannie yelled. "Woof!" Purr raised the small flag in her paws and cried: "Fire, meow!" BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! ... In the distance, a group of Night God Church priests clad in desert robes was advancing rapidly. Reaching their designated sector, summoners halted into position first and drew out summoning artifacts to conjure Nightwing Greatbirds. Soon, the giant birds swept over the area ahead, disrupting the frequency of local communication arrays. The rest of the troops pressed forward swiftly, determined to exploit the last veil of darkness before dawn to shatter the Order militia up ahead! Similar scenes were playing out before other Order militia camps, staged by the armed forces of other orthodox churches. Mosa chewed on a plant root as he barked orders: "Nightstalkers, accelerate infiltration! Priests, bless the greatsword wielders! Remind everyone that in front of us is merely an Order militia regiment! Every unit out there is competing to see who breaks through first and bags the most captives. Don't go embarrassing our church here!" Once the order was issued, hundreds of ghostly Nightstalkers melted into the lingering darkness, thrusting forward at high speed. Meanwhile, three hundred heavy greatsword wielders in bulky plate armor stood lined up in place while priests around them bestowed blessings. Once the Nightstalkers successfully infiltrated and threw the Order militia camp into disarray, the greatsword wielders would charge right behind them and punch straight through. The only flaw in this plan was that, to stay undetected and retain the element of surprise, none of the churches' regiments had been able to transport heavy siege equipment. Fortunately, the enemy was weak, so none was needed. "Ptui." Mosa spat out the residue. Just as he was about to grab another root, he suddenly spotted a succession of flashing fires flare in midair in the distance. The flashes went dark, flared again, dimmed, and flared once more. "What's that?" Mosa knitted his brows. Soon, they drew even tighter—because he saw a barrage of magic crystal cannon beams raining down in parabolic arcs like falling meteors! And the grid they converged upon was precisely where the greatsword wielders were gathered, receiving their blessings! Mosa roared on the spot, "Scatter! Scatter immediately!" The greatsword wielders and priests scattered frantically. But the power of magic crystal cannons was undeniable—back during the naval battles, warship salvos had shattered the dharma bodies of temple elders. Heavy plate or not, any unfortunate soul within the blast zone saw armor and flesh vaporize into one. When the detonations finally ceased, Mosa scrambled up from the ground. A quick sweep of his eyes revealed that, even counting the wounded, barely half the greatsword wielders remained alive; the vast majority had been vaporized in the barrage. The explosions behind them did not deter the Nightstalkers ahead from executing their mission. Yet the moment they breached the outer perimeter, an array of formations detonated one after another: lightning, fireballs, frost, spikes, curses, sleep... All along the way, the vanguard practically threw away their lives to pave a path for their comrades behind. As regular armed forces of an orthodox church, their discipline was undeniably formidable. Yet after sustaining catastrophic casualties and wading through the mangled flesh of their comrades to finally reach the militia camp, the surviving Nightstalkers were struck with despair and horror. Under the dual shroud of illusion arrays and isolation barriers, one could never see the true state of the camp without getting right up close. And now, what loomed before them was an impossibly towering, colossal fortress wall—crawling with a dense, visible array of miniature trap formations. "O Gods above, tell me... how on earth are we supposed to infiltrate that?!"