Time rewound to the late hours of the night, before daybreak.
Just as the Burning Corps was locked in fierce combat with the Torch remnants, another flesh-and-blood battle was reaching its climax in a different abandoned urban sector a hundred kilometers away.
Over a hundred Conqueror 5 tanks and their supporting infantry had severed every exit leading from the ruins into the wilderness, cutting off any possibility of fungal mutants within the Realm of Heaven reinforcing the ruined city.
Immediately following that, over ten thousand Wilante infantrymen and tens of thousands of clone soldiers launched simultaneous assaults from more than a dozen directions under artillery cover, encircling and suppressing the remnants of the Church of the Torch and the mutant clans trapped within the ruins.
On maps from the Era of Prosperity, this abandoned urban sector had once belonged to a massive metropolis named Guangtian City, home to a permanent population of over eight million.
Now, however, it was the Wasteland Era. The bustling prosperity of yesteryear had long vanished like smoke, with only rust-pitted street signs still remembering its name.
Upon learning that data regarding the Gestalt Lifeform project might be hidden within this city, Lium had not hesitated to mobilize the nearest unit, the 37th Myriad, to mount an assault, strictly ordering them to capture it before the Alliance's landing force could take the prize!
The attacking force consisted of the Legion's 37th Myriad and a Glory Army composed of thirty thousand clone soldiers.
The defenders, on the other hand, were the Torch's Order of the Blazing Flame and the Lame Clan.
Though the latter's name sounded comical, the mutants of this clan were obviously not truly lame. Given a mutant's regenerative ability to regrow severed limbs, having genuine cripples was practically impossible.
Quite contrary to their comical name, these mutants were natural-born hunters. Active in rugged mountain forests year-round, they excelled at crafting traps and ambushing foes from varied elevations.
During the opening stages of the offensive, the Legion's 37th Myriad had suffered considerably at the hands of these "cripples."
Yet that had only been during the opening stages.
Once the Wilantes realized the mutants relied on the same few tricks over and over, dealing with them became much simpler.
Whenever they encountered a spot that might conceal an ambush, they either sent clone soldiers forward to draw fire or simply saturated it with artillery shells before advancing.
The commander of the 37th Myriad made decisions with extreme caution. Nibbling away territory step by step, he steadily compressed the Torch's living space and operational zone, eventually forcing them all into the relatively open area of the city center.
The battle raged for three full days, both sides sustaining heavy casualties throughout.
Ultimately, however, the Torch was backed into a dead end, its fuel exhausted and lamp going dark. No matter how desperately the troops trapped in the city resisted, it was nothing more than death throes that could not alter their inevitable defeat.
By the third day of the offensive, the Legion had breached the final line of defense, the gun barrels of their tanks practically shoved up the noses of the mutants and Torch cultists.
The remaining two hundred Torch cultists and fewer than a thousand mutants were cornered inside an abandoned commercial department store.
The entrance to that research facility was presumably in there as well.
What was more, the Legion discovered "livestock pens" in a nearby gymnasium, where the mutants kept their captives.
These prisoners were barely clothed and emaciated to the bone. Most were covered in sores, bearing the unmistakable marks of torture.
Some had evidently been kept for the mutants' amusement and fed large quantities of Na fruit. When dragged out of the dungeons, their expressions remained completely broken and hollow.
The rest were likely test subjects prepared by the Church of the Torch, or perhaps their "talent reserve." Though these individuals had not been fed Na fruit, their mental state was similarly appalling, having clearly endured relentless abuse.
As for how to deal with these captives, a minor disagreement arose among the middle and upper ranks of the 37th Myriad.
The traditional military aristocrats, led by Millurion Favre, argued that standard custom should be followed: the stronger should dispose of the victor's spoils as they saw fit... even if those spoils were damaged goods.
Several newly promoted officers, on the other hand, felt they ought to preserve the Legion's dignity within the Slime Mold Consortium. After all, the war they were waging was not a campaign of conquest, but a righteous war fought for the fate of all humanity.
A minority opinion suggested handing them over entirely to the other factions in the Slime Mold Consortium. That way, nobody could find fault with them, and the Legion would be spared the trouble.
The representative of this minority view was Pangolin, a "seconded officer" hailing from the civil bureaucracy.
Though he came from the civil side, his pedigree was far from insignificant. He was a talent scouted by General Maclen himself, rumored to have slain a Mother Deathclaw single-handedly—truly a hero among men.
Following General Maclen's defeat, he had escorted imperial officers across thousands of kilometers while evading the Alliance's encirclement and pursuit, ultimately rejoining the Legion's main force in the desert, where he was credited with killing nearly a thousand Alliance soldiers on the front line!
On the strength of these feats, he leaped from the auxiliary ranks into the regular army and campaigned in the desert alongside General Griffin, only transferring to the civil administration after the Eastern Expansion faction fell from favor.
Such a legendary track record was enough to fill at least two full columns in the *Triumph Gazette*.
What was more, this legendary history had a direct connection to the direct superior of the officers present.
The Myriarch of the 37th Myriad was Korwei.
He was the very officer whom Pangolin had hacked through brambles and thorns to escort back to the rear all those years ago.
As for Korwei's own meteoric rise through the ranks, that was another legendary tale in its own right.
Truth be told, Battlefield Atmosphere Group found the coincidence absurd. The officer dispatched to the front as reinforcements happened to be an old acquaintance, and he himself just happened to be seconded to the man's command.
Still, it spared him a world of trouble.
Serving under other Wilantes always carried the risk of blowing his cover, but working under Korwei gave him nothing to fear.
After all, they were brothers who had bled together. Korwei had never doubted him for a single second.
Seeing the argument raging on around the command table, Korwei cleared his throat forcefully.
"Enough. Let me say a few words."
The officers fell silent, their eyes turning toward him.
After a brief pause, Korwei spoke slowly in an authoritative voice.
"...I believe Pangolin has a point. Given our reputation among the eastern survivors, even if we provided these captives with fine food and drink, they'd probably still assume we were abusing them. Better to let them handle their own."
Seeing General Korwei, who had stayed silent until now, stepping in to take sides, Millurion Favre's brow twitched violently. He could not help but speak up.
"General, I must remind you that according to Wilante tradition—"
"Then go pick a few," Korwei cut in.
Favre blinked, staring at Korwei in confusion.
"...Pick a few?"
Korwei shrugged.
"Pick whichever captives catch your eye and take them back to raise. But let me remind you, under my command, the Marshal's regulations reign supreme. You will treat your servants according to Triumph City's standards. Don't expect to just work them to death or slaughter them."
If the first sentence had merely caused Favre visceral disgust, the second set the corner of his mouth twitching violently.
*Support this garbage to Triumph City standards?*
*He'd have to be out of his mind to do that!*
Seeing that no one raised further objections, Korwei rapped his knuckles against the table.
"Then it is settled. Gather the prisoners together and await arrangements from the Slime Mold Consortium's relief agencies, whether that means sending them to Weifu City or finding them a new home nearby."
After experiencing the campaign in Sunset Province—or rather, after meeting Pangolin—his perception of wastelanders had changed dramatically, shedding much of its former extremity.
In fact, he was not alone; many officers of the Eastern Expansion faction felt the same way.
After returning to Triumph City in defeat, they had reflected deeply on the reasons behind their downfall, pondering particularly whether they had pushed things too far in certain regards.
Just as many wastelanders observed, the Legion had conquered vast territories spanning the entire western continent, yet they had solved nothing.
Across the lands ruled by the four corps, a vicious cycle of revolt and bloody suppression repeated endlessly. Nowhere outside Triumph City had ever known true peace.
He wanted to try solving some of those problems.
Before, he lacked the power. Now that he was a Myriarch, he possessed the authority to do so.
Even if his epaulets bore only a single star.
The captive matter was put to rest, nothing more than a minor interlude in the broader battle.
Shortly after Korwei announced the resolution, the quartermaster brought in tonight's late supper—two whole charcoal-roasted lambs dusted with cumin and cracked pepper.
At that very moment, a signalman called out a report from the entrance of the command tent, bearing news from the front.
"...The Torch commander refuses to surrender, stating they will fight to the last breath."
Glancing at the two succulent roasted lambs inside the tent, the signalman could not help swallowing hard.
Carving into a leg of lamb with his dagger, Korwei remarked casually, "We respect his choice. Since he seeks death, let him drown in our artillery fire while clinging to his foul delusions."
The battle had already entered its mop-up phase. Whether the enemy surrendered made little difference; at most, it meant leaving several dozen more corpses in the department store.
What the Legion needed were the Torch's researchers, especially those possessing data on the Gestalt Lifeform project.
"Sir!" The signalman snapped to attention with a salute and turned to leave, but Korwei stopped him.
"Hold on."
Calling the signalman back, Korwei tossed the carved leg of lamb over.
Catching it in a flustered hurry, the signalman looked astonished. Korwei laughed heartily and said, "You must be starving after working so late. Eat it on the way, but don't hold up your duties."
"Sir!"
Looking at him with gratitude, the signalman saluted once more and hurried off to carry out his orders.
After the signalman left, Korwei dispensed with formality, beckoning everyone to dig in while the food was hot.
The officers around the table needed no further invitation. Unsheathing their daggers, they carved off thick chunks of meat and feasted amid lively chatter and laughter, filling the tent with boisterous cheer.
"The lamb is roasted to perfection!"
"It'd be even better with a cup of red wine!"
"Haha, keep dreaming!"
"Save it for after the war! At the victory banquet, the wine will flow endlessly and the meat will never run out!"
"Now that's something to look forward to."
Battlefield Atmosphere Group did not join the conversation, focusing his entire attention on the buffet before him.
As a high-tier Awakened, his appetite could expand or contract at will. If he merely wanted to maintain normal bodily functions and eat until he was seventy or eighty percent full, three to four kilograms of mutton would suffice.
If he truly opened up his stomach, he could pack away both whole sheep—he'd just have to make a few extra trips to the latrine.
When paying out of his own pocket, he usually exercised restraint.
Eating on the public dime, however, cost him nothing. Naturally, he gorged himself without reservation. In a few ravenous gulps, he polished off half a lamb, leaving Favre beside him completely dumbfounded.
*Is this guy a pig?*
By the time Favre recovered his wits, only the lamb's tail end was left in front of him.
Favre's brow twitched sharply. Just as he opened his mouth to deliver some snide remark, the tent flap was pushed aside again, and another signalman jogged inside.
"Report! Reconnaissance reports flashes of explosive fire one hundred kilometers southeast of our headquarters! Suspected air strike conducted by the Alliance's coastline forces!"
At those words, the officers stopped gorging themselves and looked toward the tent entrance.
"One hundred kilometers southeast?" Korwei frowned slightly, studying the map in contemplation before locating the position.
It was the ruins of Haibei City. The distance from there to Guangtian City was roughly the same as the distance to the coastline—both around one hundred kilometers.
Reaching the coastline from there was noticeably more difficult, however. The tunnels built during the Era of Prosperity had collapsed, requiring one to traverse mountains and ridges.
Evidently sensing something amiss, an officer frowned in thought.
"Has the Alliance landing force pushed forward this fast?"
Another officer standing nearby wore a pensive look and said after a long silence, "I heard they only just captured Vault 182, and now they've pivoted toward an area one hundred kilometers away with an air strike... What on earth are they planning?"
"It's not that simple," Favre said, squinting as he studied the map. "...The terrain between the Alliance's landing site and the strike zone is rugged, with at least a third consisting of hills. If their goal was to link up with their main force, there would be no need to take such a risk in that direction."
Pausing, he surveyed the other officers around the table before continuing:
"There is only one other explanation: something extraordinary is hidden in the area they bombed, and they don't want it falling into our hands, so they intend to beat us to it.
"I would even wager that tonight's operation is far more than an air strike—there must be airborne troops moving in!"
A round of murmurs swept through the officers around the command table as they exchanged views, everyone finding merit in the deduction.
Battlefield Atmosphere Group kept his head down and took a gulp of water, pretending he had choked on the meat, though inwardly he broke into a cold sweat for his comrades in the Burning Corps.
The other officers might not have known, but he was crystal clear on the matter.
The Burning Corps indeed had an operation underway there, and the big fish they were after was huge. That location might very well be the Church of the Torch's regional headquarters for the entire Haiya Province!
To avoid attracting the Legion's attention, they had intentionally restricted the density of fire support, yet unexpectedly, they had still alerted these guys.
He stole a glance at Korwei's face and saw that the commander had clearly been persuaded by Favre's reasoning, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
*Bad news,* Battlefield Guy thought.
Even if the Wilantes discovered what was going on, they wouldn't dare seize it by open force, but it would inevitably become a contentious dispute at the Slime Mold Consortium's conference table.
*That was careless...*
Just as anxiety was gnawing at him, Korwei suddenly shifted his gaze toward him.
"I'd like to hear your thoughts, Millurion Pangolin."
Battlefield Guy smiled bitterly inside.
*My thoughts? Oh, great...*
*What the hell can I even say right now?*
Seeing the other officers turning their eyes upon him—especially Millurion Favre, who had always resented his background and now wore a mocking smirk as if anticipating his humiliation—Battlefield Guy decided to stick to his honest and humble persona.
"My view is identical to Millurion Favre's, General," he said, despite dying inside.
Favre, who had been hoping to watch him make a fool of himself, was clearly dissatisfied with this noncommittal answer.
Before General Korwei could speak, Favre sneered, "I expected some fresh insight... It seems that outside his own narrow field, our Millurion Pangolin can only parrot what others say."
A few officers from traditional military noble backgrounds could not suppress low chuckles, while those who refrained from laughing curled their lips in amusement.
Most of them had only heard rumors about this Pangolin and had never witnessed his capabilities on a battlefield.
Up until now, the only defining trait they had seen in the fellow was his gluttony.
What good was an enormous appetite?
The brutes in the Purge Squads were all bottomless pits too, yet they remained nothing more than muscle-bound gluttons.
Battlefield Atmosphere Group ignored their mockery, largely because he didn't give a damn about what NPCs thought.
Yet while he paid it no mind, Korwei cast a displeased glare at Favre.
"Millurion Favre, one should seek truth from facts. If you spot a problem, state it; if not, hold your tongue. Don't withhold valid concerns when you see them, and don't oppose others merely for the sake of contradiction. Don't you agree?"
Seeing the displeasure on his superior's face, Favre pulled back his sneer slightly.
"I believe... you are correct, sir."
Korwei fixed him with an unblinking stare.
"I hope you truly mean that. In this regard, you would do well to learn from your colleague, Millurion Pangolin. He has never opposed your views simply because you dislike him."
"Yes..."
Under that intense gaze, Favre had no choice but to bite the bullet and nod. Yet Korwei was clearly not satisfied with that answer.
"Is that all you have to say?"
Favre drew a deep breath, turned toward Pangolin standing on the opposite side of the table, and said, "My apologies, Millurion Pangolin. I, Favre... sincerely apologize to you."
Battlefield Atmosphere Group could sense that less than a tenth of that apology was sincere, but he had no desire to give the guy a hard time.
"I accept your apology."
"Thank you..." Favre nodded slightly, his eyes looking away.
"Very good." Looking at the two who had reached a semblance of peace, Korwei gave an approving nod. Pausing briefly, he continued, "Returning to our earlier discussion: the Alliance has made a sly move along our line of advance. Whatever they discovered there, we must go take a look and claim what belongs to us... conveniently, the fighting in Guangtian City is already over."
At that, Korwei turned back to Favre.
"Millurion Favre."
"Here, sir!"
Favre snapped to attention, awaiting orders.
"I need you to lead your command southeast and arrive at the ruins of Haibei City before dawn... The Alliance has beaten us there. We must expand our zone of control as much as possible before they find whatever is there. Remember! You must avoid direct military friction with the Alliance at all costs—unless they fire first."
"Understood!" Favre saluted with burning eyes.
Korwei nodded, then turned his gaze upon Pangolin.
"Millurion Pangolin, you will accompany Favre. Your mission is to knock him unconscious and drag him back to me if his hotheadedness gets the better of him. Your own troops do not need to deploy."
"Yes, General..." Battlefield Atmosphere Group nodded in acknowledgment, though hesitation lingered on his face.
He still wanted to try doing something for his old friends, but he was completely out of options.
Noticing Pangolin looking as though he had something to say but wasn't sure if he should, Korwei smiled amiably.
"If there's something on your mind, spit it out. No need to keep it bottled up."
Battlefield Atmosphere Group nodded, his mind racing. An idea struck him, and he ventured, "I was thinking... reaching that area will take at least seven or eight hours at our fastest pace. By the time we arrive, it may already be too late."
"I see it quite the opposite," Favre said, glancing at him without snark this time, merely chuckling. "By the time the Alliance troops and the Torch have battered each other senseless, we'll arrive on the battlefield right on cue as reinforcements. We'll not only resolve their 'dire predicament,' but also take a legitimate cut of the spoils. They won't have any grounds to blame us—in fact, they might even have to thank us."
"Haha, that was my thought as well," Korwei chuckled, looking at the stunned Pangolin. "By then, there won't be many Alliance paratroopers left. Even if they want to deploy more forces to secure their ground, it will take time. We can seize that window to establish facts on the ground."
*Damn it!*
*Dirty!*
*These NPCs are playing too dirty!*
Battlefield Guy cursed relentlessly inside, yet had to plaster a look of admiration on his face.
"I see. My understanding was far too shallow..."
"No need to sell yourself short. I've witnessed your capabilities firsthand; sitting in a tent giving orders was never your forte," Korwei consoled him with a laugh before concluding, "It's decided, then. The two of you, get moving at once."
"Yes, sir!"
Both men acknowledged the command, saluted, and withdrew from the tent.
Standing outside the entrance, Favre adjusted his collar, threw a sidelong glance at Pangolin, and said with a faint sneer, "The general has seen what you can do, but unfortunately, I haven't had the pleasure. I hope to see you show your stuff."
Growing thoroughly annoyed with this pest, Battlefield Guy met his gaze with absolute sincerity.
"The general told me to act if hotheadedness gets the better of you. Are you sure you want me to show you what I can do?"
"..." His brow twitching, Favre swallowed down the urge to flare up. He merely glared daggers at him, let out a cold snort, and marched off.
Following behind him, Battlefield Guy prayed silently that his old buddies to the south would wrap things up quickly. He had genuinely done all he could...
After a grueling night-long march—punctuated by over a dozen skirmishes with creatures of the Heavenly Realm—Favre's cohort reached the outskirts of Haibei City just as dawn was breaking, at the cost of a dozen or so casualties.
Gunfire could barely be heard across the expanse of ruins. Except for Battlefield Guy, who was deliberately dragging his feet, everyone else involuntarily quickened their pace, rushing toward where the explosions had erupted.
Finally, near a patch of shattered concrete debris, the Legion cohort and the forces landed by the Alliance from the Death Coast achieved their "link-up."
This was likely the very first rendezvous between the northern and southern fronts.
Even if neither side had wanted to lay eyes on the other so soon.
Yet when the players spotted that the man leading the detachment was none other than Battlefield Guy, quite a few widened their eyes in utter shock.
"Holy shit!"
"What the hell..."
"Battlefield?!"
Seeing these blue mole rats staring fixedly at Pangolin beside him, entirely ignoring him—the true commander—Favre grew irritated.
"What are these guys muttering about?"
Battlefield Guy shot wild visual cues at the rascals, warning them not to blow his cover, while bullshitting through his teeth with an unblinking poker face:
"Back in Sunset Province, I killed quite a few of them... They're probably cursing my family."
Though both statements were technically true, stringing them together was pure fabrication.
Favre, none the wiser, was taken aback for a moment.
Then, likely recalling some interview he had read in the *Triumph Gazette*, he pondered for a second and nodded in understanding.
"I see..."
Just then, however, Favre's eyes shifted, a meaningful smile curling his lips.
"In that case, you will go negotiate with them. Tell them to hand over the land beneath their feet like good little boys."
Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "???"
*What the fuck?*
*Has this guy lost his mind from sleep deprivation?!*
Chapter 795