The air after the rain is very humid, with a salty smell that goes straight to your head. Just a normal breath can wake you up and give your tired mind a good rest.
It's not over yet... The weather is clearing up, the sparse clouds are receding towards the horizon, and looking into the distance, the line where the sea and sky meet blurs the distinction between heaven and earth, as if the world has returned to the beginning of creation, everything is in a daze, stuck together and indistinguishable from one another.
Some soldiers were venting their anger, while others were trying to earn military merit. They all charged out of the trenches, leaving Blind standing there waiting for his fate, looking all alone, as if he had been abandoned.
"It doesn't taste right."
The temporary head of Caesar's Port muttered something that reached his friend's ears.
"how?"
"It doesn't taste like the aftermath of war."
There were no impurities in the air. The high temperature generated by the burning of white phosphorus and thermite purified most of the filth. Although there was dust, it was difficult to feel the stinging sensation of gunpowder adhering to the nasal cavity, and there was no foul smell of plastic, metal, phlogiston and human tissue mixed together.
"Of course, I'm not used to it either."
A blurry silhouette of shadows approaching in the distance was reflected clearly in the mirror. Pierre took off his glasses and wiped them.
"We didn't use any sealed artifacts. The 'hunters' knives were clean. Bullets and shells can achieve great results on this kind of battlefield, and they are the biggest ones. I never would have dared to imagine this before."
Buel didn't want to talk and turned to look behind him in the direction where Caesar's Port stood.
A well-equipped "hunter" squad stood ready. The "Iron Knight," who shared the same rank of brigadier general as himself but was not valued by the Republic Parliament due to his Soren royal lineage, idly smoked a cigarette, seemingly lamenting the boredom bred by his surroundings.
Behind this elite force, followers of the "God of Steam and Machinery" carried a large number of new war machines. The infantry guns were arranged in an orderly manner. Sixty cannons may not sound like many, but they required fifteen times the number of subordinate personnel to move them skillfully.
Such a creation would cost 150,000 gold louis. The entire site would be a mobile gold mine. If someone knowledgeable were to see it, they would probably be dazzled by the cost.
But... Blinney knew very well that if they used traditional tactics to attack the cult stronghold in the town of Entreles that had just been destroyed, the cost would be higher than the total cost of all the artillery pieces combined.
Training a qualified Sequence 7 Extraordinary is difficult to calculate in terms of specific amounts of money, but it is certainly no cheaper than a cannon.
Given the existence of an unknown blasphemous ritual and the fact that demigods should not be mobilized, even if sixty Sequence 7s were thrown up at once, success would be hard to guarantee, not to mention the difficulty of gathering sixty Sequence 7s.
This is equivalent to the extraordinary defensive strength of twelve ordinary towns...
"It smells like a vacation," Blinney said abruptly, her tense shoulders suddenly relaxing.
"Brinny!"
Pierre stared to the other side and shouted sharply.
"Isn't that so?"
"We replaced a 'Witch King' with a bunch of reusable tools and a batch of consumables that cost only tens of thousands of gold louis in total, and a bunch of madmen who throw bombs at us every day, wishing they could rip us open and offer our souls to the evil god. Isn't this a vacation?"
"You can shut your mouth." Pierre's voice sounded extremely tense.
The silhouettes in his eyes drew closer and became clearer, so clear that he could see their plain black uniforms, devoid of any patterns or decorations, so plain that they were completely at odds with Intis's aesthetic sense; so clear that he could recognize the armbands affixed to their shoulders.
Pierre's furrowed brows were almost sunken into his flesh.
Eighth inning?
Why are there people from the Eighth Bureau mixed in with the parliamentary investigation team?
"Don't tell them this later, just let me hear it." Pierre turned around, grabbed his friend's shoulder, and seeing that he was still laughing, he just wanted to slap him. "Bastard, stop fucking laughing. If you don't behave yourself, even the church won't be able to protect you."
"We've made a profit today. As long as you show a good attitude, I'll speak to the church. Since His Highness Bonova gave you the item, it implies you can use other methods… Isn't it obvious whose attitude He represents?"
"The church will definitely not abandon you, so you absolutely must not make any mistakes!"
"No, it has nothing to do with the church; it was all my own idea."
"Bullshit! Do you think I don't know your brain and your level of intelligence?"
"You think you could come up with this idea?"
As the footsteps behind him grew louder, Pierre lowered his voice.
"You might be able to fool others, but don't think you can fool me, and don't try to fool the council members like they're fools..."
"You think I don't know why you're giving a speech during Mass? I understand perfectly well."
"Behave yourself."
After saying that, Pierre pressed Blind's shoulder hard and took a step to the side, making way for the arriving investigation team.
He was a man dressed in black, with black hair and blue eyes, and a fairly good-looking appearance. If Klein were here, he would definitely recognize that he bore a resemblance to Jerry Zarathustra.
But it wasn't this striking gentleman who spoke; it was another member of the investigation team, a man with obvious signs of middle-aged obesity due to overwork.
The fat man first scrutinized Bliny and Pierre before speaking.
"Brigadier General Lefebvre, first of all, congratulations on winning a beautiful game."
His tone was devoid of any emotion, yet inexplicably ironic, as if he were appearing before a storm to herald a refreshing and moist season for all living beings—that was Pierre's assessment.
And as he expected, after the pleasantries, the real accountability began.
"The members of the National Assembly had already prepared to temporarily abandon the two towns of Entreles. To be honest, when your proposal was first submitted, none of the members of the National Assembly were optimistic about you. After all, none of us knew what thermite and white phosphorus bombs were."
Ha, you guys, ha, you guys... you think you can figure it out... Pierre suppressed the urge to be sarcastic and turned his head away.
He could even guess what the guy would say next.
Oh, you concealed from us the true effects of... well, white phosphorus and thermite, before we approved your operation. It was a complete deception...
"Brigadier General Lefebvre, you have deceived the National Assembly. You did not submit the report detailing the effects and directions of action of white phosphorus bombs and thermite to the Assembly. I must say, you have a talent for politics. You have tricked the Assembly into giving you permission to carry out your horrific operation with only partial truth. This is a violation of the Charter of the Republic."
"Of course, we have also received your letter of remorse and supplementary explanation, so you don't have to be charged with a specific crime like 'fraudster' before the trial."
The fat man's words were exactly as Pierre had predicted. Just as the brigadier general's deputy was trying to obscure his true intentions by stroking his neck, he suddenly changed his tone and manner.
"However, since the council hasn't yet determined how to characterize your actions, our preliminary investigation has indeed revealed that, besides you, there were some unavoidable factors involved in this matter..."
The fat man's eyes darted around, glancing intentionally or unintentionally at the brigadier general from the Soren family behind Bliny and Pierre, who was still smoking and seemed indifferent to the matter, and then at the cobalt blue robe on Bliny's chest.
He breathed a sigh of relief and mumbled something.
"In short, no matter what, the victory you brought to the Republic cannot be ignored, and this point will be emphasized in subsequent discussions about you and this 'successful counterattack'."
Is it a hallucination?Pierre's pupils dilated as he stared incredulously at the middle-aged fat man who suddenly looked much more pleasing to the eye, as if he had grown angel wings. He then swallowed hard.
It's not a hallucination.
Those damn old bastards in the National Assembly actually gave in?
Even though Blinney's speech hadn't been published yet, and the speakers they had arranged hadn't started building momentum, a huge problem collapsed from within before they could even try to solve it.
that's all?
"What a joke..." Pierre, who was in charge of the artillery scheduling, couldn't believe it.
He knew that white phosphorus bombs and thermite were nothing compared to what angels and demigods of certain pathways could cause with a casual wave of their hands. Those princes and lords were the real walking hells. The research results they used were nothing more than a clumsy imitation of extraordinary power by physical science, not even worthy of playing house.
However, just as military ranks often have two paths to be obtained, officers who rely on family background and seniority to climb the ranks without extraordinary ability find it increasingly precarious. A single mistake or misfortune could lead to their utter downfall, causing them to fall to the bottom and never be able to hold power for the rest of their lives.
As for those bound by military ranks and sequences, as long as they are alive, they will eventually turn the tables. They are not afraid of so-called guilt, which is not as real as the extraordinary characteristics within them.
The source of these extraordinary strengths is the most valuable investment.
Extraordinary people have a natural immunity, while other things are not so lucky.
If everything today was done by that Sauron, the National Assembly would at most issue a useless condemnation... The National Assembly shouldn't be so lenient towards a physical creation that can replace ordinary extraordinary beings to a certain extent.
This thing could have a huge impact...
Humanitarianism? Ha, nobody cares. What really matters is the cost of future wars, whether it becomes a turning point in the war, like what Rosell did, whether it arouses the fear of the allies in the North and serves as a deterrent to the Second Empire of Trensost in the South…
Blind couldn't handle such a huge impact, so who took the blame for him?
That second "Son of Steam," Prince Bonois, or... Pierre's gaze flickered to the edge of the investigation team, where a man in black was casually admiring the scorched earth and embers of flames, and he couldn't help but take a step back.
...
Blind was eventually taken away.
Even if the National Assembly relents, the necessary procedures cannot be omitted. The Assembly also needs a pre-rehearsed trial to put on a show and give the world an explanation.
What happened near Entre-Lay today can never be covered up.
Unaware of all this, the soldiers silently cleaned up the battlefield. Only occasionally would one or two observant soldiers look up during their breaks and be surprised to find that Brigadier General Soren, who was usually arrogant, was leisurely strolling along the edge of the battlefield, accompanied by a strange young man in black.
"How's it going? Not bad at all?"
Louis Soren had one leg straight and the other bent, looking just like a typical street thug in Trier.
"It's alright, it exceeded expectations. The Empire will consider production."
The young man in black bent over, examining the charred remains of a "Rose School" member on the ground, a smile playing on his lips.
"I must say, Mr. Lefebvre's action and courage were stronger than we imagined, and he deserves the efforts we made for him."
"Ha, I quite admire Blini. His taste and appreciation for wine are exceptional. I'll introduce you to him sometime; I guarantee you'll be satisfied."
"Iron Knight" Louis Soren also saw the horribly murdered cultists from the Southern Continent and said nonchalantly.
"It's all thanks to you guys. Luckily I didn't show my face, otherwise this matter wouldn't be so simple."
"Those damn councilors are keeping a close eye on me. They wish they could drive all the people with the surname Soren out of Trier, and even Intis. They're just hoping we get out of here every day."
"Nelson, I owe you a drink this time. After this is over, you have to give me face, and I'll treat you properly."
"The end?" Nelson Zarathustra shook his head, no longer looking at the charred corpse. "That could be many years."
The "trickster" uses powerful illusions to distort the senses of those around them, ensuring their conversations are not overheard by anyone with ulterior motives.
"Not everyone is as open-minded as you. Wait until you've dealt with the stubborn old man in your family before we talk about the future."
It's funny, really. Back in the Fourth Age, probably no one could have imagined that the descendants of the Zarathustra family would be able to talk so amicably with the Sauron family.
"You don't need to worry about my old man. Unless you can persuade him to help us, don't try to disgust me with your sarcastic remarks. It's annoying to hear them."
Louis Soren turned around and looked with what appeared to be an appreciative gaze at the only colored mark on the side of Nelson's shoulder—the seal belonging to the "Eighth Bureau," or rather, the "Secret Order"—and chuckled.
"Even though we're broke now, what was that line Russell said again?"
"Even a starved camel is bigger than a horse, let alone a strong camel to begin with."
"Damn Gustav, why didn't he kill all of my old geezers when he made his move back then..."
"If you kill him, how can you still become a brigadier general?"
Nelson refused to back down and was unwilling to give this so-called friend a friendly face.
Fortunately, his surname was Zarathustra, and not Antigonus, Medici, or any other angelic family. If it were any other angelic family member, upon hearing someone call the source of all their family's glory, the pillar upon which their prosperity depended—the head angel—"the immortal old man," they would probably have already pounced on him and fought to the death.
Oh, the Abraham family probably wouldn't care too much, after all, over the years they have respected and protected their "Angel of Proclamation," His Highness Roman Ambrose, rather than "Gate of a Thousand Gates," Bethel Abraham.
"Stop being silly, today is just the beginning."
"I know, I know," Louis Soren waved his hand. "I'd like to, but besides yelling at them, what else can we do with the one at home, hmm?"
He glanced at Nelson sideways, his hands in his pockets.
"Even a weakened Sequence Two is an angel. Unless the 'Red Angel' is willing to release the patriarch, without His support, the entire 'Ironblood Cross' can't kill that old man even if they are united."
"Tell me, tell me the truth..."
Louis Soren turned his body towards Nelson. Although he was half a head taller than the "Trickster" and was looking down at him, he was actually the weaker party.
"Master... He's really still alive, right?"
"Isn't it a lie told by the 'Red Angels' to coax children?"
Nelson, too lazy to play along with his friend's suspicions, simply gave a rather indifferent hum.
He reached out and slapped Louis Soren across the face, deciding to push this annoying "hunter" away.
Before he could get any results, Louis Soren's hand, which belonged to him, used its strength to push against his hand and continued to shamelessly press for answers.
"It doesn't matter if it's a lie, we don't care."
"Sigh, he's dead, what's the point of hiding it? Anyway, we've had a memorial tablet for the patriarch for over a thousand years, and we've already changed the cenotaph three times..."
"I just wanted to ask, if all else fails, could you write me a letter?"
"I can change my last name to Medici..."
Nelson lowered his head, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment of silence, the strength in his hand suddenly increased.
"roll!"
...
"Don't worry, that thing shouldn't end up in our hands."
This was the first thing Klein heard tonight.
That rain of fire not only extinguished the bonfire of the "Rose School's" worship of the "Mother Tree of Desire," but also poured cold water on Klein's weary heart.
It's ridiculous. We've already time-traveled, the world has been destroyed once, and fighting with extraordinary abilities is clearly the most efficient way. So why do chemical weapons still appear?
Development patterns?
Stop kidding, talking about physics in an extraordinary world...
Klein slumped in front of the fire, holding a cup of freshly brewed hot tea, but he couldn't think of moistening his already chapped lips.
"...The Church of the God of Steam and Machinery is not stupid. Since they would release something like this now, they must have made contingency plans and considered the impact it would have."
"In general, the ability to set an entire plain ablaze and demonstrate its power to the world would only add unnecessary burdens to Intis. Logically, it should only be used at crucial and appropriate times to achieve the dual objectives of deterrence and propaganda. This was a misstep."
"Unless it was deliberately released by the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery, and there are other plans behind it, there's no way to explain it..."
Jerry Chara's image appears to be that of him talking to himself, because none of his other companions are listening to his analysis.
He himself was aware of this, but he still kept talking about it, perhaps because he was also shocked by the scene of fire rain falling from the sky.
"Shut up."
Mr. A suddenly said.
"What?"
I said shut up.
Mr. A removed his hands from the inverted cross hanging from his chest and pointed to Klein and Sharon, who stood as silent as two statues.
"We all need some quiet time."
Intis's shot shattered not only the Highlanders' confidence in their resistance, but also the plans of Klein and his associates.
Of course, the Intis officer who ordered the firing had no idea about their plan, and even if he did, he wouldn't have cared.
Before this evening, no one would have expected that the "Witch King" of the "Rose School" would be dealt with so easily, and that the cultists in the two towns of Entres would be wiped out in an instant.
There might be some "Rose School" followers who manage to escape, but there will definitely not be more than a dozen. Moreover, once they manage to contact other "Rose School" members, those unrestrained madmen will realize that under Intis's saturation-style artificial divine punishment, it is impossible for twenty of them, including the middle-sequence "werewolfs," to survive.
After all, core members like "werewolfs" are only assigned to the area closest to the ritual altar, making it difficult for them to escape attacks.
They will be more vigilant than ever before, carefully investigating any possible danger.
Klein's team went to great lengths to infiltrate the battlefield, select a breakthrough point, and transform twenty Mystic Puppets, most of which, in retrospect, are now considered useless.
"Jerry."
"Hmm..." Jerry Zarathustra paused for a moment, then quickly replied.
"What's wrong?"
"You said before... that you studied at Intis for a long time, and that Intis's troops were equipped with chemical weapons early on?"
"Chemical weapons?" The question hit a nerve with Jerry Zarathustra. "Was that considered a chemical weapon?"
It's not surprising that he was wrong. Before today, the shells used by armies around the world were made of conventional ingredients. Anyone who saw them would have thought that the sea of fire just now was also extraordinary, and there would have been no doubt that the bombs contained no extraordinary elements.
"White phosphorus... I don't understand the first one."
"However, thermite is made by mixing aluminum powder and high-melting-point metal oxides in a certain proportion, and then adding an oxidant and igniting it."
"The combustion temperature is probably around two thousand? Or three thousand degrees? It's been so long since I've had a verbal exchange with anyone, I can't remember..."
Klein Moretti spoke in a way that puzzled the others, using strange vocabulary.
"Back when I was younger, I used to argue with military enthusiasts all the time. They said that the elemental thermal fusion of thermite could penetrate the outer shell of armored units."
"I didn't believe it back then, but today I've seen it for myself."
The fur and muscles of a "werewolf" are stronger than ordinary steel, let alone a "zombie".
The poor "living corpse" that happened to fall within Klein's estimated distance melted halfway through its body the instant it came into contact with the orange-red flames, even more dramatically than when it encountered the "Sun Priest's" holy light.
"Wait, you're saying that thing is a chemical weapon?" Jerry Zarathustra finally realized.
He looked at Klein suspiciously, resting his chin on his hand and making a clicking sound, which drew the attention of the "trickster".
"What's wrong?"
"It's nothing... Oh, no, I'm just a little surprised."
The "Master of Puppets," deep in thought, tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"I suddenly understand why the Lord values you so much, and why His Holiness the Pope went to great lengths to bring you out of Rune."
"The University of Tingen, wow, impressive. Azik Eggers is a lecturer there, and you, a history graduate student, have only glanced at that stuff a few times, yet you understand it better than I, someone who's been in the military, and you've figured out the principles directly..."
"Wait, why are you standing up?"
"Hey, stop!"
"I was just praising your university for its hidden strengths, that's all!"
"Don't!"
...
Bang!
The "Master of Puppetry" collapsed to the ground. Klein rotated his wrist and nodded in satisfaction.
Very good, feels great, will come again next time.