Chapter 795.1: KS

The night before dawn...

While the Burning Corps was locked in fierce combat with the remnants of the Torch Church, another bloody battle 100 kilometers away, in a different abandoned urban district, was also entering its final climax.

More than 100 Conqueror No.5 tanks and their accompanying infantry had sealed off every route leading from the ruins into the wilderness. At the same time, they had also cut off any possibility of the Fungal Mutants within the Kingdom of Heaven’s domain reinforcing the city ruins.

Immediately afterward, more than 10,000 Wislander infantry and even more clone soldiers, covered by artillery fire, launched simultaneous attacks from more than a dozen directions, encircling and suppressing the remnants of the Torch Church and the Mutant Human tribes trapped inside the ruins.

According to maps from the Prosperity Era, the abandoned district had once belonged to Vast Plains City, with a permanent population of more than 8,000,000 people. However, the Wasteland Era had arrived and the prosperity of the past had long since vanished like smoke, and only the rust-covered road signs still remembered its name.

After learning that the city might contain information related to Project Complete Human, Liam immediately redeployed the nearest 37th Division to assault the position, ordering them to seize it before the New Alliance’s landing force could get there first!

The attacking side consisted of the Army’s 37th Division and the Army of Glory made up of 30,000 clone soldiers.

Defending the city were the Torch Church’s Flame Knights and the Crippled Tribe. Although the latter’s name sounded ridiculous, the Mutant Humans of this clan obviously weren’t actually crippled. Given a Mutant Human’s ability to regenerate severed limbs, it was unlikely they would have cripples in the first place. In fact, contrary to their comical name, the Mutant Humans of the Cripplied Tribe were not crippled at all. They were natural-born hunters who had spent years moving through rugged mountain forests and were exceptionally skilled at setting traps and using differences in elevation and visibility to launch ambushes.

During the opening stage of the offensive, the Army’s 37th Division suffered quite a bit at the hands of those “cripples.”

However, that was only in the beginning. Once the Wislanders realized that the Mutant Humans only had a handful of tricks they kept repeating over and over again, the rest became much easier.

Whenever they encountered an area that might contain an ambush, they would either send clone soldiers forward to probe it or simply shell the area a few times before advancing.

The commander of the 37th Division was extremely cautious in his decision-making. By steadily nibbling away at the enemy’s territory, he gradually compressed the Torch Church’s living space and operational area until, in the end, all of them had been forced into a relatively open area in the city center.

The battle lasted three full days, and both sides suffered considerable casualties over those three days.

However, the Torch Church had already reached the end of its strength. No matter how desperately the troops trapped inside the city resisted, they were merely struggling on the verge of death and could not change the ultimate outcome of defeat.

By the third day of the offensive, the Army had successfully broken through the final defensive line. The tank barrels were practically shoved into the noses of the Mutant Humans and the Torch Church believers.

The remaining 200 Torch Church believers and fewer than 1,000 Mutant Humans were trapped inside an abandoned department-store building.

Presumably, the entrance to the research facility was there as well.

Not only that, the Army also discovered a Mutant Human livestock pen holding prisoners inside a nearby stadium. The captives were barely clothed, skin and bones, and many had sores covering their bodies along with scars left behind by torture. Some had presumably been kept for the Mutant Humans’ pleasure. They had also been fed large quantities of Na Fruit and still wore completely broken expressions when they were dragged out of the dungeon. The others had probably been reserved by the Torch Church for experiments, or as a sort of talent reserve. Although those people had not been fed Na Fruit, their mental state was still extremely poor. Clearly, they had also suffered plenty of abuse.

A minor disagreement arose among the middle and senior officers of the 37th Division over what to do with the prisoners.

Traditional military nobles led by Commander Favri believed they should follow the usual custom and allow the strong to claim the spoils of the strong, even if those spoils were defective goods. Some newly promoted officers believed that the Army ought to maintain at least some dignity within the Mutant Slime Mold Research Committee. After all, this was not a war of conquest, but a righteous war being fought for the fate of all humanity.

A small minority argued that they might as well simply hand the prisoners over to other factions within the Mutant Slime Mold Research Committee. That way, no one else could criticize them, and the Army would save itself the trouble of having to explain themselves.

The representative of the minority opinion was the temporary office from the civilian faction, Pangolin.

Although he came from the civilian faction, he was far from ordinary. He was a talent personally discovered by General McClennan and was said to have single-handedly hunted down a Deathclaw, making him a true hero among men.

After General McClennan’s defeat, he had once escorted officers of the Army across thousands of kilometers while evading the New Alliance’s pursuit and encirclement, ultimately succeeding in linking up with the Army’s main force in the desert. On the front lines, he had personally killed nearly 1,000 New Alliance soldiers!

Thanks to these achievements, he had risen from the auxiliary forces into the ranks of the regular army, then followed General Griffin through campaigns in the desert until the Eastern Army fell from power, after which he transferred to the civilian faction.

That legendary career alone would have been enough to fill at least two columns in the Triumphant Reports.

And speaking of that legendary career, it also happened to have some connection to the commanding officer present. The general of the 37th Division was Cowley. He was the very officer whom Pangolin had once fought his way through countless dangers to escort safely back to the rear.

As for Cowley’s promotion history, that was another legendary story altogether.

To tell the truth, Battlefield Cheerleader himself also thought the coincidence was ridiculous. The force dispatched to reinforce the front lines just happened to be led by an old acquaintance of his, and then he just happened to be seconded to that same unit.

Still, it saved him a great deal of trouble. Working under other Wislanders always carried some risk that his disguise might slip. But under that man, he had no such concern. After all, they were brothers who had been through life-and-death situations together. Cowley had never doubted him even once.

Seeing the argument around the command table drag on endlessly, Cowley coughed heavily. “That’s enough. Let me say a few words.”

Everyone fell silent and turned to look at him.

After a brief pause, Cowley slowly spoke in a dignified voice. “I think Pangolin has a point. Given the image we have among the survivors of the Eastern Army, even if we fed these captives well and treated them generously, they would probably still think we were abusing them. We might as well let them handle the matter themselves.”

Seeing that General Cowley, who had remained silent the whole time, had suddenly stepped in to support the other side, Favri’s brow twitched violently. He couldn’t help speaking up. “General, I must remind you that according to Wislander tradition...”

“Then go pick a few for yourself.”

Favri froze and stared at Cowley in confusion. “Pick a few?”

Cowley shrugged. “If you see any prisoners you like, pick them out and bring them back. But I should remind you. In my unit, the Marshal’s rules are law. You’ll treat your servants according to Triumphant City standards. Don’t think you can just kill them when you’re done with them.”

If the first sentence had merely made Favri physically uncomfortable, then by the time he heard the second, the corner of his mouth had begun twitching.

Raise this trash according to Triumphant City standards?

If he actually did that, he would have to be insane!

Seeing that no one else raised an objection, Cowley tapped his knuckles against the table. “Then it’s settled. Gather the captives together first, then wait for the Mutant Slime Mold Research Committee’s relevant relief organizations to arrange things. Either send them to Guardian Manor City, or find them a new home nearby.”

After the battle in Sunset Province, or perhaps more accurately, after getting to know Pangolin, his view of wastelanders had changed a great deal. He was no longer as extreme as he had once been.

And it wasn’t just him. Many officers from the Eastern Army had changed in similar ways.

After returning to Triumphant City following their defeat, they had all seriously reflected on the reasons for their failure, especially whether they had gone too far in certain respects. Just as many wastelanders had criticized them, they had conquered an enormous stretch of territory spanning the entire western part of the Central Continent, yet in reality, they had solved almost nothing.

Across the territories controlled by the four armies, riots and the suppression of riots repeated endlessly. Outside Triumphant City, there had never been any true peace.

He wanted to try solving some of those problems.

In the past, he had lacked the authority. Now, he had become a general himself. He had gained enough authority to begin. Even if there was only a single star on his shoulder boards, that was enough for his voice to be heard.

The matter of the prisoners was brought to a close. It was nothing more than a tiny episode in the overall battle.

Not long after Cowley announced his decision, the quartermaster brought everyone their late-night meal. It was two charcoal-roasted lambs covered in cumin and peppercorns.

At the same time, a communications runner stopped at the entrance to the command tent, announced himself, and brought news from the frontlines. “The Torch Church’s commander refuses to surrender. He says he will fight until the very last moment.”

Looking at the two plump lambs inside the command tent, the communications runner couldn’t help gulping.

Cowley was slicing into a lamb leg with a dagger and casually replied, “We respect his choice. Since he insists on dying, let him drown in our artillery fire while clinging to that foul-smelling delusion of his.”

The battle had already entered its cleanup phase. Whether the other side surrendered or not made little difference. At most, it would mean leaving a few dozen more corpses inside that building.

What the Army needed were the Torch Church’s researchers, especially those who possessed information related to Project Complete Human.

“Yes!” The communications runner snapped to attention and saluted.

He was just about to turn and leave when Cowley called out to him. “Wait.” Stopping the man, Cowley tossed him the lamb leg he had just cut off.

Watching the surprised communications runner hurriedly catch it, Cowley laughed heartily. “You’ve been working this late. You must be hungry. Eat it on the way back, but don’t let it delay what you have to do.”

“Yes, sir!” The communications runner looked at him gratefully, saluted again, then hurried off to carry out his orders.

After watching him leave, Cowley paid no attention to ceremony or formalities and simply invited everyone to eat while the food was still hot.

The officers gathered around the command table did not stand on ceremony either. They drew their daggers, carved off large chunks of meat, and began eating and joking together. The tent quickly became lively.

“This lamb is roasted pretty well!”

“It’d be even better with a glass of wine!”

“Haha, now you’re dreaming.”

“Wait until the war is over! There’ll be more wine than you can drink and more meat than you can eat at the victory banquet!”

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

Battlefield Cheerleader did not join in the conversation. All his attention was fixed on the buffet in front of him.

As a high-level awakener, his appetite could vary enormously. If he only needed enough food to maintain normal bodily functions and stop when he was 70% or 80% full, three or four kilograms of lamb would be enough.

If he really ate as much as he could, he could stuff down both lambs by himself. At worst, he’d just have to make a few extra trips to the bathroom.

If he were paying for the meal himself, he would usually restrain himself somewhat. But the meal before him was being paid for with public funds. Since it wasn’t coming out of his own pocket, naturally he ate without restraint. In just a few moments, he had demolished half a lamb, leaving Favri beside him staring in stunned disbelief.

Is this guy a pig?

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