Chapter 1378: The Next Phase

Another legion of mutants was systematically wiped out in the inferno of blazing flames and thunderous celestial fire. Their reckless, fearless assaults failed to breach the mortal defenses; at best, they only managed to slightly delay the activation of the purification devices. The neural signals sent back as countless lower-tier units perished created a sharp, piercing howl within the root network. This wailing echoed and reverberated between command nodes manned by dark priests, but by the time it reached the highest node, only faint, insignificant ripples remained.

A dry wind swept across the hills and wastelands. The withered, twisted branches of Borcken trembled faintly in the breeze. The Dark High Priest listened intently to the distant sounds carried on the wind—the dying screams of those lowly subordinate nodes, faint and ethereal, like a distant dream. After several minutes, the dark priest leader awoke from this “dream,” his focus gradually returning to the harsh reality before him.

“They’ve begun a full-scale counterattack,” he murmured in a low, deliberate voice—not to any one priest in particular, but softly throughout the entire root network. He wasn’t worried about dampening morale; all the priests were connected through the same root network, their emotions having undergone a certain degree of “assimilation” over prolonged connection. Though each node retained its original personality and memories, thoughts of “betrayal” or “abandonment” had been erased. No matter how the situation shifted, the will of the cult remained unwavering, forever marching toward the ultimate goal.

This was a collective, voluntary decision—Borcken himself was no exception.

“The purification devices are gradually devouring our lands. It seems they intend to erect some kind of ‘barrier’ that spans this entire wasteland,” a voice from a dark archpriest echoed through the network. “Wherever this barrier reaches, the environment we depend on suffers severe disruption—some areas have even experienced a ‘reversal.’”

“If that wall is completed, the energy cycles within the wasteland could be severed,” another, older voice interjected. “They appear to have uncovered the deep operational mechanisms of this land, cracking the principles behind the endless mutant legions. Our current forces are insufficient to stop them completely. Those purification devices are extending toward the central zone at an alarming speed.”

Another gust of wind swept in from the wasteland, rustling the twisted trees around the hill with a sharp clatter. The discussion within the root network continued, but Borcken’s attention shifted elsewhere—footsteps approached beside him. Two elves, identical in appearance, strode forward at an unhurried pace and spoke in unison: “Sounds like things aren’t looking too good for us right now?”

Borcken’s gaze casually swept over the elven twins. “I didn’t expect you two to be worried about the situation. I thought all you did was huddle together whispering, indifferent to the outcome of the battlefield.”

“You misunderstand us,” Filna said earnestly. “Of course we care about our shared cause; it’s just that we were born with a naturally cold demeanor.” Relna followed up immediately, “So, what’s your take on the current situation? We’ve been pushed back on nearly every front. In the past half month, we haven’t managed to deploy a single new rune stone, and instead lost all our occupied territories. That’s hardly optimistic…”

Borcken regarded the twins silently for a moment, then closed his eyes slightly. “The situation hasn’t unfolded as we initially planned, but it’s not as dire as it seems. Unlike those mortal armies, as long as the wasteland’s environment endures, our legions are endless. The losses among the mutants are negligible. The regenerative speed of those bio-synthetic beasts matches their consumption. And those mortals… they gain no spoils from this barren land. Everything they do here is pure cost. Perhaps swift victory is out of reach, but as long as this attrition continues, the final victor may not be the mortals.”

It sounded as if the Dark High Priest had, to some extent, accepted the current reality and grasped the “essence” of this war. He was not discouraged but chose a different path to victory.

Yet Filna and Relna shook their heads simultaneously upon hearing Borcken’s words. Relna asked, “Do you really believe that?”

“Speak plainly,” Borcken opened his eyes, his amber irises fixed on the twins. “I don’t care for your riddles and metaphors.”

“Then we’ll be direct,” Filna shrugged. “You don’t understand the war potential of a nation completing industrial transformation, nor the economic system built after Cecil successfully unified the allied nations. You habitually assume this prolonged war will exhaust all the alliance countries… In a way, that’s true—any endless war can drain a nation. But honestly… the battles on the wasteland have already dropped below the ‘threshold’ for that newborn alliance.”

“Below the threshold?” Borcken’s voice grew serious. “What do you mean?”

“Their economy will gradually adapt to wartime mode. Their industrial machinery will rapidly grow and expand in the coming period. Their tanks and guns will be produced at an astonishing rate—faster than the grain grows in the fields. The alliance will establish a new social order tailored to this war. After a brief period of attrition, investment, and adaptation, this war will become their new engine for economic growth and social cohesion—a new wealth mechanism, a new industrial cycle, a new cultural atmosphere. Even the most backward city-states will be swept up and rapidly industrialized.”

“High Priest, do you really think sending rotating battle legions to the frontlines to shoot targets can wear down a group of industrial nations? Impossible. That requires a higher intensity of war—at least enough to make their industrial production unable to keep up with frontline consumption. You haven’t achieved that. You haven’t worn them down. You’re just gradually ‘cultivating’ them into a… war civilization.”

When the elven twins finished speaking, Borcken fell into deep thought. For a long time, these two sarcastic sisters rarely delivered such lengthy, serious theories. Now, their words stirred a greater turmoil within him than ever before. He slowly grasped the meaning behind their speech, and the rough, bark-like face of the Dark High Priest grew solemn. “You’ve done the ‘calculations’?”

“That hardly requires calculation,” Filna smiled. “In the long history of the Silver Elves, we’ve witnessed countless civilizations and social stages. The way industrial societies operate differs from what you know. Even the once-mighty Gondor Empire was, by civilization standards, behind the current ‘alliance.’ If you doubt it, just recall this war—from the moment those mortal nations recovered from initial chaos, from their first local counterattacks until now—haven’t their war machines only grown larger?”

Grown! Larger!

That phrase struck Borcken like thunder, exploding in his mind. He realized the crucial truth behind this detail. His long-held assumptions and ignorance of the alliance’s internal workings had blinded him. At this moment, he understood the twins were right.

Those mortals… their war machine’s growth rate had already surpassed the wasteland legions’ limits. This war was no longer a burden for the “alliance” but was becoming the very fuel for their growth. Their technology and production capacity hadn’t declined—they were accelerating. Those purification devices, those mechanized legions emerging on every front, were the fruits of this development!

By contrast, the wasteland legions were running out of cards.

“They’re using us to train their troops, to test their weapons,” Borcken’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. A wave of unsettling thought spread through the root network. He lifted his gaze, fixing it on the Filna sisters. “You didn’t come here just to scare me or gloat, did you?”

“Of course not,” Relna said calmly. “We said we share a common goal—that’s why we don’t want you to blindly stumble into this war trap. What we said was to wake you up. What comes next… is how to solve the predicament we face.”

“What’s your plan?” Borcken narrowed his eyes. “If your logic is entirely correct, then the wasteland legions are trapped in an unsolvable vortex. We’ve stepped into the trap—albeit only its edge—but within this vortex, we have no strength left to pull ourselves out. Do you have a way to quickly disrupt the alliance’s industrial system? Or to break their coalition?”

“Don’t think along those lines. The frontline is irretrievable, or rather, we never could have won this war from the start. Our only leverage remains the power of the Deep Blue Network,” Filna said gravely. Relna added, “Maybe someday those mortals will develop to challenge the Deep Blue Network, but for now, their industry and technology are insignificant before it. As long as we hold the reins of this planet, we can crush all their potential and future with unmatched power…”

“So we still need to tame this planet—that much I know,” Borcken’s tone turned harsh. “But as I said, we’ve been pushed back inside the Great Wall. Without new deployment points, we can’t set new rune stones. How do you plan to continue taming this planet?”

“Who says we don’t have new deployment points?” Filna suddenly smiled, her gaze seeming to look past the High Priest, toward some distant part of the wasteland. “Isn’t the largest Deep Blue node right under our noses?”

Borcken paused, then realization dawned. “You mean the ancient ghost’s territory? Indeed… that’s the largest Deep Blue rift on the planet’s surface. But there’s also an active Iron Legion and a fully operational Gondor fortress there! We’d need to muster a massive army to take it—and by then, our frontline will likely have already collapsed!”

“So… there will be a price to pay,” Relna said seriously, staring at Borcken’s dry, wrinkled face. “High Priest Borcken, the key question now is… what price are you willing to pay for our shared noble cause?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Are you ready to go all in?”

…

The tongues of flame spewed from the heavy burner swept across the land one final time. Amid the terrifying heat generated by the alchemical oils and magical infernos, those grotesque mutants—twisted limbs and foul stench alike—were finally reduced to ashes. As the flames gradually died down, only charred remnants and twitching scraps of flesh remained scattered across the ground. The dust from the mutants’ self-decomposition mingled with the biochemical beasts nearby, shrouding the entire battlefield in a thick, unyielding mist.

A towering figure advanced with heavy, deliberate steps. In one hand, he gripped a massive mechanical war hammer; in the other, the heavy burner. Sacred scriptures, glowing faintly with a pale white light, were fastened to his thick armor with fireproof lacquer and rivets, radiating a holy brilliance that dazzled the eyes.

He strode past soldiers and clerics busy clearing the battlefield and approached a heavy war vehicle that had just come to a halt. Watching Philip nimbly leap down from the vehicle, the tall figure casually set his war hammer on the ground, then reached up to remove his helmet. Almost immediately, a small figure emerged from the nearby holy light, agile and practiced, climbing up onto his shoulder and wrapping its tiny arms around his head, swaying gently.

“Archbishop Leight,” Philip nodded respectfully to the fully armored leader of the Holy Light, then smiled and waved at the small figure perched on the archbishop’s shoulder. “And little Emily, too.”

“Good afternoon, Uncle Philip,” the small figure formed from the holy light spoke with a clear, ethereal voice tinged with laughter. “We’ve wiped out the enemy again!”

“The mutants’ counterattacks are growing more frenzied, but from a command perspective, they’re becoming increasingly disorganized,” Leight said, gently stroking Emily’s hair as he addressed Philip. “I think they’re even less of a threat than they were a few days ago. Back then, they still knew how to cover each other and use the terrain to their advantage.”

“Their wild counterattacks are a reaction to our advancing purification devices, which have triggered their primal instincts,” Philip explained. “Their chaotic movements show their command system is overwhelmed. The Alliance is launching multi-front counteroffensives; all nations have recovered from the earlier chaos and are pouring more troops into this battlefield. Those dark priests aren’t professional military commanders,” he shook his head. “They only succeeded initially through ambushes and sheer numbers. They have no idea how to fight in a real, conventional war.”

Leight nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to a spot not far away. There, a network of roots and flowering vines was rapidly spreading across the wasteland, forcibly covering the barren earth with lush greenery. From these roots and vines extended thicker, more flexible “tentacles” that scurried across the battlefield like arms, picking through the charred, shattered remains of the monsters. When they found relatively intact fragments, they swiftly wrapped them up and dragged them underground. The sight was eerie… yet somehow oddly amusing.

This was the living forest, now extending deep into the wasteland. Throughout the entire war, it had advanced alongside Cecil’s legion, playing an indispensable role.

A strange expression flickered across the archbishop’s face.

“To be honest… our battlefield isn’t exactly ‘normal’ either…”

(End of chapter)