Chapter 162 Chapter 158 Fog of War
On the other side.
Jima was scouting.
She soared above the leaden gray sky, her gaze sweeping repeatedly over the land below. The scorched stone ground, where blood-red lava flowed through the cracks, illuminated the jagged stone spikes standing beside the fissures.
Occasionally, corpses and large animal bones hung from the stone spikes. These were all trophies left by the victors after an unknown battle.
Sometimes, ruins would appear that clearly displayed elven architectural styles. Green vines entwined around white bricks and walls, teeming with life.
Jima remembered this place. Historically, there were clearly no elven settlements here, but she wasn’t surprised. In land heavily eroded by magical winds, anything could be seen.
Just then.
A thick fog floated in from the distant ground, rolling forward and swallowing the ruins and stone spikes. The silhouettes of the stone spikes appeared hazy in the mist.
From within it, Jima could sense the power of the Lord of Deformation.
She frowned slightly because this fog not only enveloped the stone spikes, fissures, and ruins but also concealed the presence of the everlasting chosen army.
Thus, from her high vantage point, Jima couldn’t ascertain the position of the army.
After some thought, she swooped down, diving into the mist. For mere mortals, visibility was limited to a few meters, and for Jima, the chosen one of the Lord of Deformation, it barely reached a hundred meters.
The mist rushed past her on both sides, whispering by her ears, the sound of the wind morphing into a chaotic and irregular chorus of bird calls.
The Lord of Deformation… It must be Him assisting the everlasting chosen Marus.
Jima grew increasingly anxious. She understood the Lord of Deformation’s power; a favored chosen could even request Him to perform miracles, teleporting an entire army.
If that were the case, the Kislif Expeditionary Force would stand no chance of successfully attacking the two-headed dragon’s lair. It would be a miracle if they could avoid a sudden attack and preserve their lives.
After pondering briefly, Jima realized it was simple to verify her concerns; she simply needed to find traces of the everlasting chosen army within the fog.
She continued to dive downward, noticing that the closer she got to the ground, the less dense the white mist became. When she was only about fifty meters from the ground, the mist had turned into typical fog, allowing visibility for hundreds of meters.
She finally landed, her feet touching solid ground, and noticed several additional eyes on the nearby rocks.
Jima didn’t find it odd; just regular erosion by the Lord of Deformation. She took a few steps and realized that visibility was sufficient to march even in the fog.
She had an idea and took to the air again. Opening her personal system panel and using divination, she calculated the marching speed, ultimately estimating the position of the everlasting chosen army.
She flew toward the calculated direction, with the fog growing denser below, everything becoming hazy.
Suddenly, a sense of danger struck her mind, like the edge of a blade pressed against her throat.
Jima immediately turned around and pulled up, flying backward.
The fog ahead remained thick, and the bird calls in her ears continued as before.
But Jima was certain that there had been danger just now, hidden in the mist like a spider, quietly waiting for her to collide with its web.
Without hesitation, she took off in the opposite direction.
Guided by her sense of direction, Jima broke free from the fog in less than an hour, no longer hindered by the mist, and the noise of birds ceased around her.
Now Jima was confident that the fog served to prevent her from detecting the specific location of the everlasting chosen.
However, to be safe, Jima still flew ahead toward the two-headed dragon’s lair.
The journey today was long, but fortunately, the magical winds ravaging the land also blew towards her, replenishing her magical power.
She saw the full view of the two-headed dragon’s lair.
It was generally a circular mountain, with half of the ring having collapsed, surrounded by a black city wall, a rare sight amidst the chaotic wasteland.
The other half of the circular mountain rose gradually, with a black tower standing in the center. The tower soared into the clouds, and blue lightning occasionally crashed down, coiling around the tower and flowing down to the lower mountain.
She didn’t see the ancient two-headed dragon, nor any trace of the everlasting chosen army.
She turned and flew back to the Kislif Expeditionary Force, reporting everything she had seen and heard.
Everyone (excluding Jima) debated for a while.
Now it was impossible to deduce the position of the everlasting chosen army or their status.
Were they marching hastily? Or moving at a leisurely pace?
The fog of war obscured the truth, bringing many uncertainties, as well as divisions and arguments.
Various opposing viewpoints clashed in the air. Each opinion sounded reasonable, yet every one of them also seemed like an utterly foolish idea.
The general of the expeditionary army was caught in a dilemma, sweat dripping down his bear-like face.
The regular marching faction believed they should simply march normally, defeat the everlasting chosen army in the outskirts first, and perhaps even kill the everlasting chosen, thus ending this apocalypse directly.
The forceful marching faction thought it was delusional; regardless of whether the everlasting chosen could be killed, by the time they reached the two-headed dragon’s lair at a leisurely pace, they would surely witness the everlasting chosen take the last fragment of the demon king’s crown and ascend to kingship.
The regular marching faction insisted that the forceful marching would only result in the expeditionary army being ambushed while attacking the city, leading to total annihilation and making the everlasting chosen look good without any effort.
The expeditionary army general remained silent, occasionally wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve.
The two factions stopped arguing and looked at him.
This made the expeditionary army general even more anxious, strung tightly as he was. He had initially intended to casually choose a military order to speak, but instead said, “Paladin George will stay; the rest will leave.”
After saying this, he hastily added, “One by one, I will summon you later to hear your opinions.”
Everyone stood up and left the tent.
The expeditionary army general pressed his hand to his mouth and whispered, “What does your wife say?”
George maintained a blank expression and replied, “Which wife?”
“The succubus.”
“She said she wanted to rest well and went to sleep.”
“Don’t play dumb; you know what I mean.”
“We paladins are particularly obtuse,” George said, “If you have something to say, be clearer.”
The expeditionary army general reluctantly asked, “Does she have any military advice regarding the next actions?”
“None.”
“None?”
“I thought I articulated clearly.”
“Then go ask her.” The expeditionary army general urged, “I bear the orders of the Empress Katerine and am responsible for the lives of ten thousand soldiers.”
George corrected him, “To be precise, it’s 8,621 soldiers.”
The expeditionary army general slammed the table, “George, don’t pretend to be confused with me. As a paladin, how could you put personal preferences above the world’s safety?”
“I certainly would not place personal whims above the safety of the world,” George replied. “I already asked my wife; she said you’re doing fine, and what matters is the adaptability afterward.”
“What about now?” the expeditionary army general pressed, “What does she say now?”
“Nothing.”
The expeditionary army general bent over, one hand resting on the table, “Quickly go wake her up, hurry!”
George looked at him; he appeared like a person who had fallen into water, desperately trying to grab anything that floated, even a straw, clutching it tightly in hand.
George said, “If she has something to say, she will tell me. You don’t need to rush.”
“Stop talking nonsense. What if she forgets? Go ask her!”
George showed no restraint as he said:
“You annoy me; you’re a thief who steals others’ glory, utterly unworthy of wearing a crown of glory, let alone willing to bear its weight.”
Just as sincere flattery brings joy, sincere insults also evoke anger.
“Get out!” the expeditionary army general shouted, his face alternating between pale and flushed. Taking a deep breath, he quickly placed the blame on George, saying:
“You depraved, lustful paladin! You’d rather let ten thousand people die than disturb your little succubus wife!”
George again corrected him, “It’s 8,621 soldiers, and I believe a competent general should know the number of his subordinates, at least accurately to the hundred.”
“Get out!”
The expeditionary army general threw a wine cup at George’s face.
Half a minute later, George exited the now quiet tent. His handsome face bore no traces of injury.
“What happened? Defeated general,” Beow asked. “Did you argue again?”
George said, “It’s your turn.”
With that, he left.
Beow lifted the tent flap and observed that the expeditionary army general now had a red mark on his face, shaped remarkably like the wine cup.
After a brief one-on-one discussion.
The expeditionary army general issued radical orders. He commanded the entire army to abandon all supply carts, taking only armor, weapons, and a ration of food, and to march at full speed toward the two-headed dragon’s lair.
This command was unanimously supported by both noble officers and ordinary soldiers.
They praised the expeditionary army general for his courage and confidence in issuing such radical orders, believing that he would definitely lead them to victory and earn the favor of the goddess of victory.
After the Kislif Expeditionary Force had a hearty meal, they immediately set out, leaving a large pile of supplies behind, with carts loaded full of sacks left unattended.
Only fewer than a hundred infantry soldiers were guarding this huge pile of supplies.
The rations they had could only last for five days, but the soldiers were not worried at all. Their morale was soaring as they followed the riding general on the bear, trailing behind the general’s banner.
As they marched, they sang songs of victory.
It was rare for Jima to sit sideways on a horse, riding with George, as the soldiers’ passionate singing resonated nearby.
George, riding a celestial warhorse, looked at the back of the bear-riding expeditionary army general and said, “It seems he at least has some courage left.”
“Where? Forget it, saying it will only make you anxious.”
“I am not fragile.”
“This decision has nothing to do with courage,” Jima replied. “It’s more driven by a sense of luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“This command is almost identical to the initial ambush on the ratmen army,” Jima said. “Logically, the situation is different, and the orders should differ as well, yet he still insists on doing this, seeking to recreate the original victory.”
“The fate of an army is thus entrusted to someone like him,” George said uneasily. “We should be doing something. Do you have any advice? I will convey it to him; he knows his capabilities.”
“What you need to say is just like what you told me after waking me up yesterday,” Jima murmured. “Adaptability.”
After a while, Jima added, “And be prepared psychologically.”
“What kind of psychological preparation?”
“Prepare for the supplies to be burned,” Jima said. “This time is different; the ratmen are very aware of the existence of the expeditionary army.”
In the rear of the army, a thick black smoke rose from afar, pointing toward the supplies.
The rising black smoke, composed of some valuable supplies, was particularly conspicuous against the leaden gray sky.
“Well,” Jima said, “the army has no way out now; they can only fight to the death.”
