Chapter 175:

“Lieutenant, it has been confirmed that the skirmish in the engagement area has ceased! The Transians withdrew from the eastern Prussia border before dawn and cleared the battlefield. They burned the corpses very cleanly, saving us the trouble of having the stray dogs from Circle Tower collect the bodies.”

The following morning, Lieutenant Frayzer, the intelligence officer at the Pioneer Fortress, quickly received a report from the reconnaissance scouts he had dispatched, informing him through the Computation Bead that the battle from the previous night had concluded.

From the outcome, the White Oak Battalion had narrowly escaped disaster.

The lieutenant breathed a sigh of relief.

However, before he could contemplate how to write the action report for this operation, another scout brought him news that made him lose his appetite for breakfast.

“Lieutenant, sir, the fog of war spread by the Circle Tower Spirit Mages has completely dissipated, but we’ve discovered that the Transians have left some ‘things’ at the border!”

The scout’s tone was rather peculiar, as if he had been somewhat frightened, which surprised Lieutenant Frayzer.

The scouts of the Pioneer Army were among the finest warriors, rarely displaying such emotional turmoil.

“Open the Computation Bead’s projection, let me see what it is with my own eyes.”

The lieutenant sent a message, and moments later, a blurry long-distance spirit projection was activated. After the scout adjusted the angle, a sight that made the lieutenant’s hair stand on end appeared before his eyes.

Human heads!

Precisely 600 heads were stacked together, forming a bizarre “tower,” with a broken stone slab nearby, inscribed with a line of Transian text written in fresh blood:

“This magnificent death is offered to the Night Mother! The Crimson Hand always repays blood with blood!”

“This...”

Lieutenant Frayzer took a deep breath.

He realized this was the message from the Count of Kadman to Circle Tower, but it felt more like a direct, concise, and blunt “declaration of war.”

Circle Tower had nearly wiped out Kadman City and nearly caused the extinction of the Blood Vulture Clan. In retaliation, the vampires had cleared the Circle Tower’s hunting squads in a single night, leaving behind this “fallen artwork” that exceeded the bounds of warfare.

This was not the end.

This was the beginning of a new cycle of hatred.

“Ah, Transia indeed produces barbarians and vampires! The common trait between these two is that neither will submit to violence, and neither is a good thing!”

Lieutenant Frayzer rubbed his brow, his head aching.

He knew that once this combat report was submitted, it would undoubtedly cause a significant uproar. Considering that this incident might be viewed as a provocation from Transia against the Goldflower Kingdom, the lieutenant decided to have a private discussion with his former classmate, who had recently been promoted to Crimson Regent, before writing the report.

As the eyes and ears of the king, he needed to ascertain the true intentions of the opposing lord, as well as confirm the future development of the White Oak Battalion in Transia for General Loren.

The general was a man who valued loyalty and honor.

If he could receive news of the safety and well-being of his old friend’s offspring and followers, the general’s feelings of guilt over his “dereliction of duty” would likely dissipate.

With this in mind, the lieutenant opened the spirit communication amplifier before him and sent a message to Lady Miriam.

——

“Hooray! I got the ‘Iron Warden’ manufacturing blueprint!”

In the Blood Vulture Halls of Crimson Citadel, Little Sword Saint exclaimed joyfully, clutching the firearm blueprint in her hands.

This was the “special reward” for her quest.

In addition to this blueprint commissioned by Lieutenant Frayzer and delivered through Captain Natalie, Little Sword Saint also received a profession-related note from the old hunter, Grandma Marianne.

“The formidable and dashing Gunner Grandma told me that only Dwarven and Halfling gunsmiths can craft such complex firearms!”

Little Sword Saint treasured the manufacturing blueprint in her hands, turning to her elegantly tea-sipping friend, Fatal Orchid Huahua, and saying, “Should we try to find any Dwarves or Halflings around here?”

“Don’t bother,” Huahua replied, savoring the unique flavor of the vampire’s red tea with the poise and grace befitting a world traveler. “I asked the NPCs, and there hasn’t been any trace of Dwarves or Halflings in the Transia region for a hundred years. This place is an utter otherworld. I think instead of searching for them at this point, it would be better for you to switch to the engineering profession and make it yourself.”

“Ah? Make it myself?” Little Sword Saint scratched her head, grimacing. “But this gun requires Grandmaster-level engineering to craft. When will I reach that level? Besides, we don’t have any engineering instructors here.”

“There weren’t any before, but now there is,” Lumina hummed as she polished her beloved instrument, then added, “The Grandma Marianne you just spoke with is a gunsmith. I heard from Niuniu that he saw Grandma Marianne handcraft gun barrels at the Pioneer Fortress.

However, you might need a certain level of personal reputation to learn engineering from her. And your blueprint only states that Grandmaster-level engineering can produce a Masterwork Commander-grade Iron Warden. It doesn’t mean that you, as an apprentice, can’t make one.

At most, the Quality will decrease.

Of course, to Grandma Marianne, who had dealt with such things her entire life, the Astral Realm shadows were insignificant, she knew at least twenty-seven ways to swiftly dispel them.

What truly concerned Grandma Marianne was the rift in the sky above, like a gash in the heavens leading to the Astral Realm.

Although invisible to the naked eye, Grandma Marianne could still sense the continuous flow of Astral Realm essence passing through that wound and entering the material world.

“The environment here will be permanently altered, even affecting the life forms residing here, but such changes in life forms are long-term. If we can build the Avalon Sanctuary, the solace from nature’s spirit will restore some vitality to this land.”

Grandma Marianne smiled and offered an explanation to Sister Jules.

The two women’s identities were worlds apart. When the Avalon Church still existed, Grandma Marianne could be considered a high-ranking priestess, while Sister Jules was merely an ordinary traveling missionary at that time.

But in the present era, Marianne and Jules were among the few remaining human followers of Avalon, their identities no longer differing.

As for the more devout Old Eugene, he was far more excited than the two grandmothers.

Standing there, gazing at the vast area before him, he seemed to envision a magnificent natural sanctuary rising from the ground. It was as if he had returned to the parish on Glamo Island, strolling along the shaded paths lined with natural deities, allowing his soul to find tranquility in such beauty.

He silently invoked the name of the deity, walking forward to inspect the layout, hoping to better plan the ideal form for the first newly established natural sanctuary in ten years.

Not only was he a devout believer and outstanding White Silver hunter, but he was also an architect specializing in theology and faith.

However, just a few steps in, Old Eugene noticed a wooden carving placed on a table, accompanied by carving knives, clearly in the process of sculpting an Avalon deity figurine.

He turned to the plainly dressed Sister Jules and asked softly, “Is this your offering?”

“Yes, after Lord Murphy agreed to allow me to rebuild the sanctuary, I resumed making offerings to my God, as recorded in the scriptures. Avalon of Nature abhors grandeur and extravagance, wooden carvings made by believers’ own hands bring Him joy.”

Sister Jules spoke in a gentle tone.

Old Eugene’s expression turned solemn as he said, “Then allow me to make an improper request! Preoccupied with war, my bloodstained hands have burdened my soul. In my brutality, I am unworthy of offering gifts to my God. It has been nearly ten years since I last made an offering. Please permit me to complete your unfinished work.

I hope this will signify the end of my years of warfare and mark my return to being a servant of God, offering my first natural prayer from a wanderer who has found his way home.”

“Of course, my fellow believer, you should cleanse yourselves of the dust of war here and allow your souls to return to our God’s embrace,” Sister Jules gestured in invitation.

Old Eugene took a deep breath, carefully washed his hands, and then picked up the carving knife.

He was evidently skilled, completing Sister Jules’ unfinished carving in just a few minutes, revealing a lifelike wooden sculpture of Avalon of Nature bestowing blessings upon the believers.

As he had said, Old Eugene sought to break free from the anguish of war completely. He knelt on the ground, removing all his weapons and armor until he wore only a simple linen robe, praying to the sculpture using the most basic of apprentice prayers.

It was clear that Old Eugene was not merely speaking empty words but truly intended to “start anew” in offering his faith to his God.

Seconds later, to the astonished gaze of Sister Jules and Grandma Marianne, emerald green specks of light began circling the ordinary wooden carving.

At first, it was just flickering fragments carried by the wind, but soon, a verdant spirit wind blew through the ruins, enveloping the three believers and allowing them to sense the comfort and protection of being in a forest.

“My God... my God has responded.”

By now, Old Eugene’s eyes were wide open, as if struck by lightning.

This was the first time in ten years since the collapse of the old church that he had felt the will of nature so clearly surrounding him, like the gentle caress and encouraging whispers of the deity.

“My God!”

The sincere believer wept at this moment.

This aged yet steadfast and resilient man prostrated himself amidst the ruins, kissing the wood-strewn ground. Under the purple glow of the Astral Realm rift, the old man cried out in joy and sorrow:

“My God!

We, Your children who have wandered far from home, have trudged through the desert of hardship. We, Your displaced kin, have crossed the vast sea of war. We, Your redeemed descendants, have traversed the peaks of time.

My God!

Your most loyal children have finally returned to Your side!”

Amidst these lamentations and fervent cries, all the inhabitants of the Crimson Citadel ruins looked up at that moment.

They felt a cool breeze blowing at noon, and dark clouds rolled in, shielding them from the oppressive sunlight. Then, amid the pitter-patter of gentle raindrops, a soft rain fell, quickly forming a curtain, as if an invisible hand swept across this land of profound suffering.

On September 17th, Year 1111, the second full month since Murphy’s arrival in the otherworld, the first autumn rain fell upon Transia, and the protection of the God Avalon descended once more upon the human believers.