Chapter 561

The evening breeze of summer blew across the scorched earth with lingering warmth, and trenches like ugly scars wound across the nameless hillside.

This is the front line of the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain, a nameless mountain peak that has just changed hands.

The 1st Mountain Regiment is stationed in this mountain area, and the flag of the Ryan Battalion is inserted on the gravel pile not far from the tent, with several charred rat-man corpses lying beside it.

In the tent.

Sir Dikebin sat on an overturned ammunition box, borrowing the half-cut candle that was about to burn out, writing something in a dirty notebook.

His fingers were rough, and his fingernails were filled with black mud and blood stains that couldn't be washed off, and it was impossible to see that this was once a hand belonging to a noble.

However, he did not resent Edward for sending him here.

If he hadn't walked into that cave himself and seen those Ryans locked in cages and treated like livestock, he would probably still be like an ignorant and arrogant fool, naturally saying some ridiculous stupid things.

"July 6th evening, we took another mountain peak."

"The Gutafu officer told us that if we advance another ninety kilometers to the northeast, we can chisel through this damn mountain range and meet up with the dwarves of the Alpine Kingdom. This distance doesn't sound very far, but I would rather march nine hundred kilometers on the plains..."

When writing this, Sir Dikebin's mood was slightly complicated, and it took a long time to continue writing, writing down today's observations.

Just a few hours ago, before the sun went down, they had just cleared the rat-man caves on this mountain peak.

The situation there would probably surprise even demons, and the only word he could think of was slaughter, but perhaps slaughter would be more appropriate.

Because the eyes of those rescued were like fish stunned on a chopping board, and the hollow eyes like dry wells could no longer see much desire to survive.

It's hard to imagine that they came from Roland City and had the same hometown as him...

"... I once thought I was a noble person chosen by the Holy Light, a knight fighting for a sacred cause, but I never thought that the palace and church behind me were already covered with maggots, and even I myself was unknowingly integrated into it."

"At first I thought they were just a bit greedy, that wasn't a big deal, but I didn't expect them to be no longer satisfied with the food grown by the serfs, and even wanted to chop their flesh and blood into stuffing and swallow it into their stomachs."

"Saint Xisi, if you really exist, why hasn't your thunder fallen? Or is it that... everything we are enduring now is your revenge for our arrogant blasphemy?"

The candlelight flickered, and the light and shadow swayed on Sir Dikebin's face full of stubble, outlining the complexity in his eyes.

During this time, he had been thinking about why blasphemous things always happened again and again, but he could never get an answer that could convince himself.

However, there is one thing he has figured out.

And he believes in it deeply.

If power beyond mortals is mastered by people who are not worthy of their position, it will surely be a disaster.

Whether it is those who are deeply involved or those who pretend to be out of the matter, they will all bear the common karma brought about by arrogance.

The rat-men are using human magic to stop a group of humans from saving their compatriots... this is what he saw with his own eyes on the front line.

Now it's just rune heavy crossbows and magic scrolls, he doesn't know what terrifying things they will encounter next.

Those rats were just beaten up, but it was obvious they hadn't been beaten down. By the time their masters behind them react, I'm afraid there's still a fight to be fought...

Dikebin closed the diary and let out a long breath, as if to spit out all the turbid air in his chest.

However, just as he was about to put the diary back into his bag, a strange noise came from outside the tent, attracting his attention.

The sound didn't sound like wind, nor like the footsteps of patrolling soldiers, but like burning dry firewood, and it came from very, very far away.

Dikebin subconsciously grabbed the bolt-action rifle leaning against the table, blew out the light source that was about to fall behind him, and cat-waisted out of the tightly closed marching tent.

The camp was dead silent, with only insect chirps coming from afar.

He narrowed his eyes, scanned the surroundings vigilantly, trying to find where the sound came from, but he couldn't see anything, only the night sky pressed extremely low on his head.

"Illusion..."

He muttered, just about to turn and drill into the tent, but just at this time, a mutation occurred!

The pitch-black sky seemed to be torn apart by an invisible giant hand, and a dazzling magic light exploded above the clouds without warning.

At that moment, the night was as bright as day!

Dikebin's pupils shrank violently, and under the orange-red firelight, he saw a scene that scared him out of his wits!

The clouds are burning.

Countless burning fireballs dragging long tails of flame, like meteor showers of divine punishment, fell overwhelmingly towards this mountain peak that had just been captured!

The thunder punishing sin did not arrive, but the fire burning the atonement had already arrived over the "Ryan Battalion"!

"Saint Xisi above..."

Dikebin squeezed a desperate curse out of his throat.

And before his curse fell, the first burning fire meteor had already smashed into the position near him!

Boom—!

The huge explosion was delayed for half a second before pouring into his eardrums, the earth shook violently, and Dikebin was overturned to the ground.

He coughed and spat out the mud in his mouth, climbed up from the ground in a panic, and hugged the diary that fell into the trench into his arms.

The harsh alarm sounded shrilly, but the bell came too late, and countless soldiers were turned into ashes in their sleep.

And the ammunition that was ignited—

The sound of crackling explosions rang out in the trenches!

"Enemy attack!"

"Damn! Which direction—"

"Forget about which direction, hurry up and hide—"

"Enter the cave! Into the rat hole!"

Dikebin couldn't care about the mud in his mouth, ran towards the rat hole while shouting loudly at the barracks that hadn't been burned to ashes.

His shouting saved some people's lives after all.

Those Ryan Battalion soldiers who had just woken up from their dreams didn't even have time to put on their shoes, shuttled through the sea of fire in embarrassment, and rushed frantically towards those dirty rat holes.

The rain of fire in the sky fell mercilessly, plowing this mountain peak that had just inserted the Ryan flag into a purgatory again.

Perhaps it was fate that he shouldn't die.

Perhaps it was the debt that hadn't been paid off.

Sir Dikebin actually escaped a disaster, carrying his diary of repentance, and fell into the depths of the rat hole while crawling.

The sharp stones cut his knees, but he couldn't feel any pain at all. Then a burnt smell drilled into his nasal cavity, and he realized that his hair had been burned into a lump.

If it were before, he would probably scream and take out a comb. But now he couldn't care about these, only caring about breathing heavily, greedily sucking the turbid air—

It's good to be alive!

Outside the cave, the red light in the sky was bright, and the originally pitch-black mountain was as bright as day at this moment.

The burning flames covered the entire war zone, like twisted poisonous snakes licking the rocks outside the trenches, igniting dry branches, making crackling sounds, as if the whole mountain was wailing...

And this rat nest that could accommodate hundreds of people was terrifyingly empty at this moment.

Of the more than seven hundred people in the Ryan Battalion, fewer than a hundred escaped!

The remaining brothers were either blown into minced meat in their sleep, or turned into burning torches on the way to the cave entrance.

The young men carrying rifles looked at each other, their faces covered with gray soil and tear stains, their eyes full of the panic of surviving a disaster.

"Damn!"

"What is that thing?! A meteor?"

The cursing echoed in the enclosed space.

Dikebin swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva, forced himself to move his gaze away from the sea of fire in the distance, and returned to the pitch-black rat hole.

As a noble, he knew very well what that was.

That is definitely not the power that the group of rats who only know how to dig holes can master...

"It's joint spellcasting..."

Dikebin said nervously, telling the truth to these panicked young men, but these young men were still confused.

"Joint spellcasting?"

"What is that?"

A big hand pressed on his shoulder.

The company commander of the next company dragged a wounded leg and walked over, half of his uniform had been soaked in blood, but his eyes were still firm, staring at Dikebin's eyes.

"You know who did that?"

Dikebin took a deep breath, trying to make his voice not so trembling.

"I don't know who did it, but I think I should know what it is. I read it in an ancient book about war history, they call it 'Spellcasting Group'."

Facing the eyes focused on him, his index finger pointed slowly at the embers still falling outside the cave.

"Tens of thousands of fine steel-tier fireballs, amplified by special magic arrays to offset the attenuation of distance, gathered in the same area, just like... our volley of platoon fire."

"Through clever division of labor and cooperation, they can use quantity to complete a qualitative leap. Often, spellcasting groups composed of dozens or hundreds of magic apprentices can weave range magic that can only be completed by Diamond-tier mages. If they use magic crystals to input power from the outside, they can also weave the range of the spell larger and more powerful..."

This should not be difficult for Campbells to understand, a factory with clear division of labor is easy to win over the workshop of old craftsmen in terms of production capacity.

Although there are almost no Campbells here...

Swallowing a mouthful of saliva again, Sir Dikebin said in a hoarse voice.

"The Empire cannot deploy this level of mage group here, and they, who are defending the Brass Pass with the dwarves, have even less reason to fight for the rats. Only that place... Xuebang in the Northern Wasteland."

"Fire meteor..."

The company commander chewed on the word, his face gloomy enough to drip water.

"This bunch of bastards!"

A young soldier cursed angrily, his teeth clenching, "This is an act of war! They actually dare to ally with rats and declare war on us!"

"Don't be naive, they won't admit it."

Interrupting the soldier's incompetent rage, the company commander turned to stare at Sir Dikebin, calmly.

"Corporal, since you understand this stuff, according to your experience, after they finish bombing this round, what will they do next?"

Dikebin's Adam's apple rolled up and down, a chill climbed up his spine, and he said the guess in his heart.

"I didn't see which direction the magic light came from, obviously they launched the strike from outside the visual distance. They can hit our heads so accurately, it shows that there must be their eyes near our position..."

"Either flying in the sky, or... hiding in the ground."

Almost the moment his voice fell, the sentry guarding the cave entrance let out a scream that broke his voice.

"Undead! It's the undead!"

Hearing that scream, the company commander couldn't care about the injury on his leg, grabbed his weapon and rushed to the cave entrance.

Dikebin followed closely.

Borrowing the firelight burning outside the cave, they finally saw the "things" pouring into the trenches, and their blood froze in an instant.

That is not an ordinary undead.

It is a monster forcibly stitched together by countless broken limbs, the rotten belly is sewn shut with rough black thread, and the dark green internal organs can almost not be held.

Some of them have rat heads, connected to human arms, while others are just the opposite, with human heads inserted on rat bodies.

They crawl in the sea of fire without knowing pain, making weird roars in their throats, and some new recruits with poor psychological endurance are already about to vomit.

Saying that thing is an undead, the undead would probably feel blasphemous...

"Prepare for battle!"

The company commander let out a roar, pulled the bolt of his gun first, and shouted loudly while pulling the trigger.

"Must not let this thing get close to the cave entrance!"

He didn't need to remind them at all.

Sir Dikebin had already pulled the trigger.

Bang—!

The firelight from the muzzle illuminated his panicked face, he hurriedly took out a paper-cased fixed ammunition and stuffed it into the chamber, and after pulling the bolt, it was another shot!

The rate of fire of the Luokesai Type 1054 rifle is slightly inferior to the Type 1053, but it is much faster than traditional front-loading muskets.

But even so, facing the tens of thousands of stitched rats, the surviving soldiers still seemed thin.

Thousands of deformed rat-men stitched together, like a corpse tide breaking a dam, flooded over the charred mountainside.

They stepped on the corpses of their kind, making teeth-aching roars, and turbid pus and blood seeped out from the flesh under the stitches.

The troop strength of both sides is not at all on the same order of magnitude!

Even if the combat power of these sloppily stitched monsters is not very strong, it is enough to drown the company where Sir Dikebin is in the corpse tide!

It didn't take much effort, a stitched rat soon broke through the defense line, and sharp claws chiseled through the skull of a young soldier.

Hot blood splashed on Sir Dikebin's face, although the stitched rat was soon stabbed through the head by a bayonet, it still made his heart cold.

Finished—

This thought just flashed through his mind, and on another mountain peak in the distance, a string of shining fireworks suddenly lit up.