Chapter 985 — Controlled Reaction

Of course, "easily" was not quite accurate. Although the entire offensive had lasted only a day and a night and the process had seemed smooth, the Cecil mechanized legions had still met the most stubborn and threatening counterattack since their formation before this fortress. Typhon strategic spells had caused no small number of casualties, and the brief yet tenacious resistance of the Winterwolf Legion and Black Banner Mage Corps during the final assault on the inner district had greatly shocked front-line commanders. To be honest, had the fighting strength of Winterwolf Fortress's defenders not suddenly been cut in half, and had they not been insufficiently familiar with Cecil's "new tactics," this battle could never have been so easy.

But the battlefield did not deal in "ifs." However mighty a warrior, once fallen he is only a corpse. On this stage where only results mattered, it was still the Cecil who had the upper hand.

The outer district was littered with broken bricks and rolling smoke. The aerial bombing, after penetrating the shield, had achieved results far beyond expectations. Almost everywhere the bombs had baptized was reduced to ruins, and the fires blazing in various places had still not been extinguished by sunrise. It was said that some of those fires had been set by the Typhon defenders themselves—to slow the Cecil soldiers entering the city—and judging by the results, one could not say it had been entirely useless.

The aether vehicle passed through the cratered outer district, entered the relatively intact inner district, and drove toward the still more intact castle.

Through the window beside him, Philip saw many disarmed Typhon soldiers lined up to be registered. After preliminary counting and recording, these Typhons would be split up and sent to several prisoner-of-war camps in the rear—the Cecil army had always been practiced at receiving large numbers of prisoners and rapidly constructing facilities to hold them—and only after entering the camps would the first step of "harmless processing" begin for these Typhons.

Technical personnel would find ways to identify the contamination these soldiers had suffered and provide various solutions. At the same time, the soldiers would become valuable research samples; the data collected and organized from them would surely be put to use for the future of mortals.

The adjutant sat in the seat beside Philip, also looking out the window. After seeing those Typhon soldiers queuing obediently, the young officer from the southern border could not help asking: "General, how many of these people do you think are contaminated? How many remain clear-headed?"

"...I previously judged that the entire Winterwolf Fortress had been thoroughly controlled by the gods' mental contamination," Philip said, shaking his head slightly. "But after that 'wolf general' surrendered of her own accord, I suspect our judgment of Typhon and of Winterwolf Fortress has gone astray... It is probably too early to treat Typhon as a god-disaster contamination zone. As for the proportion of contamination among these people... that I cannot say clearly. It will depend on the subsequent technical assessment results."

"Truly incredible," the adjutant said with some surprise, looking out the window. "These Typhons are so quiet. There is not the slightest sign of mental contamination... If we had not randomly selected several of them and, through the dual verification of mind-protection runes and the 'Humanity Barrier,' truly found contamination, I would not have dared believe their mental structures had actually mutated... How can they be so cooperative?"

"Not all mental contamination turns people into muddled monsters. Sometimes clear, rational thought can also be the result of mental contamination," Philip said. "For the God of War, what He seeks at this moment is simply war; and for war... combat is part of war, surrender is part of war, charging into battle is part of war, becoming a prisoner is part of war, starting a war is war, and even ceasing war after it begins is an 'element' of war—so long as these basic conditions do not come into major conflict, it is quite normal for the lightly contaminated to appear quiet and cooperative."

"General, you really do know a great deal."

"You should read more in your spare time—books on all sorts of subjects. It would do you good."

As they talked, the aether-carriage had already rolled through the fortress's front courtyard, and after passing through the gate—still perfectly intact—Philip finally arrived at the heart of the stronghold.

After stepping down from the carriage, he took only his most trusted retainers with him, and under the guidance of the soldier leading the way, he at last came face to face with Winterwolf Fortress's supreme commander—the Wolf General who had chosen to surrender.

She was reclining on a soft couch, bandages wrapped around many parts of her body, mottled blood seeping through the strips of cloth in a way that made the heart flinch. Philip noticed that even her left eye was bound in coil after coil of bandage, blood likewise oozing through there, and set against the pallor of her face, those patches of red were all the more jarring.

Philip's steps faltered of their own accord.

He remembered having seen this Wolf General before—and back then, she had cut a striking, valiant figure.

Fate truly was a mocking thing.

Then he looked to An Luo's side—beside that soft couch stood a chair, and in it sat a young woman in the habit of a militant nun, smooth golden hair draped over her shoulders. She seemed to be bowing her head, earnestly poring over a book, while a battle "staff" fitted with a holy-light shock cannon assembly rested quietly against the wall nearby.

A militant nun... no, not a militant nun. Philip noticed the golden tracery on her gauntlets and alloy armor plates, and judged that she must be a "War Sister," a rank above the militant nuns.

Most likely one of the army chaplains, come to tend to the gravely wounded Wolf General.

Judging by the bloodstains on that battle staff and the scuffed wear across the surface of her gauntlets, this must be a Sister both loyal and worthy of respect.

Loyal beyond words—the sort who could kill a cow with a single punch.