Chapter 1327 — More Savage Than Savagery
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 4
"Yes, we still have a war to fight..." Wycliffe fell briefly silent. Only after several seconds did he slowly raise his head, his expression calm. "We have lost only a few cities, but my people have not fallen—I should rally my strength, return to the White City to reassemble our forces, retake and rebuild this land..."
"I am glad to see you recover so quickly, Your Majesty. But before that, I believe you first need further medical attention," Amair glanced at Wycliffe's empty right sleeve. "The current treatment has only temporarily sealed the wound. That is far from enough."
Wycliffe looked down at his severed arm, but suddenly recalled the "half-anesthesia, full-anesthesia" treatment procedure he had witnessed near the ruins of Falm. An inexplicable chill made his expression turn subtly strange. "Uh, I will seek out the physicians of the White City later..."
"If you trust Cecil's medical technology, we have several treatment and... augmentation options that can restore you to a sound arm," Amair seemed to perceive the human king's misgivings—he himself felt somewhat helpless and awkward, and had to explain further. "Rest assured, the Holy Afterglow battle group is not the expeditionary force's only medical unit. We also have a field medical ship flying in from the direction of the Carlin Junction, carrying medical facilities jointly established by the Druid Academy and the Department of Bioengineering. If you have a particular fondness for biological limbs, you might try flesh regeneration. If you would like a different 'flavor'—the techmarines can fit you with an arm equipped with alloy plating and artificial nerves."
The priest paused there before revealing a faint smile. "The second option is new technology, but I hear the results are excellent. Fortunately, your injury is recent, so you have more choices. If it were an old wound, it would be far more troublesome."
As Wycliffe listened to the bizarre things Amair described, his expression only grew stranger. "Then... I will think it over. Think it over..."
...
Within a very brief span, the tide in the darkness ceased its surging. An unforeseen and powerful force brutally and crudely intervened on this battlefield, halting the black tide that extended from the wasteland. Then the tide's vanguard began to be annihilated in swaths; tens of thousands of "sensory terminals" vanished swiftly beneath a storm of blows, and the sensory and memory fragments sent back by those continually dying individuals were saturated with the terror wrought by torn limbs and searing flames.
That was an "instinctive emotion" that even mindless monsters could produce under such swift and violent blows.
Marcellus's branches trembled faintly in the cold winter wind—not from fear, but from immense rage and hatred. His offensive had been stopped, stopped by those mad, savage, desperate orcs, and by those Cecil humans who clung on like ghosts and seemed to stick their noses in everywhere. And he had been so close!
The aberration vanguard had already destroyed the human legions on Augustre's northern border, razing their frontier forts and numerous cities and villages over the past few days. The main legion he personally commanded had cleared the defensive line in the mountain barrier and driven the orcs back to their main city. Given just a few more hours, he was confident he could have the two legions strike from north and south, utterly shattering the defensive strength of Ruby City. After that, the great army from the wasteland could spread swiftly through Augustre, and this entire nation would rapidly be converted to wasteland—no matter how stubbornly those mortals held their "sacred mountain," they could not stop this transformation, which was akin to a natural disaster. By then, even if the Cecil main force arrived, they would be powerless to turn the tide.