Chapter 261 - 248: Risk and Choice, Seizing Destiny by the Throat
Chapter 261: Chapter 248: Risk and Choice, Seizing Destiny by the Throat
As Jon arrived at the Resistance Alliance’s field command post with several Knights from the Radiant Knight Order, he heard the sounds of arguing before he even entered.
"I disagree with a full-frontal assault! You’ve all seen Heta County City’s defenses. A direct breach is impossible! We can’t spill our Warriors’ blood on such a meaningless endeavor!"
"Then what do you suggest we do? The rebels’ forces are all gathered here. No one can get in, and no one can get out. Is there any other way besides a direct assault?"
"How can you say there’s no other way?"
The voice paused, as if gathering its thoughts, then slammed a hand on the table with a dull THUD.
"We just have to bleed them dry! We’ll use a series of small-scale battles to wear down their numbers. When they can no longer defend the entire city, that’s when we launch our all-out attack!"
"Easier said than done. Bleed them dry? Won’t we still have to fight under the risk of being attacked by the city’s defensive weapons?"
"Then what do YOU suggest we do—!"
The sound of a hand slamming on the table rang out again.
Hearing this, Jon began to understand the situation.
Clearly, with problems arising within the rebel army and the Resistance Alliance at the city gates, victory was no longer a distant prospect.
So, everyone wanted to preserve as much of their own strength as possible in this final battle, so they could claim a larger share of the spoils after the war.
This was an unavoidable part of a coalition army’s nature. Even fearless players couldn’t avoid bickering over such matters, let alone nobles who would have to fill the front lines with the lives of their own private soldiers?
But Jon wasn’t very interested in the topic of their discussion.
He had come to participate in this final battle mainly to demonstrate the value of his Mechanical Bodies in warfare, thereby securing orders, making money, expanding his influence, and gaining faction contribution. His secondary goal was simply to witness the war’s conclusion.
According to the original plot of *Yino*, during the regional event later named the Red Vulture Uprising, it was Reya who, after Yed’s death and while Paris was trapped, took charge in Birch Town. She commanded players to resist the Blood Eye Association’s invasion, maintain order in the town, and settle the refugees.
After stabilizing the situation, she took the initiative to launch a campaign, retaking most of the fallen towns. In the end, she drove the main rebel force to the walls of Heta County City, where she coordinated with players who had seized the city’s defenses to annihilate them in one fell swoop, sealing the victory.
It could be said that in Heta County at that time, Reya and the players were the undisputed protagonists. Everyone else, including Paris, had to take a backseat!
But now, without the players’ involvement and with Reya not having become a central figure, the situation had still been pushed to this point solely by the forces of the noble coalition and the support of his Mechanical Bodies.
Was this some sort of inevitable trend, or was the unknowable "Destiny" at work?
Jon didn’t know, but that didn’t stop him from observing and thinking.
Taking advantage of a lull in the argument inside the command tent, he lifted the flap and stepped inside.
The muffled whispers immediately died down.
Everyone instinctively turned to look at the young man, who wore a peculiar Crystal Shell Armor and carried an air of extraordinary authority.
Their gazes held a variety of different meanings.
There was awe, apprehension, pleasant surprise, and... complexity.
And the most complex of all, perhaps, belonged to Paris.
As one of the two founders of the Resistance Alliance, with Yed having fallen into a deep sleep after an attack and Reya lacking seniority, he was the highest-ranking person in the coalition army.
And yet, a man like him always found himself subconsciously bowing his head to Jon.
This wasn’t just because Jon was the savior of both him and his daughter, and that he and his family were indebted to him.
It was also because during the previous mob riots, this young man before him, despite disagreeing with his actions, had still extended a helping hand to the town’s residents. Such nobility made Paris feel ashamed.
So, to everyone’s surprise, Paris actually stood up to greet him.
"His Highness Jon, you’ve arrived. Please, have a seat here."
His Highness?
The crowd was stunned for a moment, then a few of the more well-informed nobles had a look of sudden realization.
That was it. There had been rumors that this Mr. Jon bore a resemblance to the heir of the Apollonia Duchy. Now, Paris’s use of "His Highness" was merely confirming that rumor.
Those with sharper eyes even noticed the figures standing outside the command tent, and the style of their armor, so distinct from that of the Empire, and were secretly amazed.
To have an experience straight out of a legend sung by a Minstrel happen right before their eyes was a rare event indeed.
However, no matter what they thought, Jon’s attitude remained unchanged.
He responded to Paris’s invitation with only the slightest nod, then walked to the main seat reserved beside Paris and sat down next to Sir Stier, the envoy of the Third Princess. He crossed his arms, adopting an attitude similar to Stier’s that said, ’You all talk; I’m just here to watch.’
Paris’s outstretched arm froze in mid-air, and a bitter smile touched the corner of his lips.
But he showed no further signs of wavering. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressed the complex emotions in his heart, and fixed his gaze on the sand table in the center of the command post, which depicted Heta County City and its surrounding terrain.
On it, deep red markers representing the rebel forces were like a blood-soaked hand, gripping the entire County City tightly in its palm.
His finger pressed down heavily on the spot representing Red Crying Castle, his voice low.
"Gentlemen, I can understand your desire to minimize losses, but—the situation does not permit delay!"
"Every day we delay gives the rebels another day to catch their breath, and the civilians in the city another day of suffering! We must devise a way to breach the city as soon as possible!"
He looked around at everyone, his voice carrying a startling chill.
"Don’t forget, there are scum who practice Evil Magic hiding among our enemies!"
"They’re like vipers hiding in the shadows. If we drag this out, who can guarantee they won’t pull some other blasphemous, horrifying trick, turning our Warriors into mindless puppets, or turning the entire battlefield into a breeding ground for Demons?"
At Paris’s words, everyone’s expression grew stern.
A few of the noble commanders who had experienced the previous wars of attrition subconsciously tightened their grip on their gauntlets, an imperceptible flicker of terror passing through their eyes.
Those Evil Mages, who were like maggots clinging to a bone, were elusive and their methods bizarrely sinister. They had indeed made them pay a heavy price before.
The sight of Soldiers turning into walking corpses and the battlefield spawning flesh-and-blood Demons remained a lingering nightmare for them.
After a moment of silence, a middle-aged noble with a dark green sash and an anxious expression spoke up tentatively.
"Since the Evil Mages are so troublesome... why not ask the Sun Church’s Defender Army to intervene?"
"They specialize in Purifying evil spirits. They should be able to deal with these blasphemous things, shouldn’t they?"
As soon as he said this, a strange silence fell over the tent.
Several gazes—some pitying, some mocking, but most with the naked meaning of ’look at this idiot’—fixed upon the Viscount named Brandon, pricking him so that he couldn’t help but shrink back, his voice trailing off.
"Uh... I... Did I say something wrong?"
Stier, sitting next to Jon, let out a soft sigh, which sounded exceptionally clear in the silence.
He lowered his crossed arms, and his metal gauntlet rested lightly on the edge of the table with a soft TAP.
The envoy of the Third Princess swept his steady gaze over Brandon’s confused face, his voice low and unquestionable.
"Viscount Brandon, the Sun Church guards the faith and protects believers from the corruption of Demons. This is their sacred duty."
"They can build churches, drive out the darkness within towns, and guard and comfort the populace, but—"
He deliberately emphasized his tone, each word landing like a cold piece of iron on everyone’s hearts.
"They would never directly dispatch the Defender Army to participate in a secular war."
"This would not only completely violate their ironclad rule of ’non-interference in secular conflicts,’ but it would also run counter to the Empire’s core strategy of maintaining balance and strictly preventing the Church’s power from growing too large."
"The Pope’s Hall would never consent, and the Royal Family and the Dukes would never allow it."
Stier’s words were like a final verdict, completely closing off this seemingly convenient path.
Viscount Brandon’s face turned from red to white. His lips moved, but in the end, he slumped back into his seat, defeated.
The atmosphere in the tent grew even heavier and more oppressive. The commanders looked at each other, and a sense of helpless anxiety, like an invisible vine, wound around everyone’s nerves.
The existence of the Evil Mages was like a lingering shadow hanging over every plan to attack the city.
If this wasn’t resolved, what terrible sacrifices would they have to make?
Jon watched all of this with a cold detachment.
The nobles’ fear, Paris’s anxiety, the cold reality of the Empire’s stance as represented by Stier—all were clearly reflected in his ice-blue eyes.
Furthermore, previous intelligence had shown that infighting had broken out within the rebel army, forcing them into an early strategic withdrawal. Nerva, who in the battle for Red Crying Castle had beaten the players so badly they were crying for their mommies and daddies, was now missing, his fate unknown. Everything was different from the "history" he knew.
However, no matter who the protagonist was or how the situation developed, Destiny seemed determined to push the finale of this war to the forefront.
’Then, let me see... just where can I steer the course of this event—’
And so, just as an invisible silence choked the throats of the crowd, and just as Paris took a deep breath, preparing to once again forcibly suppress the dissent and make some difficult decision—
A calm, clear voice, imbued with a reassuring steadiness, rang out.
"What if... I have a way?"
These words, like a stone thrown into a stagnant pond, instantly shattered the suffocating silence in the tent.
Everyone whipped their heads around, their gazes drawn as if by a magnet, focusing on the figure who had remained silent since entering the tent—Jon.
He was still in the same posture, arms crossed, sitting steadily beside the main seat.
In the flickering light of the brazier, his Crystal Scorpion Armor gleamed with a cold light that shifted between deep blue and pale gold, making his young, sharp-featured face appear all the more profound and authoritative.