Don’t raise unruly people in extreme cold weather

Chapter 886

The mission camp built around the energy tower had unexpectedly simple fortifications.

The camp was surrounded by a low fence made of rough logs. Several watchtowers made of wooden boards stood alone at the four corners of the camp. The sentinels on the towers could even talk to passers-by outside through the fence.

Such defensive facilities are more like an open market than a military stronghold.

This seemingly lax defensive posture is by no means a sign of carelessness on the part of the missionary team.

You know, the accompanying guards are the battle-hardened Steam Knights Flagship.

These iron warriors fought all the way from the ice fields of the north to the scorching desert kingdoms, and then returned to the old world, experiencing brutal battles that ordinary people could hardly imagine.

They have witnessed the terrifying battle between the God-killing Armor and the ancient gods, and they know what terrible threats are hidden in this world.

With this understanding, it is simply a fantasy to say that they would let down their guard.

The missionary's design of the camp's defense was actually a well-thought-out strategy.

Although towering city walls and strict defenses can provide a sense of security, they will also build an invisible barrier in the hearts of survivors.

They hope to create an open, inclusive environment, rather than making people who come to seek asylum feel like prisoners.

The current low fence design allows passers-by to see through the interior of the camp at a glance, making it easier to gain the trust of local people.

What's more, in the face of absolute power, even the strongest city walls are useless.

The missionary leaders knew very well that instead of wasting resources on building fortifications, it would be better to request the floating city to send a few more steam knights or a god-killing armor.

After all, even the strongest steel wall would crumble in an instant under the onslaught of a team of steam knights or the crushing of god-killing armor.

Since building walls is useless if attacks cannot be stopped, and threats that can be stopped do not require walls at all, these simple fences and watchtowers are enough - at least that is what the missionary group has always believed.

However, on this full-moon night, the howling of the cold wind seemed to be mixed with ominous whispers.

The campfire in the camp swayed violently in the wind, and the shadows cast by the fire were like twisted monsters, baring their fangs and claws on the wooden fence.

The knight on the watchtower tightened his cloak and raised his telescope to scan the ruins in the distance.

There should have been no one there, but at this moment, something was vaguely moving in the darkness, like countless crawling shadows slowly approaching.

He immediately blew the warning whistle, and the sharp whistle tore through the silent night sky.

Almost at the same moment, the fence outside the camp exploded!

Wood chips flew everywhere, and a thick beam was broken by some huge force, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Dozens of evil god believers dressed in tattered black robes swarmed out of the darkness like evil spirits crawling out of the cracks of hell.

Their black robes had long been eroded by time and filth into ragged strips of cloth, which fluttered with their twisted steps like some kind of abominable tentacle.

Their faces were smeared with dried blood and ash, outlining blasphemous totems, and every line seemed to scream silently.

The exposed skin was covered with twisted runes. Those symbols were not drawn with ink, but were burned into the flesh with red-hot irons. They squirmed faintly with every breath, as if they were alive.

Their eyes, if they could still be called eyes, burned with insane flames, their pupils dilated into an unnatural black, reflecting some kind of horror that mortals could not understand.

The man in the lead was hunched over, but he exuded a suffocating sense of oppression.

He held high a rusty ceremonial dagger. The dark brown stains remaining on the blade exuded the stench of rust and corruption. It was dried blood from the countless victims whose throats he had slit with his own hands.

His finger joints were twisted and deformed, his nails were black and hooked, and he gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, as if the dagger had merged with his rotten flesh and blood.

A hoarse roar came out of his throat, the sound like sandpaper rubbing against rusted metal: "In the name of the old gods, sacrifice these heretics!"

The camp fell into chaos in an instant.

The survivors screamed and fled in all directions. Some were pushed to the ground and trampled by the panicked crowd before they could get up. The crisp sound of broken bones was drowned out by the wave of fear.

The crying of children, the screaming of women, and the roaring of men intertwined into one, echoing in the cold night.

The missionaries responded quickly, their voices steady and powerful, trying to maintain order in the panic.

"Don't panic! Retreat towards the energy tower!" They shouted to reassure the people while organizing a temporary line of defense and using their bodies to block the rioters and civilians.

The elderly priests helped the elderly with limited mobility, while the young monks picked up the crying children and escorted them to the reinforced shelter area near the energy tower.

The Steam Knights have already assembled, and their existence itself is an insurmountable wall of steel.

The heavy armor made a low roar, like the breathing of a giant beast, and the steam valves spewed out hot white mist, condensing into surging clouds in the cold night.

The teeth of the chainsaw sword rotated at high speed, and the buzzing sound pierced the night sky, like the grin of the god of death.

Beneath the visors, the knights' eyes were cold and focused, waiting for the upcoming bloody baptism.

The evil god's followers poured out from the ruins like a tide, their tattered black robes fluttering in the cold wind, and their faces were smeared with blood and ashes to form strange totems.

These fanatical believers were armed with a variety of crude but deadly weapons: rusty scimitars still had dark brown blood stains on them, sharp animal bones were polished to a shine, and burning torches drew dangerous arcs in the darkness.

What’s even more creepy is that many of them have necklaces made of human finger bones hanging around their waists, which make teeth-grinding noises as they run.

Several of the most fanatical believers let out inhuman howls and rushed directly towards the nearest Steam Knight.

There was a mad light flashing in their eyes, and they completely ignored the huge gap in strength between the two sides.

A sturdy man with tattoos all over his face bit open the oilcloth of the torch with his teeth and poked the burning flame directly into the peephole of the knight's helmet; another thin woman hugged the knight's mechanical leg and frantically chiseled the hydraulic pipe at the joint with a bone knife.

Although these crazy actions could not cause any substantial damage to the Iron Giant, they successfully delayed the actions of the knights.

The knights' chainswords made a sharp buzzing sound, drawing deadly arcs in the darkness.

The jagged blade swept across, instantly severing the nearest believers in half.

Before the body that was cut in two fell to the ground, the gushing blood condensed into red ice crystals in the cold wind.

But more believers came forward one after another, stepping on the corpses of their companions and continuing to charge, as if they had no idea what fear was.

Some believers even laughed wildly before they died, using their last bit of strength to throw burning torches at the tents in the camp.

Just when the battle was at a stalemate, a creepy chanting sound suddenly came from the depths of the ruins.

The sound was like hundreds of people chanting in different languages ​​at the same time, or like the roar of some ancient monster.

The ground began to shake violently, and the snow outside the camp fell down. A huge shadow emerged from the darkness, leaving smoky footprints on the frozen ground with every step.

It was a monster that had been completely corrupted by the power of the evil god, and its size was comparable to that of a small house.

It had the body of a giant wolf, but had three distorted human faces - one in its normal position, and the other two protruding from its shoulder blades.

Sharp bone spurs protruded from the spine, emitting an eerie blue light under the moonlight.

The most frightening thing is its eyes. Its six blood-red eyeballs reflect scenes that do not belong to this world.

"It's a divine evil! Everyone retreat!" The leading knight shouted through the communicator inside the armor.

This monster blessed by the evil god is no ordinary beast. The blasphemous energy surging in its body distorts the air around it.

The black mucus that oozed from its body dripped onto the ground, immediately corroding holes that emitted black smoke.

If an ordinary sword or knife were to hit it, it would probably not even be able to cut through its skin. It is simply not something that mortal weapons can resist.

Its sudden appearance undoubtedly indicated that there was a deeper conspiracy behind the attack, and it was likely a direct warning from the Old Gods to the missionary group.

The monster raised its head and let out an eardrum-shattering roar, mixed with the wails of hundreds of tortured souls.

Its six sturdy limbs stomped the ground and rushed towards the camp at an astonishing speed.

Each step left burning black footprints on the frozen ground, which quickly crystallized into strange black ice crystals.

These ice crystals spread outwards as if they had life, and as soon as the ankles of the few survivors were touched, the terrible chill quickly climbed up their limbs.

Their eyes widened in horror, and before they could call for help, their entire bodies were frozen from the inside out into ice sculptures with distorted expressions, glowing an eerie blue-black color in the moonlight.

At this critical moment, a blinding white light suddenly burst out from the bottom of the floating city module.

The thick armor plates unfolded layer by layer like petals, revealing the complex alchemical matrix inside.

A gun barrel as thick as two people could hold together slowly extended out, and with a creepy sound of energy gathering, the air at the muzzle began to distort.

Suddenly, a beam of energy so pure that it was almost transparent tore through the night sky and slashed towards the monster with the precision of a sword of judgment.

The light was so dazzling that everyone had to close their eyes.

The monster hit by the energy beam let out a heart-wrenching wail, and its six blood-red eyeballs burst at the same time, spewing out smelly black pus and blood.

Its bone-armored skin melted quickly like hot wax, revealing the wriggling black flesh underneath.

The flesh and blood twitched violently under the burning of pure energy, and distorted human faces kept protruding from under the skin and then melting away.

In less than three seconds, the behemoth completely disintegrated in the sacred purifying light, leaving only a hideous outline on the charred ground, as if it was an evil mark branded by an iron.

The surviving followers of the evil god stood there dumbfounded, and for the first time real fear appeared in their fanatical eyes.

When the floating city module made a mechanical roar and slowly turned its gun barrel towards them, these lunatics who had always been fearless of death finally collapsed.

Some people dropped their bloody bone knives and ran away, some knelt on the ground and cried bitterly, and a few were so frightened that they became incontinent and collapsed beside the bodies of their companions, unable to move.

They finally realized that they were not facing an ordinary missionary group, but a terrifying force capable of killing gods and demons.

The Steam Knights did not pursue the victory, but quickly contracted their defense circle.

In the communication channel inside the armor, the commander's calm voice was transmitted to every knight through the alchemical communicator: "Group A will immediately check the energy tower's protective barrier, Group B will be responsible for counting casualties and setting up a temporary morgue, and Group C will set up a cordon outside the camp.

Medical teams are prioritizing the treatment of civilian casualties, paying special attention to those who have come into contact with the black ice crystals.

His voice was steady and powerful, as if the thrilling battle just now was just daily training.

The knights carried out the orders in silence. The steam from the joints of their armor condensed into white mist in the cold night, adding a solemn and murderous atmosphere to the battlefield.

After the battle, the camp was in ruins.

More than a dozen tents were burned to charred skeletons, and the scraps of canvas fluttered in the cold wind like dying butterflies.

The ground was covered with dark red bloodstains and scorch marks left by the explosion. The melted snow mixed with the blood and quickly condensed into strange red and black ice crystals under the low temperature.

The missionaries moved among the panicked survivors, the hems of their robes stained with mud and blood.

An elderly missionary knelt beside a weeping woman, whispering soothing words to the trembling child in her arms.
The child was about five or six years old, with tear marks all over his dirty little face, his blue eyes were wide open, and the afterimage of the horrible monster was reflected in his pupils.

His little hands were tightly clutching his mother's clothes, and his knuckles were turning white.

In the temporary medical area, medical staff were extremely busy.

The pungent smell of alchemical potion mixed with the smell of blood, forming a sickening sweet smell in the cold air.

A doctor wearing a mask was stitching up the wound of a survivor with an abdominal injury, his white coat splattered with blood.

There were several seriously injured soldiers lying nearby, their groans coming one after another, sounding particularly mournful in the silent night.

The Knight Commander stood in the center of the camp, counting the casualties.

His armor was covered with scratches from battle, and his visor had been lifted, revealing a tired and serious face.

"Seven civilians died and 7 were seriously injured; we lost two trainee missionaries and three knights were slightly injured." His voice was low and hoarse, as if his throat was choked by the thick smoke.

On the data pad, the name of each fallen soldier is followed by a brief biography - most of them are just ordinary people, struggling to survive in the doomsday.

He raised his head and looked towards the dark ruins in the distance.

Under the moonlight, the broken walls looked as ferocious as the fangs of a giant beast.

The Knight Commander's eyes became sharp: "This is just the beginning, those lunatics will not stop here."

His voice was very soft, but it made the missionaries around him shudder.

This sudden attack was like a bucket of cold water poured on everyone's head.

In this world abandoned by the gods, the danger comes not only from the biting cold and unbearable hunger, but also from those fellow humans who have fallen into madness - they would rather sacrifice living people to please the long-fallen gods.

A young missionary looked at the pool of blood on the ground that had not yet dried, and suddenly realized that the mission of the missionary group was far more dangerous and complicated than they had originally imagined.

This is not simply distributing food and spreading faith, but a desperate fight against madness and darkness.

(End of this chapter)