Don’t raise unruly people in extreme cold weather

Chapter 887

News of the attack on the City of Seven Hills was quickly transmitted back to the Desert Kingdom via encrypted alchemical communications.

When the attendant presented the detailed battle report to Perfect, she was debugging a new energy core in the laboratory.

His eyes of different colors swept across the casualty figures on the parchment, and his fingertips lingered for a moment on the word "divine evil".

"As expected, it's here." She put the report on the lab table and was not surprised.

Or rather, this result was completely within her expectations.

As early as when she dispatched the floating city module, she specially allocated three God-killing armors and two fully-staffed steam knight flags.

On the surface, it is to escort missionary activities, but in fact it is just waiting for the believers of the old gods to fall into the trap.

Those fanatics hiding in the shadows are like hibernating venomous snakes. Unless they take the initiative to attack, it is difficult to distinguish them from the millions of survivors.

Now that they couldn't help but jump out to summon the evil spirit, it saved her the trouble of a carpet search.

"Let the staff prepare two plans." Perfecto suddenly spoke, his voice was particularly clear in the quiet laboratory.

"The first is the plan to eliminate the underground cult nest in the City of Seven Hills." She tapped the old world map hanging on the wall with her fingertips, and her eyes swept over the staff officer standing beside her: "We need to be precise about the attack route of each secret passage, and equip the Steam Knights with heat sensing devices. I want those rats to have nowhere to hide."

"The second is a defense plan to deal with the counterattack of the old gods." She turned to face the staff officer and explained in a serious tone: "Focus on marking the protection levels of energy towers, medical stations and food warehouses, especially measures to prevent mental pollution.

Deploy the Godkiller Armor at the faith node, but disguise it as a normal fortification. Remember, all actions must be controlled within the framework of "Religious Conflict."

This supplementary order is significant.

Although she holds the power to kill gods, directly suppressing them with force will only push the survivors to the camp of the old gods.

The best strategy was to allow the fanatics to continue exposing atrocities—human sacrifices on full-moon nights, for example, or other atrocities—while the missionaries continued to show mercy—distributing hot porridge laced with tranquilizers and providing free treatment for the frostbitten.

When the contrast is stark enough, people will naturally vote with their feet.

In this war of faith without the smoke of gunpowder, Perfect needs to ensure that every step he takes is made in the right place.

She knew very well that in this game with the Old Gods, any tiny mistake could trigger a chain reaction, resulting in the outcome of the entire war changing hands.

After the attendant left, Perfect walked to the map on the wall again.

The light from the alchemical lamp cast her figure on the yellowed sheepskin map, like a chess player controlling the game.

The location of the City of Seven Hills is marked by a red pin, and there are a dozen blue pins scattered around it, each representing a place where a missionary base has been established.

These strongholds are like sparks, spreading outwards with the City of Seven Hills as the center.

Her fingertips traced the Tiber River and wandered among the ruins of ancient cities.

Suddenly, at a certain point, the fingernail pressed lightly, leaving a tiny dent on the map.

"The night of the full moon." She thought of the sacrifice time mentioned in the report, and her ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly.

There were deeper laws behind those twisted rituals. Just like the tides were pulled by the moon, the power of the evil god also reached its peak at specific times. This discovery made her rub her chin thoughtfully.

If she could break this cycle, her eyes would sharpen.

This means that she can not only predict the actions of the evil god's followers, but also take the initiative and deliver a fatal blow at the most appropriate time.

There was a sudden knock on the laboratory door.

A staff officer came in, holding the ciphertext that had just been deciphered: "Sir, the spy lurking among the Old Gods has sent news that they are planning a larger-scale sacrifice."

Perfect took the secret letter, which contained only one sentence: "At the next new moon, a hundred people will be sacrificed, and the target will be the floating city module."

"Are you finally going to do something serious? It seems that such a small fight is far from satisfying the appetite of those evil god believers." Perfect sneered, then took out a brass secret key from his desk and handed it to the staff officer in front of him: "Send this to the City of Seven Hills and tell the head of the missionary group that I authorize him to unlock the restrictions of the God-killing Armor."

The staff officer's hands trembled slightly when he took the key.

But he quickly calmed down - since the old gods dared to send evil gods to attack the civilian camp, they must be prepared to endure a hundredfold revenge.

This is a special key with a triple gear. Once inserted into the keyhole on the God Killer Armor, it will remove the restrictions on these powerful war machines and allow them to enter the over-limit mode.

Without this key, although the God-killing Armor has the power to kill gods, its strength is only limited to the level of a god's servant.

However, once the restrictions are unlocked, the God-killing Armor can burst out with strength that is enough to rival that of lesser divine spirits in a short period of time.

When the staff officer hurried away, Perfect returned to the experimental table.

The manuscript spread out on the table showed the schematic diagram of her latest faith monitoring device. As long as a few parameters were calibrated, she would be able to detect faith fluctuations in various places in real time through the energy tower network.

No matter how hard those fanatics try to hide their whereabouts, they will be as invisible as fireflies in the dark night.

"Originally, I was planning to wait until the faith monitoring network was set up, and then force you out of your rat holes little by little." Perfect looked at the old world map in front of him and couldn't help but sneered: "Since you dare to show up on your own, it will save me trouble."
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Above the ruins of the City of Seven Hills, a cold wind whistled past, carrying ashes.

The missionary flag fluttered above the ruined camp, but it looked particularly lonely.

For this team with a sacred mission, the most urgent task at this moment is not to activate the God-killing Armor to hunt down the believers of the Old Gods hiding in the dark, but to face the devastated land in front of them and the survivors who are trembling in the disaster.

The evil cult's attack came swiftly and brutally.

Not only did they destroy the temporary camp carefully built by the missionary group, they also used special blasting devices to blast the underground shelter into pieces.

The deep passages that once provided shelter for survivors have now become twisted death traps.

Concrete fragments and twisted steel bars are entangled together, burying countless once warm homes deep underground forever.

The survivors who were forced to crawl out of the ruins gathered outside the mission camp. They were wrapped in thin clothes and huddled together in the biting cold wind.

Some were holding a few belongings salvaged from the rubble, while others were empty-handed - they had lost everything.

In those eyes looking at the missionaries, there were complex and dangerous emotions: fear of the atrocities committed by the evil god's followers, anger at the misfortunes brought about by the missionary group, and, most distressingly, complete despair about the future.

The leader of the missionary group stood in the center of the camp, looking at the ragged survivors in front of him, with a heavy heart. He knew that the primary task at this moment was not to hunt down the fleeing evil god believers, but to clean up the mess and stabilize people's hearts.

A group of old men, women and children were seen stumbling through the ruins. Eric, the leader, was holding an unconscious little girl with blood still on her forehead.

"We...we really have nowhere to go," a white-haired old man in the team said tremblingly, his wrinkled face covered with dust, and he held tightly in his arms a boy whose lips were purple from the cold.

The old man's empty eyes swept across the ruined home, his voice choked with sobs and almost inaudible: "Everything is gone, nothing is left."

The missionaries sprang into action.

Tents were quickly set up in the temporary shelter area and doctors began to provide emergency treatment to the wounded.

Volunteers carried steaming pots of porridge and moved among the crowd, distributing warm blankets to every shivering survivor.

But beneath the surface order, a crisis is brewing.

The logistics officer approached the regiment commander with a serious expression: "Our food reserves can only support us for three more days at most. Moreover," he lowered his voice, "the underground water source may be contaminated, and some people have already started to have diarrhea symptoms."

Just as they were talking, there was a commotion suddenly breaking out in the tent area not far away.

"This is all your fault!" A sturdy man with blood on his face pushed away the missionary who was trying to dissuade him and roared hoarsely, "If you hadn't come to preach some new god, why would those lunatics attack us?"

His roar resonated with the people around him, and sporadic voices of agreement began to be heard from the crowd.

The team leader took a deep breath. He knew that the real test had just begun.

It is not only necessary to repair the damaged buildings, but also to mend the broken hearts.

He turned to the communications officer: "Contact the floating city immediately. We need double the supplies and medical support."

He also ordered the knights around him: "Send two-thirds of the manpower to assist in the reconstruction, and the rest to strengthen patrols. We must not let the cultists take advantage of us again."

Under the cover of night, tiny lights lit up in the ruins of the City of Seven Hills, like stars scattered on the scorched earth.

The missionary team was building temporary shelters with amazing efficiency. The alchemically reinforced canvas they used glowed a pale blue light in the firelight, and the metal brackets were driven deep into the ground by steam power, forming simple hemispherical tents.

The heavy footsteps of the Steam Knights echoed around the camp as they carried spare parts removed from the energy tower.

These copper-colored mechanical devices were placed outside the camp. As engineers debugged them, they began to spew out warm air with a sulfur smell.

"Hold on for a while," a technician with an oily face said to the children watching, "Wait for the heat circulation system to start, and you can sleep warmly."

"Everyone line up and receive food and blankets!" The missionaries' voices were particularly clear in the cold wind.

The compressed biscuits in their hands were emergency rations made from grains and synthetic proteins, while precious dehydrated vegetables floated in the pots of steaming barley porridge.

But this kindness was not met with gratitude.

"It's all because of you!" An old man with a gray beard suddenly rushed out of the team. His ragged clothes revealed his blue skin from the cold. His trembling fingers almost poked the missionary's face. "We were living well underground, but when you plague gods came, those crazy people blew up our home!"

He angrily knocked over the iron bowl that was handed to him, and the boiling porridge spilled onto the snow.

The missionaries endured the accusations in silence and continued distributing supplies without any pause.

They understood that any explanation at this moment would be seen as shirking responsibility, and any excuses might ignite the long-suppressed anger.

Just then, Eric squeezed through the crowd and stood out.

The young man, who once led missionaries to explore underground passages, still had scratches on his face from the explosion.

"What's the point of blaming them?" His voice was hoarse with excitement. "Those evil god followers wanted to kill us all a long time ago! How many people did they sacrifice? Old Tom's daughter, little Jack's brother, have you forgotten them all?"

A few suppressed sobs were heard from the crowd.

Memories came flooding back - the neighbors who disappeared under the full moon, the strange bloodstains on the walls of the underground passage, and the stench of decay wafting from the cult's lair.

The head of the mission came forward at the right time. His voice was steady and powerful, and it reached everyone’s ears clearly in the cold night: “We will not leave, nor will we let you face danger alone.

We will rebuild your homes, provide food, health care and shelter, but we need your help.”

The survivors exchanged glances and their clenched fists gradually loosened.

The leader continued, "Those evil god believers will not give up. They will come again."

He looked around at everyone, his eyes sweeping over every tired face: “If you are willing, you can join our guard team, or help rebuild the underground passage.

We will not force anyone, but you have a choice - continue to hide, or join us and take back your city? "

The night wind blew snowflakes across the camp, and the light and shadows of the torches danced on people's faces.

A tall figure walked out from the crowd. It was Marcus, the maintenance worker of the underground passage.

"I know where every pipe runs," he said gruffly. "Count me in."

Between the ruins and the flames, a fragile alliance is forming.

Despite the mission's best efforts to appease them, there were still voices of dissatisfaction among the survivors.

In the northwest corner of the camp, several young men wrapped in tattered blankets sat around an extinguished campfire, deliberately avoiding the sight of patrolling missionaries.

The red-haired young man who was leading them lowered his voice and said, "What they said sounds good, but those lunatics are targeting them, not us! Why should we take the blame for them?"

"But without the heat from the energy tower, we really can't survive this winter. I went to the medical tent to help this morning and three people already had frostbitten toes."

"Humph, who knows what they are up to? Maybe they are just like those evil god believers, just using a different method to control us!"

Suddenly, footsteps were heard not far away, and several people immediately fell silent.

When the missionary passed by with a kerosene lamp, he saw only a few "sleeping" young people huddled in the shadow of the tent.

(End of this chapter)