Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Calderon, a guild elder, is seventy-three years old.

His left eye was blinded forty years ago when he hunted a vampire prince, and he has refused to get a prosthetic eye ever since. He retired five years ago and raises horses in the desert of New Mexico. The last time he participated in a large-scale operation was six years ago during the demon invasion.

His communications frequency had been unusually high over the past seventy-two hours. It wasn't that he was contacting the guild on his own initiative, but rather that someone had overheard him using an old-fashioned radio to maintain intermittent contact with several of his old subordinates in the African branch.

“The Africa branch reports that Calderon arrived in Cairo on his own three days ago.” Reno pulled up an unconfirmed intelligence report. “He is with twelve veteran Witchers who volunteered to follow him and is assisting the survivors along the Suez Canal to move inland. His exact words were, ‘We don’t have enough manpower over there, so I’m going to lend a hand.’”

Wu Heng stared at the movement trajectory of the 73-year-old, one-eyed man on the screen, who should have been raising horses in New Mexico, and remained silent for two seconds.

"Confirm the appointment and tell him that he can lend a hand; he is now in charge of the entire African theater."

Renault's lips twitched slightly, as if he were smiling, but it looked like a twitch on his tired face.

"South American theater, south of 35 degrees south latitude and east of 80 degrees west longitude, commanded by Sánchez."

Sanchez, former commander of the Colombian division.

Four years ago, he was suspended for three months for leading a team across borders to hunt down a high-ranking vampire without authorization. His combat log notes stated that he was skilled in jungle infiltration and proficient in melee combat. During his suspension, he completed a mapping of all known supernatural habitats in the Amazon basin at his own expense.

“The number of fallen angels in South America is relatively small, but the proportion of mad angel incidents is higher than in other war zones.” Wu Heng pulled up several blurry eyewitness reports. “The terrain is complex and not suitable for large-scale troop movements. Sanchez will lead a hundred squads, each with no more than twenty people. The main tasks are to search for out-of-control mad angels and stop the Basemünster faction from expanding southward.”

Renault enters the appointment, with the note: authorizing Sanchez to form up to one hundred jungle hunting teams and recruit assistants familiar with the local terrain.

"Oceania Theater, south of 10 degrees south latitude and east of 110 degrees east longitude, commanded by Avery."

Avery, the guild's youngest elder, is forty-one years old and was once a PhD in marine biology.

He unexpectedly came into contact with the supernatural world while investigating a mermaid smuggling case, and subsequently changed his career completely.

His expertise lies not in combat, but in logistics, intelligence integration, and cross-species communication. The Oceania branch has maintained a stable cooperative relationship with local indigenous spirit guardians over the past decade.

“Oceania has the fewest fallen angels, but it is geographically isolated, and it will be difficult to provide rapid reinforcements once it falls.” Wu Heng pointed to the map. “Avery’s primary task is to hold the two main survivor gathering areas in Perth and Sydney. Secondly, he should use the local intelligence network to monitor the surrounding sea areas and prevent angels from infiltrating other war zones from the Pacific direction.”

Reynolds added after the appointment: "Authorize Avery to activate all communication protocols with the native spirits."

Finally, Wu Heng turned his gaze to the pure white area at the bottom of the map.

"Commander of the Antarctic Theater is currently vacant."

Renault frowned: "Antarctica? There are no regular troops stationed there, and no reports of angels falling."

“There will be,” Wu Heng interrupted him. “The turbulent energy flow of Heaven is drifting toward the Earth’s poles. According to Kevin Cui’s analysis of the residual fluctuations of the Metatron spell, a new energy settling zone will form over Antarctica within a week, with residual Heavenly essence slowly settling there.”

He paused.

“That energy cannot fall into the hands of the Barthimus faction, nor can it be detonated by the Mad Angel out of control. We need to establish forward supply bases in advance, monitor the dynamics of energy settling, and, if necessary,… recover that energy.”

Renault understood. The Antarctic theater of operations wasn't a combat zone; it was a collection zone.

Wu Heng needs to establish a logistics hub in that white desert that can support global operations, a last bastion that can maintain the flame of humanity's counterattack even if all other war zones are lost.

"Temporarily managed by the Guild's Logistics Headquarters." Wu Heng issued the final order, "Select twenty engineering, medical, and communications experts from the existing reserve team, along with a week's worth of supplies, and complete the airdrop of the first batch of garrison personnel within forty-eight hours."

He closed the war zone division interface and brought up another document.

"The armory is now open to all personnel."

On the second basement floor of the guild, the equipment warehouse door switched from 'wartime control' to 'all members claim' within fifteen minutes.

Inside the door, three-story-high metal shelves stretched from the ground to the ceiling, each shelf piled high with wooden crates, metal crates, temperature-controlled cabinets, and sealed containers marked with hazard symbols.

A small crane, suspended from an overhead track, was slowly lowering a heavy container labeled 'Armor-Piercing Projectile - Borax Specialized Type' onto the distribution platform.

The old logistics officer in charge of distribution, nicknamed "Anvil," was in his early sixties, bald, and had a mechanical prosthesis on his left arm, which he had installed himself forty years ago after it was bitten off by a hellhound.

It is even better maintained than the original.

He stood behind the distribution counter, wearing reading glasses, and used his prosthetic leg to lift a 30-kilogram ammunition box with one hand, slamming it onto the counter.

"What's next?"

The young demon hunter in front of the stage stared blankly at the application form filled with equipment models.

He'd been in the business for three years and had never seen so many new things in the armory.

“I…I need…” he stammered.

"You're leaving the North American theater, right?" Anvil glanced at the temporary pass on his chest, impatiently pulled out the application form, and quickly checked it with a ballpoint pen: "Borax armor-piercing rounds, standard carrying capacity of six magazines, Holy Light counter rune, should I attach it to the weapon or the armor? Attaching it to the weapon results in higher damage but consumes it quickly, attaching it to the armor provides self-defense but only blocks three times; the choice is yours."

"Uh...stick it to the weapon?" The young man looked confused.

“Okay.” Iron Anvil turned around, pulled a flat metal box from the shelf behind him, and slammed it on the table. “Three. That’s enough for one skirmish. Come back and get more when you’re done. Don’t be stingy, or you might end up losing your life.”

He continued to check the boxes: "Angel Energy Detector, clipped to your belt, detection radius fifty meters. It will vibrate when you get close to the angel; the faster the vibration frequency, the closer you are. If it vibrates continuously and beeps..."

He lifted his eyelids and looked at the young witcher over his reading glasses.

"Just run! Run for your life. If you can't outrun them, shoot. After that, switch to a knife. If the knife breaks, pinch it off with your hands. Just don't stand there and stand there."

The young witcher swallowed hard.

"Holy Light protective gear, latest batch." The anvil pulled out a tactical vest lined with silver metal mesh from under the table. "Wear it over your existing equipment, not too close to your skin; the Holy Light splash won't burn through this mesh, but it won't stop the impact. Bones will still break if they're going to. Oh, and this too." (End of Chapter)