Miss Wang Weina, even your cousin won't do!

In the past, the task of setting up Originium crystals was usually delegated to her subordinate Yeti squad. This was partly to improve efficiency, and partly because Frostnova's Oripathy was quite severe, requiring her to focus all her energy on manipulating spells, which she couldn't sustain with such physical exertion. However, this time, Frostnova's physical condition had improved considerably, and her control over spells was much more adept. Furthermore, since the Yeti squad was still recuperating in Londinium, she had no choice but to set up the crystals herself.

Just as she finished setting up the fourth altar, the enemy finally appeared before her, albeit belatedly.

Clad in a deep, dark green robe befitting the Deep Pool School, and wearing a frosty mask, the bandit grinned as he leaped down from the treetop. He twisted his neck, sizing up Froststar from head to toe, before letting out a disdainful sneer.

"I thought it was some big shot, but it turns out it's just Carter? Instead of going home and eating your carrots, why is the rabbit playing around with magic here?"

The bandit lunged forward, closing the distance to Frostnova in the blink of an eye. He casually raised his hand, reaching for Frostnova's neck as he questioned her:

"Who sent you? Tell me!"

Seeing Froststar's expressionless face, and even her apparent yawning, the bandit became intrigued:

"Aren't you afraid of me? A warlock, if someone gets close, do you really think you'll survive?"

Froststar rolled her eyes, her pale lips slightly parted, and retorted, "Instead of worrying about me, why don't you worry more about your own hands?"

The robber was startled, instinctively looking at his right hand that had touched Froststar. He was shocked to see that the hand that had been gently gripping Froststar's neck was now frozen black and completely numb. The robber's pupils contracted, and he abruptly tried to pull his hand back, but Froststar suddenly raised her hand and grabbed it unexpectedly. Even through her gloves, the icy coldness of her hands sent a chill down the robber's spine. Before he could react, a faint but obvious smile appeared on Froststar's face, and she twisted her hands sharply.

"Click!"

A crisp snapping sound rang out. The robber stared wide-eyed as he watched helplessly as the seemingly frail hands of the girl from Carter's stood before him, snapping his entire right arm into three pieces, like a popsicle broken into pieces by children in summer!

Frostnova nodded in satisfaction. This was the first time she had been able to control her body temperature freely, transforming what had once been a major source of trouble into a weapon to defeat her enemies. Wayne and Theresa had taught her how to control her Originium Arts; if she could restrain them, she could unleash them with double the power! But instead of pressing her advantage, she nimbly leaped backward, once again creating distance between herself and the bandits.

Not a drop of blood spurted from the severed part of the bandit's right arm; even the blood had frozen. The painless loss of an arm jolted the bandit back to his senses. His expression changed, and he raised his remaining left arm. Instantly, the arm was coated with a steel-like base, becoming incredibly hard. He took a step forward, roared at Froststar, and threw a punch:

"Damn it, Carter's, how dare you cut off my hand!"

The powerful punch seemed capable of shattering a rock. The bandit, who was getting closer and closer to Frostnova, seemed to already see the way Carter's body would be pierced through. He suddenly jumped, and his muscular body crashed down on Frostnova like Mount Tai.

He jumped suddenly, higher and higher, and never came down.

"Bam—"

Another dull thud echoed, just like the first time the bandits had heard it among the Deeppool troops. This time, however, the sound seemed to be right next to their ears.

His perspective suddenly shifted, from "flying" towards Frostnova, rotating 180 degrees in mid-air, landing on a pair of white skeletal skulls shimmering with red light. Only then did he realize he was like a shrimp, his head gripped and lifted by the giant before him. And the giant, unconsciously and slowly, was increasing the pressure on his grip.

"Ah...ah..."

Feeling the excruciating pain squeezing his brain, the bandit frantically swung his mangled arm, smashing it towards Bozokasti. However, those iron fists, powerful enough to shatter rock, only produced dull thuds when they struck Bozokasti's newly replaced armor, just as the bandit had initially heard.

"He didn't... hurt you, did he, Yelena?"

“No, [Patriot], we should use codenames in missions!” Frostnova frowned and corrected her. “Have you resolved things on your end?”

Bozokastie nodded: "Solved... not a single one left."

"I remember you had someone similar to him on your side, probably a leader or something. Did he run away?"

Bozokastie shook his head and raised his other hand, where a mangled corpse lay, its center pierced by a heavy halberd that resembled a cannonball.

"He... tried to run... but I... nailed him down... according to orders... he couldn't make a sound... to be safe... I left no survivors."

Froststar nodded: "And this one?"

Suddenly, Bozokastie slammed the bandit to the ground. The thug, who had been lively just moments before, died in a daze of confusion and utter terror. However, Bozokastie, a veteran of the battlefield, knew the importance of finishing him off. He drew his heavy halberd and pinned the bandit to the ground, ensuring there was no possibility of him rising from the dead. Only then did he nod in relief.

"It's solved."

Froststar nodded. She was no little girl; she had personally executed countless villains during the attack on the Black Mine in the tundra. She wouldn't hesitate to take action against such heinous criminals as bandits, let alone watch Patriot execute them.

The operation on the southern front was unexpectedly simple. Frostnova happily took out the radio communicator that Kal'tsit had specially commissioned Kroos to make for this operation and sent a message to:

"The Patriot and Froststar squads' clearing mission on the south side is complete. Requesting further instructions."

PS: Here's an explanation of the official character design elements of Deep Pool.

In the official character designation of Deeppool, there are currently three categories: The first category is the Celtic restorationists. This group is relatively pure; they simply want to support Aslan and don't care about anything else. They genuinely want to establish a nation and treat their people well, provided that these people submit to them. They are considered neutral enemies.

The second category consists of those who profited independently, led by Ahmoni. This group includes chaotic evils, bandits, poison scholars, prisoners, orators, arsonists, and accountants. They even bypassed Celtic command, acting independently with the Reeds. —This is the official narrative. Ahmoni's report to the leader on September 20th mentions that the arsonists acted independently with the Reeds without informing the Celts. Earlier, on September 19th and 18th, there are dialogues where they say, "Even if the leader disagrees, it doesn't matter, as long as we handle this well, we can persuade the leader later." The Littlehill County incident was essentially orchestrated by Ahmoni, carried out by those six purely evil individuals, and the Reeds and the Celts were dragged into the mess and made to take the blame. Of course, the leader did indeed take over the Littlehill County incident, but he didn't dare occupy Littlehill County; instead, he withdrew after the battle.

The third category consists of neutral good like reeds, whose stance is not firm enough. They oppose war but are unfortunate enough to be forced to do it due to threats to their family ties and lives.

All of the above are official settings, which I uncovered bit by bit, and I'm not afraid of being betrayed.

So the one who deserves to die the most is actually that scoundrel Ahmoni. The Celts couldn't control their subordinates and indulged their leader. Reed is white; she did her best. There's an outlier here, and that's the scoundrel cat. Mandra belongs to the second type, who seeks personal gain, but what she really wants is the leader's approval and praise. She's a sycophant, so she can also be categorized as the first type.

This cat is different from others, that's for sure. But simps never get a good death!

Chapter Sixteen: Combat on All Sides – Logos & Kal'trestleia

Deep pool, the battlefield to the east.

The Deep Pool cadres in charge of the battlefield, "arsonist" and "poison scholar," were not skilled in direct combat. Their main task was to create panic among the troops and cover the retreat route after the Deep Pool attack.

The poisons expert, who styled himself as a scholar, had an insatiable thirst for knowledge built upon countless inhumane human experiments. While the experiments at the Loken tank in Columbia University could at least be disguised as "strengthening national defense," the poisons expert's experiments were purely for satisfying his own selfish desires. Many of his experiments had absolutely no scientific value, and were even utterly impossible to succeed, yet he carried them out anyway, even at the cost of countless lives, using them as his experimental subjects.

This extremely evil personality also made him suffer discrimination even among the group of six. If it weren't for the accountant's insistence on having him protect the poison scholar's safety, the arsonist would never have wanted to get close to this perverted madman who used people as test subjects.

Compared to the astonishing and chilling human experiments conducted by toxicologists, he felt that simply setting a fire and burning someone to death was already a sign of mercy.

As the poison scholar pondered this, he suddenly heard a gentle whisper coming from not far away.

The gentle whisper, like a mother's murmur to her baby, silently soothed the arsonist's frenzied destructive urges, plunging him into a dazed state. But the next second, the poison scholar slapped him across the face, snapping him back to reality:

"Don't sleep... you idiot... we're here to work." The poisons expert, wearing a black gas mask, spoke in a muffled and weak voice. His gaze was fixed on the direction from which the voice came, and he pulled six sealed test tubes filled with fluorescent purple liquid from his pocket. To his surprise, he found only one person emerging from the dense forest.

"Sarkaz?"

The poison expert looked Logos up and down, asking uncertainly. The arsonist, even more volatile than before, especially after being awakened by the poison expert and discovering he had inexplicably been poisoned, roared furiously:

"Sarkaz, this is not a place for scum like you!"

"What did you call me?" Logos suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but instantly overshadowing the arsonist's roar. He hadn't intended to waste any more words on the group of corpses in front of him, but someone's words had truly touched a nerve: "The Sarkaz are not scum."

As the future heir of the Banshee race and a member of the Sarkaz Royal Court, Logos has always been uninterested in matters unrelated to Sarkaz. He agreed to join Babel because Theresa had indeed fulfilled her promise, bringing precious peace to Kazdel and resolving the Sarkaz's survival issues. His participation in this operation stems from the fact that these people before him are a potential threat to the Sarkaz people's happiness.

Victoria currently shelters Kazdel. To split Victoria is to weaken the Sarkaz's ally. The demons have finally gained a friend on Earth, and Logos will not allow anyone to shake this "friendship."

He looked at the two men before him. The rest of the Deeppool soldiers were still under the hypnotic spell he had initially cast; only the two leaders were still capable of fighting. But in Logos' eyes, they were nothing more than slightly larger ants.

Every banshee was a born master of magic, and the arsonist and poison scholar's rudimentary spells posed no threat to Logos. He opened his mouth and uttered a series of words that no one in this era could understand. The poison scholar was slightly taken aback, a strong sense of crisis rising from within him and rushing to his brain. He quickly opened the test tube and poured all the purple liquid at Logos. At the poison scholar's call, the arsonist flicked his wrist, and more than ten fireballs the size of bowls flew towards Logos simultaneously.

Logos raised his hand, and the strangely shaped bone pen in his right hand emitted a pale gray glow, instantly creating a wall of gray flames that blocked the liquid and fireballs. But that wasn't all; with another wave of his hand, the burning wall of flames transformed into two sharp blades, piercing towards the arsonist and the poisons expert.

The arsonist and the poisons expert rolled to either side, easily dodging the not-too-fast spell. But neither of them noticed that Logos never stopped chanting.

As the two stood up unharmed, intending to engage in a second round of combat, Logos suddenly raised his staff. A hint of pity appeared on his somewhat effeminate face, typical of a banshee. He parted his lips slightly and uttered the last rune of his spell—Lightning.

The next second, a bolt from the blue struck, and a torrent of lightning rained down as if it were free. Trees were torn apart, rocks were shattered, and the earth was scorched black. Only Logos, standing in the very center of the minefield, remained unmoved, watching as the two people before him were swallowed up, destroyed, and turned to ashes by the endless stream of lightning.

The sudden thunderstorm lasted for nearly ten seconds, then vanished without warning. Logos, whose hair and beard were standing on end from the static electricity, calmly tidied his stubbornly unruly hair while pulling out his pre-protected communicator and reporting in a low voice:

"Mission accomplished."

He's ruthless, but doesn't talk much.

.........

Deep pool, the battlefield to the west.

Kal'tsit and Theresa kept a close eye on the situation on the communicator. Shortly after the thunderstorm, Logos reported that the mission was complete. Not long after, Frostnova and Patriot also reported back.

Hearing the occasional explosions and muffled thuds coming from the forest, Theresa looked at Kal'tsit with some confusion and asked:

"Kal'tsit, are you sure you really told them that this is a secret operation and that we can't make too much noise?"

Kal'tsit nodded awkwardly: "I told you, I really told you, Theresa. If you don't believe me, go back and listen to the mission recording."

"Then why are they all so...unrestrained?" Theresa asked, puzzled by the sudden sound of firecrackers beside her.

Do my men have some misunderstanding about covert operations? Aren't the key points of covert operations—silent, stealthy, appearing and disappearing without a trace, striking at the vital points, and not being discovered by anyone?

Why did neither Patriot nor Logos meet even the slightest requirement? Their activity could be heard throughout almost half of the mobile blockchain.

And this firecracker, judging from the direction it's coming from, is it coming from Mr. Bruce's side? What's he doing?

Theresa covered her forehead, sighed helplessly, and said, "Forget it, let's finish the mission first, right, Kal'tsit?"

She composed herself and said seriously, "I have always believed in the quality of the Babel people. Since Patriot, Logos, and even Mr. Bruce have had to make such a big fuss, it must be because the enemy's strength is not to be underestimated. Kal'tsit, we must prepare for a tough battle."

Theresa paused, not hearing Kal'tsit's reply, but then her communicator rang again. She picked it up and saw that the sender was Kal'tsit.

"Mission accomplished." Kal'tsit put away her communicator, looked at Theresa, and asked curiously, "Your Highness, what did you just say?"

Theresa remained calm and shook her head as if nothing had happened: "It's nothing, Kal'tsit. When did you finish your mission?"

“Just now, when His Highness Wayne set off the ‘firecrackers,’ I noticed that the enemy’s gaze was all turned toward the direction from which the sound came. No one was paying attention to what was behind them, which allowed mon3tr to launch a surprise attack.”

Kal'tsit patted the rhombus-shaped green crystal floating beside her, and mon3tr.zip flashed in response, floating and circling around Kal'tsit like a pet dog.

A thousand words welled up in Theresa's heart, yet she couldn't utter a single one. Finally, she gave up trying to think, happily high-fived Kal'tsit, patted mon3tr on the shoulder, and laughed:

"The three of us are truly amazing. Mission accomplished!"

Chapter Seventeen: Battlefields on All Sides—Paradox, Warfarin, Closure (Part 1)

Xiaoqiu County, the northern battlefield.

This is the battlefield under the command of Wayne, Warfarin, and Kroos. The northern part of Hillshire is a plain, an environment clearly unfavorable for an attack by Deeppool, who excel at ambushes and whose firepower is far inferior to that of the Hillshire garrison. Therefore, it's natural that Wayne, Kroos, and Warfarin are essentially just there to observe; they'll deal with enemies if they appear, and if not, they'll simply slack off. They all understand this, hence their relaxed expressions. Kroos even chatted curiously with Warfarin, who was also a Blood Mage.

"Miss Warfarin, why don't you have a code name?"

Warfarin was a quintessential static beauty, as still as a virgin, yet as wild as a madwoman in motion. Those who hadn't met her were easily captivated by her pale skin, scarlet eyes, and aloof demeanor, thinking she was probably difficult to approach and get along with. Therefore, Kroos even used honorifics in her speech. This almost made Wayne, who was watching the scene unfold, burst out laughing.

"Me, me?"

Warfarin stammered for a moment, then gave a reply that completely surprised Clovis:

"I actually have a codename. When Kal'tsit... no, the Doctor, found me, she asked me to choose a codename so that my future colleagues would be able to call me that. I was thinking that the codename had to be cool, something that would make people feel intimidated, so that no matter who called me, they would feel inferior to me! So I had a bold idea! My codename is 'Master'!"

Wayne, who was drinking water, couldn't help but spit it out. Kroos also had a speechless expression on her face, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't say anything.

At this moment, Kroos had just been recruited to the Tower of Babel by Kal'tsit and Theresa. She still vividly remembered being ganked by the computer genius Kal'tsit, who was a master of unlocking loot boxes. This left her with a deeply ingrained, mistaken impression—that the Tower of Babel was full of talented individuals, big shots from all walks of life, while she was just a newbie. According to the widely circulated Theresa's ideology at the time, Kroos felt she had been deprived of even the right to speak.

To some extent, her impression was correct; everyone in the Tower of Babel was indeed talented, only their talents were directed in a rather strange direction.

Kroos hesitated for a moment, then decided to hypnotize herself into believing that Miss Warfarin's strange words were just a mischievous joke by a veteran teasing a newbie. So she cooperated and continued to ask:

"And then, [Master]...hehe, isn't it pretty good too?"

“Then I got scolded by Kal'tsit. Kal'tsit…” Warfarin realized that she had subconsciously forgotten to use her code name again, so she simply gave up and went with the flow, saying, “Kal'tsit said that code names with feudal connotations are not allowed in the Tower of Babel, and told me to use something more modern.”