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

Wayne chuckled. Kal'tsit was actually being so agreeable with Warfarin? Wayne had expected Warfarin to say that Kal'tsit had hoisted her to the bridge.

But then I thought about it again, and it makes sense. The ship hasn't even been dug up yet, so even if we wanted to mount it on the bridge, the hardware wouldn't support it.

Wayne thought that he couldn't let the bats on the bridge destroy this magnificent sight of Terra. He could offer Kal'tsit some help, such as changing the location and hanging the Warfarin on the top of Big Ben. Maybe that would make the citizens of Londinium misread the hour, minute, and Warfarin hands when they woke up to set the clock the next morning.

Wayne, satisfied, put away Warfarin's joke from his mind, only to hear Warfarin continue:

"I thought I understood what Kal'tsit meant. She just thought feudal stuff wasn't trendy enough and begged me to introduce some capitalism, so I replied to her that night and said, 'How about you call me [BOSS]?'"

Wayne couldn't hold back for the second time. This time, not only him, but even Kroos couldn't help but cover her mouth, struggling to suppress her laughter. She swore that although she hadn't received any professional training, she absolutely had no intention of abandoning Babel Tower. The reason she was laughing was simply because of a problem with her facial nerves, commonly known as being unable to hold back her laughter.

Wayne asked with a chuckle, "And then?"

"Then Kal'tsit rejected my proposal again. That old woman is really hard to please. I had provided quite a few backup options, such as 'Boss,' 'Leader,' and 'King,' which I could have accepted, but she didn't agree to any of them. I knew then that we would never get along. Ugh!"

Wayne smiled but didn't respond to Warfarin's question. Whether they were compatible or not, Wayne wasn't sure, but he was certain that Warfarin and Warfarin would become sworn enemies in the future. He thought for a moment and asked, "So you were ultimately forced to use your real name?"

"Yeah, there's nothing I can do. They won't approve anything. I'm not like Mr. Paradox, who can come up with strange, hard-to-read, and meaningless words to label myself."

Wayne's lips twitched, and he suddenly understood why Warfarin was hanging on the bridge.

This guy really has a sharp tongue!

Kroos was clearly witnessing this future Babel Tower corporate culture for the first time, her face filled with unease, almost as if she wanted to ask, "Is it okay to talk like that?" She nervously rubbed her hands together, then a brilliant idea flashed through her mind, and she pulled a simple little drone from her backpack.

“Mr. Paradox, Miss Warfarin, look, this is my invention!”

"An invention?" Warfarin's interest was immediately piqued. She leaned forward, grabbed the drone from Kroos's hand, and examined it curiously. "A drone?"

"Yes, drones, I made them myself!" Kroos proudly puffed out her chest. Despite being a fellow Blood Demon, the sheer scale of Kroos's actions caused Warfarin, who was in a good mood, to instantly drift into NetEase Cloud Music mode.

Wayne also curiously stepped forward and glanced at the drone that Kroos had taken out.

This small, black drone is quite different in shape and appearance from common drones on the market. It has no obvious wings or landing gear; the entire body is square, and its small size doesn't suggest it's a transport drone suitable for long-distance transport. However, the drone does have a small display screen, which, although smaller than a mobile phone screen, looks quite presentable.

In an instant, Wayne envisioned what this drone would look like in the future. Although he didn't know its name, it was undoubtedly the little flying bat drone that Kroos would always carry with her!

Was this thing actually invented around this time?

Wayne had always been quite curious about this thing, because it seemed capable of carrying an intelligent system. If there was anything about the Terrans that made them superior to the humans of Wayne's previous life, it was definitely their intelligent systems. Machines as complete as the later Medical Guard Demolition Vehicle, capable of free dialogue and independent learning, were things that only existed in science fiction novels in Wayne's previous life, at least when he transmigrated. And the small drone beside Kroos was even more amazing; less than a tenth the size of the vehicle, yet equipped with an equal level of intelligence. Wayne had long wanted to find someone to research it and create one himself.

Now, having stumbled upon what appeared to be a rudimentary drone prototype, Wayne became interested and wanted to ask Warfarin for a closer look. But just as he reached out, Kroos stopped him, saying:

"Mr. Paradox, would you like to see this too? I have extras here."

Kroos bent down, placed her backpack on the ground, and took out another drone. Wayne glanced at it briefly—good heavens, there were nearly twenty of the same drones in Kroos's backpack!

As Kroos handed the drone to Wayne, she scratched her head and explained sheepishly:

“I’ve always loved inventing things like this, so I often make little things at home. I’ve wanted to create robots with their own intelligence to help me with chores, but I haven’t succeeded yet. These drones are prototypes. I brought them out this time intending to use them as reconnaissance aircraft. Their screens have recording capabilities, although the resolution isn’t very high due to budget constraints.”

Wayne's eyes lit up. He stepped forward, patted Kroos on the shoulder heavily, and said:

"Need money?"

Kroos was surprised that this paradoxical man, whose status seemed to be on par with the Speaker and the Doctor, would suddenly pat her on the shoulder. Her face flushed, and she nodded hurriedly.

Wayne patted his chest happily:

"It's alright, leave this to me. I think your research approach is very sound and has a bright future, so don't give up... I mean, Miss Kroos, someone will contact you after the mission is over."

Kroos finally realized what Wayne was talking about. Her tense expression gradually brightened, and she excitedly asked, "Will Babel provide me with research funding?!"

Wayne smiled subtly. He didn't know if Babel Tower would work, but he was definitely rich. If he was rich, then Babel Tower would be rich too, right?

"What about these prototypes? Are they going to be used as reconnaissance aircraft?" Warfarin fiddled with the small plane in her hands, running back and forth like a child playing with a model airplane.

Wayne glanced at Kroos, who nodded: "I have technical backups. Since I'm bringing them out, they're meant to be used. Mr. Paradox and His Highness the Speaker are quite familiar with each other, right? I'm here to demonstrate the reconnaissance capabilities. I'd appreciate it if you could witness it. When I apply for funding from the Speaker, I'll be counting on you!"

Wayne nodded. "Kroos is alright," Wayne thought. Although he knew about her future achievements and the prospects of the industry, as a young scientist, she still had her principles and decided to let Wayne see the results before making any decisions.

What a good kid! He acted like he wouldn't charge you if the product wasn't good. How did he end up like that unscrupulous merchant who sends you emails reminding you to renew your monthly subscription?

Wayne figured it must be Kal'tsit's fault.

Kroos took all the drones out of her backpack, lined them up on the ground, took out her phone, and began the first test flight.

Twenty drones slowly rose from the ground. Unlike the drones that Wayne remembered, which were noisy as soon as they took off, the Kroos products, even the prototypes, handled the noise problem very well. There was no noise at all during takeoff and flight. No wonder she was confident that she could use them as reconnaissance aircraft.

Seeing Wayne's satisfied expression, Kroos breathed a sigh of relief, feeling delighted, and her smile became even sweeter.

In Kazdel's home, her parents never supported her inventions. For a traditional Sarkaz family, survival was the first priority, followed by having enough to eat. Such expensive inventions were considered crooked paths, not something commoners should engage in. She had never received such recognition before, but unexpectedly, she gained it on her very first day at Babel!

Mr. Paradox will fund my research, and the Tower of Babel will be my support. I have to perform well and complete this reconnaissance mission!

Kroos made a silent decision in her heart, reached out, pressed the camera button on her phone, and said:

"Mr. Paradox, filming has begun!"

Wayne stepped forward. The boy, who was a head taller than Kroos, stood behind Kroos and peered into the blood demon girl's hand at the phone.

You wouldn't believe it until you see it! On that vast plain, under the cover of night, there were Deeppool soldiers dressed in ghillie suits, acting like Voldemort!

Wayne and Kroos reacted simultaneously, exchanged a glance, and exclaimed in astonishment, "Lyb!"

PS: Fun website

Chapter 18 Fighting on All Sides – The Double-Kick Tactic (Part 2)

The aircraft slowly descended. Wayne observed the distant plains for a while, and only after confirming that the Voldemorts had not noticed anything unusual did he breathe a sigh of relief.

"Judging from the size of the enemy, the force here should be the enemy's main force. The person in charge of planning this attack in Deep Pool is quite smart. First, he kept using guerrilla warfare to shoot and move around to confuse the enemy, and then he concentrated his forces to ambush them on the most difficult plain to hide on, just to catch the garrison of Xiaoqiu County off guard."

Warfarin, who had seen everything on the screen, also became serious, crossed her arms, and analyzed:

"Moreover, they clearly planned this in advance; otherwise, who would prepare so many ghillie suits in advance when supplies are scarce?"

Kroos nodded, then looked at Wayne nervously and asked anxiously:

"So what do we do now, Mr. Paradox? Neither Warfarin nor I are good at combat. What about you, Mr. Paradox?"

Wayne shook his head and shrugged helplessly: "I'm not good at hand-to-hand combat."

Kroos covered her head, looking like she was about to cry. She was just a shut-in computer engineer; when Theresa invited her to the Tower of Babel, she never imagined she'd face such a scene. Now she was completely at a loss.

"That's it, we're doomed. Let's call for backup. I remember [Flame Demon] and Miss Mudrock are nearby, responsible for mobile support, right?"

Vayne nodded. Surtr and Mudrock were originally Kal'tsit's backup plan. Among the four squads in Babel, there was the Patriot squad with the strongest combat power, the Kal'tsit and Theresa squad with the most balanced abilities in all aspects, and the Logos squad with ever-changing and unpredictable spells. Only her own squad seemed to have neither offensive nor defensive capabilities. A medic, a support operator, and a shady merchant made them a perfect lineup for getting robbed on the street. Kal'tsit arranged for Surtr and Mudrock to be a separate mobile squad so that they could reach Vayne's side as quickly as possible in case of emergencies.

As for why they didn't simply use Warfarin and Kroos as the mobile force, while Wayne led Surtr and Mudrock, it's because that wouldn't be cost-effective. Warfarin and Kroos have absolutely no support capabilities. In the event of any unforeseen circumstances with Logos or the Patriots, even if there's only a one in ten thousand chance, having Surtr and Mudrock as support would be far more useful than having Warfarin and Kroos alone.

"Then I'll call it."

Kroos took out her communicator, switched to the emergency channel, and pressed the help button. Seeing the communicator flash red, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew, alright, shall we just wait here?"

"Wait?" Wayne blinked. "We still need to do something." He beckoned to Kroos and said, "Have you heard of the Thirty-Six Stratagems of Yan?"

"One of these tactics is called 'beating the grass to scare the snake.'"

........

Hillshire, northern battlefield, agricultural area.

In charge of the northern battlefield was the nominal leader of Deeppool's six officers, known as "The Accountant." He was responsible for both the blood-written message on the searchlights and Deeppool's overall operational plan. In the south, the two most skilled in hand-to-hand combat would launch a feint attack to draw the fire of the Hillshire garrison, while the Poison Scholar and the Arsonist would provide support from the east. In the west, the Orator would provide cover, preparing an escape route after the attack. As for the north, a direction everyone considered impossible for the poorly equipped Deeppool to launch an attack from, the Accountant, who had prepared in advance, would lead Deeppool soldiers dressed in ghillie suits to launch the attack immediately after the feint!

Imagine this: those foolish garrison soldiers, believing they had crushed the Deeppool forces with a saturation bombardment, were laying down their swords and preparing to rest when suddenly, the real Deeppool army appeared from the opposite direction behind them, launching a fatal attack! The accountant could even imagine the agonizing feeling of joy suddenly turning into despair. They would probably feel as if they had truly encountered ghosts, that the Deeppool warriors were an elusive, unkillable, and invincible ghost army!

This is the greatest reward for his meticulously planned scheme!

The accountant lay on the ground, glancing down at his pocket watch, which had been shielded from the light. The time was 8:06 PM, and the feint attack from the south should have already begun.

The accountant didn't hear any sounds of activity from the Victorian military camp in the distance, but considering the distance—the Victorian garrison occupied an entire moving block, while he was on another block, a full two blocks away from the battlefield where the feint attack was taking place—it was normal not to hear the artillery fire. He didn't change his plan.

"It's 8:06 now. The prisoners and robbers have begun their feint attack, which will end in four minutes. We need to rest for five minutes after the feint to ensure the Victorians are off guard before launching the raid! That means the operation should start at 8:15. Understand?"

As a man bearing the title of "accountant," his sensitivity to numbers has reached the point of obsession. This sensitivity naturally extends to the planning of timetables. He looks at the pocket watch in his hand, his dark brown eyes under the mask staring intently at the second hand, counting down in his mind along with the second hand.

520s......493s.....380s......

200s...70s...20s...10s!

10, 9, 8, 7.....

He gradually shifted from thinking to muttering to himself, until the countdown began. He slowly stood up, held the pocket watch to his eyes, and shouted:

"3! 2! 1!—"

"Don't move!" A loud shout suddenly drowned out the accountant's order to set off. The Deep Pool troops, who had stood up to charge, received the wrong command before they could react. The sudden stop caused most of them, already clad in heavy uniforms, to slip, stumble several steps, or simply fall to the ground. But well-trained soldiers are soldiers after all. They quickly recovered, realizing that someone had seen through their ambush, and tried to get up quickly, using their hands to brace themselves.

But when they tried to raise their arms, those arms, which were usually so free and unrestrained, disobeyed their master's command for the first time. Not only that, their legs, their bodies, and even the expressions on their faces froze instantly, as if a videotape had been paused. If you add the countdown of three, two, one, it's like being a wooden figure forced to remain still in a game of "one, two, three, freeze."

The accountant stared in astonishment at the scene before him. His soldiers, including himself, had become lifelike sculptures, creating a magnificent sculpture exhibition on the desolate plain. He didn't know what was happening and tried to look around, but the locked heads prevented him from searching with his eyesight as far as he could.

Finally, he noticed the faint sound slowly approaching from the sky.

One by one, drones with their displays removed, revealing the core of their internal Originium conduction systems, slowly flew in, their centers emitting an ominous red glow.

"Beep beep beep—beep beep—beep—"

With a piercing alarm sound, the drone lost power and crashed to the ground.

"Bang!" "Bang bang!"

The crackling and popping sounds were just like the firecrackers that were selling like hotcakes during the Spring Festival.

P.S.: I've seen some readers feel that it's a bit unreasonable that Victoria couldn't find a single military talent, and that it doesn't fit the prestige of a world hegemon.

Let me give you a simple example: the USSR purges. The USSR purged the entire leadership of the Soviet army. I don't need to elaborate on how severe the officer vacancy was at that time. Anyone who has studied history knows that our textbooks clearly point out that the purges led to a loss of leadership in the Soviet army. Many new recruits were promoted directly from private to sergeant and sent to the front lines; there are countless examples of this. This is also a major reason why the USSR was able to advance so rapidly to Moscow in the early stages.

Wayne, on the other hand, underwent three purges. The King of the North purged the original royalists once; Vina's rise to power led Wayne to purge the more powerful royalists; and after the Normandy landings, a complete purge ensued. After three major purges, what talent could possibly remain? If Victoria hadn't possessed such a strong foundation, these three purges would have been enough to disintegrate the army.

I know that many novels have featured protagonists carrying out purges and killing off the opposition, but how many have written about the consequences of these purges? These are things that can't be recovered from in a short time. If I were just doing it for the sake of having fun, why would I weaken Victoria and then open academies and recruit officers from all over the country to fill the gaps? Wouldn't it be a truly brainless way to write a novel if I just kept strengthening Victoria?

The phrase "After the Great Purge, talent emerged in abundance; Victoria's global hegemony was coveted by all; enemy generals flocked to join, and generals from within the country emerged in droves" could indeed explain everything, but even I can't stand reading it. Because it's illogical. You carried out the Great Purge, and the enthusiasm for military service within your own country instantly halved. Who would dare send their own people into the army? There would be reservations. As for enemy generals, forget about it; if you don't even trust your own people, their defection would be suicide.

So Wayne opened the academy, expanding Kazdel's talent pool, which had been suffering from a high turnover rate, to fill the gap during this period. The Royal Victoria Military Academy was also opening, but it takes four years to train a student at a regular university. Can an officer be trained in less than six months? That's impossible.

I've carefully considered all the settings and made sure they're logical before writing them. There's no question of sacrificing intelligence for the sake of enjoyment. Trust me.

Chapter Nineteen: Waiting until dawn.