This heretic cannot be burned, he must be hung up and whipped!

When the first rays of dawn shone through the window, Neos stood up and looked around at the tired but determined crowd.

"The plan is set." His voice was tired but firm and powerful. "The Northwest Route will be led by Dominica, and most of the industrial equipment that can be evacuated and is inconvenient to transfer in the mountains will be left to the Northwest Front;

I will order the two battle groups in the Mani area to advance to the west of Budapest to protect the flank of the Northwestern Front. After the Northwestern Front crosses the Danube in the north, the two battle groups will move east to control the west bank of the Danube that runs through the north of Budapest and cover our Northern Front.

He paused, then continued, "Those powerful demons in Hell might cause trouble. I will travel back and forth between Budapest and the Mani area to ensure the smooth progress of the entire evacuation process."

Dominica looked at him worriedly: "But Your Majesty, your physical condition——"

Neos shook his head. "I'm fine. Now, everyone has their own mission. Remember, we're not evacuating to escape, but to continue fighting in a more suitable battlefield. Budapest may fall into enemy hands temporarily, but I promise you, we will be back."

"Believe me, just as I always believe in you, we will definitely come back!"

"Humanity will win!"

Everyone raised their fists and swore, "We will win!"

The meeting disbanded, and everyone left with their respective tasks. Neos stood alone in front of the map, his finger gently tracing the outline of Budapest.

“I’ll be back,” he promised quietly, as if speaking to the city. “I swear.”

Dominicana stood at the door, silently gazing at his Lord, who looked so exhausted, yet still strong.

-------------

The meeting ended, the headquarters door opened, and people filed out, announcing that the city, which had held out for so long against the heretic army, was beginning to wake up, and busy figures were surging everywhere in the city.

On the main thoroughfare of Xicheng District, military trucks lined up in a long line. Workers methodically packed disassembled machine parts into boxes and loaded them onto the trucks. Old Joseph stood beside a precision lathe, instructing young workers on how to properly dismantle this priceless piece of equipment. His hands trembled with age, but his eyes were remarkably firm.

"Gentle, children, gentle! These are our future bread and bullets!" He said as he personally checked the packaging of each part. "Remember what Lord Neos said. Every extra bullet we produce will save a few of our compatriots from dying!"

Not far away, several Crusaders came forward to help the workers carry heavy machine parts. One of them, Peter, insisted on using his right hand to assist in loading, despite his left arm still being bandaged.

"Let me do it, sir," he said to an old worker who was panting. "You go and rest a little, and save some strength for the long walk. We still have hundreds of miles to go."

The old worker nodded in gratitude, but did not leave. Instead, he turned to help organize the lighter tools.

In the hospital area, Dr. Anna was organizing a medical team to triage the wounded. The most seriously injured were placed in the first few evacuation vehicles, accompanied by specialized medical staff.

"Reinforce this strap," she told a young nurse. "It's going to be a bumpy ride."

A wounded soldier struggled to get up: "Doctor! I can still walk. Leave the seat for someone who needs it more."

Anna gently pressed his shoulders: "Lie down, soldier. You have shed enough blood for us - now it's time for us to take care of you!"

In various blocks of the city, residents' representatives are organizing people to prepare necessary items in an orderly manner. One resident representative stood on a street corner, instructing neighbors on how to pack most efficiently:

"Just take the most necessary things! A backpack, no more! Food, water, a change of clothes and some daily necessities."

Seeing a little girl hesitantly holding a worn-out teddy bear, she squatted down and said gently, "Of course, Angela, your Mr. Bear can go too. He's very light and won't take up too much room."

At makeshift ration centers, people lined up in long lines to receive rations and water for the journey. There was no pushing or shoving; everyone remained incredibly patient and orderly. A quartermaster distributed supplies fairly, ensuring everyone received an equal share.

"Three days' rations per man to get us to Gyor," he explained. "We'll replenish them along the way."

When a mother with three children came to the front, the quartermaster quietly gave her an extra small bag of cookies.

"For the kids," he whispered. "They need more energy."

At school, children too young to be messengers were drawing notes with words of encouragement and slipping them into the soldiers' pockets.

"You are my hero", "We will be back", "Humanity will win!"...

These simple words carry the children's innocent hopes. Some children even took crayons and drew a Q version of Neos on paper. The Q version of Neos was wearing golden armor, holding a giant sword burning with fire, and wearing a laurel crown on his head.

This fan-made drawing of Nios quickly became popular among ordinary people in Budapest. Similar scenes unfolded throughout the city. People shared food, exchanged information, and encouraged each other. Even in these difficult times, the residents of Budapest demonstrated remarkable resilience and solidarity. Soldiers and civilians worked together without distinction of rank; young and old contributed their efforts regardless of age.

In the evening, Neos arrived at the central square to inspect the preparations. What he saw was a moving scene: despite everyone's exhaustion and the uncertainty of the road ahead, the city's residents were preparing to leave with astonishing perseverance and order. There was no panic, no chaos, only silent and unwavering determination.

"If all human beings in the world could unite like this, what monsters and demons could we resist?"

The evacuation of Budapest began.

PS: 240 votes, next update 4.5k...

PS2: The Great Hero's Fantasy Paradise Plan

"Mr. Yang, how did you turn Gensokyo into a paradise where wizards, monsters, ghosts, gods, and other different races can live in harmony?"

"It was done in a rather chivalrous way."

"What kind of method is that?"

"The burden represents humans taking local girls of different races as their wives."

"What kind of hero are you?!"

"I give gifts to everyone I meet, ask questions when I don't understand, make friends through martial arts, practice while strolling, draw my sword to help when I see injustice, and rummage through everything when I'm a guest!"

"Those who should do what they should do and those who shouldn't do what they shouldn't do should be treated equally, so it's reasonable to follow the example of the great heroes of the East, such as Yuwen, Lao Chai, and Zhuge Liang, and marry multiple wives."

This is a heroic journey of a young man who begins in Gensokyo, cultivates a broad mind that embraces the Earth, and creates a future where everyone can pursue happiness.

Performance isn't the key to victory, let me tell you! Excuse me, the Holy Knights' Secret Technique!

In Flame: 1914: War Zone Map 1915.1

To give everyone a better sense of immersion, so as to avoid book lovers being confused by the unfamiliar names of regions in the novel.

Bei Zhai spent some time making a map.

waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh

Flames Rising: 1914: Chapter 44 It turns out that the one who was killed was not me, but my Lord.

Mani region southwest of Budapest

"boom!!!"

The night sky of Mani was illuminated by countless artillery fire, making it as bright as day. On this battlefield where darkness and light intertwined, the battle between the Crusaders and the demons had raged for three full days.

Luce gripped the handle of the anti-aircraft machine gun tightly, and the sweat on her forehead soaked her golden hair.

"Ammunition! Quick!" she shouted, her eyes fixed on the distorted black shadows in the sky. The two young Crusaders immediately replaced their ammunition belts.

Valentine's anxious voice suddenly came from the radio next to the machine gun stand: "Luce! Shoot down those monsters! They are advancing towards the third line of defense!"

"Understood!" Luce responded loudly, turning the muzzle of the gun and aiming at the expanding black cloud in the sky.

“Da da da da—” “Cancer Angel—!”

Anti-aircraft machine guns spewed out flames and bullets rained down into the sky.

Luce didn't answer; she had seen it all: the monsters descending slowly from the clouds, their tumorous wings spread out as they flew clumsily over the trenches, absorbing the Crusaders' bullets and anti-aircraft fire.

"Oh my God, they're absorbing our bullets!" said a soldier in despair.

Not far away, Priest Amos stood on the ruins of a dilapidated church, sword in one hand and holy book in the other. His voice echoed across the battlefield:

"Saints—give us strength! Let your holy light penetrate the darkness, and let your truth crush the lies!"

Amos's prayers gave the soldiers a moment of hope, but soon, the harsh reality struck again. A cancer angel landed in a trench about a hundred meters from Luce, its swollen body swelling under the attack of bullets and grenades. The soldiers in the trench tried to evacuate, but it was too late.

"boom!"

The monster exploded, releasing ominous spirals and ichor. The soldiers' screams tore through the night air as their skin blistered and their flesh festered, then gathered into a writhing mountain of flesh that rushed towards them.

"Look, they are falling towards you like a mountain..." an elderly sergeant muttered to himself, his face full of despair.

The anti-aircraft machine guns continued to fire, but it seemed unable to stop the increasing number of Cancer Angels from descending. The stockpile of holy bullets was also rapidly dwindling. In a few minutes, they would be forced to switch back to ordinary ammunition.

"We need to retreat!" the squad leader next to him shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the explosion.

"No! We still have comrades on the front line! If we retreat now, they will be surrounded!"

"We're surrounded!"

On the other side of the battlefield, the horrific ritual of the Black Grail Cult is taking place.

Under the cover of the Plague Knights, a team of tick-headed guards crossed the filthy mire, clearing the way for the Tumor Lord Karsus. With every step it took, a yellow-green liquid dripped from its body, polluting the earth.

A Crusader scout crouched in the distant ruins, observing all this through a telescope, his hands trembling and his clothes soaked with sweat.

"Damn, what is that thing?" he muttered to himself, adjusting the focus of the telescope to see more clearly.

But when he saw the true face of the tumor master, he immediately regretted it. It was not a form that humans could understand. Its face - if that mass of wriggling flesh could be called a face - was full of eyes and mouths, all screaming and screaming silently.

　The scout felt a wave of nausea, but he fought the urge to vomit and continued to observe. He saw that the zombies reanimated by the plague began to claw at the trench wall, tearing off the filthy mud and flattening it into a platform. More cultists appeared, surrounding the makeshift stage and smearing filth.

"Oh my God, what are they doing?" the Scout muttered to himself, fear gripping his heart.

"Pfft——!"

Led by Karsus, a group of Black Grail singers emerged. Without making a sound, they silently lined up in a line. Then, as everyone watched, they sawed their own necks with blunt knives, committing suicide in public.

The scout was stunned, unable to believe his eyes. Even more terrifying was that the singers' blood did not flow downwards, but instead rose up, forming symbols in the air, undulating like anger sweeping through the air.

As the singers offered their withered souls to Hell, a pair of witches appeared in the center of the circle, their skin dotted with white powder made from crushed bones. They began to dance, their movements twisted and uncoordinated, as if pulled by invisible strings.

The scout couldn't bear to watch any longer. He lowered his telescope and prepared to retreat and report to headquarters. But just then, he heard a sound—like the roar of incoming artillery shells, mixed with the screams of countless souls, and the sickening wet thuds and sounds of flesh deforming.

"Uh-ah-!"

He raised the telescope again and watched as the witches' bodies began to twist and deform. Their intestines spilled out, becoming tentacles, locked together by bones. The air was torn apart, and more flesh emerged from the cracks. The horror from the depths of hell was descending upon the world.

The scout dropped his telescope in terror and turned to run. But after only a few steps, he felt a severe headache, as if someone had drilled a red-hot iron rod into his temple. He fell to his knees, covered his head with his hands, and groaned in pain.

His brain was unable to process the horror he had seen, and his sanity was on the verge of collapse. Finally, he let out a scream and fell to the ground, his eyes staring blankly at the sky, his soul devoured by the indescribable horror.

"Luce! Give up! We must retreat!" the squad leader pleaded, his face full of despair. "Look around! We are the last line of defense!"

Luce looked around and saw the battlefield littered with the bodies of the Crusaders. Some of the bodies had been infected by the plague and began to writhe and twist in unnatural ways. In the distance, the sounds of explosions and gunfire became sparse, indicating that the battle was gradually waning - but this was not because the enemy was being repelled, but because the resistance was fading.

"There is no possibility of retreat!" Luce said firmly, "We must give the evacuation troops from Budapest enough time. Every extra second we fight, more people will return home alive!

We are no longer fighting for ourselves—I will not give up! As long as I have breath left, I will fight!"

A soldier, with a look of horror on his face, pointed into the distance: "Look there!"

Luce followed his finger and saw a horrifying sight. A cloud of processed fungus rose from the boiling ground, emitting an unbearable stench. In the center of the fungus, a huge crack was slowly opening, as if the gates of hell were opening on earth.

With a complex scream, reality was torn apart, and a swarm of flies, mixed with the wrath of the Lord of Hell, attacked the desperate Crusaders. Many Crusaders laid down their weapons in despair.

"Oh God, save us!" the loader cried in horror, dropped his weapon, and prepared to flee.

But Luce grabbed his arm and said, "Hold on! Running away will only make you die faster. Don't be afraid. Strengthen your will and faith!"

The soldier shook his head, tears in his eyes. "But this is hell, Luce! This is real hell! How can we possibly fight this?"

Luce gripped the machine gun tightly, his eyes determined: "Remember! There is a force more powerful than hell, and that is faith - faith in the victory of mankind!"

She re-aimed the machine gun at the swarm of flies: "Da da da da da—"

The bullets pierced the swarm of flies with little success, but Luce refused to give up. She continued firing until the barrel of the machine gun gave a warning "whoosh," indicating that it had overheated to the limit.

Luce cursed, "How could it overheat? This machine gun has weak faith!"

"Come out, Saint." Suddenly, the voice of Tumor Lord Karsus stopped all the fighting warriors.

The battlefield fell into an eerie silence, with only the crackling of flames and the screams of the wounded floating in the air.

Karthus moved slowly forward, leaving traces of corrosion on the ground with each step, followed by a group of corpse guards, their rotting flesh crawling with maggots, their empty eye sockets gleaming with an ominous green light.

"If only..." Karsus whispered, his voice like the simultaneous fluttering of countless insect wings, "If only I could offer you to my Lord... then our shame would be washed away, and the Lord of Flies would once again bless us..."

Luce stood still, gripping the machine gun that had been emptied of bullets, and refused to take a step back. The faces of the soldiers around her were full of despair, but no one ran away.

"boom!"

Suddenly, a Molotov cocktail streaked across the battlefield. Priest Amos rushed out from behind a pile of rubble. Glass shattered, and holy oil flowed over Karthus's swollen body, instantly igniting. Smoke rose, accompanied by a sizzling sound, but Karthus seemed unfazed by the pain and continued to walk slowly towards Luce.

"This is what I deserve..." Karsus whispered, the flames licking his body but failing to slow him down.

As he uttered these words, the elite members of the Black Grail Cult who followed him lowered their heads, their expressions revealing a strange mixture of piety and regret. These normally arrogant heretics now resembled pilgrims, brimming with religious fervor.

Luce's eyes darted between them, trying to comprehend this shift. It seemed as if a sudden realization dawned on her: the Black Grail Overlord, so proud of the heretics, had died in Budapest.