"Fall back and alert everyone to be cautious near any signs of smoke."
Balistan and his group understood that what was needed now was to wait for the rats to co out.
Lance was actually right; the heart of the Ascension Church was in the central cathedral. At this ti, the city gate had been breached, the warehouse seized, and the troops were continuously advancing.
"They have repelled our believers who were sent out."
"The warehouse has been occupied, and our people have been cornered here."
"Three brigades are converging on us, and we barely have any believers left to fight them head-on."
"If the Deacon attacks, everything will be alright." The Ascension Priest, clad in black robes, appeared sowhat powerless within the room.
"Priest... the Deacon... he..." A few believers hesitated but, after exchanging looks, finally spoke. "The Deacon was forced to retreat by a team led by a Barbarian, losing most of his troops without launching an offensive."
Upon hearing this, the Ascension Priest suddenly fell silent. Then, with trembling hands, he fiercely slamd the table, looking up and bellowing.
"Waste! Becoming a Deacon was rely a gift from God! How dare he even show his face to return to God’s side!"
It was then that everyone saw the Priest’s face was not human at all. His muscles looked as though they had lted into a waxy state, and one side of his face was densely packed with black eyeballs, now trembling wildly with anger.
The others, hearing this, did not dare to retort but still advised him.
"Priest, we can’t hold them back any longer! We should retreat into the tunnels and leave this place before planning a counterattack."
Do Heretics fear death?
No, they were only worried they could not be loyal to their God—or at least, that is what they believed. If they didn’t leave now, this place would be overrun.
However, this sentint belonged solely to the upper echelons of the Ascension Church. Those lower-level believers, whose minds didn’t even belong to themselves, could they truly achieve Ascension?
The Priest also understood the situation. This place was of great importance to the Ascension Sect; once cut off, not only would communications be severed, but also the transportation routes for supplies, greatly weakening the sect’s power as if a leg had been amputated.
Then, they would only be able to return to their old site through Hamlet, because even they did not wish to traverse the vast wilderness.
But would Hamlet allow them to do so?
In the past, perhaps, but now everyone knew the army outside belonged to Hamlet.
Strength must be preserved to prepare for a counterstroke.
"Inform everyone to retreat into the tunnels and prepare for a full counteroffensive!"
The Priest quickly made arrangents. Even he himself hid in the tunnel. In an instant, the cathedral fell into a desolate silence; only the altar left behind demonstrated what they had been doing there.
Rats don’t dig tunnels because they like them, but for survival.
The sa went for the Ascension Sect. Even though they boastfully proclaid the great cause of Ascension, those individuals were acutely aware they were a cult. Hence, both the city walls and the moat served as defenses against enemies.
With those two defenses, an attack by ten thousand individuals couldn’t possibly breach this fortress-like town, since the defenders were not soldiers but true believers who, fueled by their fanatic faith, did not fear death at all.
The surrounding areas couldn’t even muster an army of one or two thousand, so the town had always been impenetrable.
The tunnels were the final safeguard. Even if the Church’s Knights breached the defenses, they could still hide and continue to harry the enemy.
But everything that happened today left everyone astonished.
The first two lines of defense hadn’t even been tested before they were broken through. This was not what they had imagined!
The soldiers approached ferociously. They had planned to fight to the death, but the enemy not only had superior equipnt but were also more fanatical than themselves, slaying anyone they encountered.
Even more fanatical than us!
Now, of the two teams they had sent out to harass the enemy’s rear, one was annihilated by scattered small squads, and the other was stopped by just two individuals.
The Ascended Believers were stunned. Damn it, to be hit by dozens of slashes and still stand unyielding in combat—how could re mortals accomplish such a feat?
But they no longer had the opportunity to contemplate this. William rapidly advanced, and the beaten believers who fled back into the tunnels were soon engulfed by thick smoke spreading through the passageways.
"COUGH, COUGH!"
"Damn it! Run for it!"
"AH!"
The teams above had only killed two to three hundred people; the rest were all cramd into the tunnels—so many people packed into such narrow spaces.
Panic ensued instantly when the smoke arrived. Even before the toxic fus took effect, they were already slashing at each other in the chaos.
By the ti the power laced in the smoke invigorated them, not even the Fanatics could stop what ensued, for they themselves were hacking away most fiercely. An even more horrific scene than what had occurred above unfolded in the tunnels.
Still, so who had undergone the Flesh Rite multiple tis and had constitutions strong enough to withstand the toxic smoke, or those who were close enough to an exit, managed to escape.
"HUFF, HUFF, HUFF."
They gasped for fresh air, but their lungs burned, and the suffocation in their brains made it difficult for them to recover quickly.
Desperate for more fresh air, they instinctively bolted out of the buildings as soon as they escaped the tunnels.
What awaited them was a "warm welco."
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
A line of Musketeers fired, almost point-blank, leaving no chance of missing.
After firing, they stepped aside to reload, and the next group raised their weapons to aim, firing the mont soone burst out, harvesting the believers like mowing down leeks.
The nurous bodies of believers lying on the ground testified to their success.
The smoke led them to more exits, and the soldiers only had to wait at these spots for the weakened, defenseless believers to run out on their own.
It was like drilling holes in the ice: fish, dizzy from lack of oxygen, would swim right up, easy to catch with a simple scoop.
By the ti Lance received the news, the situation had already been brought under control. Frankly, he hadn’t expected those fools to hide in the tunnels.
Had those people been in the open, it would have cost the three hundred soldiers greatly to completely eradicate the believers in the town; Lance had even braced himself for news of deaths.
Catching a hundred pigs would have taken half a day, but these pigs ran back to their pen on their own accord!
They hid themselves in the tunnels. Once the toxic smoke passed, the majority were killed. Those who didn’t die were either blinded or dizzied into helplessness.
The few who managed to crawl out of the tunnels were t with muskets ready and waiting—gunned down in rows as soon as they erged, much like cutting down leeks. No matter how many ran out, just as many fell.
Truth be told, Lance also hadn’t expected to win this battle so inexplicably. Now I understand the sheer joy of having fools for opponents, he thought.
"The situation has stabilized. They’ll be fine after so rest."
Lance withdrew his hand from examining the two n. In fact, their injuries were extrely severe, and Paracelsus had only temporarily kept them alive.
But Lance’s arrival had directly erased their life-threatening injuries, leaving only minor flesh wounds.
He didn’t dislike using "Flesh Reconstruction," nor was he stingy with that bit of Spiritual Essence; it just lacked universality.
He was concerned that the soldiers would beco reliant on it and neglect the value of their own lives, so he promoted modern dicine. Even his miraculous treatnts had to be disguised or rationalized.
Their actions had been reckless, but undeniably, they had greatly boosted the soldiers’ morale.
Geralt looked up, noticing several injured soldiers nearby. None of them showed the dejection typical of the wounded; instead, they were animated with excitent.
If the Lord ordered them back into battle, they would probably rejoin the fight without hesitation, disregarding their injuries, until death.
But Lance didn’t do that. He visited the injured soldiers, inquired if they had received proper dical care, and reassured them to rest well.
"Boss!" Boudica approached briskly, holding sothing aloft. "Look, I finally got him!"
Lance looked over and saw that Boudica held a head showing signs of mutation—or rather, what should be called the Deacon’s head.
The last of the resistant believers had been eliminated, and the entire town was now fully under his control.
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