Around the Tower of Trial, within a newly established library.
As Bobo flipped through the records in his hand, he turned to ask the person beside him, "I thought you’d be rushing off to the frontline again this ti."
Hearing this, the girl next to him sighed softly.
The sigh made Bobo turn his head; she adjusted the glasses on her mouse-like face.
"What’s the matter? Sighing in front of , are you trying to act spoiled? Now that you’re a Soul Guardian, what can’t you handle?"
Upon hearing this, Vier turned her head, looking at Bobo with an incredulous expression.
"What’s wrong?" Such a look made Bobo quite puzzled; did he just say sothing odd?
"You really don’t care about at all?"
"I am caring about you."
"But didn’t you know that our squad failed the Soul Guardian task?"
This made Bobo put down the report in his hand and turn to Vier.
"Why? You actually failed? If Raelia finds out, she’ll definitely nag you for days. She trained you a lot; this will make her feel you’ve embarrassed her."
This remark deepened the sorrow on Vier’s face.
"That’s why I ca to hide here with you."
"Oh!" Bobo suddenly understood, then curiously asked, "How could you guys fail? I know your squad’s strength.
I rember you started applying for the task even before the Tower of Trial was completed, right? Don’t bla for not caring about you, I’ve been overwheld recently; just the matters of the Tower of Trial have tired out for half a year. I really didn’t expect you didn’t succeed."
"Alas..." Vier sighed deeply and began narrating.
"During the winter campaign earlier, our squad was responsible for heading north to rescue more resistance forces. Along the way, we encountered a town that worshiped plague; in that process... we let go of a villager who seed ordinary at the ti due to a mistake."
At this point, she looked at Bobo’s puzzled expression and shrugged helplessly: "Looking at the current situation, he is clearly not ordinary. We noticed it then because those Plague Believers were protecting him. Later we fought him many tis, each ti discovering his strength was rapidly increasing; now he has beco the High Priest of the Plague Believers, the proxy of the Plague Monarch in the world. Who could have predicted it would turn out this way?"
Though the mistake wasn’t entirely their fault, they couldn’t escape the bla, naturally, the promotion task failed.
After listening to the brief account, Bobo frowned, pondering.
"You an the rciful Bishop?"
"Exactly."
"Then your failure makes sense." Bobo agreed with their misfortune, "This rciful Bishop is highly accomplished in the plague area, most of the new plagues recently erged are his creations. The nasty part about this plague is that it doesn’t simply make people sick, but under the guise of ’healing’; the ’healing’ thod has so side effects that unknowingly turn people towards the Plague Monarch. Because of his acts, combined with the Night Watchers’ descriptions of him, this bishop seems like a misguided saint, hence the nickna. But his deeds have indeed severely obstructed and disrupted the Night Watchers’ actions."
"What’s your new promotion task then?" Bobo curiously asked.
Upon hearing this question, Vier’s worry beca even more apparent.
"That’s the troubling part; our Captain decided not to apply for promotion unless we eliminate him. Because... he feels he was the one who let him go."
"Well, understandable, after all, I rember your squad mbers are quite young."
Just as the two were chatting, heavy footsteps akin to horse hooves sounded from downstairs.
"Oh no, Raelia is here! I’m leaving!" Vier hurried to the window and jumped out.
...
Heartland of the United Army occupied area.
Compared to the periter guard areas frequently besieged by warfare, the regions within the heartlands have escaped the effects of the comprehensive rodent attack.
In these regions, the previously destroyed cities and villages have long been rebuilt with the help of the Night Watchers. With strong assistance and participation from the Night Watchers, this place has beco the entire United Army’s logistics base, where vast amounts of supplies, manpower, and troops are continuously sent to the frontline, providing ’lifeblood’ to the front.
Poseidon City is such a city located on the edge of the heartland. It is not under the direct control of the Night Watchers but is a city subordinate to the Kingdom of the United Army.
Although it is not controlled by the Night Watchers, under the rigorous intelligence transmission network, nothing escapes notice. Moreover, after various earlier incidents, all nobles and officials have beco much more restrained. Besides, the important grain supply and significant jobs are dominated by the Night Watchers, making it far more difficult for those in power to act recklessly.
There are quite a few refugee camps around such cities.
Moonlight poured down, turning the canvas tents of the refugee camp into a bluish-gray. Maggie, a girl from the refugee camp, carried a pot of herbal soup towards the nearby temporary garrison.
The seventeen-year-old girl deliberately let the hem of her linen skirt get stained with mud, chestnut curls casually dispersed, with a wild rose pinned in her hair.
"Sir, your marigold tea." Maggie kneeled on the blanket, her simple clothes gracefully complenting her figure. Under the lamplight, her collarbone glead with a honey-like sheen. The young Soldier Captain studying the defense map swallowed; he noticed the bracelet slipping from the sleeve as the girl handed the tea, the very gift he ’lost’ three days ago in the girl’s hand.
"Staring at these lines all day, you’ll strain your eyes." Maggie, at the perfect ti, massaged his temples, the scent of herbs mingling with the fragrance of orange blossom from her spreading around, "My brother always says, the bends on maps are a far cry from reality."
The young Soldier Captain sighed contentedly.
One is the captain managing the refugee camp, and the other is a girl from the camp. Though not exceptionally beautiful, the girl’s overall deanor is impeccable.
During this ti, many refugees were working in the city, with quite a few engaged in servant work.
When Irena unclasped the corset embroidered with wisteria, the copper mirror reflected the face of the quartermaster behind her turning red.
This seasoned soldier of twenty years stamred, explaining that he did not intend to make any inappropriate moves towards the girl, only showing concern.
In fact, ever since the refugees arrived, he has been "showing concern" for others.
The girl’s face flushed under the moonlight, her clothing becoming more scant.
She turned, allowing the pearl earrings to slip off just right, and as she bent to pick them up, the daily patrol schedule unfolded on the table was fully revealed, including detailed lists.
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