Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 244: Section 180: Intertwined Fate (Part Two)

Chapter 244: Section 180: Intertwined Fate (Part Two)

There was no need to make a choice, Carol immediately gathered the refugees, now was not the time to hide—once the signal flare shot up into the sky, the Punisher brigades of the various churches would surely come at the first moment, and if the situation allowed, the City Guard Brigade would also join them, with Carol and the dozen or so Guards from the cult, they would likely not withstand even one volley of gunfire.

With this in mind, Carol even more resented this damned era—ever since firearms were discovered, they had profoundly changed the rules by which this world operated.

No longer were there days where Transcendents towered high above; the armies of Mortals could now contend with those lower-tier Transcendents using firepower, and even the once-noble owners of the Sequences had to admit that sometimes firearms were far more effective than Spell Formations, mutated limbs, or swords.

The refugees were gathered, Carol bestowed two super abilities on different groups, one was mass frenzy, and the other was mass command.

As a sage, Carol was more like a Magician; these were both types of illusion super abilities, and were the only two group spell formations he possessed. Years ago, he had used these two spells to control thousands of people to break through the kingdom’s defensive line, eventually winning the battle.

But now, he could only amputate his arm to save his body, ’using up’ these controlled refugees to prevent their whereabouts from being discovered.

Driving the refugees towards the east, Carol, with his followers, dove into the entrance to the underground waterway within the camp.

Truly, the ancients were to be thanked.

Taking one last look to the east, listening to the screams and shouts coming from that direction, Carol finally pulled up his cloak’s hood and without looking back, plunged into the entrance.

Behind him, the stone slab of the entrance was pulled back by the Guards, ultimately closing shut.

.........

Charging into the crowd of refugees, the axe in Malin’s hand swept across, felling a row of refugees to the ground, some died on the spot, others not dead were wailing pitifully; such behavior was in stark contrast to just moments ago.

"It looks like they have been controlled!" An old soldier, following behind Malin, noticed the situation with the refugees and immediately made the assessment.

"We don’t have anyone capable of dispelling the magic right now!" Malin frowned, these refugees were like madmen, fighting desperately upon encountering anyone; Malin couldn’t let the citizens risk themselves to control them, but they could use control spell formations—such as turning stone to mud and mud to stone.

Straight to the point, Malin retreated to the back of his troops, first using an expanded version of turning stone to mud to transform most of the street into a quagmire. The citizens and refugees, originally tangled together in street combat, now rolled in the knee-deep mud, segregating the battle zone. Then, an expanded version of turning mud to stone trapped the refugees behind in place, unable to move; they would be knocked out and then await the expiration of the spell.

With these fellows under control, Malin ordered the citizens following him to charge into the quagmire and outnumber the refugees.

With numerical superiority, a portion of the refugees was knocked out and tied up, and the rest... Malin was utterly without alternatives, Carterburg was after all known for its simple folkways.

After gaining control of the situation on site, Malin began to inquire about where these people came from. When a boy who was on the rooftop at the time said he saw these people rushing out from the campground in the west, Malin knew something was amiss—judging from the scene, there were only refugees; these emaciated refugees were very easy to distinguish from the ordinary citizens.

Besides, there was no presence of any other groups or individuals, meaning quite obviously that the person in charge at the campground had run away.

These guys really are cunning. In Malin’s view, it must have been the Evil God Cult in the campground that, upon realizing they were exposed, pushed these refugees, who were prepared to be sacrificed, onto the battlefield; the sacrificial offerings suddenly transformed into cannon fodder.

Their plan was indeed clever; after all, it wasn’t their own people who were dying.

The battle had just ended on this side when a whole bunch of Punishers from the Church of the War God rushed over from the other side of the gate. Malin saw that their leader was none other than the Bishop himself, and then he counted the number of heads and found they had everyone from doddering old men to eight or nine-year-old brats—good grief, they brought the whole family in a sweeping wave.

The Bishop also seemed somewhat puzzled. He looked at everyone on the street gazing up at the sky and fell silent for a moment before finally turning to Malin, "Is there another fight?"

"It’s over," Malin replied while pointing in that direction, "But according to the intelligence, we don’t know if there are still followers of the Evil God in that camp. Would you like to come and check with me?"

"Sure." The old man said as he turned his head and waved his hand, "Marilyn, my darling, hurry and take the kids home, it’s all clear now."

"Why? I want to stay. There might be more fighting later," the girl named Marilyn protested discontentedly.

"The Church of the War God has lost four Chief Apprentices in three years. I don’t want you to become the fifth, and then the sixth who got promoted in a hurry dies on the battlefield," after saying that, the old Bishop looked at the young girl, "Also, I’m the Bishop, and you’re an Apprentice. Don’t try to haggle like the Apprentices of the Goddess of Commerce do every day."

"Fine," the girl said unhappily, then turned her head to look at the group of Apprentices, "Let’s go, let’s go, hurry and head back the way we came."

Watching her herd the Apprentices of the Church of the War God like shepherding sheep, Malin glanced at the old Bishop, "Did you just say that four Chief Apprentices died?"

"Yes, ever since Lisa died, the Church has been plagued like it was cursed. Over just slightly more than two years, four Chief Apprentices have died, one of them at your hands." As he said this, the old Bishop’s face showed sorrow, "Why don’t you convert? That would comfort my wounded heart."

Malin rolled his eyes. This old codger is even thinking of converting me at a time like this, does your Church of the War God have an issue, or could it be... No, no, that’s a bit presumptuous.

But no matter what, he wasn’t going to convert. The Church of the Goddess of Harvest might sound pathetically weak, but that name is deceptive! When you hear about Malin of the Church of Justice or the Church of the War God, you think this guy must be a badass who views life and death lightly. But if it’s Malin of the Church of the Goddess of Harvest, people are going to think, this kid must be a knowledgeable and innocent good child.

"Nobody in the Sydney Union thinks you’re innocent anymore," the old Bishop said somberly.

Malin was taken aback, "Wait, did I just say everything I was thinking out loud?"

"It’s written all over your face," the old Bishop huffed.

The veteran at Malin’s side couldn’t help but snicker.

"Seriously, I’m not going to convert," Malin could only respond with a smile, turning to face the old man, "Anyway, it’s been so long, why are you still hung up on this?"

"The task given to me by my lord, I must complete it." The old Bishop’s answer made Malin straighten up with respect, "Until I die, or my lord withdraws this command, I will not give up."

"Oh, I see," Malin said, then led his people towards the camp.

"Wait, doesn’t this move you at all, you little rascal!" the old Bishop called after Malin.

"Ah, indeed I’m very moved. But isn’t my action a solid refusal?" Malin didn’t turn around, just waved his hand.

The saying ’moved but unyielding’ must be about this sort of thing.

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