Chương 322: 322：The Cost-Blind Rescue Doctrine

If the one hundred frontline elites clad in [Dark Silver Armor] served as the impenetrable shield of this defensive line, then the fourth-echelon logistics corps, led by Chief of Logistics Kyle, was its beating heart—the absolute key to keeping the frontline warriors fighting until the bitter end.

"Quick! Stretchers, move up! Keep your heads down! Bend your backs and hug the tunnel walls!" Kyle's rugged roar cut through the deafening cacophony of slaughter and the thunderous mechanical snapping of heavy crossbows echoing above the trench. The brawny man, possessing the innate [Brute Strength] talent, was currently caked head-to-toe in a grim mixture of black mud and crimson blood.

He commanded a medical and logistical detachment of several hundred Half-Elf women, human elders, and youths, flawlessly executing Soren's unprecedented battlefield medical doctrine amidst the apocalyptic crossfire. To provide the frontline troops with unobstructed firing arcs and engagement space, the forward bunkers consisted of deep, open-air trenches. However, mere steps behind these exposed positions lay the anti-siege shelter tunnels.

Meticulously reinforced by the engineering corps using thick, raw timber and rammed earth, these subterranean corridors boasted incredibly sturdy, heavily fortified ceilings. Narrow communication trenches seamlessly connected the two zones.

"AGHHH!" At the absolute frontline, a young pikeman of the second-line Macedonian Phalanx made a lethal mistake. During the brief window of reloading his repeating crossbow, he carelessly exposed half of his shoulder above the lip of the trench. A stray Centaur heavy arrow struck him. Although his [Dark Silver Half-Plate] flawlessly deflected the raw iron arrowhead, the apocalyptic kinetic impact behind the projectile still brutally shattered his left shoulder blade.

Jagged bone fragments viciously ruptured his muscle tissue. A geyser of crimson blood erupted into the freezing air as the young soldier shrieked in agony, collapsing backward into the muddy water.

"Squad Three! We have a critical casualty! Drag him down here!" Kyle's eyes instantly locked onto the wounded man. Relying on his innate [Brute Strength], he violently shoved a heavy supply cart out of his way, sprinting against the flow of traffic straight into the exposed trench. Directly overhead, a dense swarm of Centaur arrows shrieked through the air like a storm of locusts, yet Kyle didn't blink a single time.

His massive arms lunged forward, ruthlessly grabbing the leather straps of the young soldier's breastplate. With terrifying ease, he hauled the heavily wounded man out of the perilous kill zone and violently yanked him down into the absolute safety of the subterranean tunnel.

"Pin him down! Cut open the inner padding! Move fast!" The subterranean tunnel was suffocatingly thick with the metallic stench of blood, the pungent aroma of crushed herbs, and the damp smell of rotting earth. Several Half-Elf women immediately swarmed forward. Though their hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, their movements were flawlessly drilled and clinically precise. Half-kneeling in the freezing muck, Kyle didn't hesitate for a microsecond.

He snatched a vial of [Battlefield First-Aid Potion] from his deerskin pouch. Kyle ruthlessly dumped the entire contents directly onto the soldier's mangled, blood-soaked shoulder! Ssssss! Accompanied by a violent plume of white smoke and a muffled, agonizing groan from the soldier, the highly potent alchemical liquid reacted violently with the exposed flesh. The aggressively spurting arterial blood was instantly clotted, forming a thick, dark-crimson scab over the mangled wound.

"Don't you panic, son! The Lord issued an absolute decree! As long as you have a single breath left in your lungs, Greywater Village will drag you back from hell even if we have to burn through every last gold coin in the treasury!" Kyle roared, forcefully anchoring the pale, shivering soldier's spirit. Simultaneously, he yanked out a second vial, this one radiating a soothing, warm crimson glow: a [Low-Tier Life Restoration Potion].

On the cruel continent of Aeresia, alchemical potions of this caliber were absolute luxuries—exclusive life-savers reserved solely for pampered nobles and high-ranking knights. Yet here, this exorbitantly expensive liquid was ruthlessly forced down the throat of a common infantryman. The second the potion hit his stomach, a surging, potent wave of raw life force raced through his veins. The young soldier's deathly pale complexion actually began to rapidly flush with color at an incomprehensible speed.

His ruptured muscle tissues began to itch violently as they hyper-regenerated. But the life-saving sequence wasn't over! At that exact moment, atop the towering command post far in the rear, the staff of Chief Silver-tier Mage Victor flared with a brilliant, azure glow. A [Mass Healing Water Spell] flawlessly pierced through the choking smoke and blizzard of the battlefield.

Shimmering like a gentle, azure rain, the magical light cascaded down, softly washing over every single wounded soldier within the subterranean tunnels. Under the absolute, overlapping effects of high-tier magic and dual alchemical potions, the young soldier—who just moments ago was bleeding out and knocking on death's door—miraculously stopped seizing. His breathing completely stabilized, growing deep and powerful once more.

Watching the stabilized casualty being carefully carried deeper into the safe zone, Kyle leaned against the dirt wall, panting heavily. In the regular legions of the human faction, if a common infantryman suffered such a catastrophic injury, aristocratic officers would merely view them as a pathetic waste of grain. They would be callously tossed into the mud, left to wail in agony until they succumbed to blood loss or rampant infection. But here in Greywater Village...

Lord Soren didn't even blink as he casually smashed hundreds of gold coins worth of strategic resources into saving the life of a single, unremarkable spearman! Ultimately, warfare was never just about the brutal slaughter on the frontlines; it was an absolute test of logistical supremacy! This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The cost-blind, hyper-efficient medical and logistical system that Soren had relentlessly cultivated—bearing massive financial strain to do so—was currently demonstrating its apocalyptic value in this bloodbath. The flawless, overlapping coverage of their composite armor shielded the soldiers' vital organs from instant death, while this exorbitantly expensive rescue doctrine ruthlessly snatched their lives back from the Grim Reaper. But more importantly... it didn't just save lives.

It fundamentally forged the unshakable, death-defying combat will of Greywater Village's entire army! Because every single soldier standing in those trenches knew one absolute truth: behind them stood a Lord willing to empty his entire treasury to serve as their ultimate, unbreakable safety net! Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the blood-soaked battlefield.

The mass charge—a racial tactic practically woven into the DNA of the Centaur tribe—had completely and utterly shattered against Greywater Village's merciless, three-dimensional overlapping crossfire matrix.

"No... don't go over there! It's suicide! It's a death trap!"

"Fall back! Retreat!" It was entirely unclear who let out the first agonizing howl of broken morale, but that profound, suffocating terror spread through the Centaur charging ranks like a virulent plague. Faced with the apocalyptic kinetic crushing of plummeting trebuchet boulders, the completely indestructible subterranean trench bunkers, and the hyper-lethal, suffocating storm of repeating heavy crossbows... the deeply ingrained arrogance and primal savagery of the Centaur warriors completely evaporated.

The Centaurs galloping at the absolute vanguard watched in abject horror as their front-line brethren slammed helplessly against the unyielding wall of [Dark Silver Armor]. They watched armor-piercing bolts effortlessly shred the chests of their kin like wet paper. They simply could no longer bear the catastrophic casualty rate. They were forced to retreat. And it wasn't an organized tactical fallback—it was an absolute, humiliating, and chaotic rout. They discarded their heavy longbows in a blind panic.

They even hurled their fiercely prized cavalry sabers directly into the muck just to shed weight. Thousands of gargantuan Centaurs violently shoved and trampled one another within the narrow, highly acidic confines of the northern slope. They completely abandoned all kinship, desperate to run just one step faster than the warrior beside them to escape this godforsaken death line. Commander Luke was covered head-to-hoof in a gruesome mixture of mud and gore.

His usually sharp, spirited eyes were currently hollow, completely drained of life. Numbly, he turned his head and cast one final glance at the muddy slope, which had been permanently dyed a sickly, dark purple by an ocean of beast blood. When he initiated the vanguard charge barely an hour ago, two thousand five hundred arrogantly proud Centaur elites had thundered directly behind him. But now?

As he led the utterly broken remnants wretchedly back to the staging ground two kilometers in the rear, he looked around at his surviving kin—who had abandoned all their weapons and pride in the mud—and a profound, agonizing heartache viciously tore at his soul. One thousand one hundred warriors! That was all that remained! A mere one thousand one hundred broken, traumatized survivors!

In the span of a single, brutal hour of charging, over one thousand four hundred prime Centaur elites had been permanently, mercilessly entombed before Greywater Village's five-hundred-meter defensive line! Meanwhile, deep within the trenches of Greywater Village.

As the massive Centaur horde executed their chaotic rout, leaving the battlefield with nothing but the howling blizzard and the harrowing, localized twitching of dying Centaurs, the defenders of Greywater Village plunged into a momentary, breathless silence. Talon, Commander of the Macedonian Phalanx, stood with his blood-soaked repeating heavy crossbow dangling from his grip. His massive chest heaved violently.

Gripping the muddy wall of the trench, he unleashed a hoarse, trembling roar that echoed down the line:"All squads! Sound off! Execute casualty reports!"

"Squad One, fully operational! Three minor injuries, zero critical casualties! Zero KIA!"

"Squad Two, fully operational! Zero KIA!"

"Frontline Elite Battalion, fully operational! Dark Silver Plate suffered zero penetrations! Zero KIA!" As the roared casualty reports from the squad captains cascaded down the five-hundred-meter defensive line, Talon's massive, calloused hands began to tremble violently. Zero casualties!

In an apocalyptic defensive war where they had flawlessly absorbed the saturation bombardment of ten thousand Centaur main forces, and brutally repelled the hyper-violent melee charge of two thousand five hundred vanguard elites... Greywater Village's meager two-thousand-strong garrison had miraculously, impossibly achieved an absolute zero-death victory!

"Victory! All hail the Lord! Victory!" It was unclear who screamed it first, but the very next microsecond, a deafening, earth-shattering wave of euphoric cheers violently erupted across the entire trench network and deep within the subterranean tunnels! Consumed by an adrenaline-fueled frenzy, the soldiers furiously hammered their weapons against their [Dark Silver Half-Plate]. The crisp, synchronized clanking of steel soared high into the heavens, completely drowning out the howling blizzard.

This mind-shattering contrast—an absolute zero-casualty rate standing victorious over the mangled corpses of one thousand four hundred apex Centaur elites—did not merely serve as cold, bloody statistical proof of Greywater Village's terrifying combat supremacy. It brilliantly, undeniably showcased the apocalyptic lethality generated by the flawless integration of Soren's era-transcending, three-dimensional defense doctrines, the impenetrable [Dark Silver Armor], and the impregnable subterranean trench networks!