Chương 367: An Indestructible Homeland

Duke Fernando looked at The Prince Regent. A silent, perfectly synchronized understanding passed between the two apex politicians.

"In this world, the only things capable of destroying a man, aside from an arrow straight through the heart... are obscenely dazzling, entirely hollow honors, and the crushing moral coercion of 'national duty'." They racked their malicious brains, desperately plotting exactly what kind of venomous Royal Edict they could write on that blank parchment.

They needed a decree that would flawlessly, legally shackle Soren's movements without triggering a single armed clash or provoking an ounce of his violent military resistance. They wanted to slowly, methodically strip him of his heavy military command, and bleed the priceless territory of the Misty Swamp into their own private vaults, piece by agonizing piece! It had been exactly seven days since the battle concluded.

The suffocating stench of blood from that apocalyptic campaign—the one that violently shook all thirty-plus human nations across the Erythian Continent and plunged the Orc Alliance's Blood Province into absolute terror—was finally scattering in the freezing wind. Outside the defensive line, the highly acidic mud that had been trampled into a rotting paste by Centaur hooves had now frozen into a rock-solid shell of ice. Everywhere you looked, charred, pitch-black scraps of Orc armor littered the ground.

These gruesome ruins silently screamed the absolute, heaven-defying glory of Greywater Village's triumph. Yet, stepping over the anti-air trenches and barricades that the Orcs couldn't breach a single half-step past, the interior of Greywater Village was an entirely different world. It was a bustling, hyper-energetic scene of roaring shouts and pouring sweat, radiating absolute, unyielding vitality. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The rhythmic, heavy thud of hammers echoed forcefully across the edge of the forest.

On the southern fringe of Greywater Village, bordering a primordial forest filled with centuries-old trees, Hobgoblin Luger stood completely shirtless, his massive, corded muscles bulging. His [Master Artisan] talent was being flawlessly pushed to its absolute limits in civil engineering. Sweating profusely, he bellowed orders at over two hundred acid-immune Goblin engineers and a fourth-line logistics crew of over three hundred people.

During the anti-air defense, stray falling rocks and alchemical fire had inevitably crushed or burned down several stilted wooden cabins. But now, fueled by an inexhaustible supply chain and a fanatic zeal for reconstruction, the rebuilding process advanced at blistering speeds. Furthermore, the newly constructed stilted cabins utterly blew past their original specifications.

"Lock the mortise and tenon joints with black-steel rivets! The foundation pillars must be driven straight down into the bedrock!" Luger roared. Grabbing a massive sledgehammer, he personally hoisted a thick trunk of ironwood—heavily coated in anti-corrosive acidic mud resin—and violently smashed it directly into the excavated foundation with brute force. These weren't the flimsy, makeshift shacks of the past.

Relying on ancient trees with diameters over three meters as natural load-bearing pillars, the cabins were suspended two meters off the ground to perfectly isolate the dampness and venomous insects. The walls were forged from double-layered hardwood, their hollow centers densely packed with the coarse beast hides looted from the Orcs for apex-level insulation. They were built vastly better! Infinitely sturdier! Even a direct hit from a medium trebuchet wouldn't easily collapse them.

Further out on the camp perimeter, an army of fourth-line logistics personnel pushed wheelbarrows constantly back and forth. The vast majority of this crew were Half-Elves, elderly humans, women, and children. Clad in the village's standard-issue [Padded Cotton Armor] to ward off the freezing chill, they meticulously assisted the frontline combatants in sweeping the battlefield.

"Slow down! Stack the iron plating stripped off those Centaur corpses in Warehouse Three! Factory Director Luger needs those for the smelter!"

"Recover all intact arrows! Wash the blood off with clean water and re-oil them!" Mountains of apocalyptic loot—misc-element Mana Crystals pulsing with magical energy, massive bundles of beast hide, and shattered weapons—were meticulously inventoried, sorted, and rapidly hauled into Greywater Village's expanding warehouses. Beyond the engineering and transport, the freezing morning was warmed by the sight of women serving as medical auxiliaries.

Carrying steaming bowls of boiled water and rich [Swamp Tuber] meat porridge, they meticulously tended to the young warriors wounded in the meat grinder. Although Greywater Village had achieved the absolute miracle of zero fatalities, in a hyper-intensity campaign of that scale, severe injuries like shattered bones and violently concussed internal organs were completely unavoidable.

High above the village, atop the absolute apex of the command post, Soren stood with his pitch-black cloak snapping in the wind, his hands resting firmly on the railing. He quietly, methodically observed the highly efficient, flawlessly synchronized hive of activity below. Standing right beside him were Buck, Commander of the Wolf Cavalry, and Talon, Commander of the Macedonian Phalanx. These two fierce generals were still buzzing with adrenaline, eagerly relishing the blood-soaked slaughter of seven days prior.

"My Lord, I'm telling you! If we just get an extra five hundred heavy repeating crossbows, next time, even if a hundred thousand Orcs launch a blitz, the boys can violently shred their massive bodies directly into meat paste!" Buck roared, thumping his burly chest with pure hype. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Hearing this, Soren slowly turned around.

He looked at his two fiercely proud commanders, then slowly raised his hand, pointing straight down at an elderly woman. She was currently straining violently against the weight of a wheelbarrow packed with scrap iron, gritting her teeth and pushing forward through the mud. She was the mother of one of their frontline elite infantrymen.

"Buck. Talon. Do you honestly believe the only reason we crushed them so effortlessly was because of the heavy crossbows in your hands and the halberds you used to sever the enemies' throats?" Soren's sudden interrogation caused the two generals to freeze in slight confusion.

"You're dead wrong." Soren shook his head, his voice dripping with profound, absolute gravity.

"Let me tell you the truth. The absolute core foundation that allowed you to slaughter Orcs on the front lines without a single ounce of hesitation... wasn't you. It was exactly those people down there! Those fourth-line logistics workers who can't even grip a sword properly and stumble when they walk!" Soren stepped aggressively up to the two generals, violently jabbing his finger toward the defensive line.

"Cast your minds back to the sheer brutality of that first day!"

"When the sky was literally raining alchemical fire! When a ten-thousand-strong Centaur army tried to drown you in a suffocating ocean of arrows!"

"Who was it?! Who braved the apocalyptic bombardment from the heavens? Who stared down the paralyzing terror of taking a stray arrow directly to the skull, just to violently trudge through the freezing muck, relentlessly hauling crates of heavy bolts and fresh drinking water directly into your trenches?!"

"If they hadn't held the logistical line under absolute suppressive fire, those heavy repeating crossbows you're so damn proud of would have turned into useless, jam-packed iron clubs by the second hour of the engagement!"

"And Kyle's medical battalion." Soren sucked in a deep breath, his voice filled with profound respect.

"If they hadn't sprinted onto the absolute front lines to physically drag heavily wounded soldiers—men with their literal intestines spilling out—back from the brink of death... If they hadn't expertly stabilized them to buy time for Victor's healing magic..."

"Do you honestly believe our absolute miracle of 'zero fatalities' just manifested out of thin air?!" Hearing this brutal reality check, the arrogant hype completely vanished from Talon and Buck, replaced instantly by a profound, agonizing wave of shame. Following Soren's gaze, they watched the elderly men and women meticulously, tenderly suturing the wounds of the soldiers.

Only then did it violently strike them: hidden beneath the blinding glory of their battle record flowed an absolute ocean of blood, sweat, and silent sacrifice from the logistics personnel.

"I know better than anyone on this continent exactly why our soldiers were able to detonate such apocalyptic, suicidal combat power when staring down an Orc horde fifteen times their size," Soren declared.

"It is because standing directly behind the forces of Greywater Village... is the very home we bled to build!"

"These fourth-line logistics workers aren't just pack mules hauling supplies. They are the mothers of the frontline grunts! They are the wives they swore to protect for a lifetime! They are the innocent children calling them 'Father'!"

"Our soldiers understand the absolute, unyielding truth," Soren said.

"If that defensive line yields even a single half-inch! If the Orcs violently rip a hole in our barricades! The only thing waiting for them is the total annihilation of their home! Their loved ones will be treated as livestock and eaten alive by those beasts!"

"When fighting for a noble's territory, soldiers will route the absolute second terror grips them."

"But when fighting to protect the family standing directly behind them... even if they have to bleed out! Even if they have to use their own mangled bodies to physically plug the breaches in the barricades... they will absolutely, unconditionally hold the sanctuary of Greywater Village!"

"This! This is the absolute, fundamental reason we cannot be stopped! There is an unbreakable bond of blood and family between the army and the citizens! There is absolutely no power on this earth capable of shattering that will!" Soren's earth-shattering speech violently shocked the very cores of Buck and Talon, bringing forth a profound, soul-deep awakening. They violently snapped to attention.

Facing the bustling women, children, and elderly down below the command post, the two fierce generals executed a flawless, deeply solemn Knight's Salute. They finally, truly comprehended it. By actively shattering class oppression and establishing an absolute lifetime disability pension, Lord Soren hadn't just built an army. He had forged an invincible, absolutely unbreakable soul! Just as Soren finished hammering this profound ideological education into his generals... Ding!

[Warlord System battle calculations complete!] [Host has achieved the battle record: Routed 10, 000 Minotaurs!] [Quest Rewards formally issued:] [1. Two Armored War Elephants] [2. 100 Vials of Intermediate Life Recovery Potion] [3. Recipe: Intermediate Life Recovery Potion] Hearing rewards so obscenely generous they actually sent a tremor through his mind, Soren sucked in a deep breath of freezing air.