Chapter 1269 - 853: Chaotic Slaughter (2)

Chapter 1269: Chapter 853: Chaotic Slaughter (2)

Night Patrol Scouts.

They wear color-changing soft armor combat suits, moving like silent shadows on the battlefield.

One of them kneels down on one knee, shoulder carrying a portable chainsaw blade that emits a sharp charging sound, fiercely swinging it.

The high-speed rotating saw teeth create a chilling whistling sound, precisely cutting into the neck of a twisted monster that had just breached the Chaos Beast group’s outer defenses, lunging at an adventurer.

It seems to be a mutated decay peat swamp beast, but its throat has been stained with a heavy void-dark purple-black, with old and new wounds interwoven, dirty blood splattering.

The monster lets out a dying howl, like a ruptured bellows.

Another Night Patrol scout swiftly manipulates the small rune disk in his hand, hoarsely and calmly reporting: "D4 region confirmed third outpost coordinates... outpost completely destroyed, remnants form a new corpse pile, attention!

"An approximate standard mixed-group scale of swamp crocodiles is engaging fiercely with an equal number of rift hunters... the target is each other’s core areas... the scene is extremely bloody and chaotic! They’re gutting each other!"

His tone is without the slightest ripple, as if reporting some common ore sample distribution.

Used to the chaos.

This place has been a mess lately.

Expedition Army, Void Creatures, Local Beasts.

The three have mingled into one, encountering the other two parties means a chaotic battle.

In this chaos, the Expedition Army can only be on the defensive, as the other two sides are brainless maniacs focused solely on killing—there is absolutely no retreat.

Once retreated, the hard-expanding territory would instantly turn into ashes, knowing that a lot of places in their rear are still under construction.

In the deep rear of this meat grinder-like chaotic scene, close to the relatively safe second-line preparation area, an unexpected scene unfolded.

An Elf Ranger, his woodland soft armor now transformed into patches of rags and mud blocks, his blood-stained face leaving only a pair of eyes retaining some of the greater elf’s sharpness.

He leans against a pile of ammo boxes covered with waterproof tarpaulin, holding an archaic-style wooden harmonica, gently playing.

The notes leap lightly, an ancient tune spread in the Elven forest— "Whisper of Green Leaves".

This melody appears so fragile and abrupt on a battlefield filled with beast roars, energy blasts, clashing blades, and dying screams, yet carries an indescribable penetration power, like a transparent flower blooming in a pond of despair.

He plays slowly, focused, as if there’s nothing left in the world but him and the harmonica in his hands.

The dried, scabbed, deep brown blood on his face, in this small music fragment’s backdrop, instead reveals a sense of eerie calmness intertwined with insane perseverance.

Beside him, several soldiers bandaged and either reloading weapons or silently sipping poor-quality invigorating herbal medicine, upon hearing this faint music, their tense facial muscles seemed to relax slightly before they return to their tasks.

A Bard, an Elven Bard.

Adventurer.

Seeing the power displayed through the songs he plays, it’s clear he is an adventurer with a profession.

Moreover, having a good relationship with Night Watchers, he must have received the power usage insights from Night Watchers.

Intertwining his songs with magic and spiritual power, bringing such effect.

On a battlefield as chaotic and stressful as now, it can be said the effect is extremely good.

"Would be better with Dwarf songs, ideally paired with Dwarf spirits."

The Elf blowing the music shot him a glance, ignoring him.

"You shut up, aren’t you tired?" A nearby human adventurer, half-lying, couldn’t help mocking in a weak voice.

"I am a Night Watcher, why would I be tired? Only an adventurer like you who can’t feel the Night Watcher blessing would think of being tired, weakling."

Upon hearing the dwarf say this, the human couldn’t be bothered to respond, uttering nonsense.

He is an adventurer; he too has the Night Watcher’s blessing.

But let’s say, all Night Watchers rotated through the Void Pit before.

These pillars of void rifts, crafted by Night Watchers, training soldier regions, offering excellent ways to train Night Watchers’ will, making them accustomed to and resisting void’s spiritual impact.

But for these adventurers, it’s different; this time can be their first facing the Void Creatures, utterly unprepared mentally, let alone physically.

Though possessing the Night Watcher’s blessing, preventing them from instant corruption.

But the spiritual impact from Void Creatures remains for them to endure silently, causing although their physicality can persist, their spirit is genuinely exhausted.

"Thinking about wanting to save the world facing doomsday, creatures like these give headaches; true respect for Night Watchers carrying the banner knowing all along."

Another orc adventurer, leaning against the wall, couldn’t help praising aloud.

Without facing Void Creatures, hard to understand, once faced, you comprehend Night Watchers’ resolve.

"It’s lifting the torch, not the flag, you fool; can’t see the Night Watcher’s emblem?"

The dwarf finally retaliates.

Yet, evidently, people around are accustomed.

"Is my point what you said?"

"For me, yes, besides, your compliments mean nothing, as everyone is saving the world, what— are you considering fleeing?"

"Shut the hell up, you shorty!"

"What the hell did you say! I’ll cut your legs off, you furry pet."

Bickering, at least can alleviate their spirit.

The next laughed, egging them on.

...

High atop the "Steel Barrier" fortress, Lurik Sage’s silhouette stands like a statue.

He sets down the heavy, rune-carved monocular.

Looking afar, the "Steel Cliff" defense area appears as a boiling cauldron.

Filthy green giant beasts roared, their swamp poison-mud encrusted claws smashing bright crystalline strange creatures.

Void Rift Hunters flickering dark light crystalline blades, precisely and cruelly ripping apart any blocking fleshly being, whether Chaos Magical Beast or humanoid.

Human warriors, orc berserkers, and elf archers... along with Night Watcher’s formidable Light Guardians and Night Patrol, relying on steel fortifications battle fiercely, attempting to stabilize lines, keeping both destructive forces at bay.

The air no longer air, but some thick blood pulp, laden with savage roars, sharp whines, dying groans, sword crashes, bomb blasts, and some deeper, void-borne soul-chilling "whisper" background noise.

The defense line scattered with brutal evidence.

Nearby a half-eaten void creature crystalline shell carcass, perhaps piles a six-eyed swamp crocodile half-body dissolved by potent acid.

In a distant temporary cleared charred space, several twisted wrecked engineering vehicle remains, voicelessly telling of a failed rescue or charge.

Lurik’s massive callused hand slowly lowered, unconsciously, repetitively stroking the waist war axe’s cold, crude serrated edge.

The chilling sensation penetrates flesh, bringing a near callous clarity.

His jaw clenched, creaking, gaze substantial, heavily weighing upon this living purgatory beneath.

There, chaotic flesh instinctively gnaws at void crystalline remains, while Order’s warriors struggle to maintain the lines amidst the chaos.

"Hold the grinding disc’s mouth..."

The dwarf sage’s voice grinded out from the throat depth, deep akin to the rock tumbling within the deepest mines, engulfed in endless ore waste and thick blood scent.

"Let these damn bastards... keep biting! Break their teeth, yet feast on their own blood!"

Only this fight matters.

At least, these local frenzied creatures and void also mutually consume.

Though Expedition Army casualties, mainly adventurers rather than Night Watchers.

But for the Expedition leader, Lurik, this still counts as loss.