Chapter 2071 - 554: Saint Colin Hospital Knight Order

On Burial Peak, amidst the smoke-filled trenches, the soil was soaked with blood, as thick as a swamp. The remaining embers continued to burn, outlining the contours of the battlefield.

The fierce battle was close to an end.

As the final crossbow cannon position was blown open by grenadiers' grenades, a dozen charred Clan Rats raised the white flag, trembling and huddled in the corners of the trenches.

They dropped their rusty knives, raised their filthy claws high, and pleaded in discomforting voices.

"Please! Don't kill us! Squeak, squeak!"

The leading Clan Rat knocked its head against the muddy water, its voice sharp and mournful.

"We are innocent! We didn't harm your compatriots!"

The Clan Rats beside it chimed in.

"That's right! All the bad things were done by Shrek Warlord! It was that damned fat guy who forced us to do it!"

"Go after him! Don't kill us!"

"There is a head for every injustice, a master for every debt! We were just following orders!"

This group of Ratmen was terrified.

Previously, the Campbell people were good fighters, but not with the tactics they saw today.

They used to form a phalanx, beat the war drums and march forth, then start loading bullets, then bang bang bang... Since when did these humans become so terrifying?!

Looking at these sobbing mice, the surrounding Ryan Camp warriors showed no sign of compassion on their faces, only cruel grins.

Weren't you guys pretty badass earlier?

Why not continue?

Most of these young men were refugees from Roland City, and the other part were refugees from Twilight Province.

Their homes were burned, families sold into slavery, and the hardships endured along the way had long extinguished any warmth in their hearts.

Previously, they didn't know who to hate, but now they finally had a target for their hatred.

A sergeant strode forward, not even bothering to look properly at the pleading rat, only speaking with a cruel tone.

"We'll certainly go after him. But before that, go down and save him a seat, and ask him a favor for me when you get there."

No sooner had he finished speaking than he gestured behind him.

A soldier carrying a metal canister walked forward expressionlessly, a cruel curve at his lips, and aimed the pitch-black nozzle at the leading rat.

Though unsure of what it was, the rat's face instinctively showed fear upon seeing the ignited flame at the nozzle's end, screaming out subconsciously.

"No---"

Whoosh---!

An orange flame dragon roared forth, instantly engulfing the cramped corner.

It was a flamethrower from the Gutaf Kingdom, modified to suit human physique and usage, driven by Netherworld Language pressure.

Its range wasn't far, but it was especially efficient when clearing caves, and even more so in cleaning out garbage.

Screams of agony lasted mere seconds within the flames, turning into the popping sounds of fat bursting, like dry wood cracking in a fireplace.

The stench of burning quickly overpowered the smell of gunpowder, and the dozen rats who had just been shirking responsibility became a heap of curled ash in the blink of an eye.

Sir Dickbin stood behind a nearby bunker, clutching his rifle tightly, his facial muscles twitching uncontrollably, his eyes filled with dread.

Saint Sis above—

Who would have thought the Campbell people to be so ruthless, not only savage themselves but corrupted the gentle Ryan people into beasts!

"Truly insane..."

Sir Dickbin cursed inwardly, but kept his lips tightly shut, not daring to let even a hint of dissatisfaction show on his face.

He knew full well these young men had long been displeased with him, fearing the flame dragon might "accidentally" target him at any moment.

At that moment, Captain Kest walked over briskly; he was the leader of Company 1, Ryan Camp, First Mountain Corps.

According to the Campbell "New Army" regulations, in battle, regardless of noble titles, soldiers of lower ranks must salute their superiors.

Thus, begrudgingly, Sir Dickbin placed his hand to his brow.

Kest returned the gesture simply, looking at the pile of ash still burning in the corner of the trench.

He said nothing, only commanding in a deep voice.

"Alright, stop messing around. Get your gear together; we have a new mission to carry out."

A battle-hardened Ryan soldier wiped the muddy sweat from his face and eagerly asked the officer.

"What mission, sir?"

"Have we found that bastard Shrek?"

"Haha, I can't wait to rip out that beast's guts!"

Seeing their eager faces, Kest didn't say much, only tersely replied.

"You'll know when it arrives."

Though given the order, the young men remained eager, thinking they were about to clear out more rats somewhere.

Only Sir Dickbin, who had been observant throughout, keenly sensed the oddity in Captain's eyes.

It wasn't the gaze for going into battle, but rather one for attending a funeral.

Nervously, Sir Dickbin followed behind his comrades.

They passed through the winding trenches, over charred bodies, arriving at the entrance to a massive cave halfway up the mountain.

A more brutal battle had just ended here.

The ground was littered with boulders disintegrated by hand-cannons and severed limbs; green and black blood mingled together.