Chapter 401 - 388: Asymmetric Warfare (Part 2)

Chapter 401: Chapter 388: Asymmetric Warfare (Part 2)

Despite the defensive network being stretched to its limit and orders being executed meticulously, the results were negligible.

The infiltrators always managed to evade the checkpoints, moving freely right under the noses of the patrol teams. The tight security measures only served to exhaust the soldiers and fray their nerves, without catching any real leads.

For the next two weeks, White Tower Territory was mired in a bitter struggle, a war with no smoke or gunpowder.

The epidemic was like an unquenchable wildfire, ravaging this land that had only just begun to recover. One day they would extinguish the embers in Clover Village, and the next, a great fire would erupt in a fishing village dozens of kilometers away.

These "carriers" were pervasive.

They hid among the waves of fleeing refugees, concealed themselves in the hidden compartments of ore-transporting carriages, and even feigned being lost travelers, collapsing by the roadside. They needed no weapons; they themselves were the most efficient killing machines. All they had to do was blend into a crowd and cough a few times, or wash their face in a well, and the Grim Reaper would soon follow.

The most perilous incident occurred in the unloading area of the Alchemy Workshop.

A driver responsible for transporting potion bottles suddenly began coughing violently during a routine inspection, spraying a mouthful of black blood onto a guard’s shield.

If that guard hadn’t reacted with lightning speed, kicking the driver away and immediately sounding the alarm, if that driver had managed to get inside the workshop... Velin dared not imagine the consequences. If the artisans fell, the productivity of White Tower Territory would be instantly crippled.

Even so, the area was placed under emergency lockdown and sprayed with disinfectant agents for three whole days.

On this day, Velin and Tristan stood in the Alchemy Workshop, inspecting the production situation. In the vast space below them, the "Morningstar Type-3" alchemical apparatus was still running, but the humming sound it produced was much sparser than before—nearly half of the crucibles were shut down and cooling.

"Production capacity has shrunk to fifty percent of its peak." Tristan stood beside him, his voice laced with anxiety as he looked at the idle machines. "Logistical efficiency is appallingly low right now. The territory’s transportation lines are fragmented due to panic and quarantine procedures. The supply of raw materials can’t keep up with the workshop’s consumption rate. If this continues, it’s only a matter of time before the supply chain breaks, and the machines will have to be shut down."

He turned a page of the report, his tone relaxing slightly. "But fortunately, your earlier arrangements have paid off. The workshops in Lorenzo’s territory, Dawn Territory, and Green Vein Territory are now operating at full capacity. As long as we can still produce the base fluid from Shadow Graveyard Grass, the supply of Blood Cough Potion won’t be cut off for now."

Tristan wiped the sweat from his brow. "If our allies weren’t sharing the supply pressure, our current output alone wouldn’t be enough to suppress a new wave of outbreaks. The plague would have likely rebounded long ago."

"That is the point of technological proliferation, and it’s also where Hector miscalculated," Velin said, watching the busy yet orderly workers below.

Just then, a clerk from the Government Hall came running in, his steps hurried. Behind him followed the old priest from the True Origin Association.

"My Lord Count!" the clerk reported, panting. "Priest Mateo has brought urgent intelligence!"

Velin and Tristan immediately turned around.

Mateo’s complexion was much better than the last time they had met. The previously polite and reserved Priest was now bright-eyed and visibly energized.

Shortly after, a small meeting was convened in the Lord’s Mansion. Mateo took out a crude map and spread it on the table.

"Look what we’ve found!" Mateo’s voice was hurried with excitement. "My brothers in faith risked their lives to send back a major breakthrough—we can basically confirm the existence of a highly suspicious stronghold in the Black Stone Mountain Range, in the northern part of Hector’s territory."

He used his finger to roughly draw a large circle on the map, enclosing a continuous mountain range.

"We still can’t confirm its exact location, but multiple clues point there. That area has suddenly become heavily guarded, with large numbers of sealed carriages entering and leaving daily. Through the reconnaissance of our infiltrated brothers, we’ve discovered that what’s being transported in are living people, and what’s coming out are... body bags. We speculate that there is a Plague Workshop within Hector’s territory! Past plagues that broke out in the Empire had similar details!"

"A Plague Workshop..." Velin muttered, astonished at their depravity.

"Give me two hundred Knights!" the Dwarf, Ola, slammed his helmet on the table, the loud crash making the teacups jump. His thick beard trembled with rage. "I’ll go burn that damned mountain to the ground!"

"No."

Velin’s refusal was crisp and decisive; he didn’t even glance at Ola.

"Why not?!" Ola’s eyes widened, the veins on his neck bulging. "He’s been attacking us nonstop! If we don’t declare war now, how long are we supposed to wait? Until we all cough ourselves to death?"

"Ola, use your brain, assuming it isn’t completely stuffed with muscle," Barrett interjected coldly. "Black Stone Canyon is deep in Hector’s heartland. We’d have to march for hundreds of miles, crossing more than half the Duchy?

That would be an invasion. The moment we make the first move, Hector would immediately seize the moral high ground and call on all the other nobles to besiege us. At that point, we wouldn’t just be facing a plague, but the Empire’s regular army as well."

"So what do we do? Just watch?" Ola panted with anger, slamming his fist into the wall and sending a shower of dust down.

The room fell silent.

Everyone understood the logic, but everyone also felt a profound sense of powerlessness.

Those were the rules. Wars between nobles required a ’just cause,’ and Hector’s despicable methods fell squarely in a gray area of those rules. You had no proof that he sent those Transcendents, and you had no justification to march an army directly into another’s territory.

Velin said nothing. He walked to the window and pushed it open.

The sea breeze poured in, carrying the tang of salt and sea.

In the sky, several white shadows were circling. It was Stuka and its "First Special Air Service Regiment." They glided on the wind, their forms elegant and unhurried, occasionally letting out a clear cry.

On the ground, the Knights were hampered by terrain, supply lines, and checkpoints. But in the sky...

Velin’s gaze followed the birds, watching them cross over the city walls, over the watchtowers, over the strict blockade lines without any hindrance.

In their eyes, there were no borders, no territories—only prey.

Velin suddenly let out a laugh.

"Since he likes to play dirty, we’ll play along with him to the very end." Velin turned, a dangerous light glinting in his wine-red eyes.

"He wants to crush us with a plague? Then we’ll show him what a true ’asymmetrical war’ is."

"My lord, what do you intend to do?" Barrett asked instinctively.

"Ola, you won’t need two hundred Knights, and you wouldn’t be able to get through anyway." Velin walked to the table, his fingers tapping a light rhythm on its surface. "But I do need you to prepare a few things. I will have Master Valerius prepare some special gifts."

"You mean to..."

"To make the fish rise to the surface, you must first muddy the waters." Velin looked up, his gaze passing over everyone to once again fall on the flock of white reapers circling outside the window. "Since we can’t go by land, we’ll go by air. Since he sent us ’gifts,’ it’s only right that we return the favor."

He paused, his gaze falling on Ola’s large, confusion-filled face.

"Ola, go prepare some french fries. Lots and lots of french fries."

"Huh?" Ola’s jaw dropped, his face a mask of utter confusion. "Go to war... with french fries?"