After delivering the Commander’s words with a bewildered expression, the messenger stared silently at the towering figure before him for a moment.
He then gave Mo a solemn military salute, turned around, climbed into the vehicle, and drove away in one smooth motion, leaving the equally bewildered Mo standing there in a daze.
Watching the army rapidly disappear into the distance, Mo finally breathed a sigh of relief.
This was one of the reasons he had deliberately acted so aggressively.
What if the other side had actually been frightened away by him?
Although it was possible to scare the Ursus Army, it was highly unlikely that the Ursus Army would actually be intimidated.
Only after the Ursus Army had completely vanished from sight did Mo put away his weapon and begin walking back toward the camp.
Seeing the army retreat, the Infected in the camp immediately rushed toward Mo, surrounding him and anxiously asking what had happened.
Mo could only try to calm the panicked Infected.
It felt like he was soothing a group of frightened children, leaving him completely at a loss.
“Oh no. I’m raising kids in Arknights. I’ve really become a dad now.”
Roman squeezed through the crowd and came over to help Mo calm the surrounding Infected.
Once the crowd finally dispersed, Roman dragged Mo into an empty corner and immediately began questioning him.
“So, your method was actually to challenge Ursus? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”
After learning exactly what Mo had done, Roman felt as though his brain was about to split apart.
“Are you serious? Do you even understand the difference between you becoming an enemy of Ursus and Ursus becoming your enemy?!”
Suddenly, Roman seemed to remember something.
“Will the Wendigo tribe really come to Ursus?”
“Yes, but I don’t know when they’ll arrive.”
“…”
Roman sat down on the ground with a look of utter despair.
What kind of situation was this?
Was there even a way to survive?
“Actually, you don’t need to worry. Based on the intelligence you gave me, I can sense that a massive war is about to erupt. If I remember correctly, the Wendigos should arrive in Ursus within twenty years.”
Mo carefully crouched down, lowering his massive body, and patted Roman on the shoulder.
“Are you serious? Twenty years? I’ll already be dust by then!”
Roman stared at the sky with dead fish-like eyes, his expression completely vacant.
Mo looked at him thoughtfully, poked his cheek, and began seriously analyzing the situation with him.
“Look. I challenged Ursus under the condition of submission. In other words, I’m not in any immediate danger of dying. After all, they don’t need the loyalty of a dead man.”
“Second, regardless of whether I win or lose, the camp can continue to exist. As long as the Emperor of Ursus possesses even a basic understanding of politics, he won’t pass up an opportunity like this—especially one that allows him to keep me under control.”
“As for the outcome, it’s nothing more than fighting for Ursus for another twenty years. Once my tribe arrives, I’ll join Ursus sooner or later anyway.”
“Ursus only cares about the Wendigos, while the Infected camp can survive regardless of the outcome. Don’t forget, building a home for the Infected ourselves was our original goal.”
Listening to Mo’s analysis, Roman began reconsidering whether his logic actually made sense.
“But you—”
Seeing that Roman still wanted to say something, Mo waved his hand and interrupted him.
Then he left him with a single sentence before turning around and walking away.
“I am inconsequential.”
As always.
…
Three days after the negotiations with the army, a group of uninvited guests came looking for Mo.
It was a peaceful afternoon, just like any other.
Mo was lying on a rather large recliner at the entrance to the camp, leisurely basking in the sunlight.
Although the temperature on the snowfield was extremely low, he was someone who had already died once.
Who cared about a little cold?
Ah, the warm sunlight shining down on his body even made his corpse feel warm.
The recliner had been made for him by that brat Ivan.
Making one to such a large size must have been quite difficult.
The little rascal was actually rather filial.
Mo’s affection for him hadn’t been misplaced.
Mo lay on the recliner, gently swaying as his thoughts wandered.
In his daze, he suddenly seemed to see a black shadow flying toward him.
It looked like…
A sword?
“Holy crap, there’s a Perro!”
Mo rolled off the recliner just in time to dodge.
The next second, a massive black blade slammed into the spot where he had been lying, reducing the recliner to a pile of debris.
Mo stared at the wreckage of his recliner, his heart aching and the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
He turned around.
Five burly men were walking toward him.
They were clad in heavy black armor, their faces concealed behind hideous metal masks.
Cold, imposing, and overwhelmingly oppressive—this was Mo’s first impression of them.
Mo examined them carefully.
These seemed to be an early incarnation of the Imperial Guard—in other words, the original Emperor’s Blades, before the organization had a “nation.”
At this point in time, the later Imperial Guard was still nothing more than a plan on Ursus’s drawing board, while the title “Emperor’s Blade” primarily referred to the Emperor’s personal guards.
After all, Ursus’s use of demons relied on demon fragments obtained by elite units such as heavily armored Wendigos, Warlocks, and the Emperor’s Blades.
Since the Wendigos were still lingering in Kazdel at this time, naturally, there could be no terrifying entity known as a “nation.”
An Emperor’s Blade without a “nation” was still powerful, but its strength was limited.
It was far from invincible.
Moreover, according to Mo’s understanding, the most troublesome aspect of the Imperial Guard was that killing one caused the demon fragments within its armor to be released, transforming the surrounding land.
As a result, very few people would attempt to kill an Imperial Guard even if they possessed the strength to do so.
However, the appearance of the Emperor’s Blades here meant that Mo had already entered the Emperor’s line of sight.
Mo pulled the black blade out of the wreckage of his recliner, casually swung it once, and tossed it back toward the Emperor’s Blades.
He then picked up his own weapon from the debris and entered combat mode.
One of the Blades retrieved the weapon.
After a brief silence, he pulled a document from his body and threw it toward Mo.
Mo caught it and glanced through the contents.
The general terms were exactly what he had expected.
If he could defeat the squad of Blades, he would have to serve Ursus for twenty fewer years.
As a gesture of goodwill from Ursus, the Infected camp would also be allowed to remain.
The rest consisted of minor details, such as the amount of taxes the camp would have to pay to Ursus each year.
“So, you’re my opponents?”
Mo put away the document and looked at the Blades.
“Yes. According to His Majesty’s decree, only by defeating us will you gain the right to choose.”
“As His Majesty’s Blades, we shall clear away every invader who stands before His Majesty. We shall show no mercy.”
The Blades performed some kind of salute toward the Emperor.
At least, that was what Mo assumed it was.
He didn’t understand it at all.
“Since that’s the case, I’ll choose the battlefield. No problem, right?”
The Blades showed no reaction.
Seeing this, Mo took their silence as tacit agreement and carried his weapon as he walked away.
The five Blades exchanged glances before honestly following him.
Mo led them to a flat stretch of snowfield and then put some distance between himself and the five Blades.
He entered combat mode.
“Are you ready? If you’re ready, let’s begin!”
Seeing that the Blades had also entered combat mode, Mo couldn’t be bothered to waste any more time talking.
He swung his spear, raised his shield, and charged straight at the Emperor’s Blades.
“Fight! Until everything turns to ashes!”