487: Chapter 467 Fighter Jets Will Show Their Power

Whenever Geoffrey performed experimental modifications on any modern weapons brought by Zhang Mu, he never completely abandoned the original attack systems.

When the Elven pilots, along with fifty magic combat aircraft, arrived at the Lake military camp on the Kingdom battlefield, it was hardly surprising to the curious Soldiers watching that eight thick "shells" were hanging from the fuselages.

The power source of the magic combat aircraft had been replaced with a magic Core. In practice, taking off didn't require a runway for acceleration; the powerful kinetic energy was enough to support vertical takeoff, so there was naturally no need to build runways.

With Zhang Mu providing powerful assistance, the threat of High-tier Professionals was infinitely reduced. Since the Saint-level combatants of Kingdom were being monitored by the Special Operations Squad, Domit believed, after considering the overall situation, that the time to advance the front lines had arrived.

After returning to the camp from "The World," Domit revised the operational plan overnight, preparing to deploy the magic combat aircraft to the battlefield in three days.

Time passed quietly, and it was the evening of the second day.

A new round of offensive would be launched tomorrow morning. The Sixth Legion Commander and the Fifth Legion Commander were ordered to conduct the final pre-battle inspection.

They first went to the canteen to eat with the Soldiers, striking up conversations in a casual tone along the way to check morale, hoping to find out if the Soldiers were tired of being mired in a long-term war.

Before joining the army, most of the Soldiers in the Lake First-Tier Legion were Farmers by profession. If they were Farmers from Blue Star, they would likely complain about facing life-and-death moments every day and long for a return to a poor but stable daily life.

However, there are differences between one Farmer and another.

Farmers on the Saul Continent not only faced the threat of starvation during droughts—where if the drought lasted too long and food became scarce, some family members had to be sacrificed to ensure the survival of others—but also lived in fear of being turned into rations by magical beasts that might suddenly raid their villages.

To them, the line between whether they were in a state of war or not was very blurred.

Whether on the battlefield or settled in the countryside, people could die at any time just the same. Comparing the two, the Soldiers actually preferred the former.

Because at least they had weapons in their hands and the power to resist. They could eat their fill every day, rather than constantly worrying about crop yields in the village or facing the pouncing bite of a magical beast, where they could only let their bodies be torn apart, chewed, and then swallowed into a stomach.

When the Sixth Legion Commander asked a Soldier at the next table if he missed his hometown and family, the Soldier's face suddenly filled with panic. He stood up and declared loudly that he fought bravely and never violated military discipline, begging the Sixth Legion Commander not to dismiss him.

The Fifth Legion Commander, also born in a mountain village, understood that the Soldier was worried about being kicked out of the legion and losing his source of income, which would mean his family could not survive on the increasingly chaotic Saul Continent.

The Sixth Legion Commander was somewhat surprised by the Soldier's reaction. He was stunned for a long while before smiling and saying he had no intention of dismissing him. Only then did the Soldier sit back down on the bench.

But he was not completely at ease. Panic still lingered on his face, as if he suspected the Sixth Legion Commander's reply might just be a consolation, and that he would receive a dismissal notice once the commander returned to his tent.

The surrounding Soldiers who were eating clearly harbored the same anxiety, fearing they would be next. Their chatter with companions cut off, their eyes lost focus, and they relied on instinct to shove soup into their mouths with iron spoons.

After this interlude, the atmosphere in the canteen became much more somber, which was contrary to the Sixth Legion Commander's original intention.

Looking around, he realized that staying any longer would only make the Soldiers uneasy. He stood up and announced, "Lake will never proactively abandon any qualified Soldier," and left with the Fifth Legion Commander.

Afterward, they went to the airfield—which was actually just a cleared open space in the middle of the camp.

When they arrived, fifty magic combat aircraft were parked on the open ground, with off-duty Soldiers weaving between them.

Some Soldiers lightly patted the landing gear and tires, confused as to why something that flew in the sky would need tires that were only useful for traveling on the ground.

Two artillerymen were discussing with each other whether the maximum load of eight "shells" on the wings was too few. They could fire more than that in a single minute of rapid fire with their howitzers.

The Sixth Legion Commander approached from behind the two and smiled, saying, "Those aren't shells."

They instinctively turned around, and upon seeing who it was, immediately straightened their backs and saluted: "Lord Sixth Legion Commander! Lord Fifth Legion Commander!"

The Fifth Legion Commander nodded to signal them to lower their hands while saying, "They are called aerial bombs."

The fifty magic combat aircraft were not all fighter jets. To provide fire support to the ground, half were magic bombers. Not only could they assist the infantry in combat, but during lulls on the front line, they could cross the defensive lines to conduct air raids on the enemy's rear.

The artilleryman turned to look at the aircraft's wings: "aerial bombs?"

"Uh, Lord Fifth Legion Commander, what's the difference between them and shells?"

The Fifth Legion Commander's step froze in mid-air, his face falling into deep thought. He had only heard the name from the Grand Marshal. He could analyze from the word "bomb" that they were explosives, but as for the difference from a shell...

He quietly looked toward the Sixth Legion Commander, his eyes pleading for help.

The Sixth Legion Commander seemed happy to see him embarrassed and just smiled without saying a word.

"Ahem—" Seeing the two artillerymen's expressions of longing for knowledge, the Fifth Legion Commander put on a stern face. "Has the routine maintenance of the howitzers been completed?!"

"Ah?" The artillerymen were stunned, wondering why the Fifth Legion Commander cared about that.

The Fifth Legion Commander didn't give them a chance to talk back: "Not speaking? Does that mean you forgot? Why aren't you going yet?!"

"Yes!" The two artillerymen didn't quite understand what mistake they had made, but since it was the Legion Commander's order, they couldn't ignore it and hurriedly ran toward the tent where the howitzers were kept.

On the way, they heard from their companions about what had happened in the canteen. They mistakenly thought they were being scolded by the Fifth Legion Commander because they weren't "qualified" Soldiers. They hurried to the tent and spent the entire night wiping the gun barrels, trying to make amends and salvage their negative image in their superior's heart.

The Fifth Legion Commander was unaware of this and was complaining dissatisfiedly to the Sixth Legion Commander: "You knew and didn't help me explain?"

"Explain what?"

"The bombs."

"Oh, that. I don't know either."

The Fifth Legion Commander was stunned, then his face turned dark: "Then what were you laughing at?"

"Laughing doesn't violate military discipline."

Seeing that he was about to grumble more, the Sixth Legion Commander changed the subject: "What do you think the difference between a bomb and a shell is?"

He was indeed curious, crossing his arms and guessing: "Hmm... the explosion."

"Please don't say nonsense that sounds like it makes sense."

"Let's go ask Lord Domit. Before leaving 'The World,' Lord Domit and the Grand Marshal talked all night; they must have discussed the function of the bombs."

"Let's go."

Night fell quietly.

The streetlights in the military camp lit up bright white. The figures of the patrol squads stepped from the darkness at one end into the light, only to vanish into the darkness at the other end a moment later.

The next morning.

Domit appeared in the open space to boost the morale of the Elves who were about to set out. The speech lasted for half an hour. After it ended, the Elves moved into formation and climbed into their respective aircraft to stand by.

Domit returned to the Command Post and asked Damu, who was protecting him closely: "According to the collected intelligence, Kingdom has three Saint-levels on the surface. Those hidden by the royal family are preliminarily estimated to be two. Including the King, that's a total of six Saint-levels. Are you confident?"

Damu's figure emerged in the air. He raised his hand to push up his tactical mask, revealing the steady face beneath: "The key to the Special Operations Squad winning against a Saint-level lies in who exposes their tracks first."

"If they do, the Special Operations Squad can accurately snipe all targets within seconds. If we do, the area-of-effect magic released by a Saint-level will grind the mountain forests where we are lurking into fly ash along with us."

"If the actual number isn't much different from what you said, and the Special Operations Squad waits patiently for the enemy to be fully exposed, we will surely win. If the situation is reversed, the hidden Saint-levels will definitely be able to lock onto our position after the Special Operations Squad fires, and then we will surely lose."

Hearing this, Domit's brow furrowed.

Investigating public information was not difficult, and its authenticity could be guaranteed.

The three Saint-levels had been active in the public eye for a long time and were highly renowned; even the Farmers in Kingdom's countryside had heard of them.

This was already quite exaggerated. One must realize that the Saul Continent was not Blue Star; they didn't have Mobile Phones, computers, short videos, social platforms, or other channels to learn about the outside world. Even the most basic newspapers did not exist.

Their only way of obtaining information was to rely on word of mouth.

Under such inefficient and backward means of transmission, for the four Saint-levels to be known throughout the Kingdom, the possibility of fabrication was basically eliminated.

The trouble lay with those in the shadows.

Domit's speculation was based on the unspoken rules of the Kingdoms on the Saul Continent—regardless of the number of public Saint-levels, those kept hidden generally fluctuated between two and three.

If it were an ordinary person, a difference of one person wouldn't affect much. However, these were Saint-levels, terrifying transcendent beings whose personal military power was enough to wipe out a Principality single-handedly.

If Domit misjudged, the price paid would not be a simple legion, but likely the entire army of the Western Territory.

He had to increase the margin for error.

After thinking for a while, Domit said, "I've recalled half of the Special Operations Squad supporting the Eastern Territory. Combined with the squad in your hands, it should be enough to deal with six Saint-levels."

"Yes, but in that case, we won't have any extra squads for ambushes. If our judgment is wrong..."

Domit stood up: "Transfer the other half stationed in the Eastern Territory to the Western Territory as a trump card as well."

If all Special Operations Squads were recalled, the Ninth and Tenth Legions would lose their means of suppressing and harassing the enemy's High-tier Professionals in the Eastern Territory, and defensive pressure would surge.

Domit didn't really want this predicament to happen, but compared to the various Kingdoms coveting the Eastern Territory, Kingdom was the greater threat.

If the various Kingdoms entered the Eastern Territory, they would at most burn, kill, and pillage. But if they were defeated by Kingdom, Lake would face its doomsday. Domit had weighed the importance of the two.

Damu offered no opinion on Domit's decision. He was a warrior whose duty was to obey orders and fight the enemy, ignoring everything else.

Domit no longer hesitated and summoned his adjutant to issue an urgent order to the Ninth Legion Commander in the Eastern Territory: the Special Operations Squad was to rush to the Western Territory front at full speed.

With the appearance of the magic combat aircraft, combined with Lake's increasingly elite snipers, Kingdom's low-tier Professionals and ordinary Soldiers would fall into an absolute disadvantage. Calling it a massacre would not be an exaggeration.

Brando would not tolerate his grassroots legions being wiped out. At that time, High-tier Professionals and Saint-levels would surely appear to launch an offensive against Lake's legions.

The mission of the Special Operations Squad was to protect the magic combat aircraft on the ground and snipe any High-tier Professionals or Saint-levels attempting to destroy them.

Therefore, before the Special Operations Squad from the Eastern Territory arrived, the use of magic combat aircraft had to be cautious to prevent a premature duel between the Saint-levels and the Special Operations Squad. Otherwise, an ill-prepared Lake would suffer heavy losses.

Domit picked up the landline phone to contact the front-line Command Post, ordering that the number of aircraft sorties be limited to no more than five at a time.