Bear School Astartes-Chapter 628 - 631. Reverence

Under the guidance of Meno Kuhorn, this legendary alumnus and textbook figure, the officers began to cast aside their fears and actively engage in discussions on how to use the army to deal with a super-spec individual.

"He can always be overwhelmed by numbers!" an officer said confidently, "How much military power do we have? Those scattered Northerners can’t even dream of it."

"We not only have a regular army but also auxiliary troops from vassal states and slave armies! No matter how powerful he is, by sacrificing these worthless lives, we can always achieve some result!"

Another young officer was much more rational.

"The main issue is: if he wants to run, how can we stop him? And how does he track our command echelon? Killing is not scary for us, even killing a division isn’t frightening. What’s frightening is that he can find our command echelon!"

"When he finds us, what means do we have to... retreat from him?"

Meno Kuhorn was certain that the young man had originally intended to use a word other than the neutral "retreat."

"Magic!" a staff officer said loudly, pinching his chin.

"No need to think twice, a powerful individual like that must be related to magic! His power comes from magic, and surely his method of tracking our command echelon is magic as well. Perhaps we should prepare a lot of antimagic gold."

A suggestion that initially sounded somewhat feasible, but it was quickly refuted.

"Put away that foolish idea. Are you suggesting we forgo the aid of magic during battles?" 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"Without magic, the Northerners would still have it. Antimagic gold can prevent direct magic harm to us, but if the Northern warlocks join forces to change the local weather, can our armor still be worn? And is there even a need to fight without armor?"

"I think we should instead mobilize some warlocks from our country to specifically monitor the battlefield for magic, to determine what that person really is, and to perform magical countermeasures if necessary!"

This tent was filled with a handful of the most elite and top graduates from several cohorts of the Imperial Military Academy.

Their intelligence collided under the new combat requirements, sparking ideas of inspiration.

Magic, this power that transcends eras, often only manifests crudely as artillery on the battlefield. But today, these staff officers and commanders began examining this wondrous power from a new application perspective.

"Excellent! This is the answer I want, gentlemen!"

Meno Kuhorn patted the shoulder of the person beside him vigorously, encouragingly looking around and meeting the eyes of each officer.

"We have many outstanding talents educated as elites, many smart minds born out of training, learning, absorbing experience, and reading war cases. Your battlefield intuition allows you to keenly find enemy flaws, just like wolves!"

"Your brilliant discussion today is even worthy of a lecture in the Military Academy!"

The marshal pointed to the map on the table.

"And we also have ample troops, auxiliary troops, and slave armies... They will become your tools for testing your ideas! Let’s find that person, force out his strength and limits, hold him and exhaust him!"

"He is just one man, which means he only has one life! One chance! But we have countless opportunities!"

By the end, the marshal could not help clenching his fist, a confident grin curving at the corner of his mouth.

"Let’s hunt the ’hero,’ gentlemen!"

"Yes!"

The unanimous response resounded in the tent.

-----------------

Near the border line of Sintra, beneath a flag with a yellow sun on a black background, stood an army in full armor, their weapons and armor gleaming in the winter sunshine.

A group was escorting a convoy laden with provisions, noisily making their way through the forest road.

"It’s as obvious as a fisherman chumming the water, isn’t it, Lincoln?"

In the distant forest, Lann stood on a sturdy branch of a large tree, gazing in the direction of the convoy.

Without even glancing, he spoke to those below the tree.

"Yes, my lord. Under your sharp eyes, the actions of the Niflgaard people are extremely superficial."

The young former secretary at the bottom of the tree praised him in a tone akin to singing a hymn.

This tone sent a shiver down Lann’s spine, though he opened his mouth, he couldn’t say anything.

He was still the type who felt uncomfortable after being praised, but the problem was... Lincoln’s flattery was no jest among friends, nor an intentional embarrassment.

It was true! He was truly speaking to him with the reverence of singing a hymn to the gods!

This kid now revered him like a deity!

In fact, it wasn’t just him, but basically, since the day of the inferno at Ring Mountain, every one of the sixty-plus warriors left by Hacksaw treated him in this mindset.

That day, after he returned to the original location and reunited with them, these people immediately knelt on one knee before him.

Their raised heads, their eyes filled with exhilaration, excitement, gratitude... those complex emotions nearly drowned him.

They were originally acting with the intention of bringing Hacksaw’s war records out, even if they had to survive by the skin of their teeth.

That intense emotion of putting life and death aside needed no further words.

But after Lann turned and left, coming back again in half a day, and told them: You carried the blood debt of the entire refugee group, but I have just settled the score alone.

From that moment on, every person’s eyes, including Lincoln’s, carried a... peculiarity when they looked at him.

Later, when he said he wanted to stay and fight guerrilla warfare, all sixty wounded warriors did not raise an eyebrow and followed suit.

Following that, came victory after victory!

Victory, a word that seemed to have a magical allure.

For soldiers on the battlefield, for this word they could abandon everything! Through the ages, as long as victories kept coming, the leaders’ image would be continuously elevated, and continuously elevated in the eyes of the led soldiers!

And the feats that Lann led them to achieve, those are things they probably never dared to imagine in their lifetime.

So up until now, the reverence for victory, for Lann’s charisma, for power...

Even though they can still joke and laugh in daily life, whenever they incidentally meet Lann’s gaze, the almost fervent look deep in their eyes seems permanently set.

This state made Lann uncomfortable; he was never fond of personal idolization.

"Can’t you speak normally, Lincoln?"

Lann squatted down on the tree branch, looking down helplessly at the young boy gazing up at him.

"Does my tone disturb you? I sincerely apologize..."

"You don’t need to apologize so formally, just be a bit more casual."

In the end, Lann pursed his lips, while Lincoln merely smiled without speaking.

This was a silent refusal.

Refusing the requests of one’s object of fervor, this may not sound very "passionate."

But for Lincoln and the others, what led them to fervor were the qualities Lann himself displayed.

The fervent reverence for these qualities was a conscious decision made deep within their hearts, unrelated to anyone else. So Lann’s opposition to it was like a gentle breeze to them—

You can say what you want; we’re not changing anyway.

With a ’snap,’ Lann helplessly patted his forehead.

Breathing deeply, ensuring he wouldn’t be exasperated to death by this group of subordinates who sometimes obediently went too far and who at times rebelliously pushed the limits.

Upon reopening his eyes, the Demon Hunter’s cat eyes, slightly changed, regained their sharpness.

We’ll deal with the details later, for now, let’s see how to "get things done."