Bear School Astartes-Chapter 632 - 635. Approaching

"Will they really assign warlock guards to every commander because of your performance today?"

Lincoln walked behind Lann, jingling with scattered pieces of armor hanging on him.

"Those are noble casters... Does the Niflgaard Empire use them like that? Do they have so many casters at their disposal?"

Behind him, all the ’embers’ members looked similar, covered with gear hanging from them.

Guerrilla warfare cannot rely on stable logistical support, so all materials must be taken from the enemy.

Lann called this act of ’taking guns and cannons from the enemy’ a ’fine tradition.’

The people didn’t quite understand how this qualified as ’tradition,’ but Lann said it was, and with their feverish admiration for him, they naturally did it without reservation.

"You still don’t understand your enemy, Lincoln. Read more books."

Lann said without looking back, conveying his thoughts to the young man behind him.

Unconsciously, he had started treating Lincoln as his deputy.

The Demon Hunter continued calmly.

"You can hate the Niflgaard people, as they indeed don’t act like civilized humans. But you should not underestimate the power a vast empire possesses. They have many warlocks, there’s no doubt about that."

"The societal structure of Niflgaard is based on slavery, with casters being high-level skilled workers, akin to blacksmiths. The nobility uses rights and benefits to ’domesticate’ these people with supernatural powers within their system. Compliance earns rewards, disobedience is met with assassins or poison."

"Thus, over time, the southern warlocks have learned to obey bloodlines and authority. So, unquestionably..."

"As long as the commanders of this war determine ’winning the war requires numerous warlocks,’ Niflgaard will surely supply them."

While Lann continued speaking, behind him, Lincoln had already taken out his notebook, jotting it down.

His awareness of ’memory is less reliable than a bad pen’ was something Lann appreciated greatly.

"That’s about it."

Lann stopped in the woods, far enough from the previous battlefield.

With a ’bang,’ he threw down a person he had been carrying on his shoulder into the thick layer of humus in the woods, making the dry leaves flutter as they hit the body armored in shiny black armor.

From more than two meters high, the impact seemed to jolt the person back to consciousness, taking a long, sudden gasp, slowly opening his eyes.

His eyes beneath the winged helmet were bewildered and panicked, clearly unaware of the current situation.

Lincoln stood beside him, notebook ready to record anytime.

"Where is this? You...!"

The man’s confused gaze swept around, initially puzzled by the surroundings, but when the extraordinarily handsome face, taller than any elf, appeared before him, he immediately recalled.

This was the ’demon’ that had slaughtered his troops completely!

However... hadn’t he been killed already?

The terrifying great sword pierced the front of his breastplate – although the blade wasn’t sharp enough to penetrate it, the sheer impact was enough to rupture his internal organs.

But now...

He felt the prominent dent in his chest armor.

Before he could return to his senses, a large hand grabbed his entire head from the side!

With a ’bang,’ his side face was pressed into the dense layer of humus.

In Lann’s hand, a normal human’s head was like an oversized apple.

"Let me clarify, I don’t enjoy torture."

The intense struggle in hand seemed nonexistent to the Demon Hunter’s grip.

"If you can straightforwardly reveal the approximate time of the battle, I believe we can both have it easy."

Utilizing exceptional knowledge of human biology, Lann precisely targeted the opponent into a near-death coma during the fierce battlefield, all to gather intelligence on the grand battle without alerting the warlock.

The grand battles in the eyes of both sides’ high echelons are conspicuous and clear events, akin to an unstoppable torrent.

However, in the chaotic lower ranks, they can only sense the increasing tension but are clueless about the precise timing.

Lann needed this information.

Having already executed tactical deception, it was best to utilize it in the largest scenario possible, in as extravagant a manner as possible.

Nothing suited this more than the upcoming grand battle.

No surprise, the Niflgaard officer, with half his face pressed in humus by Lann, showed a stubborn, undefeatable gaze despite being unable to speak.

Lann initially didn’t comprehend how someone committing such inhumane acts could maintain an indomitable spirit.

But later, he understood that racial superiority, regional superiority... these cultivated emotional states were enough for some to sacrifice their lives.

So, he tossed the officer towards his companions.

"Leave it to you, get him to talk. I’ll verify with a Magic Seal at the end."

Lincoln calmly put away his already unfolded notebook, nodded to Lann, then walked towards the Niflgaard officer being held up.

"I’ll complete the task within two hours."

The young boy spoke confidently and casually, as was indeed the case.

Two hours later, Lann got the exact start time of the grand battle.

If no action is taken, the long-duration and mass congregation of soldiers not only fails to enhance combat power, but may drain organizational strength amidst chaos.

Moreover, both sides’ logistical pressures have reached near critical levels.

So even if both sides attempt to delay, the latest possible start of the grand battle... can only be within five days.

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"I never thought you would get involved in this."

In the Northern Alliance Army Camp at Upper Sodden, Elf Grand Mage Francesca Fendapei, renowned as the most beautiful face in the world, sat in a luxurious, comfortable red cashmere armchair, holding a silver goblet and intriguingly questioned the person before her.

She had bright and shiny golden hair, beautifully woven in traditional elf ornaments, hanging beside her delicate, fair face.

"Tishaya, the last time we fought side by side was... three hundred years ago?"

"Ah, yes. I remember too..."

Opposite Francesca, Tishaya’s expression was peculiar, her response faltering.

Distinctively, unlike the Southern supernatural powers’ predicament, the Northern warlocks, even amidst the tense and oppressive camp, added a grand tent for hosting social salons outside their individual tents.