Chapter 133: The First Transport Mission—Under Attack

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Velin rode atop the crimson Phosphorus steed, patrolling the ranks. Every soldier was brimming with spirit; the three thousand two hundred men under his command had begun to follow orders strictly, showing a marked improvement in demeanor.

“Move out.”

At Velin’s command, the Thirteenth Transport Battalion embarked on its first mission.

Step by step, they advanced along the newly cleared road toward the Sixth Legion.

According to intelligence from the front, the Sixth Legion of the Selrop Corps was two hundred kilometers as the crow flies from the Brazilian Alpha Camp, but the actual distance was five hundred kilometers.

Therefore, Velin had to deliver this batch of supplies to the Sixth Legion within twelve days.

Entering the Grey Gleam Wasteland, the occasional sight of scorched monster clan camps appeared, with vast forests once shielding the view now violently reduced to ash and dust.

On the sixth day of the supply run, Velin, following the map’s guidance, faced a vast crater.

No one could imagine that just a month prior, this had been a hill, now transformed into a six-hundred-meter-wide pit, surrounded by scattered charred remains.

“The Magic Legion’s attacks remain so brutal—a perfectly good hill just vanished like this,” Velin said, folding the map with a shake of his head, then ordered the troops to skirt the giant crater.

“Master, do you think Lord Orlando’s Knight Order’s combined skills could achieve this effect?” Kyle asked Velin, gazing at the enormous pit.

“It’s still unclear, but we’ll find out in time.”

Velin shook his head. Whether the Knight Orders led by Orlando and Hebrew could accomplish such devastation was something he was eager to learn, but it would require time to confirm.

“Send word to everyone: stay alert. Beyond this point lies the true Grey Gleam Wasteland, where many uncleared small tribes remain.”

“Yes, Master.”

Near noon, everyone pulled out their compacted rations, chewing slowly to replenish energy, then pressed onward.

Compacted rations, a mature wartime supply, were processed through specialized war magic workshops. Three kilograms of grain compressed into a four-centimeter sphere—enough to sustain a soldier through intense combat.

Since the advent of these war magic workshops, they had become wildly popular across nations.

To save marching time, for six days straight, the troops marched from dawn until dusk, with no time wasted on cooking fires.

After advancing thirty kilometers, dusk fell. The Thirteenth Transport Battalion camped around a colossal Kocalos beast, securing the supplies tightly at its center.

At that moment, a large group of stragglers from previous battles gathered in the distant forest, their greedy eyes fixed on the flickering campfires.

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“Lord Guga, the human army numbers at least four thousand, but the goblins we gathered barely reach three thousand,” a lizardman reported to a silver-ranked senior lizard warrior, tongue flicking nervously.

“That’s enough. Our mission is to burn the rations and slow the humans’ advance—not to defeat them outright,” Guga responded, fully aware of his task. Disrupting human logistics was his primary objective in infiltrating here.

As for why no gold-ranked monsters had appeared, it was because the arcane lifeform fluctuation detectors spotted them and eliminated every one before they could cross the line.

Guga’s former commander had been consumed in this way. They had discovered that the humans’ new magic detectors could only monitor gold-ranked and above creatures over a wide area, failing to detect silver-ranked or lower.

In this war, gold-ranked warriors risked death at any moment, not to mention cannon fodder like himself. Caution was the key to survival.

“Send goblins to attack the left flank. You lead fifty warriors to circle around the other side. Once the human main force advances to the left wing, launch the assault immediately, firing rockets primarily targeting the beasts carrying supplies,” Guga ordered his capable subordinate, a lizard warrior.

“Yes, Lord Guga.” Honored by the trust, the lizard warrior led twenty lizard warriors and thirty lizard servants away toward the Thirteenth Transport Battalion’s right flank.

Around two in the morning, as ordinary lizardmen grew drowsy, Guga ordered goblins and dog-headed men to begin the attack.

Ten lizard warriors and forty lizard servants drove waves of goblins and dog-headed men toward the transport battalion’s left flank.

“Enemy attack!”

The sentry shouted loudly.

Troops quickly rose, gripping their weapons tightly under their officers’ guidance, forming battle lines to hold back the enemy.

Within moments, three thousand soldiers gathered on the left wing, campfires and braziers casting light to aid their vision.

Another thousand stood on the right, guarding steadfastly.

Velin stood atop the massive Kocalos beast, calmly observing the orderly deployment.

Disobedience meant death on both sides—it was no joke.

Everyone’s focus was razor-sharp; no one wished to fall by a comrade’s hand.

“Roar!”

Hundreds of robust goblins, having consumed the black magic potion provided by the lizardmen, swelled to three times their size, transforming into pure beasts. Amid the lizardmen’s unique rhythms, they charged forward, trampling many smaller goblins into pulp.

“Attack!”

Imogen drew her knight’s sword, issuing orders with steady resolve.

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Six hundred archers relentlessly nocked and fired arrows until utterly spent.

Every monster slain eased their burden just a little.

“Hold!”

Greg shouted, eyes fixed on the monsters less than a hundred meters away.

The frontline soldiers jabbed their shields into the earth, bracing to absorb the first wave.

Those standing in the second line thrust their spears through the gaps, delivering the first lethal strikes.

“Clang!”

The monstrous goblins slammed fiercely against the shield wall, their fetid green blood splattering, corroding everything around.

“Third line, hold steady!”

Greg watched the mounting casualties with cold detachment, emotionless as he constantly adjusted the formation.

Meanwhile, the lizardmen on the right wing began their maneuver, leveraging their racial advantage to swiftly close in on the transport camp.

Suddenly, Velin spun around at the sound from the darkness, leapt down from the Kocalos beast, snatched a spear from a soldier, sensed the threat ahead, and hurled it fiercely into the shadows.

The leading lizardman was impaled by the crude spear just as he prepared to launch a fire rocket.

The surrounding lizardmen, witnessing their silver-ranked low-tier warrior pinned to the ground, instantly fell into disarray.

“Charge! Ignite the supplies—that is glory!”

The lizard battalion’s vice commander took over, barking orders.

“Kyle, hold the right flank. I want to test my combat strength,” Velin said, drawing his knight’s sword, tossing the scabbard to Kyle before charging forward.