Chapter 954: Chapter 167:
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Above the ruins of Seven Hills City, the cold wind howled through the ashes.
The flag of the Missionary Group flapped in the air above the battered camp, appearing exceptionally lonely.
For this team burdened with a divine mission, the most urgent task at the moment is not to activate the Godslaying Armor to hunt down those Old God believers hidden in the shadows, but to face this land full of scars and the survivors shivering in the disaster.
The assault by the Evil God Sect came swiftly and brutally.
They not only destroyed the carefully built temporary camp of the Missionary Group but also used specially made explosives to blast the underground shelters into a thousand wounds.
The deep channels that once provided shelter for the survivors have now become twisted and deformed death traps.
Chunks of concrete and twisted steel entwined together, burying countless once warm homes forever deep underground.
Survivors, forced to crawl out of the ruins, gathered around the perimeter of the Missionary Group’s camp, wrapped in thin clothing, huddling together in the biting cold wind.
Some clung to a few salvaged items from the ruins, while others came empty-handed—they had lost everything.
Those eyes turned toward the priests were filled with complex and dangerous emotions: fear of the atrocities committed by the Evil God believers, anger at the Missionary Group for bringing disaster, and, most heartbreaking—complete despair about the future.
The leader of the Missionary Group stood in the center of the camp, looking at the ragged survivors before him, his heart heavy.
He knew that the primary task at this moment was not to hunt down the fleeing Evil God believers, but to clean up the mess and stabilize people’s hearts.
A team composed of elderly, women, and children stumbled through the ruins. Leading them was Eric, holding a comatose little girl with fresh blood still on her forehead.
"We... we really have nowhere to go..." An elderly man shookly said within the group, his wrinkled face covered in dust, and holding tightly to a boy whose lips were purple from cold.
The old man’s hollow eyes swept over the home turned to ruins, his voice choked to the point of being nearly inaudible: "Everything’s gone... nothing’s left..."
The priests sprang into action.
Tents for the temporary shelter area were quickly set up, and doctors began emergency treatment for the injured.
Volunteers carried steaming pots of porridge through the crowd, distributing warm blankets to each shivering survivor.
But beneath the surface order, crisis was brewing.
The logistics officer approached the leader gravely: "Our food supplies will last at most three more days. And..." he lowered his voice, "the underground water source might be contaminated, some have started showing symptoms of diarrhea."
As they were talking, a commotion suddenly erupted in the tent area not far away.
"It’s all your fault!" A man with a blood-covered face pushed aside the priests trying to restrain him, his voice hoarse as he roared, "If you hadn’t come preaching about the New God, those lunatics wouldn’t have attacked us!"
His outcries resonated with those around, and sporadic voices of agreement began to arise in the crowd.
The leader took a deep breath; he knew that the true test had just begun.
Not only repairing the damaged buildings but also mending these broken hearts.
He turned to the communications officer: "Immediately contact the Floating City, we need double the supplies and medical support."
He then ordered the knights around him: "Split two-thirds of the personnel to assist with reconstruction; the rest should strengthen patrols to prevent further openings for the cultists."
Under the night sky, tiny lights flickered in the ruins of Seven Hills City, like stars scattered across scorched earth.
The Missionary Group’s task force worked with astonishing efficiency to set up temporary shelters. The alchemy-enhanced fabric they used shimmered with pale blue light in the firelight, while the metal frames, driven by steam power, were firmly anchored into the ground, forming hemispherical simple tents.
The heavy footsteps of the Steam Knights echoed around the camp as they transported spare parts dismantled from the Energy Tower.
These mechanical devices with a copper-colored sheen were placed around the camp perimeter, and as the engineers adjusted them, they began to emit warm air tinged with the smell of sulfur.
"Hold on a little longer," said an oil-smeared technician to the children watching, "once the heat circulation system starts, you can sleep warmly."
"Everyone line up to receive food and blankets!" The priests’ voices rang clear in the cold wind.
The compressed biscuits in their hands were specially made emergency rations using grains and synthetic proteins, and the steaming pots of barley porridge contained precious dehydrated vegetables.
But this kindness wasn’t met with gratitude.
"It’s all because of you!" An elderly man with a grizzled beard suddenly dashed out of the line, exposing frostbitten skin under his ragged clothes, his trembling finger nearly poking the priest’s face, "We were living fine underground, but once you came here like pestilence, those lunatics blew up our homes!"
He angrily knocked over the iron bowl offered to him, the scalding porridge spilling onto the snow.
The priests silently endured the accusations, their actions of distributing supplies continued without pause.
They understood that any explanation now would be seen as shirking responsibility, any defense might ignite long-repressed anger.
Just then, Eric squeezed through the crowd and stood up.
This boy, who once led priests to explore the underground passages, now had abrasions on his face from the explosion.
"What’s the use of blaming them?" His voice was hoarse with emotion, "Those Evil God believers have long been wanting to kill us! How many have they sacrificed? Old Tom’s daughter, Little Jack’s brother, have you all forgotten?"
Few subdued cries arose from the crowd.
Memories surged like tide—those neighbors disappearing on moonlit nights, the eerie bloodstains on the walls of the underground passages, and the stench wafting from the cultists’ lair.
The Missionary Group leader stepped forward at the right time, his voice steady and powerful, clearly reaching every ear in the cold night: "We won’t leave, nor will we let you face danger alone.
We will rebuild your homes, provide food, medical care, and shelter, but we need your help."
Survivors exchanged glances, their clenched fists slowly relaxing.
The leader continued: "Those Evil God believers won’t give up so easily, they will come again."
He surveyed the crowd, his gaze passing over every weary face: "If you’re willing, you can join our guard group or help rebuild the underground passage.
We won’t force anyone, but you can choose—hide or join us to reclaim your city?"
Night wind swept through the camp, carrying snowflakes, the shadows from the torches dancing on people’s faces.
A tall figure stepped out from the crowd, it was Marcus, the underground passage technician.
"I know the layout of every pipeline," he said gruffly, "count me in."
Between ruins and firelight, a fragile alliance was forming.
Despite the Missionary Group’s efforts to soothe, discontented voices still existed among the survivors.
In the northwest corner of the camp, several young people wrapped in tattered blankets sat around a burnt-out campfire, deliberately avoiding the gaze of patrolling priests.
The red-haired youth leading them spoke in a low voice: "They sound nice, but those lunatics are targeting them, not us! Why should we take the hit for them?"
"But... without the heat source from the Energy Tower, we indeed won’t survive this winter. I went to help in the medical tent this morning, and three people have already had frostbitten toes..."
"Hmph, who knows what they’re planning? Maybe they’re just like those Evil God believers, controlling us in another way!"
Footsteps suddenly approached nearby, and the few immediately fell silent.
When the priest holding a kerosene lamp passed by, he only saw several "sleeping" young people curled up in the shadows of the tent.
