Chapter 1047 Nervous Laughter
1047 Nervous Laughter
Jake, who had been treating the early stages of the Ordeal like a leisurely stroll, felt his mood shift in the blink of an eye. More than just anger, he seemed restless, a glint of worry flashing fleetingly in his eyes before being stamped out by sheer force of will - and fury.
The inhuman growl that escaped his clenched teeth sent shivers down the spines of the two barbarians nearby. The sound was so deep that they could even feel their bones quiver. When the shaman and the officer exchanged anxious glances, their expressions were mirror images of shocked bewilderment.
'What the heck did we do wrong this time?' Both barbarians thought simultaneously, not daring to voice their burning question aloud.
Just when they began fearing that the foreigner would lash out in
rage, Jake returned to his usual composure. However, the sharp edge
of menace still danced within the depths of his eyes.
"Let's move, commander," Jake declared, heading straight for the exit. He waved dismissively at the Spirit Enchanter without a backward glance, adding, "Oh, and thanks for your help. Can I keep this replica? I'll swap it for a better one in a few months."
The shaman, having dreaded this request but mentally prepared for it the moment he showcased the item, flinched upon hearing it. But he reluctantly nodded, a pained grimace on his face.
"Sure," he conceded evenly. Internally, though, he was relieved. "Thank god I have an even better one stashed away. I'd be a fool to trust his word.
The officer, after giving a solemn nod to his fellow in misery, quickly followed Jake, who was already halfway up the staircase. He didn't even register that Jake had issued a command, grateful that Jake still addressed him with the title of 'commander'.
Just before leaving the chapel, Jake abruptly paused at the entrance, shielded from prying eyes and ears, and whispered,
"Commander Sank-Uk, I don't care if you report my existence to your superiors; I'll survive. But the question is: will you? Given your rank, you should know the scale and ferocity of the upcoming war. I may be unfamiliar with this world, but I'm sure if there's a victor, only a handful will remain. The weak will fall first, but make no mistake: the strong will follow. Our rookie regiment? We're less than cannon fodder. Even you aren't safe. There are countless foreigners like me on the other side."
"What?!" The officer choked, clearly blindsided by this revelation. Thinking of something, his face contorted in horror. "Are they all as powerful as you?"
Jake swiveled his head toward the burly warrior, giving him an odd look before bursting into laughter. The commander's facial muscles twitched as he watched Jake succumb to uncontrollable laughter, wondering what he had possibly said that was so comical.
"Did I say something weird?" Sank-Uk asked with a grouchy pout, momentarily forgetting his fear of the foreigner.
Jake's laughter dried up sharply upon hearing the barbare's aggrieved voice, and in moments, his mirth vanished, his features hardening once more. Absentmindedly rubbing his abs, he declared gravely,
"You didn't say anything out of line. To answer your valid question, no, thank God! They're not all as strong as me. Out of those millions of foreigners scattered among the armies of the Radiant Conclave, only two or three, perhaps, are on my level. There's also a fair chance I'm the strongest."
The warrior let out a deep sigh of relief, the information lifting a weight off his shoulders. Then, with a puzzled expression, he curiously inquired again, "I still don't know what I said that was so funny."
Jake chuckled. "Don't sweat it. It was just nervous laughter. I was merely imagining a scenario where I'd be the weakest Player of all. If that were the case, it would have been one hell of a joke."
What he kept to himself was that while pondering this, he
remembered the two Side Missions the Oracle had just handed him.
If, on top of that, he turned out to be the weakest Player sent here, the universe would have truly been having a laugh at his expense. 'At least it puts things into perspective.' Jake mused wryly, letting out
one last chuckle.
Because somewhere in this Ordeal, there was statistically such a Player. Probably already dead, crushed under the oppressive gravity of Twyluxia. He never wanted to find himself in such a situation again.
'No more games,' he resolved, his face taking on an expression of icy determination. 'I'll treat this war like my first Ordeal when I had no choice but to hone my swordsmanship for the coliseum. Beyond merely surviving to the end, it's the one with the sharpest progression curve who'll come out on top. Even if I'm the strongest
now, there's no guarantee I will still be if I take this war too lightly!
[Good mindset,] Xi praised approvingly, her emotions echoing his own. [Great General Jake... this is going to be fun.]
'Foot soldier Jake, you mean?' He shot back mentally with a teasing
smile on his lips. 'I have to climb the ranks on the battlefield first. [Eh, then get a move on, tsk.] Xi snorted dramatically before bursting into laughter alongside him.
A laugh that died down as soon as he and the commander stepped out of the chapel. Before them, the barbarians from their regiment, faces etched in sorrow, were loading the lifeless bodies of their comrades onto large carts-those unfortunate enough to not survive their deadly baptism.
Their bond had been fleeting, never having shared the heat of battle together. Yet, the sight tugged at their hearts, reminding them of the harsh truth: it could've easily been them.
The draftees who had wet themselves during the two-day enforced stand-to inside the chapel hadn't even bothered to change. They stood there, teeth gritted in somber frustration, as they joined the others in their grim task.
Catching sight of this, Jake cast a disdainful glance at the commander, silently berating him for such misuse of power. But the officer remained unfazed, meeting Jake's scathing gaze with a nonchalance that spoke volumes, easily shrugging off his guilt.
"In the military, orders are absolute," the seasoned warrior stated bluntly. "Not to mention, we are Underworld Barbarians. If they can't hold their bladder, what will they do on the battlefield when a prolonged skirmish offers no privy in sight? Worse, some tactics in war involve unspeakable measures for victory. If their rations get tainted, they may find themselves fighting while plagued by diarrhea, or even worse conditions. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about...
Jake felt a chill run down his spine. He had to concede; he hadn't thought of these realities, never having fought on a battlefield as a human. Ever since acquiring his Myrtharian Bloodline, the delicate dance of bathroom breaks had become a distant memory.
Throughout Earth's history, there were many large-scale wars, some immensely bloody and heartless. But more often than not, they adhered to certain unspoken rules. Even though in theory, war has no rules, these battles still operated around the physiological needs of their soldiers.
That's why conflicts rarely took place at night, allowing soldiers time to rest. The intensity of combat wasn't like the movies depicted. No warrior, no matter how skilled, could maintain peak combat prowess for more than a few moments, definitely not an entire day.
The grim truth was many stratagems took advantage of these physiological vulnerabilities. During a siege, it was common to make noise at night, depriving the enemy of sleep or sabotaging their water sources, torching their food stores, or tampering with their rations.
Yet, the commander had a point. These barbarians weren't ordinary humans. Earth's wartime etiquettes might not apply on Twyluxia.
Here, they might be forced into endless days and nights of combat for weeks on end. Soldiers held captive by their own bodily functions might indeed have to soil themselves with no chance for a change. The sooner they embraced this grim possibility, the better their odds of survival.
"Let's go, Commander," Jake commanded again, his voice carrying a note of weariness. He took a determined step toward the draftees, ready to assist in their mournful task. 'Let's win this war.
Alas, even as he had braced himself to engage in this unforgiving war, he and the remnants of his regiment were blissfully unaware that it would be the war that would seek them out first, clawing at their doors with a voracious hunger. And when it came, it would unleash a brutality more savage and shattering than any of them could have fathomed, tearing through their ranks like a maelstrom of destruction and despair.
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