Chapter 57: Master of Micro-Management
"I will spare you the military salute. Just tie our hands and feet. That way, I can briefly keep them, and myself, under control."
Ivan, his hair a mess of unruly curls, leaped out from the woods. He could no longer walk upright, adopting instead the crawling posture of a reptilian form—a manifestation of his gradual draconic transformation.
Pskov said nothing. He stepped forward with his guards, using thick hemp ropes to bind the motionless, half-dead-servants securely before shoving them into the back of an Opel troop carrier.
Inside the truck bed, Ulya looked anxiously at the bundled, "long-rice-dumpling-like" figures lying beside her, feeling completely at a loss.
The moment Ivan's singing stopped, several of the half-dead-servants grew restless. They roared loudly, opening their massive mouths toward the villagers in the truck bed, their elongated tongues and peak-shaped teeth sending a chill through anyone who looked at them.
Ivan shouted a stern reprimand. The half-dead-servants immediately clamped their mouths shut, lying obediently and motionless, breathing so faintly that one could hardly tell they were still alive.
Ulya cast a careful glance at Ivan. His face was remarkably youthful, though fine scales were sprouting across his forehead and cheeks, and heavy beads of sweat rolled down his temples.
As a nurse, she was intimately familiar with this kind of scene. Only those desperately fighting off excruciating pain would sweat so profusely. These "monsters" were in agony.
Reaching out, Ulya tore off the white gauze from her sleeve and began patiently to wipe the sweat from his brow.
In Ivan's vision, countless images seemed to play on an endless loop: a pillar piercing the sky above an icy sea, a black-winged king spreading his embrace, and a white, howling Dragon King being forced down into the deep ocean.
He did not understand the meaning of any of it, but he knew one thing with absolute clarity: the moment his willpower slipped, he would plunge irrevocably into an abyss of no return.
Something was seducing him, offering power, longevity, or perhaps an even higher order of existence. Resisting this temptation was infinitely harder than simply surrendering to it.
"...Katyusha, do you know how to sing it?"
Ivan forced the words out. Though he was looking directly at Ulya, his eyes were filled with countless seductive phantoms.
"Of course." Ulya gently brushed his forehead once more, pulling the crawling monster into her arms, and began to sing *Katyusha*.
The monster seemed comforted. His tightly furrowed brow relaxed, the illusions before him dissipated, and his mind stabilized for a brief moment.
Dragon's blood was a strange thing. Immensely powerful, it inflicted the "Sorrow of Blood" upon half-bloods—a physical existence that was constantly influenced and warped by the psyche.
Perhaps this was the true key to the "Path to Divinity": using the mind to master the flesh, refusing to forget one's original intent no matter how much the war between draconic and human blood tore the body apart.
Mind triumphs over matter; transcendence and ascension.
...
After crossing the forest, the endless expanse of the Donetsk Steppe lay before them. Relying on previously captured fuel, Chen Lai and his men drove their tanks and motorized transport vehicles right up to this point. Beyond the boundless grassland, the outline of the Yancheklak River faintly materialized in the distance.
By now, the bridge had fallen entirely into the hands of the Prosonians. Heavily guarded on both flanks with layer upon layer of checkpoints, slipping through unnoticed was clearly out of the question.
*Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—*
Junkers Ju 87 dive bombers roared overhead, accompanied by Messerschmitt fighters—all unmistakable signs that the Prosonians were preparing for a large-scale offensive.
In the distance, Chen Lai spotted several aircraft marked with red stars streaking across the sky, appearing to be LaGG and Yak fighters scrambling to intercept the Prosonion formation.
"We need to cross the river as soon as possible."
After watching for a moment, Pskov's expression grew exceptionally grave. The concentration of military force gathered here was simply too vast; it far exceeded the standard scale of a routine river-crossing operation. The Prosonians were preparing to assault Donetsk!
Donetsk was the gateway to Stoltgrad and a vital coal-mining hub. Lose this place, and the gates to Stoltgrad would be blown wide open!
"Wait a moment."
Chen Lai raised a hand to stop him. He was currently browsing the Deep Sea Forum at high speed. Players loved sharing their in-game lives on the forums, and the stray clues hidden within could easily be pieced together to form a comprehensive battlefield picture!
[Proson planning to attack Donetsk; players still in the city should run now! (Hot)]
[Proson's 'Castle' Plan—a crushing blow to the capital! (Hot)]
[An analysis of Proson Marshal "Manstein," bought with my life, please tip some QQ coins! (Hot)]
Chen Lai skimmed the first two threads, neither of which held much novelty for him. Only the last one caught his attention as something he hadn't seen yet.
In the third post, a player analyzed the situation of Manstein, the supreme commander of the Prosonian southern front, claiming to have purchased the "profiling" ability to completely dissect the field marshal's psychology.
Regarding profiling, Chen Lai had absolute faith in it. Nono was a master of the craft, capable of reconstructing the full picture of an event from the tiniest scraps of evidence, making it quite possible to see right through people.
The thread author stated that Manstein was a mobile evacuation point within the dungeon, suffering from a severe case of obsessive-compulsive disorder and a profound obsession with micro-management. Every morning, he required a cup of Anglo black tea; if the temperature wasn't precisely thirty-eight degrees Celsius, he would physically strike people.
A player below had asked: How on earth do you know that?
The poster replied: Nonsense, why wouldn't I know after getting beaten myself?
Chen Lai smiled faintly. Obsessed with micro-management? That reminded him of an old acquaintance.
Reading further, the author explained that while micro-management was undoubtedly a death trap for the vast majority of people, for Manstein, it was effortless.
The reason was simple: his Spiritual Word was "Calculus"!
Spiritual Word: Calculus, Serial Number 88. The user's brain functions like a precision computer capable of solving any complex problem instantly. Every single user of "Calculus" is a deity upon the battlefield!
Past users of Calculus included figures like Bai Qi and Han Xin in the East, and Alexander in the West.
Regardless of these half-bloods' individual personalities, they ultimately shared a single unified title: Slaughter Gods!
These men commanded armies as smoothly as moving their own fingers and limbs, striking wherever they pointed, invincible in every endeavor—hence the title of Slaughter God. Now, Manstein appeared to be a user of Calculus, and he was a Prosonian Marshal!
As long as he remained on the front lines, the conquest of Donetsk, followed by the conquest of Stoltgrad, and ultimately the conquest of Moscow, was an absolute certainty!
After finishing the post, Chen Lai sent a tip to the author, then silently closed the window and began to ponder a single question.
If Manstein truly was a user of the Spiritual Word Calculus, did he really fail to notice anything unusual about him back then?
If Manstein possessed such infallible command capabilities, what difference would it make even if he led the villagers and Pskov back to the Donetsk region?
Two clouds of doubt hung over Chen Lai's head. Then, he looked at the line on his own half-blood status card: [Bloodline Concentration 49.35 (Smoldering)]—and a bold idea took root in his mind.
What if... right here, they eliminated Manstein? Taking advantage of the fact that his team included Cossacks, a user of the [Spiritual Word: Flash], and himself, a man on the verge of turning into a dead servant!?