Conquering OtherWorld Starts With a Game - Chapter 176.1: Negotiations

Lieutenant Wagner Pitt and Captain Kenn, who had both firsthand experienced the might of the undead legion, were well aware that victory for the undead was merely a matter of time.

No matter how ferocious the Radiant Sun Church knights were, and even if one single knight could match a hundred, they had their physical limits.

With the endlessly reinforced undead slowly draining their strength, they would have no choice but to abandon their camp and retreat in defeat.

Yet, such a result was still insufficient.

Yang needed captives, while the undead required the weapons and equipment from the captives. Letting either side down would give Wagner and Kenn a massive headache.

Therefore, to achieve a significant victory and satisfy both Yang and his undead, Wagner and Kenn, as commanders, had no choice but to make some strategic moves.

Firstly, they gave the undead the mission of cutting off the Radiant Sun Church knight’s retreat path.

Lizard horses could adapt to most terrains, traverse mountains, and cross waters. They were explosive, strong, and had great endurance, with their only drawback being the bulkiness that made them more cumbersome.

By having the undead scatter specially made caltrops around the Radiant Sun Church’s camp, the knights would be unable to flee on horseback once they decided to abandon their position.

Next, they issued various “battlefield missions” to the undead that caused continuous harassment for the enemy and prevented the church knights from being able to rest peacefully.

Examples of these missions were tasks such as brazenly infiltrating the enemy camp to set off flares, destroying their food supplies, stealing their horses… and more.

Not all players loved direct confrontation, and completing battlefield missions was part of the fun for some. As Wagner and Kenn issued these missions, players who had grown bored after a few charges and started slacking off eagerly rushed toward the two of them.

Thanks to the basic “military training” in the monster battlefield, players approached their missions with commendable seriousness and determination.

The Radiant Sun Church knights forced to retreat to their own camp, along with the observers on the plateau, witnessed a bizarre and comedic, yet unsettling, spectacle of undead infiltration: In broad daylight and in full view, groups of undead, either in tens or twenties, boldly charged into the enemy’s lair.

Even the Indahl spectators watching from afar with their binoculars were dumbfounded, much less the Radiant Sun Church knights, who had already retreated to their own camp.

Even more absurd was that these undead, who brazenly invaded the enemy’s territory, seemed utterly indifferent to their “hosts'” feelings. Some randomly threw flares, others used their weapons to destroy supplies, and a few even boldly went to untie the lizard horses…

After eliminating this wave of seemingly crazy undead, the church knights were left utterly baffled, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

But before long, yet another group of undead charged into the camp with wild screams; driving the resting church knights to the brink of insanity as they were forced to chase these intruders all over the camp…

Concerns about being seen were non-existent for the undead. As long as they weren’t promptly driven out or eliminated, it counted as a successful infiltration in their point of view.

Meanwhile, on the frontlines, the undead’s harassment continued unabated. They tirelessly piled up bodies to exhaust the enemy while launching abduction raids every few minutes, dragging away a few unfortunate souls each time.

Wagner, diligently fulfilling his role as a “mission dispenser” for the undead, glanced at the captives jubilantly carried back by the undead and then at the signal flares in the supply box (which were essentially cheap custom-made fireworks), his feelings complex.

On one hand, he knew the Radiant Sun Church knights wouldn’t last until nightfall; on the other, witnessing a contingent of the continent’s foremost military might being decimated by the undead made him question the value of his years of striving for excellence within the Bartalis’s forces…

Just then, a few undead who had respawned emerged from the tent, cursing and swearing.

“Damn it! Why is the horse-stealing mission so hard? I’ve died three times and still haven’t completed it!”

“Blame yourself for getting greedy and picking the hardest mission. There are so many enemies inside, it’d be a miracle if they let you walk out with a horse.”

“Forget it, it’s not that big a loss. I didn’t steal a horse but completed the signal flare mission. Dying once for some territory prestige and battlefield honor points is still a win in my opinion.”

“Let’s pick up another signal flare mission and accept the destroy supplies one. Even a few slashes at their tents count toward completion.”

These undead reported back to Wagner for missions, received new signal flares, and spiritedly headed to the enemy camp once more.

“No wonder the veterans love these plotline-related battle quests. These enemies are way too weak compared to those in the monster battlefield. Even the weekend event bosses are tougher than these guys.”

“There’s a difference between one-time-only mobs and those that are continuously farmable. Since the game launched, how many plot-related battle quests have there been? Veterans have only done it three times at most.”

“Hey, I heard that the monsters you fight in these plot-related battle quests will become friendly NPCs after!”

“Were you on Mars, dude?! The battlefield quartermasters were captured by the veterans and brought over!”

“I don’t spend much time on the forums…”

The two battlefield quartermasters standing at the back of the camp: “…”

Wagner pressed his temples hard, trying to suppress the throbbing.

…For the undead, who were accustomed to comparing everything to the demon forces in the demon dimension realm battlefield, the Radiant Sun Church’s knightly order truly wasn’t much of a challenge.

Time gradually passed, and soon it was five in the afternoon.

Atop the plateau on the hill, the Indahl audience, having witnessed an exceedingly bizarre and surreal battle, remained in an unusual hush.

An hour earlier, even the middle-class women unfamiliar with warfare among the audience had foreseen the outcome—the Weisshem camp had their captives trussed up like pigs, displayed openly in the clearing outside their encampment.

Half an hour before that, the Radiant Sun Church’s knights, having suffered “casualties” that visibly exceeded 40 percent, launched a desperate all-out assault in an attempt to break through the undead siege encircling their main gate. The attempt not only failed to breach the blockade but also resulted in over a hundred of their steeds being stolen—undead that had taken on the horse-stealing mission joyously swarmed into the camp amid the enemies’ final charge, their glee clear to even the onlooking Indahl audience.

In the end, after a mere three hours of fierce combat and relentless harassment by the numerically superior undead, the Radiant Sun Church’s knightly order, weary and beleaguered, had no choice but to raise the white flag…

Gould, the loyal Bartalis steward, wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, temples, and chin with a handkerchief held in his shaking hands.

This knightly order of the Radiant Sun Church, whose military might undoubtedly surpassed that of the Bartalis’s city guard, had lasted a mere three hours against the endless, inexhaustible undead horde!

Steward Gould felt the entire world darkening. He understood warfare and had personally fought in territorial wars for the Bartalis family in his youth.

The undead army’s tactics lacked any sophistication. It was merely relentless harassment and abduction while ceaselessly assaulting the camp to deny the enemy any respite until their physical strength, morale, and will to fight were utterly depleted.

Such brute force tactics, combined with the horrifying ability of the undead to replenish their ranks indefinitely, proved nearly unbeatable!

Gould couldn’t fathom how the city defense force could ever triumph against such a foe!

“The Third has to be informed of this immediately.” Mustering his strength, Gould stood up, signaled his servants to pack up, and hastily departed from the hilltop, forgetting even to bid farewell to neighboring Darcy’s steward.

As Gould left, other nobles who had come to watch began to make their exit as well.

Whether they were previously on good terms or at odds with the Bartalises, none departed with a cheerful demeanor…

After all, during the few months of Charlie Rex’s occupation of Weisshem, these Indahl nobles had little respect for this illegitimate son. Coupled with rumors of Rex’s associations with a black mage and the presence of undead in Weisshem, even the most diplomatic of nobles was loath to associate with him.

But now that Charlie Rex had flexed his military might and demonstrated the power of his undead army (bolstered by dark magic), these nobles, regardless of their disdain, were compelled to reconsider their diplomatic stance toward this bastard son.

Mrs. Griff, who had rented a carriage rather than impose on the baroness’s hospitality, sensed the baroness’s grave mood upon parting—a stark contrast to the expected delight over Marcus Baron’s discomfiture.

Assisted by her housekeeper, Madam Wilde, Mrs. Griff descended the hill and boarded the rented carriage. Then, Mrs. Griff, seasoned in Indahl’s social circles, had an epiphany.

“Indahl is going to change greatly,” murmured Mrs. Griff, a middle-class wife whose husband’s substantial salary earned them a modicum of acceptance among the higher echelons of society.

“Milady?” Mrs. Wilde, who had just settled into the carriage, didn’t quite catch her mistress’s murmuring.

“It’s nothing,” Mrs. Griff replied, attempting to sound composed despite her pallor betraying her inner turmoil.

Her husband’s position in the city’s board of trade might be affected if Indahl had a change in lords. That was a coveted position with an annual salary of 50 gold coins; losing it would mean relinquishing their lifestyle in the affluent Grantham district and parting with their servants.

“The Bartalises have held Indahl for years; surely they won’t be easily usurped… Lord Adra III is well-connected with the nobility in the royal city. They wouldn’t stand by idly,” the bourgeois matron consoled herself.