Chapter 110: The Smoke of War

Zhang Sheng gazed at the spreading toxic gas and said, “Commander, is this really acceptable? There are still innocent civilians inside the city. What we’re doing completely contradicts the founding principles of the Republic. The Republic should never act this way... As soldiers of the Republic, we cannot behave like this...”

Even on the brink of death, Zhang Sheng could not accept this method; it was utterly opposed to everything he had been taught, even antagonistic to his beliefs.

As a proletarian fighter, his ideal was to use the barrel of a gun to liberate the oppressed masses, not to slaughter them.

If victory required abandoning all principles and killing innocent civilians, then how were they different from the empire?

“But if we don’t do this, we won’t survive...”

His face was a mask of torment and conflict, wanting to stop what was about to happen, yet unable to be selfish.

If they did not release the gas, his comrades who fought side by side would perish.

On one side was the lives of his comrades, on the other, his ideals.

Yan Hua reached out, patting this soldier of the new era on the shoulder, offering comfort: “Look closely. The gas wasn’t released by you or your men, but by our vanguard soldiers. You are soldiers of the new era; we are the vanguards, remnants of an old age.”

Soldiers of the new era held great ideals and ambitions, while their vanguards were no longer soldiers, merely sharp blades.

Yan Hua never believed that helping establish the Republic could atone for the past.

Merits could not outweigh faults; a fault was a fault—it could only be compensated for, never erased.

“Besides, the massacre is an extreme measure. The gas we use is a delayed-action agent, not immediately lethal, and easily treated. Moreover, the true civilians have already been evacuated from the city; those remaining are armed soldiers.”

This was why Yan Hua had refrained from using the gas from the start, enduring mounting casualties until the very last moment.

The siege and counterattack had dragged on for five or six days; it was impossible for civilians to remain at the heart of the battlefield.

Furthermore, without wind, the gas’s range was very limited—at most affecting the castle and its immediate surroundings within about a kilometer. Beyond that, it was non-lethal, barely effective.

“Whether they joined willingly or under duress, once someone picks up a weapon and steps onto the battlefield, they must be prepared to die.”

Zhang Sheng asked in confusion, “Then why did you say ‘see you at the military tribunal’?”

“Because I brought this gas without authorization. The Republic does not permit the use of lethal chemical weapons,” Yan Hua replied.

Outside the castle, knights clad in heavy armor stood in formation.

In fact, their victory was nearly assured. Without the protection of the city walls, no matter how fierce the enemy’s assault, they were nothing more than lambs led to slaughter.

Yet Wil did not advance recklessly despite the advantage. Warfare was ever-changing; any lapse could become a blade piercing one’s own heart.

The enemy’s tactics were too strange; formations with fewer than a hundred soldiers could not defend against them. The cramped castle interior could barely hold ten men.

Looking up at the towering fortress, constructed entirely of blue iron rock, its structure was extraordinarily solid—impossible to dismantle quickly.

A prolonged siege would drain time and risk giving the enemy a chance to react.

Wil’s mind raced, drawing on rich combat experience. He conceived one strategy after another, only to discard them all.

The current greatest problem was that their formations could not withstand the enemy’s attacks, while the narrow castle terrain had become a new barrier for the enemy.

The optimal plan was siege, but he needed a quick resolution and to return to Wil City, lest Lev’s front line remain vulnerable.

Was there a way to capture this place swiftly without bloodshed?

Suddenly, a spark of inspiration lit up Wil’s aged face. He turned and ordered, “Bring all the firewood from the city here. I will execute these enemies with the purifying flames of the pyre.”

In such a confined space, the thick smoke from burning firewood could suffocate anyone.

“At once,” the knight replied, turning to carry out the order.

At that moment, one of Wil’s personal guards pinched his nose with a look of disgust. “This castle smells strange—like rotting hay.”

A comrade beside him laughed, “You should visit the battlefield where the killing aura is so intense even the wind elementals cease. Otherwise, what you smell now isn’t just rotted grass, but decomposing corpses.”

Though it was autumn, the entire eastern region remained hot. Situated near the river, the area was damp; corpses left outside for two days would rot quickly.

Time passed by the second, with thousands of knights encircling the castle without breach. Large quantities of firewood were brought inside.

Militiamen, like ants in line, carried the firewood slowly in, stacking it around the castle’s perimeter.

Wil watched all this with the confidence of assured victory. Now the enemy was trapped like a bird with clipped wings; victory could be declared.

Noblemen clad in heavy armor gathered around Wil, lavishing him with praise—flattery thinly veiled as compliments.

“Lord Wil, your brilliant strategy will echo throughout the East, no, throughout the entire kingdom.”

“The great God of War surely blesses you.”

Wil knew they were merely flattering him with empty words, but inwardly he basked in the pleasure.

This new generation of nobles had not experienced the age of war, nor participated in the rebellion led by Princess Irene. They lived too comfortably and did not respect their elder.

Today, at last, Wil would show these brats his true strength.

During their conversation, the militia responsible for transporting firewood suddenly began to panic.

A man clad in leather armor collapsed, curling on the ground, clutching his chest with a face twisted in agony, as if enduring unbearable pain.

It was a choking agent—a pulmonary damaging toxin.

This poison damages lung tissue, causes pulmonary edema, disrupts breathing, and leads to suffocation. It is typically loaded in shells or aerial bombs, contaminating the air. Gas masks provide effective protection; antidotes include urotropine.

Symptoms include difficulty breathing, chest pain, increased respiratory rate, and lowered blood pressure. Without timely treatment, victims lapse into coma and ultimately die.

Widely used during the early world wars, it caused massive casualties before protective measures were developed and the poison fell out of favor.

Yet for the new world, it was a terrifying weapon.

Its most dreadful aspect was delayed lethality; symptoms typically appeared about two hours after exposure. If it were an immediately lethal gas, the superhumans would react instantly and take countermeasures.

But this “boiling frog” poison was hard to detect; by the time symptoms emerged, it was often too late. Even those with exceptional physical resilience who survived would temporarily lose combat capability, possibly ending up disabled.

“What’s happening?” Wil frowned, his previously relaxed mind instantly sharpening.

He ordered one of his guards, “Go check on that man.”

“At once.”

The guard hurried to the fallen militiaman, inspecting him carefully, for others nearby were showing similar symptoms.

They clutched their chests, faces contorted in pain, collapsing one after another.

The knights’ hairs stood on end, as if the next victim would be themselves.

Watching these lowly men writhe in agony, Wil felt a faint pressure in his own chest—was it a trick of the mind?

As more fell, a strange atmosphere spread.

The knights still standing looked at the suffering militiamen with unease, sensing their own impending fate.

“Sir, what shall we do now?”

Wil’s expression darkened. “Everyone, evacuate the castle immediately!”

In times like this, decisive action was necessary—no hesitation allowed.

The order was given, and the knights swiftly and orderly withdrew from the castle, leaving behind the firewood carriers.

With their strength, it would be easy to bring these men out, but it was not worth it—they were mere servants who would soil their hands.

As for these men dying because of him? That was their honor! To die on the battlefield was already a favor.

The knights formed ranks again outside, surrounding the castle completely.

Wil looked back at the unaffected militia and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Are these symptoms only appearing inside the castle?”

Resolving the battle quickly was clearly impossible. They had to discover the source of this affliction; otherwise, they could not fight.

Sorcery? No. Although it resembled it, there was no demonic aura.

Moreover, with the Hunters’ Guild watching, the Duke of the East would not be foolish enough to use dark magic. After all, the opponent was the so-called Black-hearted Duke.

Suddenly, a plume of thick smoke interrupted Wil’s thoughts.

Outside the city, in the distance, a thick column of smoke rose into the sky.

Wil’s expression stiffened, then turned pale with alarm. “Signal fire?!”

That direction pointed toward Wil City!

A dreadful suspicion arose within Wil; the thing he most feared seemed to be happening.

He had been deceived!