As an executor on one side, Lu PingAn had long ceased to be someone who could casually charge onto the battlefield.
Simply arranging the war situation on his end, having the forces and factions under his command make wartime deployments and transformations, had taken nearly a week. He could now somewhat understand why the Eastern Kingdom's upper leadership needed televised speeches to unify public thinking.
If some things were not explained clearly, then even if the organization's leaders mobilized with all their might, the people below would still feel nothing and merely go through the motions.
But now, with nationwide propaganda campaigns underway, everyone could understand that the coming era's main theme was war and strategic counteroffensives—a chance to save the world that might only come once in this world. Individual fighting spirit had risen. When everyone else was fired up and fighting desperately, even if you had no fighting spirit, you had to put on a bit of an act in the face of righteousness and mass frenzy.
High morale was a good thing, but handling all those requests to join the war gave Lu PingAn a headache. Why did you tellers, waiters, and clerks want to throw your lives away as cannon fodder on the battlefield? The sentiment was understandable and acceptable, but it was still better not to do such things. One professional soldier could fight a hundred ordinary recruits.
Lu PingAn would definitely go to the battlefield, but what identity he would take and what form his participation would take required careful consideration.
In fact, he had already received hints from the very top.
"Uh, why am I the one who should avoid the battlefield? Fine, I know why. My immortal body isn't absolutely foolproof, but this should be a risk we can bear."
But clearly,