My Way

A hundred-man company of the Night Watchers appeared at the mouth of the valley, the glow of their weapons igniting to signal they had entered combat readiness, their objective to clear the Ork here.

"You are too slow!"

Haran Ogilvy shouted at the Night Watchers at the valley entrance, waving his hand to signal that the danger had passed and urging them to hurry over.

Blood had pooled into streams at the bottom of the valley, and the jagged piles of corpses left the entire company of guards stunned.

"Champion Swordsman! Haran Ogilvy!"

Before the identifier could confirm his identity, someone recognized Haran and shouted in excitement.

Haran Ogilvy. Renowned among the Night Watchers, a Duelist on the battlefield, representing the pinnacle of individual martial prowess.

His personal identification number did not need an encoder to be deciphered; it was etched into the hearts of many warriors.

The company commander, bearing an insignia carved onto his left shoulder, stepped forward and patted Haran on the shoulder, asking, "Was this your doing?"

This field of corpses was a testament to immense glory and merit.

The commander subconsciously assumed this was the work of the two of them; such a battle record was simply breathtaking.

Even for the powerful Night Watchers, achieving such a feat was an incredible accomplishment.

"Not me." Haran shook his head quickly, not daring to claim the credit. "He did it all by himself."

His words left the hundred-plus Night Watchers speechless, and they turned their curious gazes toward the tall figure washing away blood in the camp's water pool.

Doom wiped the thick, viscous blood from his face and revealed a polite smile.

"Doom! Third Prince!"

Upon seeing the rune mixed with blood plasma on his chest, the commander gasped and prepared to drop to one knee.

"No need for formalities." With a flicker, Doom appeared before the commander, reaching out to steady him as the Night Watchers stared in stunned silence.

"Finish your follow-up work; we are leaving first."

Doom was in a hurry to reach the battlefield command center and could not wait for the lengthy cleanup process.

The most troublesome part of the Ork battlefield was not the Orks charging in with roars, but the need to destroy their genetic material using Plasma Flame.

After speaking, he took Haran, mounted their motorcycle, and quickly departed the valley.

This group of Orks was not far from their route, and clearing them had been a mere convenience. Doom had calculated precisely to ensure it would not delay their journey.

Watching the two figures disappear, the commander glanced at his helmet's thermal sensor; the blood covering the mountains and plains had yet to drop to ambient temperature, and he couldn't help but feel a chill run down his scalp.

"It seems that legendary prince truly has some tricks up his sleeve!"

In the war against the Orks, the front lines were constantly shifting, and the command post had no fixed location.

The trapezoidal War Fortress of the Night Watchers floated in the air using levitation technology, moving constantly as a mobile command post.

The command room was vast. The holographic image on the central platform simulated everything within the reconnaissance range, with several temporary commanders each responsible for a sector, constantly ordering the Night Watchers to strike.

"Have the Night Watchers finish their current work, then stand by in place."

In the bustling command room, a powerful voice suddenly rang out—so forceful it allowed for no questioning, echoing in everyone's ears.

The noisy command room fell silent instantly. The commanders looked toward the entrance—at the young man holding his helmet, reeking of blood yet possessing a heroic countenance.

The mark on his chest was clear; everyone knew who he was.

Doom's deeds had long circulated on the front lines, becoming a topic of conversation for the guards during their rest.

"Your Highness, the Third Prince, you must understand..."

The guard serving as the temporary commander hadn't finished his sentence when Doom raised a hand to interrupt him, signaling Haran to provide an explanation.

Pulling the Sword Seal from his bosom, Haran held it high, using facts to shatter all skepticism.

"We obey the Warlord!"

Everyone knelt! At this moment, Doom was no longer just the Third Prince, but the Warlord commanding ten thousand armies.

With the authority granted by King Norwick, no one dared to challenge his command.

"Do as I just said!" Doom stood before the central platform, watching the images on the screen with an expressionless face.

"I do not care about terminating the operation, how many controlled areas will be lost, or how many Orks will escape. Let the guards finish their work, then rest and stand by in place."

"I only want them well-rested, and then we advance in my way!" There was no room for negotiation in his voice; the heavy pressure made it difficult for others to breathe.

Soon, after the commanders completed their final orders, they were all relieved of their duties, pending further use.

The Night Watchers on the front lines all ceased their actions, either remaining in place or returning to camp to resupply and rest, waiting for the next order.

Under normal circumstances, Doom would have explained to them, leading them to gradually submit.

After grasping the key point of the City of Truth, he was urgent—urgent to slaughter the Orks and then go to reinforce his eldest brother.

Doom could imagine what a heavy responsibility and pressure it was for Ennio to bear the burden of the "Gods" alone.

"Where is the Forge Technician?"

Doom called for the person in his plan, ready to execute everything he had formulated in his mind.

"Warlord, what do you need me to do?"

A young man with several auxiliary mechanical arms on his back and special lenses over his eyes crawled out from a corner, the trepidation on his face visible to the naked eye.

"Don't be nervous, just adjust the battlefield projection to the simplest mode."

The excellent Forge Technician from the depths beneath the Guardian Domain, the Core Forge, looked puzzled; his mechanical arms followed his train of thought, subconsciously scratching his face.

"I... I don't understand what you mean." The Forge Technician's voice stuttered, failing to grasp Doom's intent.

"I mean, the virtual projection doesn't need to display battlefield details in such fine resolution. I need maximum range—discard everything superfluous to maximize the range!"

Doom took a deep breath, dropping the majestic aura that had caused all the tension, and explained in a gentle tone: "The current battlefield projection is like an exquisite movie; I want simple lines and extreme range, understand?"

"Understood!" The terrifying aura vanished, and the technician quickly grasped what the Warlord needed, providing an accurate timeframe: "Ten minutes, and you will see exactly what you need!"

The reconnaissance equipment of the War Fortress had a vast disparity between its upper and lower scanning limits; high quality and fine detail could cover an area of 100x100 kilometers.

This was the limit of the War Fortress's sensors after the loss of artificial satellites.

However, by sacrificing detail, the detection range could be increased by at least five times, greatly enhancing the scanning radius until the effects of planetary curvature became too significant.

The command room was deathly quiet as they waited, with only Doom holding a pen, writing and sketching on a sheet of paper.

"Who gave the order! Who told everyone to stop?"

The voice arrived before the person.

Undoubtedly, if this were a banquet, the moment this lady's elegant yet magnetic and sexy voice rang out, she would have become the focus of the entire room.

But her tone was far from friendly; her icy voice suppressed a simmering rage: "Have you been fighting the Greenskins for so long that you've been infected by their stupidity?"

Doom knew who had arrived; there was only one woman among the Night Watchers: Erica von Stern.

Her genetic origin could be traced back to the "Aryan" people of the Terra origin era, possessing an inherent, serious, and rigorous temperament.

She wore a specialized Stealth Shading Suit; although its defense was inferior to other standard power armor, its stealth functionality was formidable, bending light to achieve invisibility, specifically designed for covert assassinations.

"Erica von Stern!" Haran stepped forward, igniting his blade and holding it before her, his gravelly voice and stern tone rebuking: "Watch your tongue, I wouldn't mind using my sword to teach you the meaning of courtesy!"

Seeing the Champion Swordsman, Erica's aura lost some of its sharpness, and upon seeing the identical emblem, she immediately understood their relationship.

For a sworn protector, offending the liege lord of a royal family member was a grave matter; such a warning was considered light.

She saw the Sword Seal, her expression shifted, and she knelt on one knee: "Warlord! Please forgive my offense. I was a bit impulsive, thinking it was a disagreement between temporary commanders that caused the front line to halt."

Doom's expression remained unchanged, offering no further explanation; he glanced at her and waved his hand, signaling her to wait to the side.

"All messengers, transmit these contents. I want every guard to be proficient in using this in two hours."

The messenger respectfully took the handwritten note, which was filled with numerical symbols and the meanings represented by different combinations of numbers.

It was a new set of coded instructions used for rapid troop command, even detailing the specific codes for each unit.

This set of numerical commands was of moderate difficulty; for the Night Watchers, two hours was enough to master them.

Ten minutes later, the central command console successfully rebooted, and under the Forge Technician's calibration, the results were remarkable.

The range had increased several times over, though the terrain displayed on it had been reduced to simple lines.

With the input of the numerical commands, the simplified map was filled with numbers representing various combat units, as well as numbers representing the enemy.

"Let them see your capability!" Haran Ogilvy whispered, eager for his colleagues to know of Doom's extraordinary talent.

Two hours passed in a flash.

Confirming that the Night Watchers were familiar with the numerical commands, the first order was transmitted.

"All units, attention. Command transfer successful. You will receive orders from the Warlord immediately!"

(Hehehe! Three chapters posted! Where are your votes? Micro-management starts now, the advantage is mine!)

I will read everyone's comments when I take a break; there are indeed many constructive and good suggestions. I will absorb and improve! I am so eager to progress! So eager to write a good story!