Looking North

Half a year.

For a full half year, Zhou Beichen and Lorgar had expanded and consolidated at a breakneck pace, centered around Ralte and the Southern Highlands. The Faithguard Army's hoofbeats and footprints had crossed every settlement, valley, and oasis marked on the map.

The process had not been smooth sailing. There were those who welcomed the Son of God with food and drink, and naturally, there were also hard cases who needed steel at their throats before they could be "persuaded." For those stubborn holdouts, especially strongholds already showing signs of Chaos corruption within, Lorgar and his golden Purifying Flame became the most effective—and most brutal—tools of "purification."

When the last small city-state in the southwest, which had attempted to win Slaanesh's favor through human sacrifice, was reduced to scorched earth in Lorgar's flames, Zhou Beichen stood atop a hastily erected watchtower. He looked over the Faithguard Army under his command, now expanded to nearly ten thousand men, then at the core territory behind him, finally linked together and governed by unified orders. He let out a long breath of stale air that had been building inside him for far too long.

"At last... we have something resembling a foundation." He rubbed his aching temples. Over the past six months, he had hardly slept a full night. He was either handling government affairs, allocating supplies, simulating tactics, or rooting out traitors. He had grown noticeably thinner, but his gaze had become ever sharper, like a honed blade.

This core region stretched eastward from the former edge of the Lot Diocese, westward to the desert barrier, southward to the end of the Southern Highlands. To the north lay a relatively barren buffer zone separating it from Vladimir's territory. Within the region, the work-point system had been fully implemented. New villages and towns had been planned and established around water sources and mineral deposits. Production lines for Colchis paper and crude glass operated day and night, while under Lavoisier's leadership, the spark of education had begun spreading into the grassroots.

It was still nowhere near prosperous, but at the very least, resource self-sufficiency had reached a relatively safe level. It could support a sizable army in medium- to long-term warfare, while social order had achieved initial stability. Thanks to the principle of "equal exchange" and tangible improvements in living conditions, the soil in which Chaos could breed had been greatly reduced.

"Father, the statistical report is ready." Lorgar's voice came from behind him. He too was covered in dust from the road. His once-splendid high priest's robes had long since been replaced by simpler clothes better suited for battle, blending local style with practicality. Yet his imposing physique and extraordinary bearing had not diminished in the slightest. He held a report written on Colchis paper, densely packed with figures on population, food, arms, and more.

"Read it." Zhou Beichen did not turn around. His eyes remained fixed on the north. That was Vladimir's territory—and the final, greatest obstacle to unifying Colchis.

"The controllable population has risen to approximately four hundred and fifty thousand. The standing Faithguard Army numbers twelve thousand, including five hundred men in the elite Torchbearer battalion equipped with gunpowder rifles. Our food reserves can sustain the entire army through three months of high-intensity warfare, or provide basic consumption for the entire population of the controlled territory for six months. Various metal ore deposits..."

Lorgar's voice was steady and clear as he read out one cold figure after another. Behind those numbers lay half a year of blood and fire, the labor and sweat of countless people, and the confidence that allowed them to stand here now and look toward the north.

"Enough." Zhou Beichen raised a hand to stop him. Turning around, he revealed a harsh smile. "Our family fortune has finally thickened up a little. It's time to settle the score with that old friend in the north."

Inside the tent, another core military conference convened. Compared with half a year ago, the atmosphere held less impatience and more composure, resolve, and killing intent.

"That old fox Vladimir." Zhou Beichen tapped the area representing the northern diocese on the map with a riding crop. "He swallowed Gregory's remnants. Even a starved camel is bigger than a horse. While we've been putting out fires everywhere these past six months, he's been holed up, licking his wounds and reinforcing his defenses. According to information sent back by the Lackeys, he still has at least eight to ten thousand troops capable of fighting. And..."

He paused, his eyes darkening. "Despair is spreading through his territory. There are even signs that Chaos worship is rearing its head again, though he has suppressed it with even harsher methods. That old bastard is strong on the outside and weak within, but a cornered beast will still fight. That makes him especially troublesome."

A newly promoted young commander known for his bravery immediately rose to his feet and cupped his fists. "Son of God! Pastor Zhou! Give me five thousand troops! I am willing to lead the vanguard. I will surely break that turtle shell of his!"

"A frontal assault?" Zhou Beichen shot him a glance and snorted. "Do you know how strong the defenses of his main city, Ice-Iron Fortress, are after all these years of construction? Do you know how many lives we would have to throw in to take it by force? Even if we captured it, it would be a costly victory. By then, our strength would be badly depleted. What would we use to deal with any 'guests' who might fall from the sky at any moment?" He pointed overhead, referring to the Emperor and Magnus.

The young commander fell silent.

Lorgar pondered for a moment before speaking. "Father, you mean to lure him out?"

"Exactly!" Zhou Beichen struck Vladimir's main city on the map with the riding crop. "That old bastard Vladimir is as cunning as they come. He never rises early without profit to be had. If he believes that holding the city and waiting for reinforcements—though there may not be any—or simply dragging the war out benefits him more, then he'll stay inside like a turtle, wait at ease for an exhausted enemy, and hold on until our supply lines grow strained or trouble erupts within."

He swept his eyes across the room, a calculating curve lifting at the corner of his mouth. "If that's the case, then we need to give him... the illusion that he can defeat us. A tremendous prize he cannot refuse—one that will force him to personally lead his men out and swallow us in one bite!"

The commanders in the tent exchanged puzzled looks. Only Lorgar had a flicker of understanding pass through his violet eyes. He seemed to have vaguely guessed the outline of Zhou Beichen's audacious plan.

Zhou Beichen did not immediately reveal the specifics. That was a trump card that required absolute secrecy and could only be activated at the most critical moment. He merely looked northward, his gaze seeming to pierce through the tent and see the formidable fortress called Ice-Iron Fortress, as well as the old bishop within who was plotting against them in turn.

"Pass down the order," Zhou Beichen said, his voice calm once more. "The entire army will rest for five days. In five days, break camp and march north! Target—Vladimir!"

"Yes!"

The commanders answered in thunderous unison, their fighting spirit soaring.

Once the meeting ended, only Zhou Beichen and Lorgar remained in the tent.

"Father, what do you intend to do?" Lorgar asked quietly.

Zhou Beichen walked over and patted his shoulder, solid as iron. His expression carried a trace of weariness, yet was incomparably firm.

"This time, we're going to put on a grand show. One convincing enough—so convincing that it will make that old fox willingly crawl out of his hole... a grand show."

He looked north, his gaze sharp as a hawk's.

"We'll make that old bastard Vladimir lead his men out himself..."