"Psionic fluctuations detected! All units, attention!" Harlan reacted, shouting urgently into the comms channel, warning the Sentinels that an unexpected situation had arisen on the battlefield.
The Champion Swordsman reacted extremely quickly, the readings from his power armor's external temperature sensors showed the air temperature dropping rapidly.
On the battlefield, where the sun had just risen, plasma streams and high-energy beams occasionally streaked across the sky, and the sudden appearance of a low-temperature sensation was particularly noticeable, signaling the emergence of a supernatural phenomenon.
Psionics. The power of psionics is ever-changing, yet there are traces to follow.
The application of psionics causes a low-temperature phenomenon within its area of effect, with the freezing of water molecules in the air leading to a rapid localized drop in temperature.
At this moment, beneath Blazkowicz and Harlan's feet, Orc blood had congealed into crimson ice crystals, freezing rapidly, indicating that a psionic strike was imminent.
The Sentinels's response was even swifter.
Facing an unknown psionic strike, they activated their power armor's power supply system, maximizing their personal force shields in preparation to defend against the impending psionic impact.
Current passed through the Argent Nur crystal, stimulating the crystal structure to project a dimensional field outwards, forming a dimensional protective field that enveloped the armor.
The Argent Nur crystal has widespread uses, its specific origin is a mystery, and it could never have been naturally occurring.
The Sentinels and the Ancient Ancestors merely developed and utilized it, never truly understanding its structure and secrets.
Coincidentally, a defensive force field constructed from multiple crystals, forming an egg-shaped shield that enveloped the entire body, could effectively defend against psionics.
Within seconds, the Sentinels prepared their defenses, even beginning to contract their formation in response to the sudden change on the battlefield.
Blazkowicz shielded Harlan behind him, his fingers intertwined, signaling his guards to leave immediately with a silent gesture.
His super vision saw a hunched figure in a sackcloth robe on a small hill five kilometers away, chanting continuously, drawing mysterious psionic characters with the sweeping movements of his wide sleeves.
The psionic characters, like spirits, flickered with points of light, dancing in the void, seemingly beautiful but in reality brewing immense power.
The point of impact for that power was undoubtedly his current location.
Blazkowicz urged Harlan to leave quickly; that psionic power was something he absolutely could not contend with.
His face was as still as dead water; Blazkowicz disliked the current situation intensely.
As a War Lord, the commander of the Sentinels, Blazkowicz disliked unexpected sudden occurrences.
The battlefield situation should be traceable, everything preventable and controllable.
An unexpected event from outside the battlefield was a true surprise, completely beyond control.
It was like two people fighting fiercely, and a third party suddenly joined in.
Blazkowicz was accustomed to holding everything in his hands, avoiding all surprises, and preventing the carefully selected Sentinels from perishing in unforeseen circumstances.
Gradually lowering his stance, Blazkowicz prepared to take the psionic attack. He was fully capable of dodging the attack, and could even quickly advance and counter the mysterious person after evading.
But the reality was, Blazkowicz could not do that. The mysterious person's chant was ancient and mysterious, and the temperature was dropping rapidly, indicating the power of the psionic attack.
If he dodged, the psionic attack would shift targets, and the Sentinels on the battlefield would not be able to dodge it.
"It must be one of those lunatics from the City of Truth; only they would use psionics so recklessly!"
Harlan cursed under his breath, but his body was honest, quickly moving away from the center of the psionic impact, leaving without a moment's hesitation.
He knew very well that if Blazkowicz couldn't withstand the psionic attack, his staying would be useless.
Staying further away, allowing the capable person to act without restraint and maximize his abilities, was undoubtedly the optimal solution.
Like him, the Sentinels members performed their duties, doing what they needed to do, completing their respective tasks on the battlefield in an orderly manner.
Compared to Blazkowicz, they were more concerned with the present.
The greatswords and axes wielded by the Orc Kids, and the bullets fired from various primitive firearms, were more threatening than a single psionic impact.
If the War Lord couldn't hold on and died on the spot, the Sentinels would learn from the experience, investigate thoroughly, and then avenge him.
Professional soldiers bound by the laws of war, the Sentinels were machines of violence; they were a war machine composed of cold souls, efficient and deadly.
They would not mourn or rage over the death of a comrade, but would suppress all emotions with cold rationality, focusing on winning the battle.
This was the Sentinels! Argent Nur's most powerful soldiers.
A brilliant light streaked across the sky, a high-velocity projectile friction with the air, trailing a deep blue trajectory, flashing with blue lightning.
A lurking phantom struck, firing a high-velocity projectile from an electromagnetic sniper rifle.
Physical weapons were precious on Argent Nur; besides crystals, all minerals were extremely scarce on Argent Nur.
Bullets embedded with "virus sacs" were valuable, and Argent Nur could no longer manufacture them; they were only used against extremely high-value targets.
Clearly, the phantom responsible for sniping in the shadows considered a master of psionics to fit the definition of a "high-value target."
A hypersonic projectile, with its powerful kinetic energy, could penetrate armor; upon impact, the toxin sac inside the bullet would burst, and the virus would enter the body instantly upon contact, poisoning the target hit.
In the distant past, these specialized bullets were used for hunting, specifically to hunt certain large beasts, making it easier to preserve the beast's complete hide.
A perfectly timed sniper shot; dodging the bullet would require abandoning the psionic spell, abandoning it would mean all efforts were in vain, and not abandoning it would mean taking the shot head-on.
The super-high-speed bullet arrived in the blink of an eye; in the phantom's scope, the bullet indeed hit the target.
The mysterious person's body remained still, the space around him emitted distorted ripples, like nature falling into water, causing waves.
The supersonic bullet stopped mid-flight, suspended in the center of the ripples, no longer a threat.
"Sniper failed, target possesses a personal shield, initially identified as a powerful 'Psionic Shield.'" The phantom reported the results from the shadows, his voice suppressed.
Blazkowicz was not concerned about the outcome.
Even the phantom responsible for the sniping was not surprised, showing no regret or discouragement.
A master of psionics, unafraid of the Sentinels's reputation, who dared to stand openly and launch an attack, must have been thoroughly prepared.
The phantom's reason for firing was simple: take a shot, just in case the opponent was a greenhorn.
The battlefield was like this; both sides paid the price, constantly searching for the opponent's weak points.
The temperature continued to drop; the muddy ground soaked with blood in the center of the battlefield was covered with white frost within seconds, and the continuous decrease in temperature indicated the extremely high intensity of the psionic attack.
Blazkowicz concentrated, his muscles tensed. He was confident he could withstand the psionic impact; this judgment, stemming from his body's instinct, had never been wrong.
"Boom! ! !"
The psionic attack completed its chant, the mysterious person swept his long sleeve down, and accompanied by a deafening thunderclap, a cyan psionic lightning bolt struck down from the sky.
Blazkowicz sharply looked up, his ultra-fast reaction having locked onto the lightning's source before he even heard the thunder.
That cyan lightning carried a furious power, a bolt from the clear sky like a silver snake flicking its tongue, twisting down from the sky.
"Not good!" Blazkowicz cried out in his heart, realizing he had made a mistake.
His body's instinct had not lied; his body could indeed withstand this lightning bolt, without any worry of being harmed.
But his prediction was wrong; the lightning summoned by the mysterious person was never aimed at him, but at Guzzka, who was hanging high and had lost his fighting capability.
The lightning struck the ground, and the arcs it stirred up danced wildly, sizzling as they cut through the air.
Blazkowicz could clearly feel that the cyan lightning contained not destructive power, but a kind of vitality, like spring thunder, capable of awakening the power of the earth.
The mysterious person's goal was clear: he intended to save Guzzka, to make the Orc leader stand up again and fight him.
What was his purpose in doing this? Simply to watch a beast fight?
Blazkowicz turned back, full of doubt; the mysterious person completed his spell, waved at him, and then vanished like a wisp of smoke.
The cyan lightning struck, and with a brilliant flash, the intense temperature change instantly melted the ice crystals and blood frost, stirring up thick, crimson steam.
And within it, a series of strange sounds emanated.
Blazkowicz leaned in to listen; he heard the crisp snapping of dislocated joints, the tearing and pulling of muscles, the surging of bursting blood vessels within the blood mist. There was also the restructuring of bones, the suturing of muscles, and the more powerful gushing of blood!
"Hee hee hee!" A cruel laugh came from within the electric thunder, and Guzzka's rough, familiar voice sounded again, but different from before:
"Blazkowicz, you would never have thought that on this planet, there exists an ancient Elder!"
A shadow slowly rose from the mist; Guzzka's figure stood up again, his outline even larger, possessing a power that made Mortals fear.
"Now I have been reborn; the blessing of the ancient Elder has unchained me, and the Ancient Orcs shall rise in the galaxy."
The thunder subsided, and the stirred steam and dust were blown away by the wind, revealing Guzzka's figure once more.
At this moment, the Orc Boss, returned from the brink of death, had undergone a complete transformation, an extraordinary metamorphosis.
His crimson eyes stared fixedly at Blazkowicz: "Blazkowicz, my old friend, your life will witness the beginning, the beginning of the galaxy's stars trembling for the Orcs!"
"Command transferred, Harlan will take command in my stead." Blazkowicz did not reply, raising his hand to open the comms channel and announcing the command transfer to the Sentinels.
Facing a never-before-seen dangerous entity, Blazkowicz chose the most cautious approach; he could not be distracted in battle, and transferring command was a wise move.
Harlan's personal abilities were outstanding, and his swordsmanship was excellent. But few knew that his command abilities were also quite good.
Blazkowicz, by chance, discovered that Harlan was very sensitive to changes in battlefield situations, but he himself disliked expressing opinions on the battle.
"Transfer confirmed!"
With the sudden change in the situation, Harlan couldn't dwell on too much and took on the heavy responsibility.
The moment Guzzka stood up, the Orc collective seemed to undergo some unknown change along with him.
Their attacks became more aggressive, gradually coalescing with purpose, forming groups to launch effective counterattacks against the Sentinels.
Harlan realized the gravity of his responsibility and issued orders on the comms channel: "Heavy firepower attack the Orc-formed pivot points, phantoms snipe important targets!"
The holographic projection inside his helmet continuously fed him battlefield intelligence. Harlan, lacking Blazkowicz's powerful mind, still tried his best to direct the flow of battle.
He quickly issued orders and then withdrew from the battlefield.
Harlan's white figure rapidly moved, heading to the Orc Stronghold to command the Sentinels on the front lines.
The battle about to unfold here was not something Mortals or Orcs could participate in.
"Do you think you can take me on?" Blazkowicz's sharp gaze swept over Guzzka. He had to admit, Guzzka's current appearance was indeed extraordinarily powerful.
Guzzka's heart pounded. The nightmare of his defeat was still vivid, a fear etched into his bones. He clenched his fists, feeling immense power, and grinned ferociously, "And why not?"
"Look at you," Guzzka's voice rumbled like thunder, as he contemptuously gestured with his hand at his waist, "You're not even half my height."
Eight meters tall, his dark green skin exuded a desolate texture, muscles bulging and rippling, especially across his back.
His physique was no longer as stocky as before; his two legs were long and powerful. His original crimson armor had been torn apart by his bulging muscles, hanging in shreds on his dark green, savage body.
Blazkowicz, however, saw more. His eyes pierced through the surface, directly perceiving the deeply hidden essence.
He was by no means as simple as he appeared. The Orc Boss, after his transformation, possessed a savage body filled with explosive power, yet it lacked some of its former aggression.
Now, Guzzka was more like a commander than the savage Orc Boss of his memory.
He could also feel that the power from the Waaaaaagh field on him had vanished, replaced by Guzzka's own power, without a trace of external influence.
The Waaaaaagh field was present on him, but his power did not originate from the Waaaaaagh field.
"Heh! Heh! Heh!" Guzzka let out a strange laugh and ferociously attacked Blazkowicz.
The earth trembled beneath his feet. Each step was like a drumbeat, heavy as muffled thunder, striking at the heart of every individual.
Guzzka's movements at this moment were swift and agile. In the eyes of the Orcs or the Sentinels, they could only see him kicking up blood-soaked mud and swirling air currents.
His speed at this moment was extremely fast, his physique incredibly powerful. At this moment, he was full of strength, and the confidence brought by that strength was gradually swelling.
He casually picked up a discarded battle-axe. The two-handed great-axe was now barely enough for him to wield with one hand, and its swings unleashed a roaring sound.
At this moment, only one person on the battlefield could stop him, only one person was worthy of being his opponent.
Blazkowicz sneered, the coldness in his eyes gradually transforming into killing intent. At this moment, he had a reason to kill Guzzka immediately.
He pressed the sensor on the axe handle, and the Dimensional Blade extended again. He pushed off with his legs and charged towards the onrushing Guzzka.
Their movements were like phantoms; their duel was not something ordinary people could clearly see.
The sound of sonic booms was incessant. Each time it echoed across the battlefield, the two beings, beyond the scope of ordinary creatures, had already exchanged blows dozens, even hundreds of times.
A terrifying scene unfolded. In the center of the battlefield where the two beasts fought, no one paid attention, no one dared to intervene.
The snipers with the best eyesight, equipped with the best targeting devices, couldn't see their figures, and their equipment couldn't track their positions.
It was one battlefield, yet not one battlefield.
This sense of disjunction was caused by the two non-human entities; the speed of their engagement had already surpassed the speed of Mortal thought.
"Your war strategy seems to have erred several times today!" Guzzka roared, bringing his battle-axe down, once again using his height advantage to suppress Blazkowicz.
Guzzka felt incredibly exhilarated at this moment. The intense pleasure made him roar with laughter. This was the first time he had suppressed Blazkowicz in a head-on confrontation, the first time he had experienced the joy of battle.
"Just a small mishap, easily corrected now!" Blazkowicz slightly shifted his body, the axe blade falling close to his skin. Feeling the chill of the great-axe, his expressionless face gradually thawed, and a different kind of interest burst forth in his eyes.
He held an absolute advantage over all his opponents; it had been a long time since a battle had brought him such enjoyment.
With every punch and kick, every clash of blades, his calm emotions became a degree more excited.
The innate power within his body, which had gradually grown dormant from lack of an opponent, began to awaken with Guzzka's attacks.
It was an intense fury, containing resolute killing intent, filling every cell of Blazkowicz's body. He was so excited he wanted to let out a long howl, to vent his rage.
The rage in his heart was so real, yet Blazkowicz's reason remained cold.
His mind was so cold and unwavering that there were no fluctuations, while the scorching rage burning in his chest threatened to erupt!
Coldness and fury, how contradictory.
Blazkowicz's innate talent was that his cold rationality kept his thoughts clear and wise, while his anger transformed into his strength, not the impulsive, reckless abandon of hot-headedness.
After his transformation, Guzzka's mind had become much sharper.
He perfectly utilized the advantage of increased arm length that came with his increased height, gaining an unusual suppressing force in battle.
The great-axe swept back and forth, continuously forcing Blazkowicz back.
His current speed could match Blazkowicz's, and he wielded the axe so tightly that it was impenetrable, giving Blazkowicz no chance to get close.
Blazkowicz frowned, calmly dealing with the details of the battle.
For the first time, he was physically suppressed in a one-on-one fight. In the past, he was the one who suppressed his opponents; now he also tasted that helplessness.
The suppression of attack range made every counterattack extremely difficult. The advantage of wide-range attacks, when both sides had similar physical capabilities, was indeed quite tricky.
The current Guzzka was an unprecedentedly strong foe, with a similarly extraordinary intelligence beneath his brutal exterior.
Blazkowicz felt a bit annoyed. If he had a longsword in his hand now, releasing the restraining field, he could immediately gain attack range.
The battle-axe in his hand had no advantage. Guzzka's attacks were always extremely tricky, avoiding a direct clash of axe blades. He also understood that the iron axe in his hand was no different from a piece of paper in front of the Dimensional Blade.
Each time he swung his battle-axe, he calculated the trajectory and the angle of the cut, to avoid his weapon being severed.
This was a battle where savagery and precise calculation danced together.
While dodging attacks, Blazkowicz estimated the power gap between them.
In terms of physical performance, Guzzka could hardly contend with him head-on. The current Orc Boss was maneuvering with intelligence; his previously hot-headed brain was now incredibly calm.
Another axe blow fell. Blazkowicz dodged it sideways, knowing he had to immediately seize the initiative!
Focusing his bodily senses on his surroundings, and having processed the situation, after a picosecond of deliberation, Blazkowicz immediately made a decision and began his counterattack strategy.
The battle between them was extremely perilous; any slight variable could be fatal.
Blazkowicz was very unlucky. The instant he retreated, he stepped on a sliding corpse, losing his balance for a moment.
"Die for me!" Guzzka's roar was arrogant and brutal, the madness in his eyes almost palpable, "Taste the bitter fruit of death, Blazkowicz!"
He seized the fleeting opportunity, launching a fatal blow at Blazkowicz. The battle-axe changed from a sweep to a chop, its blade cleaving through everything in its path.
Now!
Blazkowicz also seized the hard-won opportunity.
He controlled his muscles to exert force abruptly, perfectly regaining his body's balance. He gently tossed his battle-axe with his right hand, precisely controlling it so it wouldn't fall quickly, then clenched his palm into a fist and smashed it towards Guzzka's descending battle-axe.
Blazkowicz's timing was impeccable, at the precise moment when Guzzka's force was spent and he found it difficult to retract his move.
Guzzka saw his action, his small eyes filled with confusion, and the next instant, a piercing collision sound rang out.
"BOOM!!!"
Flesh-and-blood fist met refined iron battle-axe, emitting the sound of clashing steel.
Blood splattered. Blazkowicz's fist gushed blood, but he deflected the descending battle-axe with one punch, neutralizing Guzzka's unstoppable attack with the most incredible means.
The great-axe's surface was dented with a fist mark. Guzzka's tiger's mouth was torn, his arm numb, his eyes filled with surprise and shock.
Before he could recover from his shock, Blazkowicz's next move instantly put him on the defensive.
The thrown axe handle seemed to hang motionless amidst their rapid exchanges. Blazkowicz's right hand smashed away the iron axe's downward trajectory, and his left hand caught his discarded weapon from below.
In that instant, Blazkowicz gripped the hand-axe, and the moment the Dimensional Blade sprang forth, he reversed all disadvantages!
He surged forward, the light of the Dimensional Battle-axe flashing, taking advantage of Guzzka's body pressing forward to deliver a brilliantly precise counterattack.
Guzzka's face showed fear. The composure of the ancient Orc vanished from his face, replaced by unexpected surprise.
If this blow landed, he would be cut in half at the waist!
Out of instinct, Guzzka suddenly exerted force in his waist, using his powerful physical capabilities to abruptly halt his forward momentum.
His lower body slid forward, while his upper body leaned back, managing to stop his body and avoid the fate of being disemboweled.
"Foolish!"
A disdainful sneer came. Blazkowicz coldly laughed and pressed forward, closing the distance even further, then abruptly retracted his left hand and swept it back.
Only then did Guzzka realize he had been tricked again. He had lost once more.
Blazkowicz had deliberately shown a small flaw, calculating that the vengeful Guzzka would surely fall for it.
Blue light swept from right to left, bringing with it a splash of crimson. The blue glow of the Dimensional Axe Blade was dazzling, appearing like the light of the Grim Reaper's scythe in Guzzka's eyes.
Excruciating pain came from his lower limb. Blazkowicz's true target was Guzzka's right leg, which he had stepped forward with to halt his body.
The Dimensional Blade cut through the ancient Orc's dark green skin without any resistance, perfectly severing his right leg.
This battle was over.
Losing a right leg in a battle where thoughts were precise to the picosecond and exchanges happened hundreds of times per second meant declaring failure and death.
Guzzka lost his balance and fell to the right, but he was not one to surrender easily.
Using his last ounce of strength, he tensed his left leg to control his body, then swung his axe with his right hand, a horizontal sweep aimed directly at Blazkowicz's neck, making a final, desperate counterattack.
Blazkowicz would never take it head-on. Instead, he chose to maximize his advantage, lowering his body and spinning to deliver a sweeping kick, fiercely striking Guzzka's remaining good leg.
Guzzka's eyes were filled with such helplessness that he almost burst into tears, crying loudly like a snot-nosed brat. His expression was utterly miserable, his humiliation reaching its peak.
It proved that when a creature reaches the peak of speechlessness, it laughs.
He laughed helplessly, then felt his body lose balance, and his eight-meter-tall frame crashed down.
In super-fast two-dimensional combat, a brief moment of being airborne means a complete loss of resistance.
Now, with Guzzka's right leg severed and his remaining left leg tripped, there was a subtle moment as he fell where he would be completely defenseless.
Blazkowicz's movements hadn't finished. He seized the opportunity, his battle-axe sweeping up from below, slicing Guzzka diagonally in two from his right waist to his left armpit.
Dimensional light blades flew, leaving incredibly smooth wounds, and incidentally removing Guzzka's heart to prevent him from reviving again.
Everyone on the battlefield noticed the two who had decided the victor; Blazkowicz still stood, and Guzzka still lay on the ground.
Just like before, nothing had changed.
However, the scene in their eyes was slightly different. Guzzka's fierce shout of "Die!" had barely reached their ears when they saw him crash down.
The stark contrast made people unable to help but laugh.
The Orcs hadn't had time to cheer, and the Sentinels hadn't had time to worry; everything was settled.
Having done everything, completely incapacitating Guzzka, Blazkowicz looked down at him with a mocking gaze: "An ancient Orc? Nothing more!"
Despite his words, Blazkowicz felt a sense of relief inside, grateful that he could quickly kill this troublesome enemy.
Because he could see almost transparent threads connecting from Guzzka to all the Orcs.
If he didn't deal with it quickly, it would certainly be a huge hidden danger, and might even introduce new variables into this battle.
"Any last words, my friend?" Blazkowicz smiled easily, the axe blade resting on Guzzka's thick neck, as he asked softly.
Along the way, Blazkowicz had nurtured Guzzka and witnessed his growth, so he didn't mind seeing this old friend off.
Guzzka also smiled with relief.
At this moment, he could also let go of everything, shedding the responsibilities that shouldn't have been his to bear.
"Accept my gift," Guzzka raised his left hand, tightly gripping the last remaining large tooth in his lower jaw, breaking it off with all his might, and presenting it to Blazkowicz: "The only ancient Orc tooth in the universe, the greatest respect from an Orc."
Blazkowicz reached out and took it, solemnly tucking it into his waist, then looked at the barely breathing Guzzka and said, "Thank you."
For Guzzka, Blazkowicz once had another expectation.
The ancient Waaaaaagh field was full of infinite possibilities; they very likely passed through the Nur Ring's dimensional conversion shield under the influence of the field.
What if, with a different approach, they used the Orcs' Waaaaaagh field to leave Argent Nur?
What a pity. The simple minds of Orcs were filled with violence and the search for violence. The Orc Boss had some wisdom, but it was impossible to cooperate concretely based on those emotional thoughts.
Shaking his head regretfully, he moved to cut off Guzzka's head.
The death of the Orc Boss created a unique ripple, causing the Orcs to lose their will to fight. They looked back at where Guzzka had fallen, their faces filled with fear, and the front line collapsed instantly. They cried and scattered in all directions.
Unfortunately, Blazkowicz's arrangements were meticulously interconnected; this was a carefully chosen burial ground for the Orcs.
The Sentinels had sealed off the battlefield, and the fleeing remnants of the Orc army ran in the hunting ground, futilely expending their stamina.
Soon, after dealing with Guzzka, Blazkowicz rejoined the hunt, coordinating with the main force to slaughter the Orcs.
With Blazkowicz's addition, in less than ten minutes, the last Orc's head was cut off, signaling that Argent Nur's green-skin crisis was completely resolved.
The Orcs, who had once driven humanity to the brink, were thoroughly purged, and the people of Argent Nur would no longer be threatened by green-skin Orcs.
"A glorious victory!"
Harlan's white power armor was stained red with blood. He stood atop an Orc war machine, a spear piercing an Orc's head, shouting in triumph.
"Victory!!!"
The Sentinels cheered, their weariness washed away by the joy of victory.
They had finally achieved complete victory, successfully purifying the land of Argent Nur, and removing this green blight from the brilliant planet.
At this moment, the Sentinels looked at the giant, Blazkowicz, who held the Orc Boss's head.
They chanted his name: "Blazkowicz! Blazkowicz! Blazkowicz!"
Led by the War Lord, they were invincible and achieved an incredible victory.
"This victory does not belong to me alone; it belongs to every warrior and everyone who contributed to this battle!" Blazkowicz's deep voice quieted the warriors' cheers.
His deep voice was no longer impassioned, but carried a heartbreaking sadness that infected every warrior: "For this glorious moment, some have left us forever, returning to the embrace of Argent Nur."
"Their sacrificed lives, the cornerstone of our victory, are even more worthy of our cheers!"
"Glory to the fallen!" Blazkowicz led the chant, offering glory to every comrade who died in battle.
"Glory to the fallen!" The Sentinels stood at attention, their deep roars solemn.
After a simple celebration, the soldiers' unfinished work was to gather the Orc corpses for unified cremation.
"This is for you." Blazkowicz approached Harlan, who was sitting and resting, and handed him Guzzka's massive head.
Collecting the skulls of powerful enemies was Harlan's personal hobby; his home was filled with the skulls of various powerful creatures.
Guzzka's head would be a perfect addition to his collection.
Harlan's eyes lit up, and he suddenly stood up, reaching out with both hands to take it, but then he let out a pained hiss: "Hiss~"
"Are you hurt?" Blazkowicz reached out his large hand, quickly steadying the swaying Harlan, and asked with concern, "Who could hurt you?"
In his calculations, almost no one on this battlefield, aside from Guzzka, could injure Harlan.
"I'm fine, who could hurt me?" Harlan looked disdainful, though his tone held a hint of frustration: "Towards the end of the battle, an Orc's junk cannon misfired, and a shell knocked me flying."
With that, he pulled aside the cape covering his chest plate, revealing a hideous gash that tore his power armor from left to right. The cannon shell was still embedded in his chest armor, and his chest was a bloody mess.
The wound was deep enough to expose bone, several ribs were broken, and his vigorously beating heart was faintly visible.
Blazkowicz's face became serious, and he quickly helped him sit down.
"Go ahead and laugh if you want." Harlan noticed an abnormal twitch in one of Blazkowicz's facial muscles, clearly caused by suppressed laughter.
Ultimately, Blazkowicz didn't laugh; his excellent body control easily suppressed the urge.
"Call the medic to treat you. Once the cremation is done, we'll be heading back. Don't delay the journey."
"I've already notified them. I need to wait a bit; someone else is more seriously injured than me." Harlan nodded and took the head from Blazkowicz's hand.
He took out a delicate small knife and, while waiting, began to skin the Orc Boss's head.
"What about you, are your hands alright?" Harlan's gaze fell on Blazkowicz's palms, his questioning tone laced with concern: "This is the first time I've seen you injured."
"I'm fine." Blazkowicz smiled and raised the back of his hand; the skin on it glowed with health, without the earlier torn and bloody wounds: "It healed a long time ago."
When he defeated Guzzka, his wounds were mostly recovered, the entire process taking less than five seconds.
"I didn't realize I had self-healing abilities." Blazkowicz raised an eyebrow at Harlan, his gaze flicking to the scar on Harlan's chest, with a hint of showing off.
"Are you very idle?" Harlan's expression stiffened, his pale face from blood loss looking even worse, and his slightly twitching mouth indicated how annoyed he was.
"Strictly speaking, very idle." Blazkowicz's expression was serious as he answered earnestly: "Three seconds to complete the thought, then a few minutes to deploy it, and then nothing to do."
...........
Harlan lowered his head, not saying a word, taking a few deep breaths, and continued to process Guzzka's head.
Blazkowicz turned and left triumphantly, no longer disturbing Harlan's rest. He re-boarded the war fortress, as there were indeed many urgent matters to attend to.
Before the command throne, a large amount of post-battle information needed to be approved, and the Sentinels awaited further instructions.
While issuing commands, Blazkowicz was thinking.
Who was that black-robed figure, and why could he make Guzzka evolve and display strength close to his own?
If the mysterious person could use that power an infinite number of times, his existence was very dangerous.
Now Blazkowicz could confirm one thing: the mysterious person who wielded mysterious power was not on the Orcs' side.
He had had better opportunities before this, yet he had never helped the Orcs transform.
If the mysterious person had intended to help the Orcs, whether humanity on Argent Nur would still exist might be a question mark.
But why would the mysterious person do this?
A simple question left Blazkowicz bewildered. He could feel an invisible net enveloping him, yet he didn't know where the enemy was.
However, in the next second, he adjusted his mindset and immersed himself in other work.
After all, the future hadn't arrived yet; instead of worrying too much or predicting the future, it was better to do well in the present.
Because handling every matter well now was an anchor for the uncertain future, and the choices made now could genuinely affect the future.
Blazkowicz's handling of current matters was often extraordinary and farsighted.
"Complete all work, rest for one day, then set off for the City of Truth!"