A different world game? A different world game!

Goren Ironpie, the legendary warlord of Bloodbath Fortress, a level 15 Titan-half-warrior.

Beneath his helmet, which was covered by simple yet incredibly heavy plate armor, a pair of eyes burning with fierce fighting spirit were fixed on Balut at the other end of the axe and shield.

The sound was like rolling thunder, filled with undisguised hatred and a ferocious fighting spirit:
“Dirty stockpile! I should have used this Skullcrusher last time in Howling Canyon,” he patted the blade of his greatsword, “to smash your shit-filled, stinking brain into a pulp instead of just cutting off your arm as a trophy.”

"What? The abyss's pus has spurred another patch of rotten flesh on you?!"

Barut was jolted back half a step by the force of the impact. When he saw who it was, there was no surprise in his fanatical eyes. Instead, his eyes blazed with an even more intense red light of excitement.

That was a desire even stronger than the one that had just rushed towards Svenana.

A hissing sound, like a broken bellows, came from his throat.

"Goren! Tin Can! Your head will hang on Lord Barut's belt! The shame of last time will be washed away with your blood!"

He abruptly withdrew his double axes, creating a piercing screeching sound, and his massive body lowered slightly, like a volcano poised to erupt.
"This time! Lord Barut will smash you, along with all your worthless junk, into the deepest abyss!!!"

"Keep dreaming your deepest abyss!"

Goren roared, and his massive tower shield slammed to the side, while his serrated greatsword, with a sharp whistling sound that seemed to tear through space, slashed down at Barut's waist without any fancy moves.

"Today I'll tear you apart, you pile of rotting flesh, and stuff the rest of your arms and legs back into your filthy birth pool!"

Two legendary level 15 warriors, sworn enemies, meet again.

There was no mutual respect, only deep-seated hatred and a furious rage to tear each other apart.

The battlefield was instantly dominated by their more ferocious and primal clashes, and terrifying shockwaves continued to spread, opening a new chapter of bloodshed at a higher level for the core battlefield of this abyssal meat grinder.

Svina Anna seized the opportunity to retreat, her golden vertical pupils sweeping over the earth-shattering battle between Goren and Balt, then glancing at the direction where Sheila and Marok had disappeared, filled with resentment and icy killing intent.

It then locked onto a new, equally powerful demon target, unleashed a deafening dragon roar, and pounced to kill it.

This is a battlefield.

The fighting never stops.

……

The war has lasted for three days and three nights.

Of course, in this damned abyss, there may not be any concept of sun and moon.

In these relentless seventy-two hours, the demons' offensive was like an inexhaustible sea of ​​filth, wave after wave stronger and stronger, frantically crashing against the "Rockline"—the reef of order.

The thick, pungent smell of blood mixed with the stench of sulfur, like every grain of dust permeating the air of the abyss, weighed heavily on the hearts of every living being.

The corpses piled up like mountains, then were crushed into the scorched earth by subsequent artillery fire and immense force, becoming the new, nauseating foundation of this bloody battlefield.

Beneath the city walls, the ground was completely covered with a carpet of flesh and blood.

Faced with such a scenario and such a battle situation, both the experienced veterans of Bloodbath Fortress and the rising stars of Bloodpit Fortress Night Watchers were fully aware of the situation and had it in their respective plans.

This is an abyss, where every tug-of-war is measured in months or years.

The eternal bloody battle that spanned countless levels and lasted for thousands of years had already etched the word "protracted" into the very marrow of both sides.

Three days and nights?

It was merely a slightly intense note in a grand war.

Logistics, the lifeline that keeps this meat grinder running, is the key to determining the final outcome of this cruel symphony.

That is the key to maintaining order.

Turning our gaze beyond the deafening sounds of battle, past the city walls filled with smoke and the aura of destruction, we reached a relatively "safe" area.

This is another noisy place.

The battlefield, thick with the smells of medicine and sweat, is the medical camp area.

Hundreds of huge white tents stood like white mushrooms on the scorched, blood-red earth, densely rooted in the burnt soil.

Each tent was marked with a prominent blood-red cross or the silver-gray emblem of the Night's Watch, radiating a faint yet unwavering light of order against the murky sky.

The air was no longer filled with the single roar of battle, but with a suffocating symphony of countless sounds.

The painful groans and suppressed cries of the wounded, the doctor's urgent instructions, the footsteps of the assistants running, the crisp sound of medicine bottles colliding, the piercing screech of the purification crystal when it overloaded, and the dull tremors of distant artillery fire transmitted through the earth...

The entire area resembles a giant, buzzing, and never-ending beehive.

This is the last line of defense for life, and also proof of the tenacious continuation of the forces of order.

Inside one of the tents bearing the Night's Watch emblem, the atmosphere was extremely tense.

The strong smell of disinfectant, the rusty smell of fresh blood, the fishy smell of ruptured internal organs, and the pungent aroma of various herbs and alchemical potions mingled together, challenging the limits of every person's sense of smell.

"Quick! Move those critically injured people with black wristbands over here! Highest priority! Hurry!"

A steady yet penetrating voice rang out in the center of the tent, drowning out the surrounding noise.

The speaker was a man dressed in the robes of a Night's Watch priest, with a resolute face and sharp, eagle-like eyes. He wore a badge on his chest that symbolized the captain of the medical squad.

He was enveloped in a soft holy light, which continuously purified the foul air from the abyss that tried to penetrate him.

He was the medical team leader in this tent, his voice carrying an undeniable authority and a hint of weariness that was hard to conceal.

The surrounding noise seemed to be restrained by an invisible force the moment he spoke, and his assistants, like precision parts wound up, immediately started working at high speed.

The entire medical camp area is enormous, with hundreds of tents meaning that hundreds of medical teams are operating simultaneously, like a massive life support system.

Among them, twelve squads belonged to the Night Watch, their silver-gray figures and efficient style standing out in the chaos.

Racial differences have always been a huge logistical challenge in the Abyss battlefield—different physiological structures, energy circuits, resistance to and reactions to Abyssal pollution greatly reduce the effectiveness of universal treatments.

The Night's Watch's medical system, thanks to its unique "data-driven" rules and profound research into alchemy, is highly efficient and has a high cure rate.

It has an overwhelming healing advantage against races like astral dwarves and astral elves, whose physiological structures are highly similar to, or rather, "pirated" versions of, humanoid elf-dwarf templates.

After all, this is a direct piracy of the world, so we try our best to restore the original type.

Therefore, although humanoid elves are essentially human, their structure is highly similar to that of elves.

The same applies to dwarves or other similar groups.

Therefore, these twelve squads not only have to deal with the Night's Watch's own injuries, but also often have to shoulder the heavy responsibility of treating seriously wounded members of the Astral Alliance who are of similar races.

As for other races—minotaurs, certain special hybrids, and even some rare elemental beings—they are powerless in this regard and can only provide emergency treatment before sending them to their own race's medical points.

Because these are types that didn't exist in the original Night's Watch world.

Although the Night Watchers' technology is advanced, it is not enough to fully cover all life forms on the Abyss battlefield in the short term.

"Yes, Captain!"

The assistant beside him, a quick-moving young man, responded loudly.

He quickly turned around and gestured towards the door.

Soon, two muscular men, also dressed in Night Watch logistics uniforms, carefully carried in a stretcher.

A sturdy astral dwarf warrior with a blood-stained beard lay on the stretcher.

His face was ashen, like scorched earth, and most shockingly, there was a horrific wound on his chest and abdomen—a slit running diagonally from his right shoulder to his lower left abdomen.

The edges of the wound were covered with a pale purple, spiderweb-like energy membrane, the effect of a high-level spatial stabilization spell.

However, this magic only "fixes" the wounded person's vital signs and consciousness, preventing them from collapsing on the spot, but it cannot "heal" the terrible wound that could be fatal in an instant.

The medical team leader strode forward, his gaze sweeping over the dwarf's injuries with surgical precision.

He didn't even need to unleash complex detection spells; his extensive experience and the precise judgment granted by the Night's Watch database allowed him to draw conclusions instantly.

"Treatment plan for the dwarfs, number three!"

He gave the order decisively, his voice without the slightest hesitation.

"Execute immediately! I'll go handle the next one!"

Before he finished speaking, he strode over to another Night Watch warrior who had just been carried in, his body billowing with black smoke, and quickly began to examine the extent of the chaotic magic erosion within his body.

The rules of the Night's Watch are extremely strict.

Therefore, for Night's Watch members, there are generally no external injuries that need to be treated.

But this also means that even the Night's Watchmen have been severely injured, so it must be a very strange and difficult-to-treat illness.

These are almost all brought about by the power of various legends; injuries cannot be automatically recovered through data.

This can be understood as being affected by a debuff, and it's the kind of debuff that can't be removed with a single click.

Once the order was given, the assistant immediately sprang into action.

He took a deep breath, his eyes became incredibly focused, and his hands moved quickly and steadily to form a mudra in front of his chest.

Soft white light gathered at his fingertips, instantly extending into countless rays of light, finer than a strand of hair and imbued with a gentle, life-giving aura—"Holy Light Sutures".

These rays of light, like living serpents, precisely probed the edges of the dwarf's enormous chasm.

The assistant rapidly recited a short prayer, his mental energy highly concentrated, manipulating the light to perform the initial skin traction and stitching.

At the same time, a pale-faced but focused vampire healer also made a move.

He placed his hands lightly above the dwarf's wounds, and an invisible force enveloped the exposed internal organs and surging blood.

Pure water elements, guided by magic, condensed out of thin air, transforming into streams of crystal-clear water carrying faint purifying runes, gently probing deep into the wound.

The water flow, like the most skillful hand, precisely washed away the filth from the wound under the vampire healer's precise control.

Stained with demonic blood, embedded metal shards, charred tissue fragments...

All the chaotic impurities were gently swept away and carried away by the water flow.

The vampire healer's eyes gleamed with a scarlet light. He not only manipulated the water flow but also simultaneously controlled the blood flowing within the wound.

Under his supernatural guidance, the blood seemed to be given consciousness, autonomously "pushing" out the filth washed away by the water, ensuring thorough purification.

The filth was carried out of the body by the water flow and dripped into a specially made container, making a sizzling corrosion sound.

The purified blood, under the precise control of the vampires, flows back into the dwarves' blood vessels and tissues like a stream returning to its nest, replacing the lost portion and maintaining basic life functions.

Just as the sutures were beginning to close the massive wound and the water was cleaning the inside, the assistant swiftly retrieved three vials of medicine that shimmered with different lights.

The first one is a vibrant green "fountain of life," which is injected directly into the dwarf's heart area, its powerful life force nourishing the nearly depleted tissue like sweet rain.

The second agent is a milky-white "order stabilizer" that is injected into the wound edges and exposed internal organ surfaces to form a protective film that powerfully neutralizes residual abyssal contamination and promotes the activity of tissue cells.

The third one is a pale gold "bone-binding agent," which is precisely dripped onto the broken bone fragments, guiding bone cells to begin growing and connecting at an astonishing speed.

The speed at which the medicine takes effect is visible to the naked eye.

The pulsation of the internal organs became noticeably stronger, and the fractured bones began to heal and grow.

The assistant dared not delay. After confirming that the internal situation was relatively stable, he immediately manipulated the "Holy Light Suture" to perform deeper and more delicate suturing.

The threads of light, under his control, were like the most skillful embroidery needles, connecting the muscles, fascia, and subcutaneous tissues layer by layer, densely and seamlessly.

The entire process was efficient and precise, filled with the unique, almost alchemical, sense of order characteristic of the Night Watch.

As the light flashed, the enormous rift that could have split a dwarf in two was being "stitched" shut at a visible speed, forming a hideous but now closed scar.

The suturing is complete.

The assistant habitually took out the last vial of medicine that emitted a soft, pearly luster from the medicine pouch at his waist—"Scar Removal Cream".

This is one of the prides of the Night Watchers' medical technology, which can maximize the healing of the surface skin and fade or even remove scars.

He was preparing to apply ointment to the newly stitched wound.

"Wait! Little one!"

A weak but unusually resolute low growl rang out.

The unconscious dwarf warrior on the stretcher had somehow regained consciousness. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the ointment, and his rough hands gripped the edge of the stretcher tightly.

He recognized the thing.

The Nightmare of the Dwarves: the least popular of all the Night's Watch potions.

"No! Don't put that stuff on!" (End of Chapter)