American Evil God, starting with the American rebel leader raising poisonous insects.

Chapter 136 The Arduous March

"Hahaha, I knew you'd understand! Come on, come on!"

Nailong sat in the high-backed chair in the oval office, leaning forward and staring at the live feed on the screen.

The footage is from a high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft, taken from an overhead perspective.

The site of the former plaza in River Harbor, Michigan, is now a vast, leveled open space. The ground is densely packed with people, divided into two distinct square formations.

The first formation was perfectly aligned, numbering over ten thousand people, all dressed in uniform gray combat gear, carrying standard-issue rifles, and with packs on their backs. Each person stood ramrod straight, like rows of wooden stakes driven into the ground.

The second square is much larger.

From the air, it appears as a writhing gray-blue expanse.

That was the color of a bulletproof vest, which looked loose and baggy on those small, thin bodies.

They also held guns, but in different ways: some hugged them to their chests, some dragged them on the ground, and some struggled to hold them up with both hands.

child.

They were all children.

The camera zoomed in, and their faces became clear.

Some looked to be in their early teens, others perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Their faces lacked the expressions one would expect for their age, displaying only a numb focus, or perhaps a calm born from the extreme suppression of fear.

Carl Jensen stood on the high platform in the center of the square.

He was wearing a faded military uniform, and he carried no weapon, only that old cross.

He looked up and said a few words to those below.

The distance was too far, and I couldn't hear what was being said.

But a second later, a roar erupted from below.

First came the first formation, where over ten thousand people shouted in unison, their voices like muffled thunder.

Next came the second group, whose childish voices pierced the air, drowning out the shouts of adults, and converging into a shrill wave of sound.

Milk Dragon stared at the screen, a slow grin spreading across his face.

He reached out and brought up another window.

That's a summary of intelligence from the past week.

Total number of participants in New Canaan: 1.27 million.

Of these, 13,400 were armed combat personnel.

Non-combat personnel: more than 1,256,000, mainly minors under the age of 18, with a small number of sick or weak adult family members.

Route: Starting from Riverport City, proceed east along Interstate 94, passing through Ohio and Pennsylvania, with the final destination being Washington, D.C.

Estimated arrival time: Approximately 30 kilometers per day, 15 to 20 days, depending on the marching speed.

"That's right."

Nailong spoke softly, his fingers tapping out a rhythmic beat on the table.

"A performance requires actors and a stage."

He needs this war.

A grand, chaotic, and dramatic war is needed.

There needs to be enough death, enough pain, enough despair.

Then he will appear at the most opportune moment, as a savior, as the chosen one, and as the embodiment of art.

[Joy] The most magnificent way to crush your enemies, reap the rewards, and achieve a class breakthrough.

"Only in this way can it be a perfect performance, and only then can the Lord be pleased!"

Milk Dragon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The star-shaped scar on his chest was burning hot, as if responding to his excitement.

"Lord, you must enjoy this performance!"

He prayed softly, his voice filled with barely suppressed fervor.

The internal phone on the table rang.

Milk Dragon opened his eyes and pressed the answer button.

"Mr. President, Mr. Lucien Alden requests a meeting with you at 3 p.m. tomorrow."

The voice of Chief of Staff Wan Xinru came through the receiver.

The smile on Milk Dragon's face vanished instantly.

He was silent for two seconds.

"shit."

He uttered the word and then hung up the phone.

Lucien is coming over.

Not by phone, not by video, but by coming to Washington in person.

In other words, his performance could be ruined.

Milk Dragon walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

The amber-colored liquid sloshed around in the glass.

Lucien was his mentor.

Now Lucien is both his collaborator and his threat.

Because the Milk Dragon has broken away from Lucien's path and formed its own system.

Nailong took a sip of the wine; the alcohol burned his throat, bringing a brief numbing sensation.

He walked back to his desk and turned off the monitor on the screen.

Now is not the time to think about these things.

The performance has already begun.

The actors are in place.

He just needs to wait.

Christmas is over.

As the harbinger of spring blew by, the whole of New Canaan became hot and dry.

It wasn't a physical heat, but an emotional, collective one, like a powder keg baking in the sun, just one spark away from being ignited.

A temporary camp on the outskirts of Riverport City.

The queue stretched from the camp entrance all the way to the end of the road, seemingly endless.

Most of them are children.

They were between ten and seventeen years old, both boys and girls, with sickly faces, some still coughing, but with an almost obsessive light in their eyes.

They didn't want to die.

"I don't want to die, I want to fight!"

After saying this, Agatha Vanessa coughed twice.

She was fifteen years old, with blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles on her face, and a figure as thin as a bamboo pole.

The bulletproof vest looked loose on her, and the rifle was taller than her.

But she gripped the gun strap tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Aaron stood in front of her, looking down at her.

Aaron is a Black Iron-level pathway user and is currently in charge of basic training for new recruits.

He looked at Agatha for three seconds, then reached out and patted her head.

The movements were very gentle.

"Good, good boy."

He said.

"Remember it well, then follow the saint."

Agatha smiled, a toothy smile that was very innocent, but combined with her pale face and deep dark circles, it looked somewhat eerie.

"Yes, my lord!"

She straightened her back, slung the rifle over her shoulder, and turned to run back to the ranks.

Her steps were a little unsteady, but firm.

Aaron stared at her retreating figure for a long time before looking away.

The procession is still moving forward slowly.

Too many people.

There are far too many people who want to participate in the Holy War, or rather, who want to follow the Saint and stay in the Blood Flag Domain.

Leaving the Blood Flag Domain means losing the enhancement effect and being exposed to the indiscriminate attacks of the White Knights.

The only gamble is whether one's body can continuously adapt to and iterate through the world-destroying viruses, all of which are incredibly powerful.

And clearly, this is a kill line.

A line of death that must be faced and will inevitably be crossed as time goes on.

Nobody wants to gamble.

So they all came.

Even if it's just following behind the group, even if it's just staying on the edge of the [Blood Flag Domain], even if it's just being close to the Saint...

a little.

Alive.

This is the most basic and strongest desire.

Inside the command tent.

Carl Jensen looked at the statistics sheet that David handed him.

The form was handwritten, with neat handwriting, but the edges of the paper had wrinkles left by sweat stains.

"One million two hundred and seventy thousand."

Carl read out the number.

"Of these, 1,256,000 are under the age of 18."

He looked up at David.

"Even after a devastating virus outbreak, are there still over a million children who are capable of moving around?"

David nodded.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Karl remained silent.

He walked to the tent entrance, lifted the curtain, and looked outside.

The camp was full of children.

Some were squatting, some were sitting, some were huddled together, and some were lying on the ground.

Like a gray carpet, it covered the entire wilderness.

"Okay, David."

Karl lowered the curtain and turned around.

"As their leader, you will take them and keep them as far away from the battlefield as possible."

David paused for a moment.

He looked up, instinctively wanting to refute.

"My Lord, that's all."

Carl interrupted him, his voice calm but undeniable.

"Go, David."

David opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

He bowed his head, saluted, and turned to leave the tent.

The curtain fell, leaving Karl alone in the tent.

He stood there, looking at the map on the table.

The marching route was marked in red on the map, from River Harbor to Washington, passing through Ohio and Pennsylvania, a total distance of about 800 kilometers.

"Ugh."

He sighed.

Then he called out towards the corner of the tent, "Jones."

James Jones emerged from the shadows.

He was wearing a military uniform, without rank insignia on his shoulders, but he stood ramrod straight, like a javelin.

"Notify the people in those wells that if there's any news, launch it immediately."

Carl said.

James nodded.

"Yes."

He turned and left, his footsteps disappearing outside the tent.

Carl sat back in his chair, placed his hands on the table, and lowered his head.

He is not optimistic about this holy war.

The other party is the federal government, with a complete military system, an air force, a navy, strategic reserves, and nuclear weapons.

Moreover, it is said that there is someone even more powerful than himself on the other side, the Milk Dragon sitting in the White House, the president who is also said to be a chosen one.

In addition, there are various conspiracy theories, such as the old money families hiding behind the scenes, and the Alexander family that controls Noah AI and Messier AI.

He doesn't think it's a good idea.

But he had no choice.

Either move forward or wait to die.

They either die on the front lines or slowly rot from the virus and hunger.

He chose the former.

At least that way, I'll die like a warrior.

The mobilization and arrangements were completed very quickly.

In less than a week, the 1.27 million-strong force completed basic organization, resource allocation, and route planning.

This is based on several premises:

First, there are over 13,000 armed individuals who possess "Saint" status and Iron-level physical prowess to maintain order.

Second, there is a black-box production line provided by Noah AI, which continuously produces nutrient blocks, drinking water, basic medicines and ammunition.

Third, everyone knows that not keeping up means death.

The original square of Hegang City.

Now this is a huge flat area, bulldozers have flattened all the buildings, leaving only compacted soil and gravel.

In the center of the open space were piles of military supplies: boxes of ammunition, packed tents, folding stretchers, medical kits, and a dozen old tanks and armored vehicles, all dragged out of the National Guard warehouse.

people.

A dense crowd of people.

They are divided into two tiers.

The first echelon consisted of 13,400 passersby, all armed and arranged in a square formation.

Standing at the front was James Jones, who was not holding a gun, but simply standing with his hands behind his back, looking at the platform.

Everyone's eyes were shining as they stared at Carl Jensen on the platform.

They yearn for holy war.

He yearned for revenge.

They yearn to wash away the sins of this country with the blood of their enemies.

The second tier.

One million two hundred and fifty-six thousand children.

They weren't standing in perfect formation; the edges of the formation were uneven. Some people were squatting, some were sitting, but most of them tried their best to straighten their bodies, raise their heads, and look at the platform.

It was unusually quiet.

There was no crying, no commotion, no whispering.

The only sounds were breathing, coughing, and the rustling of the wind blowing through the bulletproof vest fabric.

The threat of death forced these children to mature prematurely.

Even though it's sad.

But they chose to pick up guns and follow.

Standing at the front of the children's formation was David, along with several other young pathways, all in their early twenties, who had just come of age before the virus outbreak and were now at the Iron level.

They represent the future.

The future that New Canaan must survive.

On the high platform.

Carl Jensen scanned the area below.

He looked at it for a long time, then nodded.

"Is everyone here?"

The sound was amplified and echoed across the open plain.

"This is a holy war under the watchful eye of the Lord."

He paused.

"Victory is assured!"

Silence reigned below.

Then the first echelon erupted in a roar: "Ascend the Jade Throne! Embark on the path of atonement!"

Next came the second group, their childlike voices surging like a tsunami: "Ascend the Jade Throne! Embark on the path of atonement!"

The sound drowned out everything.

Carl gripped the cross in his hand and raised it.

"good!"

he shouted.

"Set off!"

The team moved east along Interstate 94.

At the very front was the reconnaissance convoy, followed by the main force of those passing through, then the logistics convoy, and finally the children's echelon, stretching for more than ten kilometers, like a giant gray snake slowly crawling along the highway.

On the first day, we marched 30 kilometers.

The next day, we entered Ohio.

The situation in Ohio is terrible.

The virus outbreak occurred later than in Michigan, but spread faster because the state government initially did not take any measures and was still debating whether to close the border.

By the time they wanted to close the border, it was too late.

The Ohio government is now essentially paralyzed, the governor and most of his cabinet members have been confirmed dead, the local law enforcement system has collapsed, hospitals are overflowing, and the streets are littered with corpses.

Those who are still alive either hide in their houses waiting to die or wander the streets.

When the New Canaanite contingent crossed the state border, no one stopped them.

The border post was deserted; the railings were raised, and the desks and chairs in the office were overturned, with documents scattered all over the floor.

The fields on both sides of the road are barren, and occasionally you can see a few corpses lying on the ridges, already rotting, with crows circling around them.

The procession continued forward.

At 3 p.m., a commotion broke out as we passed through a small town.

Dozens of survivors ran out of the town and rushed toward the highway.

Most of them were pale-faced, some had festering wounds, and some walked unsteadily with the help of wooden canes.

"My lord! Save me!"

"Take me away! Please!"

They were blocking the way ahead of the highway.

The line stopped.

Carl got out of the command vehicle and walked to the front of the line.

He looked at the survivors.

Their eyes were filled with despair, but also with a glimmer of hope—a hope that instinctively ignited when they saw this large, organized force.

Carl raised the megaphone.

"We are going to Washington to wage holy war."

His voice was cold and devoid of emotion.

"If you want to live, you can keep up with the group."

pause.

"But I won't help you."

"There are no medicines, no transportation. If you can keep up, then keep up; if you can't, then stay where you are."

After speaking, he put down the megaphone, turned around, and walked back to the command vehicle.

The team resumed moving.

The procession of survivors passed by the survivors without a glance or a word; only the rhythmic footsteps and the sound of wheels rolling over the road could be heard.

The survivors stood there, stunned for a few seconds, then some started to follow, some squatted on the ground and cried, and some turned around and walked back.

Those who followed soon discovered that what Carl said was true.

It's not helpful.

But they still followed.

Because staying in the same place also means death.

Following this team, at least there are people paving the way ahead, at least you can see hope, even if that hope is very slim.

Inside the command vehicle.

James Jones looked in the rearview mirror at the people who were stumbling along.

"My lord, is this alright?"

he asks.

"It will slow things down and could potentially cause unrest."

Carl closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat.

"Won't."