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

Chapter 143 The Holy War Ends! The Mass Ascends!

under night.

The river port square was illuminated by sixteen temporary searchlights, the light projected onto the central platform from different angles, cutting out intersecting light spots and deep shadows on the concrete ground.

Carl is standing here again.

The audience consists of people.

Two million.

Standing, sitting, lying down, leaning.

Looking down from the high platform, there is an endless sea of ​​gray people, stretching all the way to the edge of the square and then spreading into the surrounding streets.

Most of them looked tired, had bloodshot eyes, and had injuries.

The clothes were tattered, stained with blood and ash, and some were no longer recognizable as their original color.

Some people were still coughing, their voices muffled in their throats, like a broken bellows sucking air.

Some people wore makeshift crutches, some had bandages wrapped around their heads, and some had simple splints on their arms or legs.

But they were all looking at the high platform.

Look at Carl.

There was a tense silence in the air.

Karl raised his right hand.

The movements were slow, but steady.

The cross was raised to the chest, the metal chain hanging down, swaying slightly under the light and casting a long, thin shadow.

"Cough cough————"

He coughed, not from a virus, but from a dry throat.

Then he spoke.

The voice wasn't loud, but it traveled far thanks to the silver-level enhanced vocal cords and lungs.

No megaphone was needed; every word was clear, like pebbles thrown into water, creating ripples across the silent square.

Brothers and sisters.

pause.

Let this word sink.

Some people in the audience shifted and adjusted their posture, but no one made a sound.

"I, Carl Jensen, in the name of God, declare a second pause, longer."

Everyone held their breath.

"This holy war has fulfilled the Lord's divine decree, and victory is assured!"

The sound landed.

There was a moment of silence in the audience.

two seconds.

three seconds.

Then James Jones, on the right side of the audience, raised his right hand, clenched his fist, and roared: "The Path of Courage! Invincible!"

The sound was like a fuse being lit.

David, on the left, shouted along, his voice hoarse but forceful: "The path of courage! Undying in a hundred battles!"

Then there were the other travelers around, those who had returned alive from Washington, those who were wounded but still standing.

"The path of courage! Undeterred in a hundred battles!"

Then there are the civilians on the outer periphery, those who remained in New Canaan, those who passed the trials of the "White Knights".

"The path of courage! Undeterred in a hundred battles!"

Then there are the children, those who have lost their parents but are still alive.

"The path of courage! Undeterred in a hundred battles!"

Then came the wounded, those lying on stretchers, struggling to lift their heads and shouting with all their might.

The sounds, from scattered to convergent, from chaotic to orderly, grew like a snowball, getting bigger and bigger until they finally became a tsunami.

"The path of courage! Undeterred in a hundred battles!"

"The path of courage! Undeterred in a hundred battles!"

"The path of courage! Undeterred in a hundred battles!"

Cheers erupted in the square, shaking the beams of searchlights.

The ground trembled slightly, and dust pattered down from the gaps in the wooden platform.

There was fervor on people's faces.

It's not just a performance frenzy, it's genuine.

His eyes were bright, his pupils were dilated, his muscles were tense, and the veins on his neck were bulging.

His voice was hoarse but forceful, as if he were trying to squeeze all the air out of his lungs.

Because Karl defined this holy war.

It's not a failure.

Although thousands of people died.

It wasn't a Pyrrhic victory.

Although they were almost completely wiped out.

It means "to fulfill a divine decree".

The logic is very simple:

The Lord sent down the "White Knight" as a trial.

Those who fail to survive the trial are not worthy of entering heaven.

Those who persevere are those who have passed the trial; they are "God's chosen people."

Then the Lord’s apostle, Carl Jensen, led the chosen people to fight against the “Antichrist” Milk Dragon, returned victorious, and rewarded those who passed the trial.

Therefore, suffering has meaning, and trials are necessary.

Death has value, and fighting for the Lord is an honor.

There is a reward for surviving; you are now God's chosen people.

The closed loop is complete.

So they cheered.

They cheered not only for Carl, but also for themselves.

Cheers to those who survived.

Cheers to those who have passed the trial.

Cheers to becoming a voter.

Carl stood on the stage, looking down.

He held his breath slightly and listened for five or six seconds.

The voice had a child's high-pitched quality.

It has the rough, hoarse quality of an adult.

It has a woman's high-pitched voice.

It has a man's deep voice.

But there was no sound of an old man.

Most of the elderly people are dead.

The "white knight" virus is more deadly to people with weakened immune systems, with a mortality rate exceeding 70% in people over 60.

Few elderly people survived.

Karl raised his left hand and made a downward pressing gesture.

The movement was very subtle, but everyone saw it.

It's like pressing the mute button.

The cheers gradually subsided, turning from shouts to whispers, and then to silence.

The whole process takes about ten seconds.

Only the sound of the wind remained; the March night wind blew from the direction of the Detroit River, carrying moisture and a faint fishy smell.

Karl lowered his right hand, the cross hanging in front of his chest.

He spoke.

The voice returned to calm, as if stating a fact.

"So, next, as the new Canaan, the land chosen by God, he looked around the audience, his gaze sweeping over the passersby in the front row, the civilians in the middle row, and the children and wounded in the back row."

Every word was pronounced very clearly.

"Pause for the coming of the Lord."

"In order to defend against the attack of the Antichrist"

pause.

"In order to better receive the Lord's divine revelation, the third pause."

Then the volume increased, but the tone remained the same.

"We will expand."

"We will develop."

"We will be training our troops!"

The last sentence was resolute.

"This will allow more people to feel the Lord's glory! It will inspire more people to fight for the Lord!"

He gripped the cross tightly and raised it high.

The metal reflects light.

"For the Lord! The wrath of courage! Undying in a hundred battles!"

Another roar erupted from the audience.

This time it's more organized and more powerful.

With a clear direction, we expanded, developed, and trained our troops.

"For the coming of the Lord!"

"The wrath of courage! Undying in a hundred battles!"

"The wrath of courage! Undying in a hundred battles!"

The sound was like a tsunami, wave after wave, crashing against the surrounding buildings and creating echoes.

The rhythm made the entire river port city tremble.

Inside the temporary control tent set up on the side of the square.

Both screens were lit.

The left screen displays aerial footage taken by a drone, showing a panoramic view of the square, the crowds, the high platform, and the pillars of light.

The central screen displays real-time bullet comments.

The live chat is refreshing.

These are the survivors' comments.

I saw the enthusiastic crowd in the square.

I saw those vigorous and powerful people. Under the blessing of the [Blood Flag Domain], although they still had injuries, they were full of energy, with firm eyes, and the veins on their necks were bulging when they shouted slogans.

The screen was flooded with comments.

The refresh rate increased from a few messages per second to tens to hundreds.

The text is of varying sizes and colors, and some even contains typos.

"They're not dead?"

"Help me! I'm in so much pain! I've been coughing up blood for three days!"

"Trial! Cough cough! I must pass the trial!"

"New Canaan! I'm coming! Wait for me!"

"Damn it! Help me! I'm in Tennessee!"

"Holy one, look at me! I can fight! I've served in the army!"

"I am the chosen one! I have passed the trial! I am going to New Canaan!"

"Do you have a car? I can trade food for it!"

"I'm in Indianapolis, anyone want to walk with me?"

The number of bullet comments is increasing.

Those who saw hope began to take action.

Hikers hiding in caves in Kentucky.

Pastors and believers hiding in the basement of a church in Missouri.

A homeless man hiding in an abandoned factory in Illinois.

They saw the live stream comments, they saw the live broadcast, they saw hope.

Then it started moving.

The goal is New Canaan, which is unimaginably far away.

But they started to move.

On the high platform.

Karl nodded slightly.

He saw the comments section.

But he didn't say anything.

Just watching.

Then, at some point, he felt a force flowing through his body.

It didn't come from the outside, nor from the emotions of the crowd below the stage; it came from within, from the cross-shaped scar on my chest and palm.

Warm, surging, like a flood bursting its banks.

The flow rate is fast, but very stable.

"Lord, is that you?"

He whispered, his voice so soft that only he could hear it.

"Have you turned your gaze this way?"

The next second, the [Blood Flag Domain] automatically activated.

It wasn't something he actively controlled; it was his power operating on its own, as if he had been "pushed" by something.

A dark red aura erupted from his body.

It wasn't the thin, film-like halo from before; it was a solid, scarlet, blood-mist-like substance.

It has a high density and appears translucent under spotlight, with a subtle flowing feel at the edges, like a liquid.

The halo spread, covering the entire square.

Everyone within the area was enveloped.

Then it begins to contract.

It's not about retracting it into the body, it's about concentrating it.

The crimson energy, as if alive, flowed in a specific direction, toward the more than ten thousand surviving pathfinders.

Those standing in the front row below the stage, those who returned from the holy war, those who were wounded but still standing.

Energy enveloped them.

Like a cocoon.

The first person to react was James Jones.

He stood on the right side of the stage, closest to the platform, less than five meters away in a straight line.

A crimson energy enveloped his entire body, about three centimeters thick, and then began to penetrate, not violently, but through the pores of his skin, through his mouth, nose, and ears, through every possible opening.

The process is visible to the naked eye.

Energy seeps into the body like water into a sponge, slowly but continuously.

James froze.

His eyes widened, and his pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints.

Then he started to tremble.

It wasn't a trembling from fear, but a muscle spasm caused by energy overload.

The veins on his neck bulged out, like earthworms wriggling under his skin.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening under the light. His teeth were clenched so tightly they were grinding, and his jaw muscles were tense.

But he didn't fall.

He endured it, his legs felt like they were nailed to the ground, his knees wouldn't bend.

The trembling stopped after about thirty seconds.

The energy has fully entered the body.

He took a deep breath, expanding his chest to its limit, and then slowly exhaled.

The breath it exhaled carried a faint red hue, like blood mist, but it quickly dissipated into the air.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a smile, it was a big laugh, a wide grin that revealed his teeth, and wrinkles around his eyes.

"Ha ha!"

The voice was loud and clear, drowning out the surrounding silence.

"My Lord! I've reached the Bronze level!"

He raised his right hand and clenched his fist.

A dark red halo appeared on his fist, similar to that on Karl, but weaker and smaller in range.

Power [Blood Flag Domain].

However, the range is only at the bronze level.

James's shout was like a fuse.

The next second, the other pathfinders around them also began to react.

"Ugh—"

A young passerby groaned, leaning forward and bracing his knees with his hands.

"Um--

A woman bit her lip, her face turning pale.

"snort----"

A middle-aged passerby closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the back of the person in front of him.

Various muffled groans, soft moans, and groans of pain were emitted at the same time.

The voices were not loud, but because there were many people, they formed a strange "humming tune" together, like a chorus of some primitive tribe, with rhythm, ups and downs, and changes in volume.

It lasted for about four minutes.

No one collapsed during that time.

Everyone is just toughing it out.

Then the sound gradually disappeared.

The choir conductor made a stop gesture, and all sections stopped simultaneously.

Instead, a stronger crimson aura emanated from it.

It didn't emanate from Karl; it emanated simultaneously from all ten thousand people.

A thin red halo appeared on the surface of each person's body, varying in brightness, but all present.

One by one, the pathfinders opened their eyes, raised their heads, looked at their hands, at the people around them, and at Karl on the high platform.

His eyes went from confused to clear, and then to excited.

"I—I've broken through too!"

A boy shouted, his voice filled with disbelief.

"Bronze level! It's bronze level!"

A woman touches her arm, feeling the changes in her muscles.

"Is this power? I can feel it."

A middle-aged passerby murmured.

"I can cover—about thirty meters? No, forty meters—"

Another person is within the testing area.

The sounds went from scattered to converge, from whispers to shouts.

Ultimately, it all boils down to one phrase: "The wrath of courage! Undying in a hundred battles!"

More than 10,000 people roared in unison, their voices sharper and more powerful than the cheers of the previous two million, like a knife cutting through the night sky and swirling above the square.

Carl stood on the stage, looking at them.

Everyone has reached the Bronze level.

Everyone gained the power of [Blood Flag Domain].

Exactly the same.

with no exceptions.

He gripped the cross tightly, looked down, and glanced at it.

The metal surface has a temperature, as if it's getting hot.

The Lord has truly looked upon us.

Moreover, a reward was given.

He raised his head and looked down at the audience.

James was looking at him, his eyes filled with excitement and inquiry: What's next?

How to organize and utilize over ten thousand Bronze-level members and over ten thousand [Blood Flag Domains]?

Carl did not answer immediately.

He looked further into the distance, at the civilians who had not yet broken through, at the children, and at the wounded.

Then he spoke.

The sound echoed throughout the square.

"The Lord's grace has come."

"But this is just the beginning."

"Next, we will expand, clear the ruins of Detroit, repair buildings, and build new residential areas."

"To develop, we need to expand the black-box production lines and increase the production of food, medicine, and weapons."

"We need to train our troops. All those who have reached the Bronze level will begin advanced training starting tomorrow."

"All civilians, as long as they are of the right age and in good health, must receive basic military training."

He held up the cross.

The metal reflects a cross-shaped spot of light under the lamp.

"We must make New Canaan a true city on a hill."

"Let the Lord's glory shine in every corner."

The last sentence: "For the Lord!"

Below the stage, over ten thousand newly promoted Bronze-level Pathfinders simultaneously raised their right hands, clenched their fists, and roared: "Wrath of Courage! Undying in a Hundred Battles!"

The sound was deafening.

The beams of the searchlights swayed in the roar of the sound, as if nodding.