This heretic cannot be burned, he must be hung up and whipped!

The Aztec warriors stood on the periphery, their eyes wide open, holding their breath. A Crusader tried to order the Aztec warriors to join in the blood donation, but Derrick raised his hand to stop him.

"We believe because we have seen Neos' miracles, so blessed are those who believe without seeing him." "Tonight, let these pagans see our gospel!"

Before he finished speaking, Derrick pulled a smoke bomb from his waist and hurled it toward the open space in front of the city gate. With a muffled thud, the thick smoke quickly spread, covering an area dozens of meters in front of the city gate. The night was already dark, and now the thick smoke made visibility almost zero. The heretic soldiers on the city wall immediately became alert, their guns trained on the smoke. Curses and the clanging of metal echoed one after another.

On the city wall, Archon Barut stood on the observation deck, his six eyes fixed on the smoke below. His face was illuminated by the firelight, his expression uncertain:

"This tactic...hiss...looks familiar?"

Its left face spoke: "But this is the territory of the Mayan natives, where did the Crusaders come from? It must be an illusion..."

Right Face retorted: "Don't say that, don't say that, hey - damn, why is God so bad? No, why is it everywhere!!!"

The smoke slowly dissipated, and the heretic soldiers on the city walls held their breath, awaiting the enemy's attack. However, there was no gunfire, no shouts of killing, not even a hint of movement. Barut unleashed a light ball spell, and a dazzling white light flew towards the open space in front of the city gate, illuminating the area.

Then, everyone saw it—a wooden cross more than three meters high, standing at the city gate, its surface covered with bright red blood, emitting a hideous glow under the illumination of the light ball.

"Not good!!!" Barut's pupils suddenly contracted, and his roar almost tore the night sky apart. "The bombardment is coming! Retreat! Everyone, retreat quickly!"

The heretic soldiers on the city walls were in chaos. The local soldiers who had recently defected to Hell were bewildered, not understanding why the Archon was so panicked, but the veterans who had returned from the European battlefields felt as if they had fallen into an icy cave. They knew all too well what this bloody cross meant—

This is the Crusader's artillery beacon! The most dazzling coordinates in the eyes of psychics! The rear guns may not be able to communicate via radio, but the navigator must have locked onto this position!

"Bombardment--!! Neos, I'll fuck your ancestors!!!" a demon roared in despair.

"Flying - missiles -!!!" The top of the city was engulfed by the sound of explosions.

too late.

Far out at sea, the Kilkenny's turrets had already begun to rotate, and the muzzles of its 155mm naval guns belched forth blazing flames. Shells streaked through the night sky, carrying a whistling roar of death as they slammed precisely into the walls of the small Mayan city.

The navigator saw three wooden crosses that perfectly circled a coordinate. Neos immediately agreed to launch a few rounds of covering fire. With a series of deafening explosions, the city wall was blown to pieces, flames and dust shot up into the sky, and the shockwave tore the nearby heretic soldiers to pieces. The aftermath of the explosion swept through the jungle, uprooting trees.

Derrick stood on a high ground in the distance and waved his sword towards the small town:

"In the name of the Lord of Mankind, attack!"

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Red Tide: 1921: Chapter 61: Living Iron Net

The war-torn western coast of Cuba was shrouded in smoke. Aztec Emperor Montezuma XIII stood on the walls of the small town he had just conquered, gazing out over this unfamiliar land.

The imperial flag fluttered behind him,

"This was the first position captured by the coalition forces in Cuba. It was a truly hard-won victory."

The deputy captain said to an imperial general.

"We've finally gained a foothold," said Aztec General Quetzal, walking up to the second-in-command, drinking and dancing with joy, his eyes gleaming with victory. "The enemy isn't strong. With the protection of Quetzalcoatl and the fire-breathing tubes on board to destroy their confidence, we can easily win!

His Majesty has dispatched three legions, which will arrive at the front within two days at the latest. If the battle goes well, the day after tomorrow we can have a banquet in Maya—oh, that city should have belonged to Hell—in Hell’s headquarters!”

The second-in-command nodded, but a gloomy expression spread across his face. He had graduated from the Command Department at Cambridge University and was well aware of his own strengths and weaknesses.

"The terrain is extremely unfavorable to us." He pointed to the endless jungle and rolling hills in the distance. "This terrain has become the biggest obstacle to our advancement. You can't use your war experience to estimate the enemy. You don't even have a radio. It takes a whole day for the battle report to be transmitted back after the front line engages the enemy!

What if the enemy cuts off our logistics network? The deeper we go behind enemy lines, the longer our supply lines will be, and our slow advance will give the heretics enough time to dig intimations..."

Quetral said with disdain, "It doesn't matter. My scouts have already penetrated over seventy miles inland, and those demons don't seem to have reacted on a large scale yet."

"Don't be too optimistic, they won't sit still."

The deputy captain's prediction came true that night.

At midnight, a massive portal in the center of the Mayan capital of Uxmal suddenly erupted with a blinding purple light. Teams of demonic engineers in pitch-black armor poured out of the portal, carrying a vast array of mechanical equipment.

The leader of the team is a wizard who holds a slate in his hand and stares closely at the constantly changing words and patterns on the slate. He uses magic to reflect the flat map of the battlefield on the slate.

"Except for the city we captured, burn everything within ten kilometers that is taller than my thigh."

The heretic engineering corps sprang into action. Steel engineering vehicles, blazing with the fuel of the Hellfire Lake, began to rampage, their massive metal gears crushing charred tree stumps and debris. Incendiary bombs were hurled deep into the dense forest, their blasts sending birds flying and animals wailing and fleeing in the flames. The ecosystem the Maya had guarded for generations was ruthlessly destroyed, leaving only a searing wasteland.

"Incineration complete, Commander."

"Build fortifications immediately! Bring out all the Mayans from those cities. Every one of them must work. Those who are lazy will be executed."

...

Turak, the leader of this Mayan city, was roughly dragged to the edge of the fire by heretic soldiers. His people—men, women, and children—were forced into long lines. Heretic overseers, armed with spiked whips, lashed those who slowed down.

The captives' hands were covered in blood blisters, and their feet were blistered by the scorching ground, but they dared not stop. The heretic overseers behind them swung whips, and the sound of flesh tearing echoed in the air.

"Dig! Dig quickly!"

The overseer roared, his whip raining down on a fallen old man, "You losers, if you dare to be lazy, you'll be fed to the synthesizer beasts!"

A Mayan priest gritted his teeth as he swung his shovel at the scorching earth. He pictured his former homeland—the lush green jungle, the clear streams, the laughter of his people around the campfire. Now, all that beauty was reduced to ashes. He couldn't understand why these monsters from afar hated them so much.

They had never provoked these heretics, yet had to endure endless torture.

"Why?" He murmured softly, tears and sweat mixed together, dripping onto the scorched earth.

"What did we do wrong?"

No one answered. His companions were equally silent, their eyes blank as they mechanically repeated the digging motions. In the distance, trenches gradually took shape, the outlines of earthen fortresses emerging from the blood and sweat of slaves.

"How dare you talk too much! You—come out!" "Bang!"

Another body fell on the land he loved.

...

In the days and nights that followed, thousands of Mayan slaves toiled under the whip of the heretic. Along the front, a series of small towns were redesigned into fortified settlements, connected by trenches and underground passages. Ancient Mayan temples were desecrated, smeared with human blood and viscera, and used as a magic circle to create the portal.

The roads connecting the cities were also dug into a maze-like network of trenches, filled with barbed wire, machine guns and mines.

Under the threat of bayonets and whips, the Mayan casualties among the fortification workers exceeded 50% in just two days. People fell and never stood up again. The heretics paid no heed to the dead Mayans, simply throwing their bodies into the magic circle to serve as lubricant for the portal.

Neos hadn't slept well for several days.

As soon as he entered the warp, and began to listen carefully to the prayers of the believers, he could hear the miserable howls of countless humans. Pure human souls were torn into pieces in extreme pain, and the shallow emotional garbage of the warp gathered together and turned into a torrent, washing away his will.

"These damn demons!"

This is the price of collecting faith. In reality, he can still block it out for a short time through a veil, but once he enters the subspace, all the voices chanting Neos' name will flood into his mind.

"Why did the portal appear again?!"

He was now running around in the warp. He had just destroyed a portal from the warp yesterday, and now he had found another rift!

It was a vortex-like structure, swirling with dozens of small energy nodes. Neos concentrated his mind and unleashed a blast of flame to strike the portal's core. After a violent burst of energy, the portal emitted a piercing scream before disintegrating and vanishing.

In the real Mayan capital, the heretic commander had anticipated this and, the moment the portal went dark, he immediately ordered the preparation of the next batch of sacrifices to re-establish contact with the Warp. Not long after, Hell resumed communication with reality.

If the portal to hell was so easy to dismantle, the church would have sent so many paladins to the warp to carry out missions over the past eight hundred years, and the portal to hell would have been closed long ago!

"The portal to Hell cannot be destroyed from the subspace, it can only be destroyed in reality!" Neos explained to Montezuma XIII in the council chamber of the Aztec Palace.

"These portals are attached to the very fabric of reality—an entire city marked by heretical spells. Unless we destroy every stone of the Mayan capital, the heretics can rebuild the portals at any time."

Montezuma XIII frowned and thought: "Then we must capture that city, angel, we can send more elite soldiers. You have rich combat experience, how many do you think we need?

Is ten thousand enough? Our Empire has only seventy thousand standing troops, most of whom are deployed in the provinces for defense. Ten thousand soldiers is all we can muster in a short period of time."

"Ten thousand?"

The Crusaders shook their heads upon hearing this. "Ten thousand isn't even enough to fill half a regiment. Any large-scale battle would involve dozens of regiments. A ragtag force of over ten thousand wouldn't even be qualified to fill the line. They'd be basically wiped out after just one day on the battlefield!"

"Your Majesty," Neos said, noting the ministers' relentless determination, "Needless casualties will only give the heretics more fresh souls. If you insist on sending your soldiers to their deaths, then please have them wear the eagle emblem and cross. After they die in battle, I can at least let these human warriors rest in peace."

...

The Aztec Empire's general offensive began at dawn. Thousands of the Empire's elite warriors, equipped with the most advanced weaponry—wrought iron weapons and leather armor—charged against the heretic lines under the command of Imperial Marshal Tularok. Their previous successes in the jungle battles had instilled confidence in the Imperial army, who believed their courage and tactics could break through the heretic lines.

Then, what awaited them was a nightmare.

As the first wave of assault troops approached the trench, the heretics' defensive firepower unleashed. Machine guns jutted from their bunkers, spewing tongues of deadly flame. Countless bullets rained down, instantly shredding the front row of Aztec warriors.

Those who managed to break through the hail of bullets were quickly ensnared by the barbed wire. Sharp spikes tore at their flesh, while hidden mines, when triggered, exploded, hurling dozens of soldiers into the air. The army's vanguard was shattered almost instantly.

“Alive—barbed wire—barbed wire is actually alive!!!”

The creative scientists in Hell developed new weapons. Large balls made of iron wire were remotely deployed to the battlefield by catapults. They were code-named "Living Iron Net" or "Living Iron Net Seed" in Hell.

Ordinary barbed wire would be cleared by engineers using blasting tubes. As long as it was attacked by large-caliber artillery, the barbed wire that these soldiers built with their lives under enemy machine guns would be destroyed. However, the live wire net no longer required soldiers to deploy it under the risk of enemy gunfire.

When the enemy's bombardment is over, the catapult will throw the living iron net onto the battlefield, and then this big ball will be activated under the spell of hell - no spell is needed, just an electric shock or explosive shock is enough to produce a chemical reaction to make the living iron net unfold and grow on its own.

“No—no uh—Aa ...

The Aztec warriors, who thought it was just a circle of immobile barbed wire, were immediately swallowed by the barbed wire when they tried to use this "big ball" as a cover. The sharp metal spikes pierced their bodies, and steel spores spread and grew in the warriors' internal organs and pierced into their spines. The trapped warriors could clearly feel the pain of the metal wriggling in their bodies.

“Run!!!” “Demon—this is the power of the devil!!”

Commander Tularok watched this scene in horror. His two most trusted men made gestures for help as wire mixed with blood and brain matter continuously gushed out of their mouths and noses. The living iron net seemed to have human-like intelligence, actually controlling the wire flowing out of their mouths and noses to hook the soldier's face.

He forced a smile in front of Tularok.

This scene remained his nightmare even forty years later.

But the generals in the rear were still shouting: "Forward! Keep moving forward!"

The attacking force struggled forward, only to be met with an even more terrifying counterattack. Wizards atop the fortress unleashed terrifying spells. Fireballs rained down from the sky, burning scores of soldiers to ash. Lightning ravaged the battlefield, twisting those struck in agony. A foul-smelling, poisonous fog enveloped the trenches, suffocating the soldiers.

A young soldier bravely rushed to the edge of the trench, preparing to throw himself into the fight, when he was suddenly enveloped by a strange red light. His body rapidly withered under the horrified gaze of his companions, his flesh and blood seemingly drained by an invisible force. In the blink of an eye, only a dried corpse remained on the ground.

"Retreat!" Tularok ordered, "Retreat immediately!"

That day, he wrote in his diary which he had taken from the Crusaders:

“May 12, 1915, Rain

...We launched the charge at two in the afternoon. A giant ball of live wire rolled through the smoke, its filaments pinning down wounded soldiers who were still breathing. I saw with my own eyes Raoul's leg entangled in the live wire. He pulled out a dagger, cut off his ankle, and crawled back, bleeding.

The barbed wire chased him like a snake, finally burrowing into his eye sockets. The wires were soaked with blood and swollen to a dark red.

In the evening, when we were retreating to the second trench, the heretics released poison gas. The Crusaders said that the poison gas was something like miasma and that we needed to wear gas masks to resist it. We didn't have such masks, so we had to retreat to the third trench.

As I retreated to the third trench with the remaining troops, I looked up at the sky: the moon was blood red, live barbed wire was wriggling in no man's land, and the corpses controlled by it were patrolling like puppets. I heard them humming our song in hoarse voices, the tuneless sound like a funeral march.

I can't write anymore. Tomorrow we have to cover the flamethrower team burning the barbed wire. The Crusaders said that if even flames and artillery shells can't kill that thing, we can only pray to Neos for help.

May Tezcatlipoca protect us—well, if he hasn’t been blown to pieces by the heretics’ artillery.”

Under the counterattack of the heretics, the imperial army retreated in disarray, leaving behind the bodies of nearly 6,000 warriors scattered before the heretic line. This charge lasted less than an hour, but it inflicted the heaviest losses in the history of the Aztec army, bar none.

More than 6,000 elite veterans were killed in one day, and the remaining wounded had basically lost their will to fight. The painful lesson finally made the empire's top leaders come to their senses.

--------

Tenochtitlan, the heart of the Aztec Empire. Within the magnificent palace, Montezuma XIII summoned the highest echelons of the empire and the leaders of the various tribes. In the center of the hall, Neos, though exhausted, explained in detail his discoveries from the Warp.

"The heretic offensive will not cease," Neos concluded. "We must recognize that this is not just a battle for territory, but a battle for survival. The heretics seek to transform the Americas into a permanent bridgehead into our world."

The hall was filled with silence. Finally, Montezuma XIII stood up and said:

"God's messenger, we will heed your teachings. For thousands of years, our civilization has faced countless challenges. We will unite to face these challenges. We have learned our lesson. This is not a war we can handle."

His Majesty the Emperor flipped through the plan in his hand, raised his head, and looked around at the leaders from all walks of life in the conference hall:

"From today on, the Empire will be fully mobilized. We must complete industrialization in the shortest possible time, manufacture more powerful weapons, and train a more elite army. American civilization must rush into a new era! To achieve this, we must spare no effort. Any person or group that hinders our industrialization will be the enemy of American civilization!"

A cry of determination erupted in the hall.

These ministers still didn't understand what industrialization actually meant. It meant the small peasant economy would be torn apart, the peasants' blood and sweat would flow into the machines that roared day and night, and the old nobility and landlord class would be crushed into the dust of history by the rising bourgeoisie in the steam...

Development is inevitably accompanied by pain, but without development there is no survival. This is nature, survival of the fittest.

Montezuma turned to Neos and Derrick and said, "God's messenger, please lead us!"

As night fell, the flames of the distant heretic lines still flickered. On the edge of the occupied territories, countless Mayan slaves were forced to build formidable fortifications. Meanwhile, in Tenochtitlan, university professors studied newly compiled textbooks, while workshops and blacksmiths toiled to build the first blast furnace in the Americas.

In 1915, the American civilization, which had been isolated from the world for thousands of years, had its original development trajectory interrupted, and it stumbled and crawled towards a new era in pain.

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