Chapter Forty-Four: Battle Axe

“Yes, my lord!”
They responded in unison, their voices shaking the air, and silently vowed to safeguard the flame at all costs in every action to come.
“Set the supplies here. Each of you, come forward and take a set. Keep the synthesis table in your backpack.”
Colin distributed lanterns, synthesis tables, and various materials among them.
He had already filled each lantern with at least a hundred milliliters of ordinary blood, enough for three hours of burning.
As for replenishing them later, Colin was confident he could manage it.
He then gave the nine squad leaders three minutes; each chose three to five servants, and the teams were reorganized.
Every team now included a third of “veterans,” pairing the experienced with the new to foster swift growth.
“Set up the pots!”
At his command, the nine servants used their synthesis tables to begin assembling.
The tables had nine slots; as long as materials were placed in the correct order and manner, anything desired could be synthesized.
With blueprints, even items normally impossible to craft could be made.
In an instant, nine large pots were set up.
This time, Colin had learned from experience—prepare the food first, then recruit new members—
thus avoiding chaos and starvation later.
After all, the slaves he purchased all had hunger levels close to zero; if they ate too slowly, they could easily starve to death.
This time, nearly a hundred recruits arrived at once; mishandling could easily lead to fatalities.
“Are you ready?” Colin asked sternly.
“We’re ready!”
“Good. Make sure I never see anyone starve in your teams, or else…”
Colin’s expression was severe, though he left the consequences unspoken, prompting them to imagine the worst.
Truth be told, he hadn’t quite thought through what “or else” should mean…
“All units, light the lanterns with blood!”
At Colin’s command, nine bright beams pierced the gray fog.
Meanwhile, over a hundred servants were rapidly projected from the sheepskin scroll in Colin’s hand.
Just as he expected, the newcomers emerged weak, barely able to stand.
The prepared teams quickly moved forward, selecting recruits and distributing food.

Very soon, without incident, the expansion was complete.
Including Colin and the other lords, the ten teams now numbered one hundred sixty-two.
Colin’s team remained at fourteen; the others had sixteen each.
He needed only Shana as his personal guard.
Any more would simply be trouble…
Now, Colin gazed at the nine teams lined up before him, their eyes full of awe and reverence.
He took a deep breath, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“At last, I truly feel like a lord…”
On the other side, the four survivors watched the scene with complicated feelings.
They knew escape was no longer an option…
Bang—
Colin tossed a wooden table to the ground.
The four survivors flinched; who on earth brings a table on an expedition…
When they ventured out, they crammed their packs with supplies, carrying not a scrap of junk. Yet here was someone with the leisure to bring furniture—as if on holiday.
Colin ignored their strange looks, pulled out a heap of materials, synthesized weapons, and slapped them onto the table.
Facing their gazes, he spoke in a solemn tone:
“Those without weapons, step forward. One each.”
Axes again—over a hundred, all improved second-generation battle axes.
Brutal, forceful, overwhelming; facing abominations required no finesse.
It was simply a contest of who could destroy the other first, with the most violent, bloody means.
Either you died, or I swung again!
The battle axe had proved its worth against ordinary abominations in close combat.
Thus, Colin had decisively chosen it as the standard weapon for his followers.
As for ranged units, only bows could be made for now, but common arrows posed little threat to abominations.
Without enough damage, even the best marksman would only see “porcupines” charging from the mist.
Moreover, visibility—including lantern range—was barely twenty meters.
Bows were rendered almost useless.
So, Colin abandoned the idea for now.
In short, one swing—if it doesn’t kill, swing again; if that fails, run…

Meanwhile, starting with Team Two, they stepped forward in order, taking axes from the table.
Over a hundred people, axes in hand, stood neatly before Colin, awaiting his orders.
Colin’s face was expressionless, his gaze severe as he looked at their tense, reverent faces, though his mind was elsewhere…
How to stir up “inspiration”?
Among the servants, some were already inspired after eating, others needed one final push…
This was no time to repeat his “I can’t hear you” speech; they were in the grey fog, and guests were approaching nearby.
It wouldn’t do to scare them off.
After a dozen seconds of silence, Colin pulled fifty pounds of wild boar meat from his backpack and slammed it onto the table.
At once, it drew every eye.
He hadn’t let everyone eat their fill; most still hovered near starvation.
The sound of swallowing rippled through the ranks…
Colin studied them, composed himself, and spoke:
“Soon you’ll face a trial. Every action during it will be recorded.
“If you perform well, this will be your dinner, and the best team will earn ten pounds of dried meat as a reward.
“But if you fail, this—”
He gestured toward the nine pots containing only a few grains of rice.
His words quickly took effect; the servants chose the brighter future, their spirits rising.
This time, with those arriving, Colin didn’t intend to intervene directly, nor use Shana, his secret weapon.
Instead, he dispatched the nine teams to negotiate, persuade, and reach agreements—collecting sheepskin scrolls, lanterns, and synthesis tables.
From the information provided by the hints, their numbers were small—three or four at most, perhaps fewer.
Their threat was minimal, perfect for practice.
“May I go along?”
Just as the teams prepared to move, a voice sounded beside him. Colin turned to see the man with the keen nose and iron armor.
Colin had confiscated his armor earlier, but after confirming it was ordinary, had returned it—it was just junk taking up space.