Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

"Breaking news! Breaking news! An unidentified armed group attacked our southern border but was completely annihilated by our army!"

At sunrise in Helmingen, as the first rays of dawn ripped away the last vestiges of darkness from the night, the clear, urgent shouts of newsboys echoed through the streets and alleys.

That shout was like a spark that instantly ignited the entire city, which was still awakening.

The residents who had just opened their doors, still feeling the languor of early morning, instantly lost all sleepiness upon hearing the words "border," "attack," and "annihilation."

"I'm going to fight!"

As if drawn by invisible threads, they surged towards the newsboy from all directions, stretching out their arms to grab money, the copper and silver coins jingling in their hands.

In no time at all, the stack of newspapers carried by the newsboy was sold out.

He looked down at the heavy wad of coins in his arms, a wide grin spreading across his face. He turned and walked away with light steps, leaving a group of people huddled on the street, flipping through their newspapers, eager to dig out more information from between the lines.

This matter spread like wildfire, instantly stirring up every corner of Helmington.

On the streets and alleys, some people stopped to discuss, while others hurried to spread the news. Even the usually quiet corners were crowded with people exchanging information.

The commotion reached its peak in the busiest tavern in town.

The tavern wasn't officially open yet, but the door panels had already been taken down by the waiters, and the inside was already full of patrons.

These people included ordinary citizens, merchants in respectable robes, and people from all walks of life. At this moment, they put aside their differences in status and sat together, forming a small circle for gathering grassroots intelligence.

Their faces were solemn, their voices were extremely low, yet they were filled with barely suppressed excitement and tension. They used every channel and connection they could think of to try to piece together what exactly had happened at the border the previous night.

A customer took a swig of ale, lowered his voice, and looked on with a serious expression:

"This is no small matter like smuggling or illegal immigration. It's all over the south. They say they heard cannon fire last night. I guess this is no small thing."

As soon as he finished speaking, a chorus of agreement immediately arose around him.

Another burly customer put down his glass, the bottom of which clattered against the wooden table. He picked up the conversation, his tone confident:

"Then there's no need to guess. It must be a foreign army that wants to invade. As for which one, aren't the armies of the two countries, Mitland and Yoda, fighting each other in the south? It's either one of them, or they've conspired to invade together."

These words immediately quieted the tavern, as many people weighed the possibility in their minds.

The war between Midland and Yoda has been going on for quite some time, with the two countries locked in a fierce battle. Could they really want to bring the war here?

Just as everyone was discussing this, an old man who had been silently drinking nearby shook his head, his gray hair swaying gently with the movement.

He put down his wine glass, his voice steady, carrying a detached air of worldly wisdom:

"There's no need to speculate here. We'll find out which country's ambassador to our country our Keeper of the Seal summons when the time comes. If it's to be made public, we'll have to wait until tomorrow when the Keeper of the Seal publishes a condemnation of a certain country in the newspaper."

The old man's words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing everyone's enthusiasm for speculation.

Yes, these are major national events, how could ordinary people like us possibly understand them? In the end, it all comes down to the official stance.

Inside the palace, John stood alone at a large desk, looking down at letters arriving from all over the world.

A thick stack of letter paper lay on the desk, each sheet filled with dense handwriting, recording the latest developments in the border region and surrounding areas.

His gaze swept over the lines of text, his expression focused and without the slightest slackening.

The contents of the letter were far more detailed than what was circulating among the public. Not only was Helmingen's southern border attacked, but the Armed Cathedral in the southwestern governorate of Mitland was also attacked by unidentified armed forces at the same time.

Fortunately, the garrisoned members of the Anti-Foreign Cult reacted quickly and were very powerful, eliminating the invaders in the first instance and preventing the situation from deteriorating further.

John tightened his grip on the letter slightly, his brow furrowing involuntarily.

He carefully sorted through this information, his mind racing. The methods used by these apostles who launched the attack were extremely clumsy, their tactics were chaotic, and their equipment was not sophisticated. They looked like a mob.

But John did not underestimate it in the slightest. On the contrary, he keenly sensed that there was definitely more to it than met the eye.

The actions of these apostles were clearly organized and premeditated, and were by no means a spur-of-the-moment rebellion.

This attack was likely just a probe, a test of their defenses and response capabilities.

After all, these apostles who charged ahead weren't very smart; the truly terrifying ones were those who hid behind the scenes and manipulated everything.

Those clever guys might be secretly plotting something bigger, waiting for the right moment to deliver a fatal blow.

Thinking about this, John felt a growing sense of unease; he knew that the crisis was far from over.

"His Majesty."

Just as John was lost in thought, a respectful call came from outside the door.

Wesker appeared in the doorway, tall and serious.

He did not barge in, but patiently waited for John's permission.

John looked up, his gaze falling on Wesker, and nodded slightly.

Wesker then stepped into the room, his steps steady, and stopped at the desk to report:

"I investigated the identities of these intruders as you requested. I checked the information in the domestic missing persons reports in recent years, and these people are unlikely to be our citizens."

"Oh, then I'm relieved."

John's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible ease, instantly putting my mind at ease.

This indirectly confirms the principle that monsters don't spawn in areas with light sources.

At least it can be confirmed that these invaders did not come from within the country and were not a rebellion caused by internal conflicts, which eliminates the possibility of being attacked from both sides and allows them to concentrate on dealing with external threats.

John put down the letter in his hand, already having new plans in mind.

He turned and gave orders to the servants waiting outside the door, his tone crisp and decisive:

"Prepare the carriage; I need to go to the magic experiment area outside the city."

The servants acknowledged and withdrew to arrange the carriage.

Last night, John had a deep conversation with those ghosts—or rather, heroic spirits.

He discovered a crucial point: the souls of these heroic spirits were bound by some invisible force and could not leave their coffins beyond a certain range.

A thought suddenly popped into his head: was it possible to combine the coffins of these heroic spirits with Stephen's steam-powered mechs?