725 Miracle (2/2)

Replenishment, provisions, training, morale, combat capability...

In the silence, the old musician mournfully stroked the few hairs on his head as he tried to pick the best method out of the thousands available.

This time, no matter what, they must completely crush the Anglos with the power of thunder, even if they had to pile their men up until they reached as tall as the sea fortress!

After this painful decision, the old musician suddenly relaxed.

Dedication required courage and determination, but the subsequent implementation required only experience and skill, and he had never lacked for ideas and ability. In terms of mass-scale mobilization for war, the old musician could head most of the political and military offices responsible for it. Without this ability, the Emperor would not rely on him as his deputy.

Before sunset, he had figured out a general strategy. He leaned back in his chair, carefully thinking if there were any holes in it.

But at the moment, the harsh sound of alarms rang out from the foot of the mountain the Golden Palace was on.

The sound of the alarm was mixed with the lighthouse's bell ringing.

Three long and three short.

The old musician was stunned, and he suddenly leaped out of the chair.

This was… a homeland security alert!

The bell would only be rung if Asgardian soil was threatened.

The slight uneasiness in his heart was magnified infinitely. The crisis that had been created by some leak made him nearly lose his composure as he pushed open the door and dashed towards the Ministry of Military Affairs.

A clerk in gray rushed forward with chaotic footsteps and saluted the old musician. ”Your Excellency, the Military and Political Affairs Office requests an emergency meeting!”

”His Highness?” the old musician asked without thinking. He could not lead a meeting that dealt with homeland security. The Emperor himself must preside. But where had the Emperor gone?

”His Highness is meeting with the Burgundian ambassador, and has ordered you to represent him,” the clerk answered. ”His Highness will come as soon as he can.”

The old musician did not dare to hesitate anymore, and he rushed towards the central conference room.

”What on earth is going on?”

”Three minutes ago, the Commonwealth of Caucasian officially declared war on us. At the same time, the Caucasian Redemption Corps landed on our soil from Port Norman, and has already engaged with Clear Seas Squadron.”

”The Commonwealth of Caucasian?” The old musician was stunned and went numb. ”How is this possible?”

How was this possible? How was this possible? How was this possible?

This question echoed around in his mind: how could it be the Caucasians?

Why? Nowadays, the Commonwealth of Caucasian had no ability to mobilize for war! They didn't even have any provisions, much less weapons and supplies. Where would they get them?

After experiencing the attack of a catastrophe, the devastated Commonwealth of Caucasian was born again in a revolution known as the Liberation of Capital. At the moment, it could be said that it had cleared away its deficiencies and had the potential to become a great country. But the price of this turmoil was terrible famines and epidemics, as well as a severe lack of supplies.

How would the weak Commonwealth of Caucasian mobilize their national reserves? It would be difficult to reorganize their citizens in just a few months. Not to mention that more than half the citizens were refugees and were being hit with plague after plague...

The Commonwealth, which had lost all its provisions in the catastrophe's attack and the several years of famine, had missed this year's spring plowing.

Although they had a vast amount of land, land that they could cultivate was few and far between. Most of it was a snow-covered wasteland. They could only barely cultivate it once per year, and they could not even support themselves on such poor soil…

They were like a knight that could not even fill his own stomach. No matter how strong he was, he had to eat his fill before he could fight a battle.

But now the Commonwealth had declared war on Asgard…

Were they crazy?

In the chaotic conference room, the old musician sat down with a gloomy expression and listened to the quarrels of the officials representing the various clans. Finally, he grabbed the crystal ashtray beside him in anger and dashed it against the wall as hard as he could.

The noise rang out.

Everyone was stunned.

The old musician looked at them all coldly. After a while, he sat back down.

”Tell me, how have they solved their provision problems?” he asked coldly. ”Which nation violated the treaty and sold grain to them? Why did our agents in the Commonwealth not report this to us?”

Everyone fell into an awkward silence.

After a while, someone with an unreadable expression passed over to him a photo that a spy had covertly taken

”I'm afraid it's because of… a miracle?”

The old musician held the photograph silently, looking at the image on it. He fell into a long silence. In the photograph, a vast expanse of fertile farmland rose above what should have been a barren wasteland. Numerous heavy stalks of wheat grew out of the barren soil, bending under their own weight. The huge amount seemed to turn the entire field into a golden blanket. In the center of the wheatfield, there was the silhouette of someone holding wheat seeds and sprinkling them onto the barren ground beneath his feet. Everywhere he went, green sprouted from the earth.

”It is said that the Commonwealth's granaries were filled overnight.” The Director of Intelligence loosened his bowtie, his face pale. ”According to our private statistics, one acre of these d*mn seeds can produce over 100,000 kilograms of rice… Under the control of the Son of God, they can mature in one day and one night. And that's not all. In the Caucasian hinterlands, dozens of abandoned mines have developed an abundant amount of rare mineral deposits overnight. This is not something that humans could have predicted, Your Excellency.” He hung his head in shame. ”We couldn't do anything.”

The old musician said nothing, just stared at the photograph before him. He silently lit a cigarette.

A miracle?

”Does anyone have a blanket?” The old musician closed his eyes. ”I'm a little cold.”