Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

Malin was quite pleased as he drove the "high-speed mountain off-road vehicle" because it closely resembled the electric bike he had owned years before, only this time the battery pack had been replaced by a magical crystal stone engine. This newer source provided superior horsepower and a more enduring operating time. All he needed to do was to charge it with the corresponding spiritual energy, and it could last an impressively long journey. Even accounting for maintenance every hundred kilometers, Malin could drive three hundred kilometers in one go, then head back and hand the vehicle over to the logistics department.

The vehicle was somewhat large for grown adults but was excellent for little fellows like the half-humans and dwarves. For someone like Malin, whose stature had shrunk due to active bloodlines, it operated all too well.

Therefore, Malin didn’t bother with the Seventeenth Infantry Division, nor did he need any assistants. He, alone with a map, headed north—as long as the front was stable, he wouldn’t rush to the trenches.

If the front line were breached by Chaos, those two-legged creatures wouldn’t be able to catch up with Malin, who could reach speeds of up to 80 miles per hour across the vast plains and small hills. Malin couldn’t think of anything that could outrun this vehicle.

So after half an hour, Malin arrived at the trench area. His identification allowed him past the guards’ inspection, and then he rode his small vehicle straight to the frontline—wherever the fighting was intense, he just had to ask the gendarmerie.

Although they didn’t understand why Malin would want to go to the most fiercely contested part of the front, the gendarmerie still informed him of the location of the intense battle. One of them, meaning well, shared some news with Malin, "I see you are from the Church of the Goddess of Harvest. Your church’s Mason Wyman is right there."

"That’s great." Malin nodded, then proceeded toward the front line. Along the way, he occasionally saw platoon-level reinforcements moving up, which made Malin a bit puzzled—just don’t turn this into a suicidal charge.

With such thoughts, Malin reached a small mound. The battle ahead was fierce. He parked his vehicle on the reverse slope and slowly walked towards the top of the hill with his gun. Fio, Lorrin, and Melo, the three little guys, quickly became self-propelled shovels, swiftly digging out a very competent foxhole for Malin—a rectangular foxhole with three firing angles, allowing Malin to cover the left, center, and right directions of the front line.

Then, on both sides, Lorrin and Fio were excavating two small foxholes.

Malin set down his ammunition bag and took out his periscope, positioning it in the small foxhole on the left.