Otaku Witch

"Maybe close combat isn't working; shall we try long-range attacks?"

"Hmm, Clerics are all Transcendents after all, possessing Supernatural Powers that mortals do not, naturally having some abilities to harm from a distance, unlike mortals who mainly rely on bows and arrows for long-range attacks."

However, when the Clerics who held this thought truly put distance between themselves and prepared to cast spells, they saw that the members of the Rebel Army also sheathed their swords and then raised their arms. From the Mechanical Battle Armor on their arms, a short, hollow metal tube extended."

Then...

Bang, bang, bang...

The crisp sound of gunfire echoed across the battlefield, and a bloody lesson taught those from the Medieval ages what it meant when one said, "Sirs, times have changed."

While Superhuman Strength is wonderful, not everyone is capable of Instant Cast Magic or Divine Arts.

Of course, even though the Rebels had such excellent equipment and supply advantages, the fact was that the Church had maintained the upper hand throughout the war, as the gap between a regular army and a ragtag force is not so easily bridged.

Even though the Rebels had been trying their hardest, as it stood, the ratio of casualties between the two sides was more or less one to three, one for the Church, three for the Rebels.

Seeing that the casualty rate on the Rebels' side was rapidly approaching thirty percent, the Clerics reckoned that the enemy's morale should have greatly diminished by this point, considering thirty percent might not seem much at a glance—only three out of ten dying, it felt like they could still fight—but for a war on the scale of hundreds of thousands, thirty percent represented a literal field of corpses and rivers of blood.

However, what chilled the Clerics to the bone was that this Rebel Army truly was unorthodox; these people seemed utterly fearless, as if death was nothing to them, even as their comrades-in-arms were nearly annihilated, leaving only one person, but that person still dared to launch a desperate, suicidal charge, a fact that these old men of the Church found utterly incomprehensible.

You might say they truly feared nothing, yet it was not so, as evident during the charge; many of these "lonely" Rebels trembled, obviously scared, yet despite being so frightened, why didn't they run, why did they still fight?

Seeing an enemy, whose Battle Armor was shattered and body was impaled with more than a dozen weapons, nearly dying yet still desperately crawling forward on the ground, then using his last ounce of strength to bite the foot of a Cleric in front of him, causing the latter to misstep, followed by being finished off by his comrades from the Rebel Army, that Rebel swallowed his mouthful of the enemy's flesh and blood and then closed his eyes with a smile.

This scene sent chills down the spines of the surrounding Clerics.

And this wasn't an isolated case; most Rebels, when severely wounded and beyond help, chose not to run away but instead continued charging forward, trying to use their last bit of strength to create opportunities for their comrades to kill enemies...

"Damn it, why, why won't you run..."

"Don't come over here, you lot of scum must be possessed by Devils..."

"I've had enough, this is definitely the Devil's Power, these scum are controlled by the Devil, they are all bewitched..."

"No, I don't want to die, I..."

....

Gradually, as the Rebel Army's casualty rate reached a high of fifty percent, the Church's forces also suffered thirty percent losses, yet their morale couldn't hold strong like the Rebel Army's. By this point, many from the Church's army began to rout.

They were truly frightened; after all, the Clerics were human too and naturally felt fear. Facing an enemy that fought without regard to life, determined to drag someone down even in death, their mental defenses were truly about to break.

Seeing their comrades one by one being replaced, how could the old men of the Church not panic; how could they not run, lest they too be overwhelmed by the opposing "Demons."

Most Clerics in the Church's elite forces were either nobility or rich merchants' offspring, who had sided with the Church simply because it brought them wealth and power. But to ask them to die for faith? There were very few willing to do so.

You wouldn't have really thought that all Clerics could be zealots willing to sacrifice themselves for their faith.

And as more and more Clerics fled, the Rebel advantage began to grow steadily.

...

Dorothy looked down at her comrades, gradually gaining the upper hand, but couldn't quite feel joyful. After all, even from the heavens, she could clearly see and smell the corpses strewn about and the stench of blood rising to the sky.

Even though she knew that this was just an illusion created by the Witch's Night, and that the corpses all around were nothing but NPCs composed of residual images of the past, the Homebody Witch still felt somewhat stifled.

After all, even if the people were fake, the trust was real—trust that came from believing in her words, her ideas, and led them to willingly sacrifice their lives.

Was she worthy of this awareness? Could she truly bear the weight of these expectations?

Dorothy did not know. She had thought she could, but staring at all the debris, she increasingly felt that her previous enlightenment might have been somewhat superficial.

That old saying still rang true; players cannot truly empathize with NPCs.

....

Meanwhile, Denisha, who had been beating up Michael, also gazed complexly at the debris and the still charging Rebel Army facing death without hesitation.

Denisha had never truly considered these mortals companions; everything she had done was solely for her sister Dorothy, simply because her sister wanted it done.

But now, Miss Shepherdess's eyes flickered.

She had been betrayed by her flock before, so she had grown distrustful of this new flock, but now, she was beginning to understand the meaning behind Dorothy's words— "Humans and sheep are different."

All she did was for Dorothy, and if these mortals were so fearless, it was surely for their "Dorothy" as well.

Denisha thought to herself.

At this moment, there was a slight change in the thoughts of the future Divine King.

Flocks weren't worth expecting anything from, but maybe she could have a little expectation for these comrades.

.....

On the other hand, Sophia was frowning tightly. Although the strong faith of full zealotry bursting from the Rebel Army had prepared her mentally, knowing she might not get an advantage this time around,

when she watched her regular army's morale crumble against the motley opposing army, she still found it hard to accept.

And after the surprise, she felt a bit lost, for she had never encountered such an enemy before and naturally did not know how to respond.

In the past, she was like a studious geek who knew the decomposition formula by heart—no matter the problem, she could just apply a formula, tackle each move made against her, and win almost unconsciously. But now, she had never seen this kind of problem before, there were no formulas for her to apply. What should she do?

She had seen fearless enemies before, but their fearlessness was mostly due to drugs or magic effects, which could be countered simply by removing the drugs or magic. However, the dogged, undeterred resolve of this Rebel Army was not something external that could easily be eradicated.

For a moment, the Pure White Angel was at a loss.

Fortunately, she calmed down quickly; now was not the time for her to panic. At this time, everyone could panic, but as the leader, she alone could not afford to.

Several flashes of Divine Art passed over Sophia's body as she forcibly regained her composure, and once calm, she reevaluated the defeat and suddenly had a revelation.

"Could this be the legendary Master of Miracles?"

She recalled a passage she had once read in a book, a segment that her past self had considered pure fantasy, yet now, that fantasy seemed to reflect into reality.

...The Angel pondered..