Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 189 All Sons Emerge
[Note: Only the orders received by the field officers contained the word "retreat," while the centurions' orders were merely to break camp, and the soldiers knew nothing at all. Andrei's mention of "retreat" was relayed by Deska.]
The wounded hadn't been treated, and the spoils of war hadn't been collected when the sudden order to move out caught everyone off guard.

"Where is the lieutenant colonel?" Winters rushed back to Bianli, only to find that Lieutenant Colonel Jessica was not there.

“Winters, you’re finally back.” Mason’s tense nerves finally relaxed, and he quickly explained, “The lieutenant colonel and Andrei went to the North Bridgehead. He asked you to gather the soldiers in the city and bring them back to the camp.”

Winters understood; there were still many soldiers and wounded in the battalion at the north bridgehead, and the lieutenant colonel was going to bring them back.

"Where are our people?" Winters asked again.

Mason pointed to the west and all directions: "Everywhere."

"This……"

There's no other way but to use the brute force method to find it.

Soldiers were everywhere in Bianli City, and groups of two or three militiamen from the Jieshika Brigade were mixed in among them.

Winters, Bud, and Mason split up and searched house by house and street by street, but they only managed to find half of the men after turning the entire city upside down.

“Let the others go back to camp on their own,” Mason said to Winters, his voice hoarse. “I don’t have time to look for them a second time.”

After a moment's thought, Bader proposed a compromise: "Someone needs to take charge at the main camp. You two go back, and I'll stay in the city with a few men to continue the search."

Winters nodded: "Be careful."

After finally managing to gather half of the militia, Winters discovered an even bigger problem: they couldn't get out.

Two infantry battalions were escorting the Harts out of the city, while outside, supply troops were driving dozens of carts into the city. The inner city had three gates, but they were all completely blocked.

Winters ordered his men to turn toward the breach in the wall, only to find that it was even more congested there.

Many disbanded soldiers, who had not received orders to break camp, were still desperately trying to squeeze into the city to grab something.

With no other option, Winters led his men toward the city gate again.

Just then, they ran into General Sackler arriving with his military police.

Sackler's solution was simple and brutal: he had the military police repeatedly read out the order outside the city gates: "Entry is permitted only through the south gate! Exit is permitted only through the north gate! Carriages and horses may pass through the middle gate! Anyone who disobeys will be executed!"

Language alone has very limited effect. Some soldiers still cling to the hope of getting away with it.

Soon, their headless corpses were hung on the city wall.

Just as the silt in the riverbed was cleared, the city gates immediately became unobstructed, and Winters was able to lead his men out of the city.

Back at the besieged camp, people were running around and horses were neighing.

Scout cavalry squads were dispatched one after another, and the nimble soldiers were dismantling tents and loading them onto vehicles.

Only then did Winters realize that the higher-ups were serious. Not only were they going to evacuate, but they were going to evacuate immediately.

He had very little information, which made him deeply uneasy.

As far as he knew, in the land around Bianli, which was divided into three parts by rivers, there were eighteen infantry battalions, forty-six cavalry companies, more than six thousand auxiliary soldiers, and an unknown number of miscellaneous laborers, totaling more than twenty thousand people.

How to regroup troops scattered in various locations? This alone is enough to give Sackler and Arpad a headache.

Not to mention that the light cavalry chasing the Chihe tribe may have already traveled dozens of kilometers away.

Only one thing gave him some peace of mind: the command chain of the Paratul army had not broken down, and the soldiers were still following orders. As long as they were united, the Paratul remained an invincible force.

After passing through the noisy and chaotic camp, Winters finally returned to the Jessica Battalion's camp.

To his surprise, the Jessica camp was as calm as a deep pool in a secluded valley, unlike the large camp which was like a boiling kettle.

Not only Winters, but Mason and all the militiamen were stunned by the sight before them:
Two rows of carriages were neatly parked in the open space, carrying all the supplies for the JSKA Brigade.

Each sack and each box was securely tied together with two ropes.

There were no horses on the carriage, as the draft horses were all in the stables, enjoying their feed.

The other soldiers in the camp looked flustered, wishing they could pack up all their belongings at once.

The wounded soldiers of the JSKA battalion who stayed behind at the camp were still working; some were cleaning the hooves of the draft horses, while others were kneading dough.

Many people were busy around a dozen or so simple earthen stoves, seemingly baking something.

If Winters' memory serves him right, when he moved with the army to the North Bridgehead—that is, three days ago—the camp did not yet have these ovens.

Upon seeing their comrades return, the wounded soldiers who remained at the camp quickly brought out dry rations and water.

The militiamen who had just returned from Bianli were exhausted and hungry, and they took the food and drink and wolfed it down.

Winters was surprised by the wounded soldiers' good spirits. He asked the wounded soldiers who remained at the camp, "Who built these ovens?"

"It was the old saint who told us to build it," the wounded soldier in charge of the grill hurriedly replied. "It was the day you went to the camp in the north."

Winters nearly coughed up blood. What old saint? He was clearly just an old charlatan! It seemed that the fanaticism of these old charlatans' followers had only deepened in the three days since he last saw them.

"What are you baking?" Winters asked again.

“Dry rations. The old sage told us to make wheat cakes first, then bake them into dry rations and pack them into bags.”

Winters raised an eyebrow: "When did the dry rations start being made?"

"The day before yesterday, the day you set off for the expedition."

"A carriage? Brother Reid also asked you to install it?"

"Yes." The wounded soldier nodded like a chicken pecking at rice: "The old sage told us to pack our things and load them onto the truck yesterday."

“Take me to Brother Reid.”

Next to the carriage, Winters found the old charlatan.

The old man ate well, slept well, and was able to pet cats every day on the journey.

Compared to the gaunt, mendicant monk he had met when they first met, the old charlatan now appeared rather well-off.

When the two met, the old charlatan was carrying a small bucket of red paint in his left hand and a brush in his right, sketching and painting on the carriage's side panel.

Seeing Winters approaching, Brother Reid waved happily: "Young man, you're back?"

"What are you doing?" Winters walked up to the old monk.

Upon getting closer, Winters finally saw what the old charlatan was writing:
[All units of the Fifth Legion's Jishka Battalion]
Theft will be punished by hanging; military law will also apply.
Brother Reed said smugly, "I've marked all the wagons. That way, we won't get into legal trouble during the march, and we'll have evidence if any disputes arise."

"Theft punishable by hanging? Military law will prevail?"

"Not bad, right?" The old man's face grew even more radiant. "Concise and powerful, perfectly balanced. Don't underestimate this short slogan; I've been pondering it for days. One sentence is enough to deter the petty scoundrels."

"What's the use?" Winters scoffed. "These soldiers can't even read."

Brother Reed's face went from glowing to flushed, and he added a holy emblem after the words "[Theft will be punished by hanging and military law will prevail]".

The old man said angrily, "Is this alright now? Church property, let's see who dares to steal it!"

After saying that, Reed walked to the next carriage and continued to paint the slogan.

“I would like to ask you a question,” Winters said, cutting to the chase. “Please teach me, sir.”

“Hypocrite.” Brother Reid glanced at Winters. “Speak.” Winters licked his lips and asked, “You’ve been preparing for the withdrawal, and you started three days ago, haven’t you?”

“Almost.” Reed didn’t turn around, focusing on drawing the holy emblem on the fence.

"What makes you so sure we—no, Plato—are going to lose?" Winters pressed on.

The old man sighed and threw the brush on the ground.

He turned around and looked Winters into the eyes: "Boy, you're wrong. Although I know nothing about military affairs, I have never doubted your ability to fight. I have also never doubted Plato's victory."

"Then why did you prepare provisions and a carriage in advance?"

"Because the White Lion Yasin has already won. Palatul will win every battle in this war until he loses it."

"I don't know……"

Brother Reid sighed again, walked to a nearby stone bench, and gestured for Winters to follow.

The two sat on a stone bench. The old monk coughed and explained, “A victory in battle cannot compensate for a strategic failure. The moment the Paratulans besieged our fortified city, the White Lion Yasin had already won. I ask you, do you really think the Hed people willingly let the Paratulans cut them to pieces?”

Winters wanted to argue that there are many historical precedents for the strategy of gradual encroachment.

However, he also realized that this did not mean the annexed party had no desire to resist. Moreover, Plato could no longer be considered as annexing; he was tearing flesh from the Hed tribes with his own teeth.

"When the rabbit dies, the fox grieves; when animals of the same kind are harmed, so too are animals of the same kind. Like the cart and its wheel, they depend on each other; if the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold." Brother Reed then asked Winters, "When the Heds see neighboring tribes suffering one calamity after another, aren't they afraid? Aren't they resentful? Aren't they worried about their own fate?"

Reed pointed to the vast wilderness and said, “A young and strong male lion can prey on everything on the savanna. But once it shows signs of weakness, it will not only be driven away by the lionesses, but even the hyenas on the savanna will dare to provoke it. The reason is simple: power.”

“Power? What does that mean…” Winters was confused.

“You brat, you’ve ruined my mood.” The old man sighed heavily. “In simpler terms, in the past, the Hart tribes were on the rise, while the Palat people were on the decline, and the Harts were beating the Palat people black and blue. Thirty years ago, the Battle of Ned Smith changed the tide. The Palat people started to rise, while the Hart tribes started to decline, and the Palat people beat the Hart tribes into a rout.”

The old man coughed twice more: "When things are going uphill, all contradictions, all mistakes, and all problems can be covered up by victory. But once things go downhill, they will all erupt. This is why the Harts were beaten for thirty years after only one defeat. It wasn't that the power of the Palatine Kingdom suddenly increased, but rather that the rifts accumulated by the Hart tribes were ignited by a single defeat."

"But...were the ones who utterly defeated the Red River Tribe?"

“I have another question,” Brother Reid said, his gaze intense. “If gods bleed, are they still gods?”

If God bleeds, is God still God?

Winters pondered those words.

Before Winters could answer, the old monk continued, “Platoon is the lion, and the tribes of Hed are the hyenas. The lion king can’t defeat a hundred hyenas, but he can chase and tear them apart because the lion king has power.”

For thirty years, the Hed tribes had been waiting for an opportunity, an opportunity for the Parat people to show signs of decline.

If Palatul can annihilate the Red River tribe with overwhelming force, then the Red River tribe's [allies] will scatter like birds and beasts, and no one will come to their rescue.

Paratu's army was bogged down at the front lines, and his rear was invaded. The White Lion Yasin had transformed Paratu from an invincible god into a man who sheds blood.

The hyenas have already smelled the blood, and the white lion Yasin's [allies] will rush to this feast. They no longer see themselves as prey, but rather as you.

You can defeat one or two tribes, but when all the Hed tribes come to share the lion's flesh, you will be utterly destroyed. If your general isn't stupid, he should withdraw immediately after winning this battle.”

Winters cleared his thoughts and asked in return, "You mean to say that the White Lion Yasin is deliberately trying to prove that Palatul is not invincible? Although we defeated the Red River tribe, we will be besieged by all the Hed tribes."

"In terms of the outcome, that's the idea."

“But aren’t the tribes of Kehd a disorganized mess?” Winters couldn’t accept it: “How could any tribe be helping the White Lion?”

“I wouldn’t know!” Brother Reid patted Winters on the shoulder: “Kid, if you want to know how the Red River tribe colludes with other tribes, you’ll have to ask Yasin himself.”

Winters had a mixed feeling: "So you think the Paratists are doomed to lose?"

“No! Quite the opposite!” Reed said emphatically. “I believe Plato will ultimately prevail.”

"Why?" Winters asked, puzzled.

Reed remarked with a sigh, "In my opinion, Plato is still on the rise. Its people are brave and strong, and its ruler is not incompetent. With the support of the other four kingdoms, one defeat will not cripple it."

The strength of the Parat people far surpasses that of the Hed tribes. Their defeat, however, allows them to learn from their mistakes and make their next punches more ruthless, accurate, and powerful.

Over the past decade or so, I have traveled throughout the republics, and it is not just Palatine that is on the rise, but the entire Union is thriving. Ned Smith has left you with thirty years of peace; the future of this Union is limitless.”

“Young man, you’re just the right age.” Reed looked at Winters, a smile appearing on his wrinkled face. “Perhaps you’ll live through an entire golden age.”

This time it was Winters' turn to sigh: "A golden age? Let's put an end to the civil war first."

The old man retorted, "So what if it's a civil war? A civil war is also a way to unify resources."

The feud between the United Provinces and Veneta is complex and intertwined, something Winters and the old charlatan can't quite explain.

Suddenly, he thought of something, raised his eyebrows, and asked the old charlatan, "Since you thought this battle was doomed to be lost, why didn't you warn me, or Lieutenant Colonel Jessica, or General Sackler?"

Reed glanced at Winters and asked, "I said [chicken breast], do you understand?"

"What do you mean?" Winters was completely bewildered.

"Have you heard of a wise man named [Fertile Land]?"

Winters shook his head repeatedly, racking his brains but unable to recall any wise man named [Fertile Land].

Have you heard of the book "[Roman Legends of Three Countries]"?

This is even more outrageous; Winters has never even heard of it.

“Then I have no way of explaining it to you.” Reed laughed heartily, coughing as he laughed. “Just think of me as a charlatan old man spouting nonsense. Even if I took this to the general, he wouldn’t believe me. It’s that simple.”

……

Meanwhile, at Legion headquarters, Arpad's face was grim as one piece of bad news after another was delivered to his desk.

Twelve squadrons of cavalry pursuing the remnants of the Chihe tribe encountered nearly ten thousand enemies in the northwest.

The enemy was cautious and did not launch an attack on the Paratu cavalry. Instead, they continued to gather the remnants of the Chihe tribe, and their numbers grew stronger.

The twelve cavalry squadrons, consisting of only about 1,500 cavalrymen, saw no opportunity to take advantage of the situation and left a few scouts behind before returning to camp.

The intelligence brought back stated that the barbarian chieftain who led tonight's enemy had a ruddy complexion and a tall stature. Based on his physical characteristics, he was likely the Great Chieftain of the Teldun tribe, the Fire-Warmer.

The arrival of the fire-bringers wasn't the most worrying thing for Alpad, since the Teldun tribe had already joined the war, but their attention was focused on the Jeska tribe's bridgehead.

The most distressing intelligence for Major General Alpad was the information delivered overnight by Paratu's informants and spies in the Hed tribes.

The eastern part of the Haidong region and the Suz tribe are gathering troops, demanding that the smaller tribes that are subordinate to them [all send their firstborn sons].

Because of the delays on the road, Arpad judged that by the time he received the intelligence, the eastern part of the Sea and the Suz region had likely already deployed troops.

The three major departments of Hart are almost complete.

[I'd like to request a break. There will be no updates today and tomorrow (Saturday and Sunday). If I'm not in Night City these two days, I'll be on my way there. Updates will resume next Monday. Thank you everyone.]
感谢书友G·Longinus、东门王宝强、书友111220192513078、luochengxian、proudboy、爱看书的单身狗、XAXAX、ZHAOYESH、书友20180830192648978、STONY、一剑封喉2、阿卡塞蒂大副、54月、纯白的光、92酱萌萌哒、windfirewate、江雪钓翁的月票，谢谢大家。

Finally, thank you to all the readers for reading, subscribing, liking, recommending, voting, and donating. Thank you everyone.

See you on Monday.



(End of this chapter)