Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 194 Contact
Walking, building camp, resting, walking... day after day.

The fatigue and monotony of marching can be glimpsed in Winters's records:
On the first day, they traveled along the south bank of the confluence river. Crows pecked at floating carcasses, and nothing happened.

The next day, we continued eastward. The weather turned cold, but nothing happened.

On the third day, they crossed the river at [Alpad], but the water was knee-deep. They set up a fort on the north bank of the river, and nothing happened.

On the fourth day, the march continued without incident.

On the fifth day, the march proceeded without incident.

Nothing happened on the sixth day.

I didn't write any records for the seventh, eighth, and ninth days.

On the night of the tenth day, Bud, Andre, and Mason sneaked into Winters' tent.

Using the dim light, the group pieced together the small map into a larger, incomplete one.

If you want to see a small-scale map of the Legion, their level isn't high enough.

Fortunately, their superior was John Jessica, who was in the habit of distributing large-scale tactical maps to his subordinates to explain and illustrate the terrain.

A map is a route.

After observing for a while, Andrei concluded: "We are heading northeast."

"Nonsense, the key question is why we're heading northeast?" Mason rested his chin on his hand, his thumb unconsciously rubbing his stubble.

“The River Styx, it’s all because of the River Styx.” Winters yawned sleepily and pointed to the empty space outside the map, saying, “The pontoon bridge is gone, we can only go upstream and find a narrow place to cross the river.”

Andrei yawned as well. He stood up and stretched his stiff muscles, asking impatiently, "How much further do we have to go to get back to Palatul?"

Winters gently raised his hand.

"call out."

"call out."

Two faint whooshing sounds.

A steel nail appeared on the small circle representing [Bian Li] on the map, and another steel nail flew into the ground outside the drawing.

An unfamiliar officer might have thought Winters was showing off his skills.

But everyone in the tent knew that Winters was putting on a brave face.

The more tired he became, the more frequently he used magic outside of combat.

The phantom pain brought Winters slightly more awake. He propped his forehead up and said in a low voice, "From the Styx camp to Bianli, I remember it took us eighteen days to get here."

After a moment's thought, Bard replied, "That's right, it's eighteen days."

"Eighteen days. Considering the marching speed of the supply train, let's overestimate rather than underestimate, and just say 200 kilometers."

"almost."

Winters found paper and pen and wrote as he spoke: "After crossing the River Styx, there's no man's land, another 100 kilometers. In total, it's 300 kilometers."

“Let’s just say 300 kilometers, there’s no need to be that precise.” Mason also picked up a measuring tape and, with Bud’s help, began to take measurements.

Mason and Bard were in charge of measuring, Winters was in charge of keeping track of the calculations, and Andrei was in charge of watching the fun.

The group eventually concluded that they were about 210 kilometers away from Matoupo Town and about 98 kilometers away from the Styx River.

"It's not that far," Andrei estimated optimistically. "Twenty days?"

The other three all turned their gaze to the river that was not on the map, yet was there nonetheless—the River Styx.

210 kilometers, a journey of strong speed would not take more than four days, and with a spare horse, it could be even faster.

But marching is not like a race; the problem is not the distance, but the terrain.

Rivers, hills, and swamps are just minor troubles when they arrive, but become major obstacles when they leave.

Other obstacles are relatively easy to deal with, but the key to the problem lies in Courvalleja – the River Styx.

The JASKA squadron came via the supply line, which is theoretically the shortest route.

The Paratul people planned their supply routes in a simple and crude way: the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. They would draw a straight line on a map with charcoal to represent the supply route in principle, and the actual routes were all modifications of this straight line.

The intersection of the supply line and the River Styx is where a pontoon bridge once stood.

Although that intersection was not the optimal location, thanks to prior reconnaissance and planning, well-trained engineers, and a large number of prefabricated components, Palatine's army was able to build a bridge in a location unsuitable for bridging.

However, what was possible then may not be possible now; the retreating Plato's army was not as well-equipped as when it arrived.

The centurions guessed correctly: with the existing pontoon bridge destroyed, the Paratul engineers were unable to rebuild a pontoon bridge of the same size with the existing resources.

Therefore, Plato's army had to move upstream to a shallower and narrower crossing point.

That means we'll have to take a detour.

“I don’t know,” Winters shook his head. “Where is the bridge? We don’t know. Are there pursuers behind us? We don’t know either.”

"Annoying!" Andrei complained. "They're hiding everything from us, making us guess!"

Winters was also getting angry: "They should at least give some kind of notification. Saying nothing is just making everyone panic."

Andrei was complaining about Plato's army, but Venetta's army was in a similar situation.

To prevent leaks and panic, operational plans and intelligence were strictly controlled. They were never disclosed to lower-ranking officers until the very last moment.

Most of the time, soldiers don't know the whole story before they go into battle.

Military maps are even more closely guarded secrets.

Thirty years ago, drawing maps and nautical charts was theoretically the privilege of clergy, because "mortals have no right to depict the world created by God."

Plato's Army regulations stipulate that centurion-level officers are not allowed to use or consult small- or medium-scale military maps, but they are allowed to consult and use large-scale tactical maps.

In practice, however, the centurion never sees any map at all—since there's no need for the centurion to carry out strategic maneuvers anyway.

The reason Winters and his men had a map was because Lieutenant Colonel Jessica had drawn it for them.

In fact, Jessica was unique in Plato's army in drawing maps for his subordinates.

“Keeping it a secret is the right thing to do,” Bard said fairly, and began to pack up the map. “Meeting adjourned, everyone go back and rest.”

The oil lamp was extinguished.

Even in the darkness, Andrei's indignant voice could still be heard: "Walking, walking, walking, all we do every day is walk, and we don't know where they're taking us. We might as well have some Herdsmen to amuse us."

His wish came true.

On the eleventh day, the JSKA Brigade encountered the Hed light cavalry.

Few people saw the Hurd cavalry, but most heard clear gunshots.

As soon as the scout's horn fired from behind, several Dussacs at the rear of the column immediately leaped onto their saddles and galloped toward the source of the gunfire.

As the officer closest to the rear, Winters was the first to reach the back of the column, and he could only see the backs of a few Dussacs getting further and further away.

"Who went?" Winters asked sternly.

“Mr. Little Cher,” the Wolf Town militiaman replied, “and Vasya, and Dusak from their tent are all there.”

Andrei arrived quickly with about twenty Dussaks.

"What happened?" Andrei asked.

"The horn fired, but I don't know anything else," Winters replied.

During the conversation, Pierre and the others had already crossed the hillside and were out of sight of the others.

"Don't just stand there!" Andrei cracked his whip and shouted, "Go check it out! Stay close to me!"

Before he finished speaking, Andrei charged ahead up the hillside. The other Dussacs followed without hesitation, spurring their horses to follow closely behind.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica was the third officer to arrive at the scene.

The lieutenant colonel's single eye swept across the landscape, finding only desolation. He asked Winters in a deep voice, "The Herds?"

“I don’t know.” Winters shook his head. “Lieutenant Cellini just led his men over there.”

"At most a few scouts. Let your men keep moving, no need to stop."

The thunderous sound of hooves grew louder as the cavalry squadron assigned to the vanguard galloped towards them.

The hussars swept past the JSK detachment like lightning, heading straight for the hillside behind them.

"Kill all the Hed barbarians!" a militiaman shouted at the hussars.

Logically, his voice should have been completely drowned out by the sound of horses' hooves.

But the shout reached the ears of the hussars.

A hussar removed his fine cap and waved it at the militia of the JSKA battalion, as if to say, "Watch us."

A cheer immediately erupted from the militia ranks.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica murmured, "It's a life-or-death struggle... a life-or-death struggle."

"What did you say?" Winters didn't hear clearly.

“It’s nothing.” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica glanced at Winters and instructed, “Let your men keep going. Don’t prepare any defenses. The Heds won’t catch up so quickly.”

Winters nodded and used his amplification to order his men: "Continue marching! No stopping!"

The hussars, dressed in their magnificent uniforms, disappeared behind the hillside. The vanguard had no time to wait for them and continued marching forward with unwavering determination.

About an hour later, cavalry appeared again behind the JSK detachment—the Paratul cavalry.

“Five men,” Pierre reported to Winters, leading three horses. “They’ve all been taken care of.”

“Well done. These two horses are yours to keep.” Pierre saluted and turned to leave.

Five Hed cavalrymen rammed into the Jessica's squadron and were all killed.

On Palatour's side, only the scouts who fired the first shots and the six Dusacs who arrived first actually participated in the battle; the rest were left to languish in the dust.

The cavalry pursued for a while, but quickly withdrew.

Andrei pursued relentlessly, but in the end he gained nothing and was left only with a belly full of anger.

When he got back, he complained to Winters: "The Hurds were like rabbits, the five of them split up and ran. Pierre chased two of them by himself, and I was afraid he'd get hurt, so I followed behind the whole way. And what did that kid do? He didn't even give me a turn!"

“The Hed scouts have already reached our vicinity, and the main force won’t be far behind.” Winters gently stroked Qiang Yun’s mane. He heard clearly now: “It’s a matter of life and death… Being pushed into this position, it’s a matter of life and death…”

"Huh? What? Did you even hear what I said... I was talking about Mitchell!"

……

On a hillside, 20 kilometers southwest of the vanguard.

Regardless of whether they were cavalry, infantry, or engineers, all the officers of Plato's main force were present, and the two generals were surrounded by their officers.

"Good! Teldun, Haidong, and Suz are all here! The rest are just scattered pieces, not worth mentioning! Let's have a good fight!" General Alpad laughed heartily, reaching into his breastplate to touch the wine jug, but finding nothing.

Alpad shook his hand somewhat awkwardly, then said with high spirits, "We still have to fight one more battle, otherwise we won't be able to leave. We need to give them a good beating, knock out those barbarians' front teeth, and let them figure out who the hunter and who the prey are."

“General Alpad and I have already discussed this,” Sackler said calmly and clearly. “The current situation is very similar to what we faced outside Bianli City. If we don’t repel the pursuers, we won’t be able to escape, even if we want to. The only ones chasing us are the vanguard of the Hed tribes. This battle is worth fighting.”

Sackler pointed to the valley and woodland in front of him: "This is a good place. Let's start the war with the Hed here."

……

Thirty kilometers west of Palatul's main force, inside the central command tent in the eastern part of the sea, several men were arguing.

The central command tent in the eastern part of the sea was unusually simple, even simpler than the tents of the officers of Palatine.

If a Platonic were to walk into this place, he would be utterly disappointed.

Because none of the extravagant and corrupt things that are commonly imagined by the people of Palatine—such as golden wine cups, silver chopping boards, and women with vulgar clothing—are present.

There weren't even tables or stools inside the tent.

A woolen blanket was laid on the ground, and more than twenty men sat on it, forming a circle regardless of their social status.

[Note: The following conversation is in Hetvian.]
Suddenly, the tent curtain was lifted, and a beam of light shone into the tent, so bright that it was impossible to open one's eyes.

Two men with similar appearances entered the yurt.

The man who entered first was tall and had a steady, firm gait.

His bones were as solid as if they were made of lead, and he had a pair of hands with large joints and a pair of calm brown eyes.

The man who came in later possessed an enviable vitality, a magic called youth: no matter what injury he suffered, he could recover after a good night's sleep; no matter what setback he encountered, he could get back up after wiping away his tears.

The other men in the tent once possessed this magic: they were unafraid of falling, unafraid of bleeding, and could cry and laugh as much as they wanted... but that's all in the past.

Now, they are very careful in everything they do, because each wound takes a long time to heal.

Each time they opened their eyes, they could feel that the life force within them was less than the last time they opened their eyes.

They consoled themselves with the idea that time brings wealth and power.

But deep down they know: Bullshit! I'd give anything to be young again.

So they looked at the young man with envy—though they were unwilling to admit it.

The young man also had a pair of brown eyes, which looked like two awls, shining brightly beneath his short, even eyebrows.

Two men entered the tent, and the tent immediately fell silent.

The men, their faces flushed from arguing, pursed their lips, waiting for the host of the place to break the silence.

“The mighty white lion, you have finally arrived.” An old man with white hair and beard and gray eyes stood up and warmly embraced the white lion: “The leaders of the tribes and I have been waiting for you.”

The wise grey-eyed white lion also warmly embraced the old man and presented him with a golden eagle statue: "I give you this eagle spirit, may your eyes always be as sharp as an eagle's."

The old man accepted it with a smile.

Afterwards, the white lion hugged and gave gifts to each of the leaders in turn.

Gift-giving is an important custom among the Hed people. Gifts are not limited by their value, but of course, the more expensive the better.

The more precious the gift, the higher the status of the giver and the more important the recipient.

After the whole process was completed, the white lion sat down in the circle. The young man who was with him—his younger brother, the little lion—sat next to him.

Being in this circle means you can say anything.

The moment the White Lion opened his mouth, it was like igniting a powder keg: "I demand that all the tribes return the women and children of the Red River tribe that they have abducted."

Others reacted with indifference, resentment, or interest, and all wanted to speak up.

"Don't speak yet, I haven't finished speaking." The White Lion continued, "Women with children must be handed over by all tribes; women with husbands or brothers must also be handed over by all tribes; the remaining women may be taken away by all tribes."

[Note: Here, "brother" refers to the husband's brother.]
A burly leader spoke up: "White Lion, I ask you, if a piece of gold falls to the ground, who should it belong to?"

"Healthy eater, I'll answer you: whoever takes it, keeps it."

“A group of women ran into the wilderness, and whoever took them got to keep them. The tribes fought each other, and today you took my sheep, tomorrow I took your cow. Whoever could take them back got to keep them. There was only taking them back, not returning them.”

"That's right." The white lion sat up straight and solemnly. "I've already taken action to seize it."

Upon hearing this, nearly half of the leaders' expressions changed.

"You've already started to steal it?" The healthy eater was immediately enraged.

"Yes."

The other leaders watched the two stand in silence.

"You want to start a fight?"

"If you don't give it to me, I'll hit you."

"The two-legged people are to the east!"

"So what? The tribes are fighting each other, whoever manages to seize it gets to keep it."

"The two-legged people are right to the east, yet you're trying to steal from me?"

"The two-legged person is right to the east, didn't you rob me?"

Grey Eyes laughed heartily, trying to appease the two: "Strong White Lion! Eloquent White Lion! They're just a few women, you gluttons, return them to their rightful owners. Where are the fire-warmers?"

"Those warming themselves by the fire are robbing people."

"Did you hear that? Return the women of the Red River tribe. The tribes are gathered here not to fight each other."

The Terdon and Haidong branches voted in favor, and the nervous little lion breathed a slight sigh of relief.

“All the tribes have returned the women and children of the Chihe tribe, and I will give them my share of the spoils of war as a return gift.”

"Alright then," the healthy eater nodded.

The Suzz tribe also voted in favor.
Everyone clasped their hands in a high five to seal the deal, and the matter was thus settled.

The Harts held meetings in their tents to resolve the most acute conflicts.

Therefore, the tribal leaders said whatever they wanted, and it was common for them to grab each other's clothes and throw punches, but they could not kill anyone.

Once outside the felt tent, whether to fight or kill, it's up to each individual.

After a moment of silence in the tent, the master of this place—the Khan of the Eastern Sea [Gray Eyes]—speaked: "Chiefs of all tribes, please listen to me. A body should have a brain, and clothes should have a collar; that's how it should be."

This was a serious matter, far more important than a few women, and all the tribal leaders pricked up their ears.

“This is not a grand council, nor are we electing a Khan. Rather, we are electing a war leader to lead us to victory against the Two-Legged People. The tribes are like arrows, scattered one by one, each arrow easily broken. If we can work together, no one can easily defeat us.”

A single arrow is easily broken, but a multitude is difficult to destroy. Every Hedman has heard the story of the broken arrow, but knowing it is easier said than done.

"We must elect a war leader, and after he is elected, we must entrust him with the power of life and death. Only in this way can we win the war. Otherwise, it will be like before, with the pastures turning green again and again, and the two-legged people humiliating us time and time again. The borders of the tribes have already retreated to the River Styx. Is there anywhere else for us to retreat to?"

Should they relinquish the power of life and death? The tribal leaders hesitated.

Only the white lion remained calm.

Finally, the gray-eyed man said heavily, “I am too old to lift a sword, so I will not choose. You choose someone else, and I will take my bow, ride my horse, and follow him to the battlefield. Do not worry, we are not electing the Khan, but only until we win this battle.”

The tribal leaders looked at the white lion.

The white lion readily agreed, saying, "Many of my men have died or been wounded, so I will not choose either."

"Then what else is there to say?" the glutton said. "White lion not chosen, gray-eyed not chosen..."

A series of urgent shouts interrupted the fast eater: "Khan! The two-legged man has sent a messenger!"

The gray-eyed man's expression changed drastically. He struggled to his feet, supporting himself with one hand, and walked outside the tent.

The other leaders followed them out.

"What do they want?"

"They want to negotiate peace."

I'm sorry I owe you a chapter. I plan to make up for it with a long chapter. One of the downsides of being a corporate employee is that my productivity is okay on weekdays, but it plummets on weekends.

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

Thank you to the readers for their generous donations: Most Bright Tianjin IV, Luan Hao Niu, Reader 20201116143237600, Qia Zhe CD Song Ren Tou, Qian Shi Fu Zi, and Li Hua Kong Xiang.

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(End of this chapter)