Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 199 Cutting Down Trees
People are not afraid of difficult circumstances, but they are afraid of having no direction.

Therefore, the Paratites needed a bridge, even though Seckler had already sent messengers across the river to ask for help.

Building bridges is not only for "crossing the river," but also to instill hope in all soldiers.

Nothing in the world is more despairing than being at the end of one's rope.

The indifferent River Styx lay before them, leaving the Paratians with nowhere to go and nowhere to go.

They wanted to turn around and fight back, but found that there were no enemies at all—the Hed people didn't fight them head-on at all.

The white lion is like a hunter who has cornered a wild beast on a cliff, patiently waiting for the enemy to be crushed by hunger and despair.

With morale shattered, the Palatine army collapsed without waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

Centurion Montagne's bridge-building plan was difficult, but that didn't matter.

Because what Plato's army desperately needed was not a bridge, but hope.

Like a drowning man grabbing a plank, the Parat people now only see three things: bridge, bridge, and more bridge.

The carpenter led the engineering officer through the forest, searching for suitable materials for the bridge construction project.

The straightest and longest pieces of good material were circled in red paint; they would be used as bridge piers.

Second-rate timber was marked with black paint and could be sawn into planks for paving the bridge surface.

As for the saplings and shrubs that haven't yet grown into timber, they are all used for charcoal burning.

Anyone who had ever used a hammer and anvil was taken away, and even a seasoned blacksmith like Berlión was no exception.

The Jasca army lost its renowned chef, Winters, and was once again forced to eat swill. However, Plato's army gained a master craftsman who could lead a dozen or so laborers.

The captured weapons were reheated, folded, and forged; excess armor was melted down into molten iron and poured into sand molds.
The only charcoal burner in the army became a prized possession, fortunately, the skill was not difficult to learn.

Besides proposing the bridge-building plan, Winters also made a small contribution.

Following Winters' suggestion, the Fifth and Sixth Legions also established a Bridge Construction Command, modeled after the Third [Great Vineta] Legion's structure when building the Guzhi Road on Chili Island.

The command was personally overseen by General Sackler, and all available resources in the military were concentrated in this temporary department, which then coordinated, allocated, and directed them.

As for Winters, he was only nominally in charge of the command post, but he continued to work with his militia as usual.

There were plenty of engineers and artillery officers in the army who were more professional than him, so Winters stopped interfering.

Inspiration is like a sheet of paper; he poked a small hole in it, and others filled in the rest.

……

A clearing was cleared from the not-so-dense forest, and the militiamen were wielding axes to expand the clearing.

"Boom."

"Boom."

That's the sound of an axe blade striking a tree trunk, never stopping.

"Watch out! It's falling!" someone shouted hoarsely. "It's falling!"

"Fall down!" Hearing the shouts, the militiamen also yelled, "Fall down!"

This is both a reminder and an encouragement to each other.

A cedar tree with a canopy over ten meters high looked like a drunkard walking at night, slowly leaning towards the open space.

With a crunching sound that made your teeth ache, the cedar tree fell faster and faster until it crashed heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Three militiamen came over carrying axes and began clearing the branches of the cedar tree.

Eventually, only the clean trunk of the cedar tree will remain, and it will be towed to the camp by a special horse-drawn carriage.

A tree that is a dozen meters tall may not be considered a towering tree, but it is a rare source of timber in the wilderness.

After the cedar tree fell, the sound of logging began again.

Cutting down trees is extremely hard work, and only the strong and robust can do it.

After a day of work, the militiamen's shoulders would be swollen high the next day.

If there were saws, it would be easier, but the army was short of saws, so the main tool for logging was still the axe.

The rapid clatter of hooves grew closer as a cavalryman with a green helmet plume galloped into the logging area.

The militiamen in the woods were all engrossed in their work and no one paid any attention to the messenger cavalryman.

The messenger cavalry searched the area but couldn't find the officer, so they shouted, "Centurion Montagne? Is Centurion Montagne here?"

"Could he have gone off somewhere to slack off?" The messenger cavalryman was greatly disappointed and couldn't help but feel a hint of disdain: "What Blood Wolf? It's nothing special."

As the Paratites devoted themselves to the bridge-building project, the fame of [Blood Wolf], who proposed the plan, spread throughout the army.

The soldiers of Palatine had all heard of the champion centurion's "glorious deeds," the truth of which was hard to discern, and everyone was eager to see the Blood Wolf in person.

This messenger had to fight for the opportunity to deliver the order to Blood Wolf.

The messenger's shouts were drowned out by the sound of trees being felled, and no one paid him any attention.

So he rode his horse to the edge of the logging camp, intending to find someone to ask questions.

The messenger spotted a tall militiaman at a glance.

The man was about half a head taller than the others, dressed in a coarse cloth shirt, and was dealing with an oak tree.

He raised the axe high and then swung it down heavily.

Every time the axe blade struck the tree trunk, the thick oak tree would tremble violently.

Despite the biting cold of winter, billowing white steam rose from the person's sleeves and collar like a boiling pot.

The messenger walked up to the tall militiaman and asked impatiently, "Hey! Where's your centurion, Blood Wolf?"

The tall militiaman put down his axe and asked, "What do you want with him?"

The messenger snapped, "Are you qualified to ask about military intelligence? Take me to him."

“Blood Wolf, never seen him before.” The tall militiaman pulled out a towel from his belt, wiped his face, and said slowly, “Winters Montagne, that’s me.”

"Boom."

"Boom."

"Boom."

The sound of chopping trees never stopped.

The messenger dismounted hastily, took out a roll of lacquered letter, and presented it with both hands: "This is an order from the bridge-building headquarters, sir."

"Thank you." The centurion took the letter, peeled off the lacquered seal, and glanced at it casually.

The messenger steadied himself and quietly observed, finally having the chance to see the legendary Blood Wolf in person.

He didn't seem to be anything special; he wasn't particularly strong or thin, just a little taller.

Apart from a thin gold chain around her neck, she wore no other jewelry.

But it was also very special, a special kind of specialness that the messenger couldn't quite put his finger on. He stood there with deep respect.

"Do you need a receipt?" the centurion asked.

The messenger waved his hands repeatedly, "No, no." "Alright, I have received the order." The centurion waved the letter in his hand, "Thank you for your hard work, go back now."

The messenger mounted his horse and saw Blood Wolf put the letter into his pocket and then pick up his axe again.

A shout came from afar: "Watch out! It's falling!"

The logging camp militia responded, "Down!"

"It's down!" Blood Wolf swung his axe, chopping at the tree trunk again and again.

No sooner had the messenger left than two more riders rushed into the logging camp like a whirlwind.

"Oh no!" one of the riders shouted. "The Hud people are coming!"

……

Winters used the Disintegrate spell to blast down more than a dozen trees in the morning, and the phantom pain did not subside until the afternoon.

No sooner had the messenger cavalry left than he heard Anglu's panicked cry: "The Heds are here!"

The militiamen dropped what they were doing and ran toward the tents where weapons and armor were stored.

Redmane galloped all the way to Winters' side. Anglu jumped off the saddle, panting, and said, "Sir, the Heds are here!"

"Don't rush, tell me slowly." Winters' head throbbed even more: "Where are they? How many have come? What's the situation?"

"The timber wagons have been hijacked!"

How many Hurd people are there?

"More than twenty!"

"It's here!" Winters roared inwardly, "I knew this day would come!"

He lashed the tree with an axe in a fit of rage, and the oak tree finally gave way, trembling as it fell to the ground.

"Watch out!" Winters shouted, "The tree's fallen!"

The militiamen nearby quickly moved aside, and thankfully no one was hurt.

Winters galloped toward the stronghold, shouting, "Those with horses! Follow me! The rest of you stay here and stand by! Send out sentries!"

Qiangyun could sense its owner's anxiety. Usually, when the saddle was being put on, it would whine and beg for candy, but this time it didn't do anything extra and obediently let its owner put the saddle on it.

Winters picked up his saber, leaped onto the saddle, and set off.

"Put on your armor!" Charles rushed over, carrying three-quarters of Winters' armor. "You're not armored yet!"

Helpless, Winters dismounted and donned his armor again.

He was wearing rough work clothes, which he needed to change out of.

Silk shirt, cotton armor, chainmail, plate armor, riding boots—Charles and Heinrich helped Winters put on his layers of armor.

If the messenger comes again, he will definitely not mistake it.

Once everything was ready, Winters led about twenty Dussacs to the location where the convoy had been attacked.

Plato's army engaged in logging on the outskirts of the forest while simultaneously sending logging teams deep into the forest to fell large trees.

The convoy was attacked between the lumberyard and the main camp. The main camp's forces arrived before Winters, and the hussars had already set off to hunt down the Heds.

The scene was horrific; the unarmed transport convoy was powerless to resist, and all the drivers were hacked to death.

The carriage remained where it was, but its axles were destroyed, and the draft horses were taken away by the Harts.

Alpad had already sent out scouts around the area, but this small group of Hed people still managed to sneak in.

"Forcing us to divide our forces again," Winters thought. "Is this your plan, White Lion?"

……

Prior to the attack on the transport convoy, the bridge-building project was progressing exceptionally smoothly.

Winters was initially most worried that the floating pile drivers wouldn't work because their center of gravity was too high, making them prone to capsizing in the slightest wind or waves.

The River Styx flows calmly in winter—but that's only in comparison to the turbulent spring and summer; the further you go into the river, the more turbulent the current becomes.

Fortunately, the engineers in Palatine built the raft large enough and with pontoons for balance, so the pile driver could operate without problems.

The floating pile driver is the core machinery for bridge construction. If there are no problems with it, other problems are minor.

Plato's army built two floating pile drivers, one on the left and one on the right, advancing simultaneously.

The Hed people on the opposite bank tried to harass them with arrows, but the heavy arrows they used could not even reach 200 meters.

By the way, their arrows were also flying against the wind.

Even when using light arrows, they lose accuracy and power when they fly more than 200 meters away.

The arrows couldn't reach the target, so the Hed people on the opposite bank brought out several small boats, intending to engage in a naval battle.

As a result, they were riddled with bullets by the Paratist musketeers, leaving behind several floating corpses as they stumbled ashore.

Winters estimated that by the time the Heds' arrows could inflict effective damage on their side, the bridge would be less than fifty meters away.

Even at that time, musketeers could exchange fire with the Heds across the river, and it was hard to say who would be afraid of whom.

This time, it was the Hud people on the other side of the river who experienced helplessness.

No matter what they do, the bridge continues to extend eastward at a rate of more than ten meters per day.

The biggest factor limiting the speed of the bridge-building by Plato's army was no longer the Hade people, but the timber.

In the wilderness, forests are already scarce, and large pieces of wood suitable for bridge piers are even rarer.

Plato's army could have continued north to build a bridge where the river was narrower.

But in the end, we chose the current location because it is next to a coniferous forest.

Measurements show that the deepest part of the Styx River is about six or seven meters deep, requiring at least ten meters of timber.

A ten-meter-long piece of timber requires a twenty-meter-tall tree.

The Paratians were going crazy searching, but they couldn't find many suitable materials.

An old carpenter came up with a solution: if there weren't enough long pieces of timber, they would use shorter pieces to splice together, then secure them with nails and iron rings. Although the iron would rust, it would last until the bridge was completed.

So the bridge-building headquarters dispatched twenty logging teams in one go, including Montagne's 100-man team.

……

The attack on the timber convoy meant that the White Lion had spotted the Achilles' heel of the Paratists.

Yesterday, Winters applied to the bridge-building headquarters for permission to build an additional garrison camp in the forest.

The timber harvested by each logging team was first gathered at the camp, and then escorted back to the main camp by armed guards.

Today, a messenger brought him a reply.

His application was rejected by the bridge-building command because it "dispersed troop strength" and "delayed time due to secondary transfers".

But now, even if the legion doesn't want to disperse its forces, it has no choice but to.

My sleep schedule is messed up; this chapter was updated yesterday [Saturday]. Thank you all for reading, subscribing, recommending, voting, donating, and commenting. The reader group is also now open: 924430243.

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(End of this chapter)