Don’t raise unruly people in extreme cold weather

Chapter 873

There is no doubt that conflicts were intensified along with the empire's bloody tactics.

The suppression of iron and fire not only failed to extinguish the flames of resistance, but instead was like pouring water into boiling oil, exploding even more intense rage in the vast desert heart.

For the kings and chiefs of the desert kingdom who tried to rebel against the empire, cruel and bloody killings and the annihilation of an entire tribe were not enough to make them feel afraid and retreat.

When the hooves of the imperial cavalry trampled the temples they had worshipped for generations, and when the Vulcan army nailed their loved ones to the sand dunes with spears, these warriors with nomadic blood in their veins had already turned their fear into deep hatred.

They wiped their blood-stained scimitars with coarse sand and swore a blood oath under the starry sky - either the flag of the empire would be shattered in the sandstorm, or the souls of the entire tribe would nourish the desert.

But for Perfect, this was just expected.

To a certain extent, she was even deliberately letting Valken's troops rebel against these kings and their tribes.

The reason was simple, she hated suppressing rebellions and cleaning up the mess again and again, and what she wanted was to solve the problem once and for all.

Just like a surgeon treating a festering wound, instead of applying medicine repeatedly, it is better to directly cut out the rotten flesh.

Those who advocate a soft policy will never understand that in this desert where the law of the jungle prevails, kindness will only be seen as a synonym for cowardice.

In order to achieve this, all the rebels must be allowed to jump out, and then they can be caught in one fell swoop.

She deliberately let Valken adopt a radical strategy and use bloody massacres to anger these desert tribes in order to make them hate the empire and then do their best to resist.

After all, the empire has the upper hand in military strength, and if a major war really comes to a head, the empire is not afraid of these desert tribes, even if it is a protracted war.

But if these tribes still maintain their obedience on the surface, but secretly act like a poisoned dagger, always cutting the empire with a blunt knife, then no matter how powerful the empire is, it will not get tired of it. After each rebellion is suppressed, there will always be new hatred and new avengers. The tribes in the desert are like weeds, which can never be burned or killed unless they are uprooted.

Only by drawing out all the poisonous snakes can the endless troubles in this land be solved. Perfect knows that mercy is meaningless here - the law of the desert is only iron and blood. The empire has given them the opportunity to surrender, but they chose to betray. In this case, let them disappear completely in the flames.

So she wanted to end it once and for all, using a large enough war to completely wipe out these tribes that rebelled against the empire. She wanted to wipe their names off the map, and make sure their descendants would never dare to bring up revenge again. The empire did not need to suppress rebellions repeatedly, but needed eternal submission.

Thinking of this, Perfect looked at Radcliffe who seemed to have a different opinion and asked him:

"Governor Radcliffe, what is the situation of other desert tribes? Ten small energy towers should be enough to exchange for a large army, right?"

Her tone was calm, as if she was just discussing an ordinary trade, rather than a war that was about to turn bloody.

Radcliffe bowed his head slightly and replied, "Yes, seventeen tribes have responded to our call and said they will send their troops to assist us in the battle."

He paused, frowning, and finally couldn't help but speak: "Regent, is it too much to massacre innocent people? War should not be..."

"Governor, how do you define innocence?" Perfect interrupted Radcliffe before he could finish. Her voice was still calm, but it carried an unquestionable edge.

Radcliffe was stunned, obviously not expecting her to ask such a question.

Perfect stood up slowly, walked to the window, looked at the vast desert in the distance, and continued: "Those 'innocent' women will sew battle robes for the warriors at night; those 'innocent' children will pick up their fathers' scimitars when they grow up; those 'innocent' old people will tell the story of how cruel the empire was by the campfire, inspiring the new generation to seek revenge."

She turned around and looked directly at Radcliffe with her icy blue eyes: "There are no innocents in this land. Either surrender or die - this is the choice given to them by the Empire, and they have made their choice."

Radcliffe was silent for a moment, and finally whispered: "I am just worried that such means...will make the Empire bear the stigma of tyranny."

Perfect sneered: "Your Excellency Governor, the world has entered the end of the world. If the empire cannot solve this cold winter, all mankind will face extinction.

By that time, the reputation of the empire will no longer matter!
If we can't solve the current problems, then the empire will have no future!
The Empire gave those desert tribes a choice, Her Majesty the Queen also gave them a chance, and even I gave them a chance, but now they still made a choice that we don’t want to see.”

She walked back to the table, tapped her fingers lightly on the sand dune area marked as the "rebellion zone" on the map, and said calmly: "Since they have chosen war, let them see what real war is."

Radcliffe took a deep breath and finally nodded: "...As you wish, Regent."

He knew that the storm could no longer be stopped.

And what Perfectoct wanted was never peace.

What she wants is to eliminate the trouble once and for all.
-
Under Perfectot's arrangement, Valken's troops did not continue their advance after slaughtering three tribes that were testing the empire, but instead stopped at a pre-selected battlefield.

It is a basin surrounded by wind-eroded rock pillars. The terrain is low-lying, and the towering wind-eroded rock pillars around it form a natural defensive barrier.

Imperial engineers quickly set to work, nailing the heavy steel base into the sand, and with the roar of the steam engine, a small mobile energy tower was erected.

Coal was filled into the furnace, and white steam began to spew out from the top of the tower. An invisible constant temperature barrier also unfolded, gradually forming a barrier to isolate the severe cold.

The cold wind was blocked outside, while the temperature inside slowly rose. Even some of the ice and snow closest to the energy tower showed signs of melting - this was the power of the empire's technology, enough to open up a place for survival in the extremely cold doomsday.

For the Imperial Army, they don't mind short-term stationing in the desert as they have small mobile energy towers.

The soldiers skillfully set up tents, while the logistics troops began to set up simple stoves and collect snow and melt it into fresh water.

The light of the energy tower was particularly eye-catching in the twilight, like a lighthouse, announcing the existence of the empire to the entire desert.

And this is exactly what the desert tribes desire.

They need this technology to gain the power to survive in this extremely cold apocalypse.

Without the protection of the energy tower, the low temperatures at night are enough to freeze the entire tribe to death; without a stable heat source, the water source in the oasis will freeze into impenetrable ice overnight.

The empire's technology is the hope of survival.

However, some tribes chose to submit to the empire in exchange for energy towers. They offered their loyalty and resources and became vassals of the empire, only hoping to continue their bloodline under the protection of the empire.

Another part of the tribe chose to resist. They were unwilling to bow their heads and would rather use swords and blood to seize this power.

Deep in this sea of ​​sand shrouded in the eternal cold night, fate is weaving its cruelest chapter.

The howling extreme cold wind blew up the thousand-year-old yellow sand, as if the gods were sighing heavily in the clouds, witnessing this moment that was destined to be stained with blood. Compatriots who once drank from the same spring water are now drawing swords against each other in the choice between survival and dignity.

Those boys who chased sand foxes together in their childhood, those brothers who wished each other well at their coming-of-age ceremonies, now only had cold murderous intent in their eyes.

The young warrior Amir tightly grasped the ancestral scimitar. The leather wrapped around the handle still retained the warmth of his father's palm.

Just three months ago, he and his cousin from the opposite camp were drinking sweet tea in the same tent, but now they were fighting for life and death on the sand dunes where their ancestors rested.

Tears froze into ice on his cracked face, but he gripped the knife even tighter in his hand - he had no choice for the sake of the old people and children in the tribe who were shivering in the cold night.

At the other end of the battlefield, the old blacksmith Saleh was silently polishing the last arrow.

All three of his sons have chosen to pledge their allegiance to the Empire and are now wearing brand new Imperial uniforms.

The old man stroked the arrowhead with his rough fingers, remembering his wife's last words before her death: "Protect our children."

At this moment, his cloudy eyes looked up at the sky, not knowing which god to pray for forgiveness.

The ancient alliance of the desert crumbled under the light of Imperial technology, as fragile as thin ice on a winter night.

At the same time, the kings and chiefs of various tribes were planning their strategies in their gorgeous tents.

Unlike ordinary soldiers, these noble chiefs do not have much hatred or loyalty towards the empire in their hearts. All they calculate is their own interests and think about how to gain more benefits for themselves in this war.

Some were calculating the timing of surrender, some were planning the distribution of benefits after the war, and some were secretly sending people to contact the empire's secret envoys.

When Perfect's floating battleship cast a huge shadow, the ordinary soldiers looked up at the steel behemoth, with despair and determination reflected in their eyes.

The desolate sound of the horn resounded throughout the fields, more biting than the cold wind and more cruel than death.

Amir took a last look in the direction of his hometown, where his elderly mother and newlywed wife lived.

He knew that this battle was not about glory, but about survival.

When the drums of war sound, countless ordinary people like him will pay the price in blood for the calculations of the kings and chiefs, and history will not remember their names.

When the last tribal flag appeared on the horizon, the entire desert fell into an eerie silence.

Even the never-ending sandstorm seemed to hold its breath.

The spears of the loyalists gleamed coldly in the moonlight, while the scimitars of the rebels flashed a bloodthirsty cold light in the dark.

The sound of camel bells no longer symbolizes the joy of business travelers, but has turned into funeral music.

Suddenly, a huge shadow covered the sky.

Perfecto's floating battleship pierced through the clouds like a sword on the Day of Judgment, and the flag of the Imperial Regent fluttered in the wind.

At this moment, all the resisting fighters raised their heads. On their faces eroded by wind and sand, despair and determination intertwined into the most tragic totem.

They knew that this might be the last time they looked up at the sky left by their ancestors.

The desolate sound of the horn resounded throughout the fields, more biting than the cold wind and more cruel than death.

When the first arrow streaked across the sky, the ancient prophet's prophecy seemed to echo through the sand: In this cursed land, glory and betrayal will always coexist like thorns and roses in the desert.

The whistling sound of arrows tearing through the air had not yet dissipated when more arrows rained down, covering the sky and casting a shadow of death in the morning light.

The war broke out after a day and a night. When the sun rose the next day, the armies of both sides had already entered the battlefield and deployed their battle formations.

The Imperial Legion was arranged into neat steel squares, the armor of the Steam Knights gleamed coldly in the sun, and the steam-driven war machines emitted a low roar.

The rebels spread out like a sandstorm in the desert. The cavalrymen moved flexibly among the sand dunes, their scimitars reflecting a dazzling cold light.

Perfect stayed on the airship and overlooked the battlefield, with no emotion visible on his stern face.

Below her feet, death was weaving bloody patterns across the golden sea of ​​sand.

The rebel chiefs occupied a sand dune and built a platform to watch the battle.

They were dressed in gorgeous battle robes, but no one noticed the wounded soldiers struggling on the sand. All they saw was the desire for victory and calculations for power.

There was no exchange of pleasantries, nor did the two sides call on each other to surrender. Instead, one person from each side gave a pre-war speech to boost morale for the last time.

On the Empire side, General Valken’s voice spread across the battlefield through the loudspeaker: “For the glory of the Empire!”

In the rebel camp, an old shaman raised his bone staff and called to the spirits of his ancestors in a hoarse voice: "For freedom and dignity!"

Then the two armies began fighting, and the sound of drums, trumpets, and shouts instantly tore through the silence of the desert.

The phalanx of the Empire's heavy infantry advanced forward like a moving steel wall, while the rebel light cavalry outflanked them from both sides like a tide.

Arrows, bullets, and javelins intertwined in the air to form a web of death, and every second a life fell in this web.

This war entered the bloodiest state of fighting from the very beginning, leaving no room for any trial or hesitation.

The desert was shaking, the sky was burning, and blood soaked the golden sand, turning the battlefield into a huge slaughterhouse.

The imperial soldiers' steam axes split the rebels' shields, while the rebels' scimitars looked for every gap in the armor.

Here, there is no mercy, no retreat, only the most primitive killing instinct.

(End of this chapter)