I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 241 Great Joy!

Because the main force of the army had entered Wotradnoy to do "cleaning work," only a group of auxiliary soldiers and a small number of main force soldiers remained at the Prince's Army camp two kilometers away from the city.

As a result, a military camp that can accommodate 10,000 people is still only in its infancy, with the framework not even in place yet.

Fortunately, as the ruler of a country, Chris still has some privileges... at least his camp was set up in advance so that he could have a place to receive guests.

Chris felt his own camp was a bit shabby, but Gibson, as the Earl's envoy, did not think so. On his way to the Prince's tent, he saw the discipline and wealth of the Prince's army.

Although the military camp is not yet completed, its planning and layout demonstrate rigorous military thinking.

The wooden fence surrounding the camp, though simple, is sturdy and protects the peace within. The roads inside the camp are straight, and although dust rises, it is flattened by the footsteps of the soldiers.

As Gibson walked by, he could clearly see soldiers either building barracks or moving supplies. Although there was no general in charge, they were all busy and orderly, like the components of a sophisticated war machine. Even without key parts, they could still maintain the most basic operation through inertia and cooperation.

The soldiers he saw along the way, though dressed in simple green uniforms, carried fine and exquisite flintlock muskets and had simple short swords at their waists.

The other five were not equipped with muskets, but the swords hanging from their waists appeared to be made of fine steel.

What shocked Gibson even more was that a man in the prince's army who was leading a rickety horse by, who looked like an ordinary cook, was wearing thick leather boots and a thick cotton coat and hat.

This was a privilege reserved for knights in the earl's army he served.

It's winter, what do the soldiers wear?
You have to figure it out yourself. If you have money, buy some thick clothes. If you don't, wear some thin clothes or take clothes from the enemy on the battlefield.

As long as they don't freeze to death, it's fine.

As for whether the higher-ups will issue new clothes.

In the past, during the Kingdom era, things might have been distributed, or they might not. But this winter, they will. The reason is simple: Prince Chris is the Earl's benefactor, and the supplies he provided include plenty of clothing.

According to Gibson, the supplies Prince Chris provided to the Earl were delivered in multiple shipments, including various items such as armor, muskets, gunpowder, and some miscellaneous tools.

Among them, 20,000 sets of winter clothing were transported, enough for all the soldiers under the Earl's command to change into. Some of these winter clothes had bloodstains and mud on them, and the style was not quite right. They were obviously spoils of war, and it was even very likely that they were clothes taken from dead people.

But Gibson wouldn't mind, and the Earl's soldiers in their winter uniforms wouldn't think there was anything wrong with it either. If it got dirty, they could just wash it; if it had holes, they could just spend a little money to have the accompanying female technicians sew it up with needle and thread.

In today's less productive world, a piece of clothing is money. When clothes are old or torn, it's just like money is old or torn; you can still spend it.

The equipment and clothing of these prince's soldiers were clearly several times better than those of the count's army.

Prince Chris is really rich.

Gibson sighed.

"Please come this way, Your Excellency."

The attendant leading the way lifted the tent flap. Gibson noticed that although the attendant's uniform was simple, it was well-tailored, and he also had a finely crafted short musket at his waist.

It's early winter outside. Even though it hasn't snowed, it rained last night, so it's still quite cold.

Inside the tent, however, it was warm and cozy, and Gibson was surprised to find that the tent walls were covered with thick wool blankets.

These high-quality felts, of unknown origin, not only insulate against the wind and keep you warm, but also create a warm microclimate inside the tent. The ground is covered with double-layered cowhide, which is both moisture-proof and warm, and soft and elastic to the touch.

In the center of the tent, there was a small stove radiating heat. The brass pipes gleamed under the kerosene lamp, directing exhaust fumes to the top of the tent and eliminating the harmful smoke from the burning charcoal.

A delicate copper kettle sat on the stove, its spout slowly releasing white steam and a faint aroma of tea. Prince Chris was bent over a large oak table, writing something.

Gibson didn't dare to look closely. He immediately knelt on one knee, placed his right hand on his chest, and performed a standard greeting.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, whether from the warmth inside the tent or from nervousness in front of the young prince, it was hard to tell.

"Gibson Howard, envoy of Earl Dirac, pays his respects to Your Highness."

His voice was slightly tense, yet maintained just the right amount of respect.

Chris then looked up, gently placing his quill on the ink bottle. He scrutinized the messenger for a few seconds before speaking.

"Get up, Mr. Gibson. It's cold outside; have some hot tea to warm yourself up."

A servant immediately brought over a silver tray with a cup of steaming black tea on it.

Gibson accepted the teacup with both hands, noticing the double-headed eagle emblem engraved on it… This was clearly a prince's personal item. This detail made his heart skip a beat; he didn't know if it was an honor or a test.

"The Earl sent you here; he must have important news?"

Chris's voice was gentle, yet carried an unyielding authority.

Gibson carefully placed the teacup on a low table beside him and took out a gilded letterbox from his pocket.

"Your Highness, this is a letter written by the Earl himself, and also..."

He hesitated.

"The Earl wishes to know your opinion on the Bohemian Empire."

The servant took Gibson's letter and went to the side to examine it. During this time, Chris carefully observed Gibson.

This was a middle-aged man around forty years old, thin and slightly hunched over, with gray-brown hair streaked with silver strands, styled in an outdated middle part. He had deep-set eyes and cloudy amber pupils, and habitually lowered his eyelids when looking at people... This was an instinct he had developed over many years of dealing with powerful figures, which made him appear respectful while subtly observing the other person's expression.

Would such a cunning old fox talk nonsense?

So there's an underlying meaning in Gibson's last words.

Chris tapped his fingers lightly on the oak tabletop, producing a dull sound. His gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, as if trying to pierce through Gibson's humble facade.

"The Bohemian Empire?"

Chris repeated the word slowly, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

"Has the Earl gotten into conflict with the Bohemian Empire?"

Gibson didn't say anything; he simply bowed deeply to Chris, a gesture that made Chris's smile even brighter.

"They started fighting?"

Chris was already quite eager to see the letter.

(End of this chapter)