I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 270 Frustration
"Crack..."

The longsword struck the ground with a crisp sound, and blood dripped from the bright silver blade, staining the handle, which was wrapped with thin hemp rope, red and making it slippery.

Blood is a good lubricant, and Monokuma doesn't really like the feeling of being covered in blood.

He loves fighting and is obsessed with full-armor combat, but he dislikes blood.

So, right after he finished killing the people, and not long after the Bohemians had retreated, Monokuma impatiently waved his hand backward.

The servant, who had been hiding behind the hill and waiting for a long time, was immediately running up when he saw his master waving.

"Hot water, sir."

Little Langdo's hands trembled as he held the copper basin, the rising steam blurring the newly scabbed wound on his forehead.

There are so many corpses on this battlefield, enemies and players alike; nearly a thousand dead lie on this battlefield.

If Rondo could see Death, he would see the scythe in the latter's hand smoking.

Furthermore, those who died from cold weapons also suffered extremely gruesome deaths.

The severed limbs lay scattered on the scorched earth, like rag dolls torn apart by mischievous children.

The fingers of a headless corpse were still digging into the soil, as if trying to crawl away from this hellish scene before its death. Little Rondo's boots stepped on half of intestines, the slippery touch causing his stomach to spasm.

Monokuma, however, seemed oblivious to all of this. He took the basin of water, sat on the chair made of three piled-up corpses, and slowly began to wipe his longsword.

Hot water washed over the blade, and the blood turned into a thin, pale red stream that seeped into the cracked soil.

He suddenly stopped moving. Half a fingernail was stuck in the hemp rope of the knife handle, with Bohemian flesh and blood still on the edge, clearly having been forcibly pulled off.

"S-Sir..."

Little Rondo stared at a corpse not far away, split vertically in two. The left half of the man's face still held a look of astonishment, while the right half had already been mixed with the sand.

The wind carried the stench of blood into the servant's nostrils, and Monokuma suddenly threw a hot towel at his attendant's face.

"Wipe it clean."

He was referring to the scabs that had formed in the crevices of his faceplate.

"How hypocritical."

A passing player, seeing this, couldn't help but make a sarcastic remark.

"Using hot water to wash your face? Are you here to fight a war or for a picnic?"

Black and white bear didn't say anything, but turned around, took off his helmet, tilted his head back, and enjoyed the hot towel treatment from little Rondo.

The player who made the sarcastic remark became even angrier upon seeing this, and puffed up his cheeks as he transformed into a pufferfish.

Monokuma wouldn't pay attention to someone like that, because he's just jealous.

A hot towel was wiped across the black and white bear's face, revealing the crisscrossing old scars underneath.

He kept his eyes closed, as if enjoying some kind of ritual, until the pufferfish players walked away cursing, and then he slowly opened his brown eyes.

"Sir, please ignore them..."

Little Rondo wrung out the towel, his voice weak. He had seen his master's expression when he was provoked.

Monokuma simply pulled a small tin box from the leather pouch at his waist, dipped his fingertip in some amber-colored ointment, and slowly applied it to his face.

The sweet scent of beeswax mixed with rosemary instantly diluted the surrounding stench of blood.

A snicker came from behind him.

"Like a woman, even wearing perfume!"

This time, Rondo saw clearly that the speaker was a burly man carrying a double-edged axe, with a wolf's head branded on his leather armor.

The man deliberately kicked a head away, and the eyeball that fell out of its socket rolled right to the black and white bear's feet.

The long-handled sword suddenly emitted a buzzing sound.

Suddenly, Monokuma raised his Mo Dao (a type of long-handled sword) with one hand, lightly flicked the tip of the sword behind him, and then placed it back on his knee.

Lift weights lightly.

With the hilt of the knife as the center, a pool of blood three zhang away suddenly rippled with fine waves.

Suddenly, the burly man from the Wild Wolf Gang clutched his throat, and a large amount of blood gushed out from between his fingers.

When the burly man collapsed like a piece of rotten wood, Little Langdo realized that the man's neck had been severed in half at some point.

“Noisy.”

Monokuma put his mask back on, his voice muffled by the steel.

"Remember to remind me next time that I need to wear headphones even on the battlefield."

"What the hell?!"

The Zhongshan Wolf players following behind the burly man were enraged and drew their weapons, ready to charge.

While someone was mocking Monokuma, the nearby Han-Tang warriors noticed something was wrong and spontaneously gathered around.

When blood was drawn and the Zhongshan wolves were about to kill the black and white bear, the sheaths of these Han and Tang warriors' swords collided with their armor with a dull metallic sound. Thirty-seven Mo Dao swords were simultaneously drawn half an inch from their sheaths, like a wall of iron thorns that suddenly rose up.

The Zhongshan Wolf players abruptly stopped in their tracks. The one in front stepped on his companion's splattered intestines and slipped.

Wherever there are people, there is a world of intrigue; wherever there is intrigue, there are conflicts of interest and enemies.

The Han-Tang warriors aren't money; not everyone will like them.

The Zhongshan Wolf Warriors were a group that didn't get along well with the Han and Tang warriors.

Monokuma has never liked meddling in other people's business, and he doesn't really know why the Zhongshan Wolf Band is hostile to the Han Tang warriors.

He didn't care about money, women, or competition for status; he was too lazy to care.

It's just a game; he doesn't want to tire himself out too much.

However, Monokuma is the chief warrior of the Han-Tang warriors... in other words, he is the master of the double red flower staff.

Normally he wouldn't pay attention to the Zhongshan Wolf Band's petty tricks, but now that he's been provoked on the battlefield, Black Bear has to respond.

His indifference to such nonsense doesn't mean that Black Bear is unaware of what these Zhongshan wolves are up to.

Therefore, Black Bear responded decisively to Zhongshan Wolf's provocation with action, even if it would deduct reputation points, he was willing to do so.

"Damn it... the henchman's dead..."

"With this kid dead, who's going to command the artillery?"

"Quickly call someone to rescue her; she might still be able to be saved."

Just then, shouts coming from the hill eased the tense atmosphere of the standoff.

Using the steps as a cover, the men of Zhongshan Wolf dragged their fallen comrade's body backward, cursing and swearing.

The leader glared fiercely at the black and white bear before leaving, but shivered the moment he touched the cold mask.

Little Langdo breathed a sigh of relief and was about to say something when he saw his master suddenly stand up.

The longsword left a trail of blood on the ground, and the black and white bear tilted its head, as if listening to something.

"grown ups?"

Did you hear that?

A muffled sound came from under the mask.

"The war drums of the Bohemians."

Little Langdo paused for a moment, then, disregarding the blood and corpses scattered on the ground, he scrambled to the edge of the position under the torchlight on the shield vehicle and raised his binoculars.

"Sir... the Bohemians seem to be retreating..."

"retreat?"

Monokuma was no longer calm.

"How can they run away? The supply convoy hasn't even entered the city yet, and I haven't killed enough!"

……

"Dong dong dong..."

The drums, a symbol of retreat, sounded outside the camp. Meredith watched the scattered lights of the retreating troops in the distance, and from their chaotic arrangement, he could sense their low morale.

Lost?

A crushing defeat?

Unforgivable. Meredith turned angrily and walked deeper into the military camp. As the court steward, he was not usually allowed to interfere in military affairs.

But now is clearly an unusual time.

He is now going to find the general and tell him about this.

When Meredith kicked open the tent flap, the bronze candlestick reflected the bloodstains on the sand table.

General Bohemia's cloak hung over the edge of the sand table, and the silver wolf emblem flickered in the candlelight.

A dozen or so operations staff officers were circling around the sand table, planting flags as if recreating a battle.

"General Otto von Sternberg!"

Meredith entered and began shouting rudely.

"Interception failed!?"

"Yes, and it was a crushing defeat, with 1,200 corpses lost."

General Otto maintained an almost cold composure.

Influenced by this, Meredith also suppressed his anger, walked to the edge of the sand table, and watched for a while as the battle situation was reenacted.

"Your cavalry didn't even get a chance to touch the shield carts before being cut down into firewood by those Bagnian barbarians?"

"To be precise, the cuirassiers were subjected to a barrage of artillery fire from Prince Chris's army during the charge, which prevented them from retreating."

The infantry charged from the front, while the cavalry circled around... The frontline commander's tactics were flawless; the only thing he hadn't anticipated was the concentration of nearly a thousand heavy infantry here.

"Nearly a thousand heavy infantry!?"

Meredith's voice was filled with disbelief, and his fingers suddenly hovered above the sand table, the candlelight flickering violently in his pupils.

Meredith saw General Otto use the tip of his dagger to lift a small black flag... it was the marker for the heavy infantry group mentioned in the battle report.

You mean...

The silk gloves of the court official sank into the edge of the sand table.

"A whole thousand sets of plate armor?"

"They were not plate armor, but nearly a thousand heavy infantrymen wearing all sorts of mismatched armor, much like foreign mercenaries, but with a very strong fighting spirit."

Heavy infantry capable of engaging and withstanding cavalry charges.

"Are you kidding me?"

Meredith's fingers clenched tightly, the silk gloves tearing at the edge of the sand table.

He stared at the blood-stained black flag, as if trying to discern some absurd lie from the dried bloodstains.

"A thousand heavy infantry?"

His voice sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Heavy infantry capable of withstanding a cavalry charge?"

“If it were a different place and time, I would absolutely not mind showing you my sense of humor.”

His voice was as cold as iron.

"But not now."

The candlelight inside the tent suddenly flickered, casting the shadows of the staff officers onto the canvas, twisting like ghosts.

Meredith's gaze swept across the battle simulation on the sand table... The arrows representing the cavalry charge broke the moment they made contact with the enemy formation, and the clay warhorse models were scattered and broken, as if they had been crushed by some invisible iron wall.

"take a look."

As General Otto spoke, he turned around, picked up a piece of armor lying on the ground, and threw it in front of Meredith.

"This is something the defeated soldiers brought back; it's one of the armor styles those enemies wore."

Meredith bent down and picked up the piece of armor. The light from the bronze candlestick danced on the armor, revealing the dense knife marks and bullet holes on it.

His fingertips traced the edge of the nail plate... where a line of tiny square characters was engraved, like some kind of ancient incantation.

This is not "

The voice of the court official became uncertain.

"This is not Bagnia's craft."

General Otto's lips curled into a cold smile.

"Of course not. The Bagnian barbarians have always produced mountain light infantry and crossbowmen."

In recent years, this country has also undergone military reforms, introducing a large number of firearms, making heavy infantry scarce.

"Where did these enemies and their armor come from?"

"This is a problem I should be addressing."

General Otto stared at Meredith.

"As Your Highness has arranged, the Peace Dove Society will provide intelligence support to our army."

However, when my lads launched their charge, they had no idea that the enemy would have a group of heavy infantry.

What was supposed to be a risky raid turned into a suicide mission… Whose fault is this?

"Intelligence takes time to be transmitted, and Prince Chris's army did not give it to me."

"But your young man is too reckless."

Meredith had barely finished speaking when the sound of rapid hoofbeats suddenly came from outside the tent.

A messenger stumbled in, his armor still bearing the marks of bullets.

"Report! Prince Chris's convoy has breached the last line of defense and is entering the fortress!"

General Otto slammed his fist heavily on the sand table, and the clay model of the city wall shattered into pieces.

Meredith saw that the veins on the back of the general's hand were bulging and tiny beads of blood were seeping from his knuckles.

"It is obvious that tonight's operation has been a complete failure."

Meredith remained silent, but he had made up his mind.

If General Otto insists on blaming himself for tonight's defeat, then don't blame me for writing a new report when I get back.

"His Majesty ordered me to cooperate with you, but as things stand now... our army can't continue fighting."

"Because of Prince Chris's support?"

Meredith asked doubtfully.

"No, it's also because in winter, the supply lines to the rear are very unstable, and the mountain roads..."

General Otto walked to the large map in the military tent, his finger suddenly stopping at a certain spot, the candlelight flickering on his ashen face.

"In addition, the ice on the mountain road froze 15 days earlier than expected."

Our army's supplies are now down to only one and a half months, which is very dangerous.

With the arrival of Prince Chris's army, half of our soldiers are reserve troops with low combat effectiveness. If the stalemate continues, it is highly likely that a decisive victory will not be achieved before spring arrives.

Meredith was not fooled by General Otto's words; he keenly sensed what the latter was hiding from the conversation.

"If we continue fighting, will we be defeated?"

Alto remained silent, but his silence was already an answer.

Meredith's heart sank.

"Because of those thousand heavy infantrymen?"

"And artillery."

Alto added.

"From the report, we can learn that the enemy has two types of artillery: one is a medium-caliber rapid-fire cannon that can fire at a range of 2,000 paces."

Another type of short, stocky cannon had only one-third the range of the former, but it was very lightweight, allowing for rapid movement, and had a high rate of fire. Its grapeshot was extremely lethal to musketeers and cavalry.

Alto sighed.

"Once they enter the city, the city's defensive artillery will no longer be able to be suppressed by our artillery."

(End of this chapter)