Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 417 - 53

Chapter 417: Chapter 53

Mountains and rivers interweave, every turn treacherous or perilous.

Two rapid rivers like silver snakes merged into one, and the earth fortress of the Herders was built on the high ground at the confluence.

When the baggage train first arrived at the great camp, Major Bello of the legion’s intelligence unit took the officers to observe the enemy.

Bello led everyone to cautiously stay half a kilometer away from the city walls.

The distant earth fortress, apart from appearing slightly crude, seemed no different from common fortresses.

The earth fortress was situated higher than the surrounding area, keeping its internal movements hidden from outsiders, who could only see figures moving along the walls.

Smoke curled up into the sky above the city, as if fires were being made for cooking.

Major Bello pointed toward the wall with his riding crop, “Gentlemen, that there is ‘Bianli’.”

“Bianli? What does that mean?” asked Colonel Jeska.

“That’s what the Barbarians call it; it’s said to mean where two waters meet,” Bello explained. “In our language, perhaps we should call it Confluence City.”

“We can’t see clearly from here,” Colonel Jeska lifted his whip, “Let’s get closer.”

Major Bello quickly interjected, “Centurion! No!”

“We can’t take a closer look?”

“The Barbarians in the city have cannons!”

“Cannons?” Jeska’s eyebrows shot up, “Where did they come from? Can the Herders cast cannons?”

Bello replied with a wry smile, “The Barbarians probably don’t have that skill yet; it’s assumed someone smuggled them to them.”

“How many Herder troops are there in the city?” Colonel Jeska inquired, gently tugging the reins.

“Many, but the exact number is unknown,” Bello sighed, replying, “from many miles around, all the barbarian tribes that didn’t flee west have rushed into Bianli City.”

“How long has the city been under siege?”

“Almost a month and a half.”

“More than a month? The Herders haven’t starved to death?”

“I find it odd too,” Major Bello spread his hands. “Perhaps the Barbarians ran out of food long ago, and the smoke is just to confuse us.”

Winters was greatly puzzled and couldn’t help but ask, “If the Herders dare to fortify the city and hold out, can’t they survive on two months of stored food?”

Andre, Mason, and the others pricked up their ears, sharing the same doubt.

Upon hearing this, Major Bello didn’t answer directly but furrowed his brows and looked at the lieutenant as if asking, “Don’t you understand?”

Jeska scoffed, waving a hand dismissively, “He’s Venetian.”

“Ah, I see,” Bello laughed heartily, his frown immediately easing.

Winters and Andre instantly felt their tempers flare, and Lieutenant Mason’s face also betrayed embarrassment.

Bard spoke up before anyone else, “Major Sir, we truly do not understand, please enlighten us.”

“The Herders mainly drink milk supplemented by meat,” Colonel Jeska began, “They hardly have any capacity to resist risks. That is also why, in the past, when the Herders suffered a disaster, they would raid Paratu.”

Major Bello explained the logic to Winters and the others: The Paratu People could survive on stored grains, but the Herders could not.

Contrary to the image of “barbarians who drink blood and gorge on meat,” the Herders mainly lived on milk, supplemented with wild vegetables and the wild wheat they sowed during their nomadic journeys. Poorer Herder shepherds rarely even ate meat.

Therefore, the Herders could not hold out in their city. If they chose to bunker down, the livestock without food would die of hunger faster than the humans.

Without animals, the Herders might initially survive on meat for a while, but once the carcasses were also consumed, they would have to resort to cannibalism.

Moreover, surviving on animal meat, even if they held out until the Paratu People withdrew, would leave the Herders severely weakened.

This was why, seeing the Herders fortify their city, the Paratu People marching from afar were not in a hurry; instead, they methodically besieged the city. No matter how long the Paratu People’s supply lines, the Herders would collapse first.

But now, thousands of Herd Raiders crossing The Styx suddenly reversed the situation.

…

When news of the Herder army’s river crossing reached the besieging camp, the Paratu military leadership immediately fell into disarray.

Officers favoring retreat gathered around Brigadier General Sekler.

The retreat faction argued that the priority was to reinforce Paratu. With both Standing Army legions deployed, Paratu had no field troops left to face thousands of Herder Iron Cavalry.

Thinking of the brutal Herder army pillaging Paratu at that very moment made the officers’ hearts wrench.

Brigadier General Sekler’s voice was thunderous, “Would you have us abandon Paratu to the mercy of the barbarian raiders?! Can any amount of land compensate for the loss of Paratu? If we do not turn back to save it now, the barbarians will breach Kingsfort!”

Another faction, led by Major General Alpad, advocated continuing the siege and even launching an immediate assault on Bianli City.

“Retreating now would mean all our efforts have been in vain!” Major General Alpad gritted his teeth, “The barbarians are about to break! They’ve thrust a knife into us, and we must thrust back harder! How can we retreat now? It’s already too late to retreat! Assault the city! For every Paratu person killed by a Herd Barbarian, we’ll kill ten Herdmen!”

Most high-ranking officers believed they should continue the assault.

Support for retreat mainly came from majors and officers of lower rank, who, despite their lesser rank, had broader support.

From the moment the bad news arrived, the two factions had been at loggerheads.

Yanosh, the general in command of all the forces, also hesitated to make a decision.

Until Jeska’s baggage team arrived, the Paratu People were still in a standoff with the Herders across the walls, and the army grew increasingly restless.

For Winters, who was just a minor lieutenant with no standing to participate in strategic debates, the fiery clashes of the high and mighty were beyond his grasp.

However, he had been promoted.

…

…

The sky at dawn was a brilliant blue.

The ground was covered with white frost, and the fields appeared to be a vast expanse of whiteness in the distance.

The wilderness had entered deep winter, the time of year when the bitter cold was at its worst.

Therefore, among the carts Jeska’s squad was escorting, several were loaded with duck down quilts and woolen overcoats reserved for the high-ranking officers.

Winters finally understood why those wooden crates were nailed shut so tightly and sealed with multiple layers of “Do Not Open” tape.

There were also jams, tobacco, white flour, red wine, and other “military supplies” that were transported thousands of miles from Paratu to this desolate wilderness, occupying as much of the precious transport capacity as grain and gunpowder.

Knowing that what he had desperately saved were these items, Winters regretted not letting the Herd Barbarians burn all the carts down with a fire.

Now, in front of Lieutenant Montaigne, the militiamen dressed in motley clothing stood in a loose formation, waiting for the new commander to inspect them.

Many militiamen were wrapped in fur cloaks stripped from the Herd dead, utterly unrecognizable as Paratu People at first glance.

It was so cold that those militiamen lacking warm clothing simply wore whatever they could.

When they departed from home, it was still the pleasant days of autumn; no one thought the war would drag on until today.

After the headcount, it was customary for the officer to say a few words.

Looking at the shivering militiamen, Winters said, “Your former Centurion, Lieutenant Marcelo, was my friend.”

When the fallen Marcelo was mentioned, the small drilling ground fell silent, and everyone’s eyes grew even more dim.

Militia squads that had lost members in previous battles were replenished with members of Jeska’s squad, and the camp merchants too were conscripted, likewise integrated into the ranks of the militia.

Jeska’s squad had not only restored its numbers to full strength but had even received reinforcements.

Because the militia lacked officers, Winters was promoted to a “Centenarian” and took command of two reorganized hundred-man squads.

In Winters’ view, it was the same old problem: The command structure had no redundancy at all, and if a Centurion died, there was no one to take his place.

After a moment of silence, Winters spoke again, “Trust me, and I will never abandon you.”

There were looks of mutual confusion, with a lukewarm response.

“I have finished speaking,” Winters knew that platitudes were useless, “Also, for lunch today, we’ll have stewed pork with sauce.”

…

Forests of significant size were rare on the wilderness, with only occasional patches of woods and shrubbery, mostly meadows.

The trees near Bianli City had long been cut down by the Herders.

This led to an acute shortage of firewood among the Paratu People, who even had to dig up the tree roots chopped by the Herders.

The militiamen could only receive very little fuel for warmth, and since joining the camp, they had been consuming dry bread and drinking cold water.

The mere mention of the words “stewed pork” made many drool uncontrollably.

By noon, when the constables arrived carrying iron pots, people finally believed that what Centurion Montaigne said was true.

The aroma of the stewed meat prompted some militiamen to quietly shed tears.

A bowl of hot soup, a piece of pork, and a piece of bread on this freezing winter day made people ask for nothing more.

Grabbing his share, a militiaman from Ganshui Town found a wind-sheltered spot nearby and began to savor this precious meal.

He first took a small sip of the meat soup; the steaming broth flowed down his esophagus into his stomach, making his entire body feel warm and cozy.

Only then did he truly confirm that he was not dreaming.

He didn’t take another drink but began carefully tearing the bread into pieces and soaking it in the soup.

His fellow townsman expressed some regret beside him, “It’s a pity the meat isn’t very fatty; otherwise, it would be truly delicious.”

A stranger from Wolf Town overheard these words and turned around with a sneer, “You should be thankful there’s something to eat at all. Do you know how far this pig traveled? Without Blood Wolf, you wouldn’t even have pig hair to eat, so what’s there to complain about?”

“Who is Blood Wolf?”

“Blood Wolf is Lord Montaigne, let me tell you, back in our Wolf Town…” The militiaman from Wolf Town got carried away, adding embellishments to what he’d seen and heard, as if he had witnessed Lord Montaigne tearing apart a giant lion himself, making the townsman beside Ish gasp in fascination.

“I had no idea Commander Montaigne was such a…,” Ish’s townsman struggled to find a fitting adjective, finally saying with awe to the Wolf Town militiaman, “Big brother, serving under Commander Montaigne makes you quite something.”

“Ah, well, it’s nothing,” the Wolf Town militiaman blushed, whether from the cold or some other reason.

He suddenly leaned in close to Ish’s companion, whispering secretively, “Let me tell you, but don’t tell anyone else, I heard that when Lord Montaigne was on an island across the sea…”

This time, the story went from half-true to completely hearsay.

Ish sipped his meat soup in small bites, quietly listening.

…

Unaware that his reputation was being tarnished, Winters was personally handing out meat to his militiamen, watching them eat with relish and feeling a sense of pride well up inside him.

The pig had been bargained for from Lieutenant Mason, who set off from the ranch with over four hundred pigs, losing some along the way and consuming others.

In the end, less than half the pigs arrived alive at the front-line camp, but it still exceeded the quota.

It was only unfortunate that these pigs, after walking hundreds of kilometers, had developed lean muscles, becoming as robust as wild boars and not very fatty indeed.

While Winters’ centurion squad was feasting, another group was deciding their fate.

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General Sekler could no longer tolerate the endless debates and, leading his men, burst into General Yanosh’s tent.

He was determined to get an explanation; they must either fight or retreat, but they could not continue wasting time like this.

But upon bursting into the tent, what Sekler saw was General Yanosh, barely clinging to life.