Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 205 Act

The forest, now completely silent, is filled with an undercurrent of danger, devoid of the chirping of insects and the calls of birds.

Therefore, the sound of horses' hooves in the distance seemed particularly abrupt.

The soldiers on the camp wall set up their muskets, pointing in the direction from which the sound of hooves came, their fingers resting on the firing levers.

The smoldering match flickered, and the musketeers' taut jaws were faintly visible; everyone was unconsciously swallowing.

Three riders broke through the night and galloped straight toward the camp gate.

Upon seeing the leader in black armor and riding a silver horse, the soldiers on the camp wall immediately shouted, "Don't fire! It's Centurion Montagne!"

A series of panting sounds rose from the camp wall as the musketeers quickly closed the powder tank lids, untied the matchlock ropes, and placed their muskets against the wall, returning to their standby posture.

"Open the door!"

"Crunch... crunch..."

The heavy wooden gate slowly rose, and the three riders had just entered the gate when it crashed down again.

The two riders went to rest their horses, while the lead rider went straight into the command post.

The command post was deserted, with only a handful of people inside.

"How is it?" Lieutenant Colonel Robert asked, resting his chin on his hand and staring at the map without looking up.

“I went north from the bridge forest, then west, and ran at least two kilometers before encountering enemy light cavalry.” Winters took off his helmet and pointed out the approximate area on the map: “I didn’t find any Heds in the bridge forest, not even a rabbit.”

The barbarians don't seem to be planning an attack on the Bridge Forest camp—at least not from the north, according to Winters's own reconnaissance team.

Then came the sounds of footsteps and the clanging of armor plates from outside the military tent.

"Lieutenant Varga is back," a guard announced as he entered.

Shortly after, Varga, who had been scouting south, entered the tent.

"Fighting has broken out in the south." Varga didn't bother with formalities and reported directly: "We can hear shouts of battle from the northern highlands, and we can also vaguely see flames from the southern highlands. The main camp is safe for now."

"How's it going on the other side of the bridge?" Lieutenant Colonel Robert asked.

“Half of it is destroyed,” Varga replied. “The engineers are working on repairing the remaining half.”

The Palatine scouts' operational space was compressed to a very small area, and the battlefield became a fog, with no one knowing what the White Lions were planning.

While defense offers tactical advantages, it also allows the enemy to gain the initiative at the cost of defense.

The tent fell silent, and the atmosphere became somewhat somber.

“Nothing strange about it.” Seeing that his subordinates remained silent, Lieutenant Colonel Robert spoke up: “Yasin has been holding in his pee for more than ten days, it’s time to let it out.”

This metaphor is far too vulgar, so vulgar that it shouldn't have come from the mouth of a refined gentleman like Lieutenant Colonel Robert.

A few people chuckled in agreement, but Winters failed to grasp the leader's sense of humor; he was actually more startled.

"The barbarians are making a big move, there are only two reasons. Either their reinforcements have arrived, or our reinforcements are coming soon. Whether it's good or bad, we'll find out in the next few days." The lieutenant colonel said casually, "Go back and rest, everyone. You need to eat and sleep well to have the strength to fight."

The lieutenant colonel arranged the duty roster, and the officers then adjourned the meeting.

Everyone spent the night in tension and vigilance.

The soldiers on night watch strained to keep their eyes open, wanting to spot the enemy from behind the dark treeline, yet also wanting to avoid seeing them.

Even the soldiers not on night duty couldn't sleep soundly; most of them didn't even take off their armor before falling asleep.

One after another, cavalrymen from Alpad returned to the Qiaolin camp, most of them bearing wounds.

When asked about the battle, these people couldn't give a clear answer; they had all been separated from the main force during the chaotic fighting.

Most of them were brandishing their sabers and slashing left and right a second ago, but the next second they suddenly realized that there were no enemies or comrades around them, so they moved closer to the nearest friendly forces.

They can't be blamed; most night battles are like this: the two sides collide, fight each other in a chaotic manner, and then each side abandons its wounded and dead before retreating.

In this situation, the side that comes prepared always has the advantage.

After asking them one by one, Lieutenant Colonel Robert had a thorough understanding of the situation in Alpad's unit.

Clearly, Arpad's cavalry had encountered enemy interception.

After a fierce battle, the barbarians should have been driven back—otherwise, more than just a few wounded soldiers would have returned.

General Alpad led his cavalry force northward along the riverbank.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert ordered the straggling cavalry to be taken in and arranged for people to boil water to dissolve salt and treat the wounded.

As time went on, more and more stray wounded soldiers returned to the Qiaolin camp, and several officers were carried back unconscious by their warhorses.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert received increasingly detailed information: the Hurds rafting upstream had been defeated, and Alpad continued his march north, encountering more and more Hurd cavalry.

The fierce charge of the Paratine cavalry ended with a blaze that set the sky ablaze.

Thick smoke rose straight into the sky, and even the scouts sent out by Lieutenant Colonel Robert could see it clearly.

Prior to this, Arpad led his troops to burn all the trees within a fifty-mile radius of the bridge, except for the bridge forest, to the ground.

Judging from the results, the fifty-mile range was too conservative and underestimated the White Lion.

This time, Arpard must have hit a much farther target.

While everyone rejoiced over Arpard's victory, Winters had a bad feeling. He couldn't explain why; perhaps it was just because things had gone too smoothly.

Winters wasn't the only one uneasy; Lieutenant Colonel Robert was equally worried—though he concealed it very well.

Upon learning of the thick smoke rising into the sky from the north, Lieutenant Colonel Robert ordered the Bridge Forest camp to prepare for battle.

The troops at the Qiaolin camp were divided into two groups: those who could attack and those who could not.

Winters's hundred-man squad was assigned to the attacking force due to its superior combat strength.

The two "pessimistic" officers' premonitions soon came true.

Just as dawn was breaking, a messenger cavalryman, his helmet missing, brought Alpad's ring and a message: the garrison at the Bridge Forest camp should advance to meet him.

"Could this be a hoax?" Lieutenant Varga objected to taking the initiative: "Would General Alpad request our assistance?"

First, they lured the garrison out of their fortified camp, then gathered them up and annihilated them. This tactic had been used to death by the barbarians, so the Parat people couldn't help but be wary.

“It’s been verified; the ring is real, and the person is real too.” Lieutenant Colonel Robert concluded the discussion: “Alpard must really be in trouble.”

With three days' worth of rations and one day's worth of water, and without any baggage or wagons, Lieutenant Colonel Robert led 1,200 soldiers on a lightly armed attack.

Winters was among them.

……

Walk, walk, take steps, keep walking.

At first, there were only a few scattered Herder cavalrymen around, who were as timid as sparrows and would flee at the slightest fright.

The further they went, the more barbarians gathered around Robert's tribe.

The barbarians' courage increased dramatically with their numbers. When there were only one or two riders, they would only spy from afar, but when there were a dozen or so, they dared to approach and observe without any restraint.

Strongy snorted, and Winters gently stroked its neck.

Horses snort when they are anxious or excited; only a close rider can distinguish the subtle differences.

“Don’t rush, little guy.” Winters fastened his helmet, pulled up his throat guard, and lowered his face shield. “Don’t rush.”

Eight hours later, Alpad's unit and Robert's unit finally reunited.

The barbarian cavalry retreated, but the Paratites only achieved a pyrrhic victory.

Winters spotted the town of Dusac in Wolf Town; it turned out that the cavalry of the Jaska Battalion had also gone into battle with Alpad last night.

He did not see Andrei and Badr.

"Andrei! Bader!" Winters frantically searched among the wounded, asking everyone he saw, "Have you seen Lieutenant Bader? Where's Lieutenant Cellini?"

No one could give him an answer.

Amidst the clamor of the crowd and the neighing of the horses, Winters' mind went blank.

"I think I saw Lieutenant Cellini behind me," a soldier whispered.

Winters leaped onto his horse and galloped toward the back of the column.

He didn't see Andrei, but he did see Andrei's extremely powerful black horse.

He would never mistake that horse, for it was the warhorse of the champion Teltown, which was found on the riverbank after the battle.

According to the rules, Winters would win the Teltown championship and the horse would belong to him, but he then gave it to Andre.

Upon seeing the black horse, and then looking closer, the dirty groom holding the reins was none other than Andrea Cellini.

Winters jumped off his saddle, rushed over, and grabbed Andrei's shoulder tightly. He initially wanted to cry, but seeing Andrei's disheveled appearance, he couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Winters had never seen Andrei so disheveled in his life.

The latter's magnificent hussar uniform had been charred, and the tassels had been burned off.

His bearskin hat had disappeared, and he was now wearing a tattered sewn hat that he "would rather die than wear"—it seemed that keeping warm was more important.

Winters has some stubble on his chin because he's too lazy to shave.

Andrei, in order to look handsome, specially grew a very fine beard and took great care of it every day.

Now those whiskers are gone, or more accurately, they've been burned, curled up, and charred black.

Andrei's face was covered in smears, as if he had washed it with coal.

The contrast was so great that Winters didn't recognize the "manager" as Andrei at first glance.

"Why are you here?" Andrei was startled at first, but was overjoyed when he recognized who it was.

"We're here to meet you!" Winters asked urgently, "Where's Bard?"

Andrei's face turned ashen. He pointed to the makeshift sled being pulled by the black horse and whispered, "It's behind." The black horse was pulling a crude sled made of branches and leather straps. Bad lay motionless on the sled, his head haphazardly wrapped with a blood-stained cloth.

These words struck Winters like a bolt from the blue; his vision blurred, and he almost lost his balance.

"He's not dead!" Andrei also realized something was wrong: "He's not dead!"

Winters disregarded everything else—though he really wanted to punch Andrei hard—and immediately checked on Bud's condition.

Bard was still breathing, but had fallen into a deep coma. None of his other injuries were fatal, leaving only the head wound.

"I got hit on the head with a hammer." Andrei became more and more upset as he thought about it: "My helmet was dented."

"It's good that you're alive." Winters carefully used his clothes to hold Bud's neck in place. "It's good that you're still alive."

Andrei squatted down on the ground, clutching his hair in anguish: "What... what kind of mess is this?!"

"I don't know either."

“We should have escaped. We should have escaped from the very beginning. If we had decided to escape back to Veneta back then, we would be…”

“No, listen to me!” Winters roughly pulled Andre up, staring intently into the latter’s eyes, and said, word by word, “What happened in the past doesn’t matter. Now, whether we like it or not, we must win this battle for the Parat people. Only then will we have a chance to survive.”

……

The Hed reinforcements have truly arrived.

Because the barbarians spared no effort in informing the Parat people about this.

The morale of the Hed people was greatly boosted by the reinforcements. They deployed their troops in front of the southern and northern highlands, and the tribal leaders wished they could make the Paratu people come down and count their heads one by one.

This is, of course, a psychological tactic, extremely simple and brutal.

But it did work, because even the most stubborn Paratians could no longer deny that the barbarian reinforcements had indeed arrived.

As for the Paratite reinforcements? There is no news of them yet.

The White Lion burned two-thirds of the Bridge Forest, and Alpad also set fire to the White Lion's source of timber, reducing it to ashes.

It is extremely difficult for trees to thrive in the wilderness. A forest may take hundreds of years and various coincidences to grow, but it is much easier to destroy them.

The fire that Alpad started burned for two whole days and nights.

If the white lion wants to get more wood, it will have to go over a hundred kilometers away.

However, the Palatine also suffered heavy casualties: half of their cavalry squadrons were rendered incapable of fighting, and almost everyone was wounded; during the long raid, the loss of horses was greater than the loss of personnel.

It is said that Alpad has already sent away the cavalry squadron flags and the eagle flag of the Fifth Army.

The cavalrymen who were still able to fight were reorganized into nine cavalry squadrons—a first since the legion was founded.

Auxiliary troops can be dispersed and reorganized at will, but for the standing army, which has a stronger sense of belonging and honor, dispersing and reorganizing is tantamount to the destruction of an honorable collective.

The Paratul began to withdraw their forces, and the Qiaolin camp also received orders to evacuate.

Each logging team cut down all usable trees, and the remaining shrubs and saplings were burned.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert then led his men to dismantle the Bridge Forest camp and retreat to the main camp.

Winters' team returned to the JASC Brigade, and Bard's 100 team is now jointly led by him and Mason.

Bard regained consciousness, but then started running a fever again.

After examining Bud, Father Kaman determined that Bud had suffered a linear fracture of the skull, and his medical advice was brief: rest.

Palatul's entire army retreated to three camps: the Southern Highlands, the Northern Highlands, and the Grand Camp.

Sackler and Alpad also knew that they could not rely on auxiliary troops at this time, so the three camps were all defended by the regular army.

All auxiliary troops were deployed to bridge construction, and the JSKA battalion was also transferred to the bridge construction headquarters.

The white lion's fire raft destroyed the bridge, which was originally over 110 meters long, leaving it less than 50 meters long. The remaining bridge piers also need to be reinforced.

The Parat people were driven to the brink of desperation, working almost day and night to repair the old bridge piers and replace them with new ones.

At the same time, the White Lions also launched an attack on the fortresses on the North and South Highlands.

On the mountain, a siege was being waged; below, a bridge was being built. Those building the bridge could hear the sounds of battle on the hillside, and those on the hillside could hear the sound of pile driving.

The torment in the hearts of the Platonic people was beyond words.

There was no time to build the bridge piers, bridge, and bridge deck step by step. The engineering officer had a flash of inspiration and proposed the idea of ​​"not building a bridge, but directly fixing the pontoons and rafts with the bridge piers to build a [floating bridge]", which was immediately adopted.

The engineers in Palatine no longer erected the beams.

After driving in the wooden stakes, they simply secured the pontoons, rafts, and small boats to them. Then, they laid down some makeshift planks, enough for people to walk on.

The speed of bridge construction has been greatly improved.

The battle on the hillside once again proved an irrefutable truth: humans learn everything else very slowly, but they learn the skills of killing the fastest.

The Paratians never imagined that the white lion had learned something from them.

The Palatul people carried out three blasts on the walls of Bianli City, and now the barbarians are actually copying their tactics and starting to blast the Palatul camps.

As expected, their first explosion resulted in fireworks.

The second time was the same.

The third time was the same.

At first, the Paratul soldiers were laughing at the barbarians, but soon no one could laugh anymore.

Through repeated practice and improvement, the Hed people gradually mastered the knack, and the explosive power became greater and greater.

The barbarians absorbed military technology so quickly that it terrified the people of Plato.

The proliferation of military technology is a hundred or a thousand times more terrifying than the simple distribution of weapons.

Any Paratul who witnessed this scene would no longer question the Paratul's strangulation strategy of the past thirty years. They would only regret not having strangled the white lion more forcefully.

The explosions that occurred almost daily served as the best whip, lashing the backs of the Paratul engineers and auxiliary soldiers, urging them to exert their utmost strength.

The bridge construction was incredibly fast; it crossed the river again in just two days.

At this point, the distinctions between Venetians and Platutians, regional discrimination, and sectarianism no longer matter; everyone is in the same boat. If we lose this battle, no one will survive.

Winters also felt a sense of crisis, as if a sharp blade was pressed against his back, so he picked up an axe and worked desperately, just like the lowest-ranking private.

The only thing that brought him comfort was that Bud's fever had subsided.

Father Kaman stayed with Budd all night, and the next morning Budd's fever miraculously subsided. However, due to significant blood loss, he was still very weak and needed to rest.

With the bridge piers less than fifty meters from the opposite bank, the worst thing that everyone wanted to see still happened.

With a deafening explosion, tons of soil mixed with human fragments flew into the air.

The camp was like a muddy rain, with bloody mud even flying to Winters' feet as he was sawing wood.

Winters saw that first one man fled from the southern highlands toward the camp, then two more, and finally groups of fleeing soldiers ran down the hillside.

Even the supervisory team could not stop this rout.

Winters didn't say anything. He spat twice into his palm and continued sawing wood.

In the morning, the camp on the southern highlands was breached.

In the afternoon, the barbarians pushed their cannons up the southern highlands and bombarded the bridge.

That evening, Lieutenant Colonel Jessica, Winters, and Andrei were summoned to the Legion headquarters for a meeting.

Colonel László, Lieutenant Colonel Robert, and their surviving centurions were also present.

Colonel László remained as calm as a dead man.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert's cheek was pierced by a heavy arrow, three of his teeth were knocked out, and the wound was stitched up with cotton thread.

Unable to speak, he nodded to Winters.

In addition, there were two centurions with shaved heads and red cloths tied around their left arms—they were officers from the death row camp.

This is all the troops in Plato's army that still have the strength to fight.

Sackler didn't waste any words and told all the officers present directly: "Retake the South Highlands fortress tonight. Victory means life, defeat means death."

……

In the darkness, Montagne's 100 men had already assembled.

By the dim moonlight, Winters looked at his warriors one by one.

Among them were his own soldiers from Wolf Town, young men from Blackwater Town and Saint Ke Town who had been brought in, and other farmers and tenants from newly reclaimed land.

He can call out everyone's name and recognize everyone's face.

This battle, campaign, and even war has entered a life-or-death moment.

Winters didn't need to say much; he trusted them, and they trusted him.

Winters' eyes stung, but the tears welled up and stubbornly refused to fall.

"Retreat, darkness. Fall, stars." A sentence echoed in Winters' mind, and he slowly recited it: "At dawn, we will surely triumph!"

A cold wind brushed against the hem of everyone's clothes, while the River Styx flowed silently.

Winters was the first to step into the darkness: "Let's go!"

A map of the Battle of the Styx has been drawn, which can be found in the chapter comments and reader community for this chapter.

I've missed another chapter... *Turandot* didn't premiere until 1926, but please don't worry about these details. Because before this story even existed, the scene of Winters reciting, "Away with the night, stars, and the dawn, I shall triumph," had already been created. That aria has been echoing in my mind for at least a year now.

Thank you to all the readers for reading, subscribing, recommending, voting, donating, and commenting. Thank you everyone.

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(End of this chapter)