Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 278 Triumphant Song
It was late at night, but Tartai couldn't sleep.

Not only was Tartai unable to sleep, but his confidants were also unable to sleep.

The Tartai tribe's Red Feathers couldn't sleep all night not because of the defeat at dawn yesterday—slaves who died could be captured again, subjects who ran away could be taken back, as long as the horses and armor weren't lost, the Tartai tribe's foundation wasn't damaged.

Rather, it was because they were blocked on the riverbank and unable to move.

The leaders, big and small, have been arguing for two days about what to do next.

"Nayan! Esteemed sirs!" the old slave Chahan pleaded desperately, "Look at your feet! It's all black! There's not even a patch of grass the size of a palm! This is a death trap! Hurry up and leave while you can still walk!"

As Chahan spoke, he bent down, grabbed a handful of soil, and cried out, “My lords, open your eyes! The two-legged men have gone mad, even the grass roots have been scorched! In this freezing weather, the children can’t find any firewood to keep warm, so they can only burn wet horse dung! Their eyes are already infected by the fumes, how can they rob anymore? In a few days, there won’t be any horse dung left!”

Old Nuchahan wanted to leave, but the "nobles" of the Tartai tribe did not. The spoils of their plunder were related to their status and wealth, and even their lives depended on the success or failure of the plunder.

Immediately, someone rebuked the old servant Chahan: "Why are you cawing so wildly, crow? The man who tends the fire has ordered us to cross the river from here. Do you think we can just leave as we please? He may not kill you, but he will kill the one with the quiver!"

Another figure with graying hair and beard, a red-feathered creature, spoke up: "We can't leave, but we can't just linger here either. Why not take another route, either upstream or downstream?"

"Are the paths of the other departments paths for you and me to take?" The man who had spoken earlier grew even more enraged: "Father! Father! Don't remain silent! It's either leave or fight! You make the decision!"

It turned out that the speaker was Tartai's son.

“Todog, don’t rush.” Tartai glanced at his eldest son, his eyelids twitching. “What you’re saying makes sense.”

Does Tartai want to leave? No, it doesn't. If it gives in now, wouldn't those hundred or so subjects and slaves be lost for nothing?
But he also felt he couldn't afford to waste time—the two-legged men were far too ruthless, having burned the west bank to ashes. The Harts relied on livestock to fight, and livestock relied on grass to fight. Without grass to eat, how could they plunder?
They thought being a vanguard was a rare and lucrative job, but now they are caught in a dilemma, and Taltai is filled with regret.

“I see that the two-legged people on the east bank are fewer in number than we are. They also suffered heavy losses in yesterday’s battle.” Tartai looked around, the dried meat in his hand almost twisted into meat floss: “Tomorrow, divide your men into left and right wings, and have them cross the river from upstream and downstream respectively. I will leave my banner here to lure the people on the other side.”

"What if we get caught?"

"It doesn't matter if you get caught. Go cross the river a short distance away. If they follow, keep fishing them. They only have two legs, they can't go far."

If they don't see through my plan, you can expect me to make a feigned crossing from here and then ambush them from behind.

[Note: "A horse's distance" refers to a journey that takes a horse a day, approximately 10km.]
"What if that still doesn't work?"

"If it's not working, then let's leave! We've already done our best, and the person warming themselves by the fire can't blame us."

The Red Feathered Ones of the Tartai tribe couldn't think of a better solution, and gradually agreed to Tartai's plan.

Chahan was Tartai's personal slave, and his position was an extension of Tartai's authority. Although he was worried, Chahan could not contradict Tartai.

The Red Feathered tribe of Tartai divided themselves into left and right wings, and then stopped arguing and went back to their tents to sleep.

Chahan returned to his lodgings, but he had no tent—none of the Teldun people below the chieftain had tents.

As winter approaches and the weather turns cold, it gets cold during the day and even colder at night. Ordinary people can only warm themselves by tucking heated stones into their clothes.

Chaghan's son and grandson also went on the expedition with the army. The father and son stayed by the campfire and did not sleep.

"How is it, Father?" Chaghan's son asked.

Chahan shook his head.

Looking at his son and grandson's eyes, red from the smoke, the old man sighed heavily, wrapped himself in his fur robe, and lay down.

Chahan's grandson vigorously poked at the horse dung, his resentment reaching the heavens, and said, "If we lose the battle, we'll die. If we win, the chieftains will divide the spoils. They're like wolves who've finally tasted blood; of course they won't give up easily."

"Shut up!" the middle-aged man from Hed whispered to his son, "If Nayan hears this, I'll pull out your tongue!"

“I’ll keep arguing as long as he doesn’t pull it out,” Chaghan’s grandson retorted, sticking his neck out. “People say that even ordinary tribesmen in the Chihe tribe get their share of the goods. But the chieftain of Tartai? He puts everything into his saddlebags and doesn’t give his people a single horse shoe!”

Unable to argue with his son, the middle-aged Hed man angrily rebuked him, "The Red River Tribe is the Red River Tribe, and the Teldun Tribe is the Teldun Tribe."

“The Golden Men are gone! What kind of Terdun tribe is this?!” Chaghan’s grandson’s voice grew louder and louder.

"Shut up!" The middle-aged man, Mr. Hed, flew into a rage, swung his arm, and slapped his son hard across the face.

"boom!!!"

It was like a thunderclap exploding in his ears; the sound of that slap made the earth tremble.

The horses neighed in fear, and the old man Chahan suddenly jumped up, as agile as an old man.

"What's that sound?!" Old man Chahan's eyes widened like a bull's.

"I..." The middle-aged man, Hed, was at a loss for words: "...slapped him across the face..."

"No!" the old man Chahan shouted sternly, "No!"

A flash of red light.

"boom!!!"

The thunderclap exploded right at the feet of Chahan and his two grandsons. Invisible fragments flew through the air, and a shockwave instantly knocked Chahan down.

Chahan's head hit something hard, and he went black and lost consciousness.

Thirty meters from the Tartai camp, Winters, his hair still wet, gripped his saber and gave a stern order: "Ready!"

Eighteen warriors crouched in the darkness behind Winters, each with bluish-purple lips and trembling uncontrollably.

In front of Winters were four carefully selected, burly warriors.

To avoid the Telden people's sentry posts, twenty-two warriors followed Winters and swam across the river two kilometers upstream, carrying sheepskin bags.

The Hurds probably never imagined that they had inadvertently taught their enemy how to use sheepskin bags to gain buoyancy.

Four burly warriors each held a palm-sized, iron-colored grenade to eyebrow height, with a long fuse extending from the top of the iron ball.

Winters walked past the four men without striking the flint and steel, but the four fuses were already burning.

"Throw!" Winters shouted.

Like ancient discus throwers, four burly warriors took a long run-up, spun around a full circle, and used all their strength to push the grenade toward the Tartai camp.

The hissing grenades disappeared into the darkness, Winters' roar even drowning out the muffled explosions: "Again!"

The iron smelted by the blacksmith Carlos from iron peak ore was of poor quality and brittle. But Winters found a use for the brittle iron—to make grenades.

Through improved manufacturing processes, the weight of grenades produced in Tiefeng County has been reduced to less than 1 kg.

With its lighter weight, there's no need to use the "hammer throw" method anymore—that method is far too dangerous, as the grenade could easily fly into friendly fire if not handled carefully.

People were running around, horses were neighing, and the Tartai camp was in complete chaos.

Lacking warm clothing, the Tartai tribe used sticks and ropes to set up their horses around the perimeter of the camp to block the wind.

Bright light, smoke, and loud noise—any one of these could cause a horse to lose control, let alone all three stimulating its senses at the same time.

A frightened horse, driven by its instinct to escape, kicked wildly at the surrounding horses, broke free of its ropes, and galloped wildly into the night.

More frightened horses rampaged through the camp, trampling the people and spreading panic to even more horses and people.

"Don't panic!" Tartai shouted hoarsely as he ran around, "Open the ropes! Scatter the horses!"

The thunderous sound of war drums drowned out Tartai's desperate cries, and the sight before them was enough to make the Tartai tribe's men's knees go weak at the mere sight of it.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of torches surged over the riverbank like a tidal wave, crashing onto the shore, rising to the surface, and pressing down on the west bank.

They actually intend to force their way across the Dajiao River!

"What? How could this be?" Tartai grabbed a slave who was trying to escape, his eyes red, and questioned him incoherently, "They're wary of us! Two-legged people should be wary of you and me! Why? Why should they cross the river?"

The slave, who was usually submissive, turned fierce and pushed Na Yan away. He struggled to mount a horse without a bridle or saddle and rode away without looking back.

"Father!" Tartai's son, accompanied by two guards, quickly found Tartai amidst the scattering crowd: "What should we do?"

"It's fake!" Tartar suddenly realized: "There are definitely not that many soldiers among the two-legged people, and those torches are all fake!"

"What should we do?"

"Draw your swords! Mount your horses! To the riverbank!" Tartai roared, his face contorted with rage. "Kill them one by one!"

Meanwhile, on the east bank of the Great Horn, Bart Sharling, his voice already hoarse and barely human, was still shouting with all his might: "Shout! Shout! [Herd] Taltai is dead!"

In yesterday's dawn battle, the casualties on both sides were almost equal.

The night before, Winters took away another twenty of his best sergeants and veterans. Bart Sharing only had a little over a company of soldiers left, so the fact that he could create such a large commotion meant that he had brought out every able-bodied man, woman, and child from Cowhoof Valley.

The soldiers, riding on rafts made of door panels and logs, rowed furiously towards the other side of the river.

The mobilized civilians lacked the courage to cross the river and fight; all they could do was shout.

"Shout! All of you, shout it out!"

A cacophony of shouts erupted: "[Herd] Taltai is dead!"

The shouts included the innocent voices of children, the muffled throats of the elderly, and the shrill voices of women.

"Shout! Shout!" Bart Sharing was almost in tears. "If you don't shout, Blood Wolf will die! One! Two! Three!"

People gradually raised their voices: "[Herd] Taldait is dead!"

"one two Three!"

The harsh shouts merged into one voice, soaring straight to the sky: "[Herd] Taldal is dead!"

"Not dead!" Tartai roared furiously, whipping his warhorse wildly. "I'm not dead! I'm here!"

Outside the camp, Winters, with eyes like a hawk, drew his saber, the blade pointing directly at the conspicuously large, fat man, Heard: "There he is!"

The twenty-two warriors no longer concealed their presence, removed the cloth coverings from their spears, and leaped into the air.

"That man is Tartai!" Winters seemed to enter another personality, releasing all the emotions he had suppressed for so long. He laughed wildly, wantonly, and cruelly: "Everyone! Follow me!"

But before Winters could take his first step, he was grabbed from behind and hugged around the waist: "No!"

It's Charles.

"What are you doing!" Winters roared in fury.

"You can't go!"

"No armor! No horse! You're no longer the centurion! I am!" Tamas blocked Winters's path, raising his spear and roaring, "Follow me!"

Tamas charged ahead of the enemy camp without shouting or yelling. Twenty warriors followed silently behind him, like a black dagger piercing the enemy's heart.

"let go!"

"No!"

Winters roared like thunder, and with a sudden burst of strength, he dislocated Charles's right shoulder.

Charles let out a scream, his left hand still gripping his right wrist tightly, refusing to let go.

Perhaps awakened by Charles's screams, Winters slowly quieted down and fell silent, his breathing and heartbeat gradually returning to normal.

Charles vaguely sensed the waning of Winters's fanaticism, and he tentatively withdrew some of his strength, but remained vigilant.

"Alright," Winters suddenly said, "Let go."

Charles then obediently let go, crossed his right arm, and stood with his head down.

Winters threw his knife into the ground and silently reattached Charles's right shoulder.

"Tell me," Winters said listlessly, watching Tamas charge into battle, "Will I never have another chance to fight on my own?"

Charles didn't know how to answer. After thinking for a while, he replied softly, "At least not this time. The company commander is right, we didn't bring armor or horses when we swam... What if something happens to you?! What will we do then?!"

“Yes. Ah, a court mage, no wonder.” Winters suddenly remembered an old man: “Let it go this time.”

Charles nodded repeatedly, thinking, "It would be best to forget about it from now on."

“Give me your spear.” Winters flicked his wrist.

"What are you going to do?" Charles asked warily, clutching his spear.

Winters grabbed the spear without a word, calmed his breathing, took four steps, and with a smooth, flowing motion, hurled the spear.

The spear tip streaked across the battlefield like a meteor, and a rider with red feathers was thrown from his horse in the blink of an eye at the edge of the rope fence.

"Record it." Winters announced triumphantly, "In this battle, Winters Montagne has personally slain an enemy."

Charles took a deep breath and cheered towards the still river: "Winters Montagne! I've slain an enemy!"

The rafts carrying reinforcements touched the west bank, and the soldiers jumped into the knee-deep river, shouting as they charged toward the enemy camp.

……

The fighting on the west bank did not last long. At first, some firelight could still be seen, but eventually the torchlight dimmed completely.

But the sounds of horses' hooves and shouts continued intermittently until dawn.

Bart Sharing, who remained on the east bank, anxiously awaited the outcome of the battle.

Not only Bart Sharing, but thousands of civilians from Oxhoof Valley also remained on the riverbank, unwilling to leave for a long time.

Many people were praying quietly.

Finally, as dawn broke, someone shouted with delight, "Snare drums!"

"It's the sound of war drums!"

"Snail drum!"

"I heard it too!"

It's a war drum! Bart Sharing couldn't contain his excitement. He ran all the way to the riverbank, stood in the water, and cheered wildly.

The common people of Oxhoof Valley also ran to the riverbank, waving their hats and handkerchiefs, cheering from the bottom of their hearts.

On the west bank of the Great Horn, Winters urged the drummer: "March! Beat it harder! Louder!"

The Tartai tribe has been defeated, its people have scattered and fled, and its chieftain Tartai himself has been captured alive by Tamas.

"What a pity." Tamas, with injuries to his left arm and left leg, looked pale. "Many horses ran away, and we only managed to gather a little over two hundred."

"The meadows within a radius of dozens of kilometers have been burned clean. Let Bart Sharing get some wheat seedlings, water, and a few mares in heat. Before dark, all the runaway horses can be found again." Winters laughed and said, "It seems Lieutenant Cellini was right. Robbery is faster than any other method."

The drummer's face turned red as he pounded the march with all his might.

The river water washes away the dust and bloodstains of battle, and the victorious soldiers hum softly as they await their return.

Winters always felt that something was missing.

After thinking for a moment, he suddenly realized—the lyrics were missing.

The army's marches, assembly songs, assault songs... all had melody but no lyrics. The soldiers could only hum along, but could not sing them out loud.

"Come on! Come on! Get up!" Without hesitation, a new 'rhyme' began to take shape in Winters' mind: "Someone worships Alexander! Sing along!"

The soldiers, bewildered, repeated in halting, uneven voices: "Some people admire Alexander."

"Some people admire Hercules!"

"Hector, Lysander!"

"The names of heroes are too numerous to count!"

"But even the greatest hero!"

"They're not even as good as Plato's soldiers!"

Tamas sang enthusiastically along with the centurion, but he didn't hear the last line clearly, so he added the last line according to his own idea.

The cheerful songs gradually gathered and eventually resounded along both banks of the Dajiao River.

"Some people worship Alexander the Great!"
Some people admire Hercules!

Hector, Lysander!

The names of heroes are countless!
Even the greatest hero!
They're no match for the Blood Wolf's guards!

[This is a heavily modified version of the Grenadier's March. Adding lyrics to songs, as far as I remember, is a trend that started in the 18th century; before that, songs were mostly just music without lyrics. But let it be here, it's fine. The inspirational power of songs cannot be ignored.]
[Adjusting the time difference "successfully"—meaning I didn't sleep last night and successfully changed the update time from midnight to noon. Whether it was truly successful... depends on whether there's an update tomorrow at noon...]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]


(End of this chapter)