Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 318 One bottle is water, the other is sand

The North, the far North.

Cross the Shaded Mountains, traverse the Holy Empire, and advance towards the horizon, until you reach the turbulent Narrow Sea, and you will arrive at the true North.

The Venetians complained about the cold, damp winter and pulled out long-sleeved clothes from the bottom of their trunks;

The Paratites cursed the bitterly cold winter and hid in their houses with the doors and windows tightly shut.

Little did they know that fate had been kind enough to the people of Senas—the towering, shaded mountains blocked the cold air from moving south, and the vast inland sea served as a natural heat reservoir, so the land between the two mountains remained almost ice-free throughout the year.

In the true North, however, the god of winter will reveal a cruel and merciless side.

A blizzard swept across the land, turning everything into a vast expanse of white. The moisture from animals' breath froze on their fur, making it a matter of life and death to preserve body temperature.

In this world where even a drop of water freezes instantly, a group of people are holding a ceremony.

A waterway was carved out of the frozen lake, and a naked boy trembled as he stepped into the icy water.

His body heat was rapidly dissipating as the boy struggled to swim to the end of the waterway.

There were many onlookers, but no one offered to help.

Thin ice kept breaking off from the water's surface. If the guards with long sticks hadn't broken the ice and scooped out the floating ice in time, the sharp ice shards could have been deadly.

The mothers closed their eyes, while the men whispered among themselves: coming-of-age ceremonies are usually held at fifteen, and even then, misfortune often occurs. It's far too early to let an eleven-year-old swim across an ice river!

But the boy eventually swam to the other side. When he emerged from the icy water, the crowd surrounding the frozen river erupted in cheers.

The grandfather walked up to the boy, took off his cloak from his shoulders, and tied it around the boy's neck.

Then, the grandfather hung a ruby-inlaid short sword on the boy's waist.

A short sword, a cloak, and a sword belt—in the understanding of those participating in the ceremony, when a boy receives these three things, it means that he is no longer a child, but a young man, a warrior.

From this moment on, the boy gained full power as a "free man".

Next, the guests should present the boy with a gift.

But the boy's grandfather did something unexpected: he took off his iron crown and casually placed it on the boy's head.

“Karl, I had a dream.” The grandfather gently stroked the boy’s soft blond hair, his eyes full of affection. “I dreamed that you would eventually get all of this.”

A dream doesn't mean anything; it's just a grandfather's heartfelt blessing to his grandson.

But at this moment of impending doom, the old king's prophetic words rekindled a glimmer of hope in people's hearts.

The nobles who were attending the ceremony placed their gifts at the boy's feet in turn.

They still have a battle to fight, a battle of life and death.

……

The vast majority of Catholics and Protestants are unaware that a group of people live in the far north, and they don't care.

To those with a slightly better understanding of geography—such as Winters Montagne—the inhabitants of the far north were undoubtedly barbarians.

The widespread acceptance of this perception is largely due to the empire's "long-standing deliberate use of the image of [savages] and [barbarians] to distort the image of its northern 'neighbors'."

Degrading the enemy is a consistent narrative style of the Empire, and describing the northern kingdoms as "barbarians" is exactly the same as emphasizing that the Cenas Alliance is a "traitor".

In fact, since the Catholic Church sent missionaries to the Narrow Sea coast on a large scale four hundred years ago, Northern society has quickly shed its primitive tribal-regional structure, and the tribes have entered the feudal era.

After all, missionaries not only brought scriptures, but also advanced technology and culture—how could they persuade the barbarian chieftain to convert without offering something good?
However, what happened next quickly deviated from the Catholic Church's expectations.

With these three magic weapons—scriptures, culture, and divine arts—the Catholic Church has been able to expand its territory with unparalleled success.

But in the North… the Catholic Church miscalculated.

Unlike the old paganisms that crumbled at the slightest touch, the pantheistic beliefs of the North have demonstrated an unimaginable tenacity.

When the Catholic Church marched into the North, both sides of the Narrow Sea were still in the "mythological age" where demigods walked among humans.

The priests of the North incorporated elements from Catholic beliefs such as "the great battle between good and evil," "heaven and hell," and "immortality," sorting out the originally chaotic Northern mythology and reconstructing a complete belief system.

Generally speaking, the weaker the party in terms of discourse power, the more conservative they tend to be.

For example, many dynasties were able to embrace diverse cultures when they were at their peak, but when they declined, they often fell into a state of fear where everyone seemed like a traitor; religions forced non-believers to convert when they were on the rise, but when they declined, they began to argue about who was more devout.

If miracles truly exist, the rebirth of the pantheistic faith in the North is one of them.

The war of faith has raged for two hundred years, with Catholic priests battling demigods in the North, and monotheistic religions fighting against pantheistic beliefs.

The Catholic Church won, marked by the successive conversions of the northern kings.

However, Pope Pius II had no time to celebrate, because he discovered something far more terrible—heresy.

The problem lies with the [second generation of missionaries].

The second generation of missionaries refers generally to the earliest converts to Catholicism among the people of the North.

Most of them were self-taught, without a complete theological education, and they preached in the language of the Northerners.

It should be understood that "even a single mistranslation of scripture can lead a lamb astray," not to mention that second-generation missionaries were "retelling" their own understanding of doctrine in a foreign language.

It was precisely the second-generation missionaries, born and raised in the local community, who made outstanding contributions to the victory of the Catholic Church.

Over the two centuries of the war of faith, the second-generation missionaries, having repeatedly encountered setbacks, learned from their mistakes and gradually combined Catholic doctrine with Northern traditions to aid in missionary work.

Saint worship gradually replaced monotheism, new chapels were built on old sacrificial sites, and pantheistic holidays were transformed into Catholic holidays...

Through various "localization" strategies, the second-generation missionaries achieved great success.

Then... they were all condemned as heretics by Pope Pius II.

In the first two hundred years, the struggle between pantheism and the Catholic Church was still essentially a matter of "persuasion."

In the two hundred years that followed, "critique of weapons" completely replaced "weapons of criticism".

The two hundred years of Catholicism in the North were also two hundred years of rapid development, during which the [tribal-regional] structure was shattered and feudal states took shape.

At the same time, the Holy Empire, which had been ravaged and fragmented, was once again united under one banner, known in history as the "Eagle Castle Dynasty".

[Note: This is not the same dynasty as the current ruling dynasty. The Eagle Fortress Dynasty has died out, and the current imperial crown belongs to the Blazing Sun Dynasty.]
The war continues, but now lords have replaced priests, swords have replaced scriptures, and more and more political factors are getting involved in sectarian struggles.

In the end, "punishing heretics" became a high-sounding excuse, leaving only two powerful forces attacking each other under the guise of holy war.

Fighting on and off, stopping and fighting again. In two hundred years, the number of years in which the imperial lords and the northern "barbarians" were completely at peace can be counted on one hand.

But all of this is coming to an end—or perhaps it is?
……

Three days have passed since the boy's coming-of-age ceremony. No, he is now a man.

The little man, "Karl," stood blankly by the bed, clutching his grandfather's cloak.

His grandfather, who had tied the cloak around his neck, lay on the bed, no longer breathing, his blood soaking the sheets red.

A 48-pound cannon fired a volley that knocked the charging old king off his horse, and the old man died before he could be carried back.

However, for the old king, dying in the final charge might be the best way to die, so that he wouldn't have to witness the tragic scene of the army's collapse and the country's destruction.

Brand-new cast-iron cannons destroyed the old city walls, spears and muskets shattered shields and swords, and a disciplined army triumphed over a brave and fearless one.
The heavily armored, hammer-wielding, demigod-like warrior bishop was slain in battle by an "unknown soldier."
Battalion-level formations, light artillery, and medium-armored cavalry that combined impact and speed shone brightly.

The sound of boot spurs hitting the ground echoed from the corridor.

The bedroom door was pushed open, and a deep, impatient voice rang out: "Where is Karl XI?" The owner of the voice saw the old king's body on the bed and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

He took off his helmet, revealing light blond hair and a handsome face.

If this face were at a countess's banquet, its owner would surely be the darling of both married and unmarried ladies.

But for a general commanding an army, this face was far too young. Thirty years old? Perhaps not even that?

The young general with light blond hair bowed deeply to the old king's remains.

"Are you a prince?" The pale-haired man bent down and asked little Karl gently, "Where are the others?"

Little Karl shook his head.

Pale blond hair scoffed and ordered his accompanying military officer, "Arrest the palace steward and prepare for King Karl XI's funeral."

The accompanying military officer hesitated, but then turned to carry out the order.

Another lieutenant removed his helmet, revealing chestnut hair.

The chestnut-haired man said with a hint of helplessness, "Duke Congreve is the Commander-in-Chief. In any case, you should 'consult' him."

“Okay, go ahead.” The pale blonde replied casually, “I have other things to do.”

The chestnut-haired man sighed, turned and left to make amends to his friend.

"There's something I originally wanted Karl Eleven to do himself." The pale-haired boy looked at Karl: "But now it's your turn."

Little Karl was led out of the castle, and he watched in horror as the snow-covered city was stained with blood and fire.

Imperial soldiers who stormed the city looted, burned, and raped with impunity. This army had just fought a hard siege in the freezing winter, and the soldiers' pent-up negative emotions were ready to explode at the slightest spark.

In the central square of the city, a makeshift execution platform has been erected.

The clergy, who are usually holy and inviolable, are now being herded like sheep to the execution platform.

The great axe fell mercilessly, and one after another, the "heretic priests" were decapitated.

Pale blond hair clearly didn't like what he saw, but he obviously didn't intend to stop it either.

Some disoriented imperial soldiers rushed into the pale-haired guard, but came to their senses the moment they saw the pale-haired banner and knelt down in salute.

The pale-haired girl led little Karl away from the city without any hindrance.

After leaving the city, they turned northwest and soon reached the shore.

The narrow sea is right in front of us.

The pale-haired man beckoned, and a servant took out a simple wooden box and carefully presented it to him.

With pale blonde hair, she unfastened her neck brace, removed the key hanging around her neck, and solemnly opened the wooden box.

Two bottles lay prominently in the center of the silk and cotton.

Two very ordinary bottles, made of nothing more than glass;

But they are two very exquisite bottles, because the glass is pure and transparent without any impurities.

“Go.” The pale blonde looked at Karl: “Fill a bottle with seawater and a bottle with sand.”

"You can rest assured, His Majesty will not kill you. It's just that you will have to live in the Eternal City for the rest of your life. But the Eternal City is much better than the North..." The pale-haired man's attitude was completely genuine. He said somewhat absentmindedly, "At least it's not as cold as here, it's really cold."

Karl, clutching his cloak, gazed at the surging Narrow Sea and the land that appeared and disappeared on the other side, and whispered in response, "I like the cold."

The glass bottle filled with water and sand from the Narrow Sea was sealed tightly with lacquer and placed back into the wooden box.

Immediately afterwards, a crack cavalry unit escorted the wooden box southward at breakneck speed.

Crossing mountains and rivers, overcoming numerous obstacles, the wooden box was delivered to the heart of the empire—the Palace of No Worries.

The transparent glass bottle filled with the water and sand of the Narrow Sea was eventually gently placed on a simple desk by a pair of hands.

“Your Majesty, congratulations.” Count Narzia put down the glass bottle and bowed deeply. “The Great Northern War, which has lasted for two hundred years, has been brought to a close by you. And the Far Northern Sea Route will be fully opened.”

The man sitting behind the desk put down his pen and did something he never did before—he slowly turned around and looked at the portrait hanging behind him.

An elderly man in military uniform looked him in the eye.

……

Meanwhile, far to the south...

Don Juan is furiously "criticizing" Winters Montagne.

No matter what earth-shattering events are happening in the distant north, to the people of Tiefeng County, it is nothing more than a dream from an unknown land.

The people of Tiefeng County don't know what the world looks like, and nobody cares.

The most pressing issue for the people of Tiefeng County today is survival.

Where can I eat? Where can I drink? Where can I stay? When can I go home?

"My thighs are rubbed raw! On both sides! It hurts to pee!" Don Juan angrily pulled the arrowheads from the corpse: "How can you treat people like this!"

Andrei pretended not to hear and examined the holes in his gold-embroidered coat over and over again.

Before Andrei lay a camp littered with corpses, where the First Cavalry Regiment was clearing the battlefield.

Because of the scattered organizational structure of the various tribes under Hede, Taichi could not completely control the Teldun people of Tiefeng County.

In fact, when the Taichi tribe attacked Zhongtiefeng County, a group of Terdun people who had crossed the river earlier did not rejoin Taichi. This was either due to poor communication or because they had already plundered enough and did not intend to take any more risks.

In short, this group of Teldenans were acting alone, as they were also stranded in Lower Iron Peak County because they had no boats to cross the river.

Since they did not follow Taichi's actions, this group of Teldun people naturally did not surrender.

Winters cannot organize the return of the refugees from Iron Peak County until this group of Teltown people is completely eliminated.

Winters sent men to persuade Taychi to surrender—they could leave safely if they handed over their loot. If negotiations failed, a cavalry force would arrive to wipe them out.

The cavalry units of Iron Peak County are currently engaged in the "Great Battle" to wipe out the remnants of Teldun's forces, and Andrei and Don Juan's cavalry units are no exception.

Andrei looked at the horizon and stroked the stubble on his chin: "Senior?"

"Hmm?" Don Juan was finishing off the corpses one by one, making sure no one was faking death.

"It's so cold, I'm a little homesick."

Don Juan looked up and suddenly smiled: "I've thought about it too."

……

Two Aquamarine people are homesick, but what about the third Aquamarine person?

Whether Winters misses home or not is unknown to others, since he has no one to confide in.

But one thing is certain—someone at home misses him.

Winters stood outside the door, taking a deep breath, unsure how to face the person behind it.

[It looks like I'm going to back out, but actually I'm not, which is also a kind of backing out.]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
[This is actually only half the "water and soil" joke. The other half is Operation Bagration: the Soviet tank crews who were the first to reach the Baltic coast of the Gulf of Riga filled three bottles with seawater and transported them all the way back to Moscow as evidence of "reaching the sea."]
[Incidentally, as I am not very familiar with this either: when Mr. Mao Dun wrote the preface to *Norse Mythology*, he mentioned that "Norse mythology suffered from the destruction of Christian faith before it was preserved by poets." This involves an event—the Christianization of the Scandinavian Peninsula.]
[In the ninth century, the image of Scandinavia was still that of Vikings, pagans, and dragon-headed ships—barbaric indeed!]
In the 16th century, the Nordic countries (Denmark and Sweden) suddenly became equal players, engaging in fierce battles with Poland and Russia, and later participating in the Thirty Years' War. One moment they were ferocious infidels, the next they were friendly international partners.
Christianity brought some progress to Northern Europe, but it also severed the roots of Norse mythology. The Norse mythology we know today owes much to the compilation by Catholic clergy, and it is undeniably influenced by Christianity.
[But what if in a parallel universe, under similar circumstances (not exactly the same as this universe), did the priests of pantheistic beliefs truly possess "divine power"?]

Suppose a missionary priest discovers with horror that the other party also possesses "divine magic," then... what should he do?
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(End of this chapter)