I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 331 The cruelty of war

Chris's sentence to Oliver was so severe that after the scribe announced the verdict in public, the priestess of agriculture drew her sword and committed suicide... She swung her sword so hard that she severed half of her own neck.

Oliver feared punishment, whether it was Prince Chris's three-year mine punishment or the anger of his colleagues from the Church of the Goddess of Agriculture.

He was deeply terrified of it all, and he was scared to death... So after hearing the contents of the punishment, Oliver decided to commit suicide and carried it out without hesitation.

When crimson blood gushed from his neck, it signaled the fall of an agricultural goddess priest to hell... Clerics who commit suicide will not be accepted by their respective deities.

……

The cold wind swirled withered leaves, lashing the rough logs of the watchtower like icy whips, bringing with it the scent of impending winter and war.

Wrapped in a thick cloak and feeling warm, Papper sighed contentedly before raising his head and staring wide-eyed at the huge monocular telescope mounted on the wooden railing, so that he could see further.

Papper was a poor man; his name means "poor man." His parents, who gave birth to him, were exhausted just trying to survive, so they didn't have the energy to give him a good name.

"Beep beep beep..."

A sharp whistle came from below the wooden tower. Papper instinctively peered down and saw the overseer yelling at the lazy refugees, telling them to hurry up and set up the barbed wire in front of the trench.

Now, the Anvil Fortress is surrounded by barbed wire and trenches, layer upon layer, enveloping the fortress and the nearby refugee camp, like barbed thorns wrapped around the body of a giant beast.

The Anvil Fortress wasn't much to look at; its gray-brown stone walls, towering towers, and the dark cannon barrels peeking out from between the crenellations were all awe-inspiring.

In the refugee camp near Bagnia... to be honest, Papper didn't really think that this square camp, covering more than 50,000 square meters, with its densely packed tents like scales covering the earth, was a refugee camp.

Every time Pappa sees it, a strong sense of unease wells up inside him.

This is hardly a refugee camp.
The refugee camps in his memory were a concrete manifestation of despair and chaos.

The refugees' makeshift shacks, cobbled together from tattered tarpaulins, planks, and mud, shivered in the cold wind, emitting mournful whimpers.

The campsite was perpetually muddy, and figures scurried about like headless flies, their faces sallow and emaciated, their eyes as empty as dry wells. A few wisps of smoke rose symbolically, only to be torn apart by the cold wind in an instant.

The children's cries and chasing were the only, bitter and angry background noise.

But the campsite before him completely overturned his understanding.

There is no chaos here, only a well-ordered system.

The straight, wide main road divides the vast camp into huge squares, as regular as a chessboard.

These roads were not formed by natural trampling, but were deliberately leveled, widened, and even paved with gravel, ensuring the rapid passage of army supplies and horses even in the muddy season of late autumn. Secondary roads were equally straight, dividing the large blocks into smaller, identical rectangular areas.

The tents are standardized military equipment. No longer tattered tarpaulins, but uniform, thick, green military tents that are windproof, not easily ignited, and have excellent sealing properties.

At the same time, the tents are strictly placed in the designated grid, with each tent facing the same direction and spacing. Whether viewed horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, they are all in rows and columns, as neat as if they had been measured with a ruler and stretched with thread.

Pappa could even see the clear boundaries drawn between the tents with lime powder.

The functional areas within the refugee camp are also clearly defined. The camp is clearly divided into different blocks: dense residential areas and a huge, fenced-off "storage area" where supplies, also neatly covered with tarpaulins, are piled up.

There was also a tent area set up on an open ground, with only the tops of the tents visible; this was clearly a cooking area or a canteen area.

Prince Chris established a rule that refugees were not allowed to cook for themselves, and the smoke rising from the camp could only be seen from cooking fires in these areas.

From his vantage point, Pappa could see huge cooking pots set up on uniformly constructed stoves, with refugees lining up to receive food. Under the cold gaze of the overseers and the threat of their whips, no one dared to cut in line.

"so good……"

Papper thought enviously and jealously how wonderful it would have been if he had lived in a camp like this when he was a child.

There is food and drink, bathing facilities, and a fixed place to live.

So he was genuinely jealous of the refugees in the camp, and even maliciously thought... that it might actually be a good thing that these Minisians had their houses robbed and burned.

Without such a thing, they would never be able to live in a spacious tent, have enough to eat and drink, wear new clothes, take hot baths, and have doctors to take care of them when they are sick.

How great.

Thinking of this, the flames of jealousy almost burned through Papper's heart. If he hadn't witnessed a priest's suicide this morning, which made him realize that military discipline was no joke, Papper might have tried to sneak into the refugee camp for some fun.

Feeling regretful, Papper turned back to the binoculars and continued to observe his assigned area.

Suddenly, his movements froze.

At the very edge of the telescope's field of view, on that hazy horizon, some unusual, tiny bumps appeared. They weren't trees; their movement was too uniform.

Papper's heart skipped a beat. He instinctively held his breath and carefully adjusted the focus of the binoculars with his slightly stiff, frozen fingers. The view trembled, then suddenly became clear.

It's not an illusion!

A caravan, like a black stream, was winding its way from the edge of the wilderness toward the fortress.

There were quite a few of them, at least twenty riders, perhaps more. They weren't fast, but they carried a steady and imposing aura.

Papper stared intently, trying to make out the details.

The distance was too great to see their faces clearly, but the horses were strong and the riders were upright... They were definitely not refugees or caravans; they did not have the fussy baggage and carefree air of caravans.

A chilling coldness shot from Papper's tailbone to the top of his head, far more biting than the autumn wind. His pupils contracted sharply.

Leterians!
Only the cavalry of Leteria would march in such formation on this terrain. Their unique, arrogant posture, faintly discernible in the zoomed-in view of the telescope, and the occasional cold, hard reflection of their breastplates or helmets in the thin sunlight, are like a glint of cold light on the scythe of death.

The air was thick with the scent of winter and war… The overseer’s shrill whistle still echoed beneath the tower, but to Papper, it sounded like distant background noise.

It seemed as if all the blood in his body rushed to his head, only to freeze instantly.

Without hesitation, Papper jerked off the binoculars. The movement was so sudden that the cold brass scraped against his face, causing a burning pain.

He staggered toward the heavy bronze bell hanging in the center of the watchtower, grabbing the cold bell rope with all his might.

"Dang...dang...dang..."

The sharp, loud, and penetrating sound of the bell suddenly rang out, instantly tearing apart the oppressive air above the fortress, drowning out the howling wind, the overseers' whistles, and all the noise in the refugee camp.

As Papper frantically pulled on the bell rope, he used every last breath in his chest to scream at the fortress, his voice distorted by fear and strain.

"Enemy attack...to the northeast, the Reteria cavalry..."

Papper's roar and the urgent chimes still reverberated in the air, and immense panic, like a boulder thrown into a lake, instantly created ripples throughout the fortress and refugee camp.

The figures on the fortress walls noticeably quickened their pace, and the refugees in the refugee camp, who had been walking numbly, seemed like a swarm of startled ants, their movements momentarily frozen and chaotic.

However, before Popper could ring the bell a third time, a tremendous force slapped him hard on the back of the head!
"boom!"

Papper felt stars flash before his eyes, his ears were ringing, and he was like a spinning top that had been whipped around, before crashing heavily onto the cold wooden floor of the watchtower, the bell rope slipping from his hand.

"asshole!!"

A thunderous roar erupted above him, thick with nasal congestion and undisguised rage.

Papper looked up, dizzy, and through her blurry vision was the captain's face, twisted with rage.

The captain, wearing thick leather armor and with a stubble beard, was glaring down at him, his spittle almost hitting his face.

"Just twenty cavalrymen! What kind of alarm are you sounding?!"

The captain roared, his voice drowning out the remaining chimes.

"Are you trying to scare the whole fortress to death?! Idiot, those are scouts, Retelian scouts, understand?! Not an attacking army!"

As he cursed, the captain roughly shoved Papper, who was still lying on the ground, aside and lunged at the monocular telescope. He skillfully adjusted the focus, glanced at it, and then cursed with even greater certainty.

"See that?! Just twenty riders, scattered all over the place, not even a proper formation. They're just rats scouting the way... And you, you're making a scene like the sky is falling, disturbing His Highness. I'll skin you alive!"

Papper curled up on the ground, his face burning with pain, and he felt terrified and wronged.

……

Sebalma reined in his horse, a chestnut-colored steed from the southern plains of Retalia, which puffed out hot white breath as it came to a steady stop on a low earthen slope.

This insignificant height is a rare vantage point in this desolate wasteland where winter has choked it.

The cold wind swept across the hilltop without any obstruction, swirling up withered grass and dust, lashing Sebalema's masked cheeks with a soft crackling sound.

Ignoring the harsh weather, his sharp gaze, like that of a hawk, shot through his telescope, piercing the sandstorm, and locked firmly on the colossal structure at the edge of the horizon... the Anvil Fortress.

"Humph……"

A low, metallic snort came from behind his visor. The fortress itself was indeed as sturdy as rumored. The gray-brown stone walls were as thick as mountains, the towering towers were like cold spears pointing to the sky, and the dark muzzles of cannons between the crenellations exuded a silent threat.

It lurked there, like a lurking, stone-armored behemoth, exuding a chilling aura that kept people at a distance.

This complex, built by the Minieses over twenty years to defend against the Bagnians, is rugged, cold, and devoid of any aesthetic appeal, pursuing only the ultimate in practicality and defense.

But Sebalma's gaze did not linger on the main body of the fortress for long; his eyes began to search for every detail around it.

The first thing that catches the eye is the chilling barbed wire and trenches surrounding the fortress and its outposts.

Layer upon layer, like vines with metal barbs growing wildly on the body of a giant beast, Seba felt a strong sense of nausea after just a few glances... Such a deployment was undoubtedly the knight's nemesis.

He had seen barbed wire on the front lines against the Bohemian Empire last year, but it was only a small section and did not cover much area.

Here, Seba saw so much barbed wire that it completely enclosed the main building and the surrounding camp.

Sebalma roughly estimated that the barbed wire fence laid around the fortress alone was at least ten kilometers long.

The trench has a clear and deep outline, clearly the result of recent large-scale excavation and reinforcement.

He even saw some refugees near the refugee camp, under the supervision of their overseers, shouting loud slogans and forcefully dragging new rolls of barbed wire to continue setting up barricades behind the trenches.

The density and completeness of the fortifications here far exceeded expectations. Chris was building his iron shell, sparing no expense to defend his fortress and the refugee camp.

Then, his gaze fell on the huge, strangely orderly camp next to the fortress. After looking at it for a while, Seba realized that it was indeed a refugee camp, not a military camp.

"Using the military to manage refugees..."

Sebalema muttered to himself, his tone carrying a barely perceptible hint of sarcasm and gravity. He knew all too well the cost and purpose of this management style... It represented Chris's absolute control over the region and his determination to extract every resource to wage war.

Just as his gaze swept across the refugee camp, the heavy side door of the Anvil Fortress burst open!

A group of knights, like a black torrent of steel, suddenly rushed out. There were only about a hundred of them, and their equipment was so good it was dazzling. The gleaming black armor reflected a cold, hard light under the gloomy sky, and the heavy hooves of the horses pounded on the paved road with a dull, drum-like sound.

Even from such a distance, Seba seemed to feel the earth tremble.

The cavalry charged along the wide, straight main road surrounding the refugee camp at an astonishing speed, with no obstruction on the road.

The refugees, who were transporting something along the road, retreated swiftly and orderly to both sides like a tide, their movements carrying a trained numbness, as the overseer's flag waved. These refugees could serve as spearmen, used to wear down light cavalry.

This elite cavalry force of one hundred men, with a clear objective and brimming with murderous intent, headed straight for the approximate location of his twenty-man scout squad.

"Quick reaction time..."

A cold smile curved the corners of Sebale's mouth behind his mask.

The echoes of the alarm bells seemed to still linger in the wind, and the Prince's guards' attack further confirmed his judgment.

The sentry who rang the bell, though making a mountain out of a molehill, was not entirely without merit. His reaction speed and decisive attack demonstrated that the fortress was on high alert.

His gaze followed the speeding black train, watching the dust they kicked up rapidly approach.

Sebalema slowly lowered his binoculars, and under the protection of the cavalrymen beside him, he turned the reins, changed direction, and quickly left with his men.

He had seen what he wanted to see, and there was no need for him to stay and put himself in danger.

As he left, Seba continued to ponder.

The fortress's strength, the density of its defensive works, the militarized management of the refugee camp, and the swift and formidable heavy cavalry... all point to one fact: Anvil Fortress is not an easy nut to crack.

Chris poured immense effort and resources into transforming this place into a war fortress integrating defense, logistics, and manpower. It resembled a barbed wire caltrop deeply embedded in the border of Minicia.

"anvil……"

Sebalema repeated the powerful name in a low voice, his gaze sweeping back over the gray fortress and the silent, oppressive camp at its foot.

"It truly lives up to its reputation. If the Minieses knew what was going on here, they might regret handing this fortress over to the barbarians."

The third prince of the Leterian Empire was unaware of the Minisians' feelings afterward. He himself was experiencing a complex mix of emotions: annoyance, disgust, and a chilling, suppressed sense of dread.

……

The Reteria were gone, and the last thousand-strong force also withdrew from the Tavitsky Plain before winter arrived. Their departure ended the information blackout of the Tavitsky Province.

Connie's intelligence agents can also disguise themselves as merchants, refugees, or defeated soldiers to venture deeper into the Kingdom of Minicia in order to gather information about the country's civil war.

At the same time, Chris also sent people to investigate the situation on the Tavitsky Plain. After a brief investigation, he found that the Reteria seemed to be doing a good job and were good people to the Kingdom of Bagnia.

Seriously, this isn't sarcasm or gloating. From Chris's perspective, the Tavitzky Plains are now so clean that even if he sent troops to clean it up, they couldn't achieve that.

The Retalians did such a "clean" job that even the scouts Chris sent out felt a chill run down their spines.

They did not merely defeat the Kingdom of Minicia's garrison in the Tavitsky province... that's the norm in war.

The term "cleanliness" here refers to the systematic erasure carried out by the military in Retalia, from top to bottom, encompassing the physical, structural, and spiritual aspects of the area.

Almost none of the officials who had ever held titles or power on the Tavitsky Plain, or who had merely served the Kingdom of Minicia, escaped this fate.

Castles and manors were breached, and regardless of resistance, the male owners, heirs, and even slightly influential butlers and clerks were all executed.

In the burned-out ruins of the manor, scouts repeatedly discovered piles of charred, burned bones, with fragments of badges or smashed seals scattered around them.

Those who managed to escape before the arrival of the Retalians suffered the most thorough purge of their families and businesses... their family members were hunted down and killed, and their businesses were burned or looted.

The Retalians appear to have a detailed list, and their objective is clear: to behead the entire ruling class and leave no key figures who could potentially rebuild order.

Landowners, both large and small, were not spared either.

They were seen as the foundation and beneficiaries of Minisian rule, and the Retalians had no need to capture these “burdens” or demand their loyalty.

The landlords' manors were looted, their granaries were emptied or burned, and their livestock were slaughtered to be used as military rations or simply abandoned.

Landlords and their adult male offspring often suffered the same fate as nobles and officials—either publicly executed or secretly "disappeared."

Their wives and daughters became spoils of war, being abducted or raped and murdered on the spot.

The Retalians not only took away their wealth and lives, but also completely erased the foundation of their existence as a local power.

At the same time, all administrative institutions that maintained Miniscia's rule, from the provincial governor's office to the lowest-ranking tax collectors and sheriffs, were physically destroyed.

Government offices were burned down, and all documents, including land deeds, tax registers, and legal statutes, were reduced to ashes. Bridges, post stations, and other infrastructure, unless useful for military operations, were also destroyed.

The Retalians had no intention of taking over; their goal was to plunge the land into complete anarchy, creating a power vacuum, a "white land."

Towns were systematically looted and burned.

Shops, workshops, and warehouses were the primary targets; any valuable materials—grain, cloth, tools, metal, and even salt and medicine—were looted.

What couldn't be taken away was destroyed. The market square was filled with smashed millstones and looms, and the charred remains of warehouses. The monetary system had collapsed, and the survivors had reverted to a primitive state of bartering.

The Ratelians' plundering was not limited to the treasuries of nobles or the wealth of towns.

They swarmed like locusts, penetrating every village and every farmhouse. Grain, seeds, and winter provisions were looted; livestock were taken away or slaughtered; ironware, bronzeware, and even slightly decent farm tools were seized as strategic resources.

As for warm clothing and bedding, they were all looted.

They didn't even spare the thatched roofs or the beams supporting the houses; they burned and destroyed whatever they could, leaving the survivors no foundation for rebuilding their homes.

This led to the refugee crisis. Only a small portion of the refugees fled to Bagnians; the majority fled outwards, heading deeper into the Kingdom of Minicia.

The operation of the Thousand-Man Retalian Force was by no means a simple military occupation or plunder.

This was a thorough and devastating surgical strike against the foundations of the Kingdom of Minicia's rule on the Tavitsky Plain. They physically eliminated the ruling class, nobles, officials, landowners, and priests of the Church of the Sea God using the most brutal and efficient methods.

It structurally shattered all administrative, economic, and social organizations, and ruthlessly stripped the land of its resources, leaving no way out.

What remains is a "blank space" of power vacuum, repeatedly washed by blood and fire, scattered survivors who have completely lost their ability to organize, produce, and resist, and vast ruins shrouded in death and despair.

For Prince Chris, who intended to consolidate power and plot to rule this plain, the Tavitsky Plain, which had been "cleaned up" so "cleaned" by the Retalians, certainly saved him from the enormous trouble he might face from the old local ruling class in the future.

The Retalians inadvertently cleared the way for him, at the cost of unimaginable devastation for the land and its people.

This kind of "cleanliness" is built on countless corpses and utter destruction. It is a "cleanliness" that reeks of blood and burnt smell. The "cleanliness" that Chris sees is a complete vacuum in the ruling structure, and beneath this vacuum are countless crushed lives and hopes.

When Chris learned about this, he didn't know how to react... Should he hide under the covers and chuckle, or shed a few tears for the suffering people of Minisinia?
In any case, the Tavisky Plain, now a barren wasteland, will not provide Chris with any benefits this year or next, and will even continue to drain his manpower and resources.

This convinced Chris that war must be fought outside the borders. Fighting it domestically, regardless of whether the country wins or loses, and no matter how many enemy soldiers are killed, is a huge loss for the nation.

(End of this chapter)