I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 336 Interesting Activities
Due to prolonged infiltration and surveillance, the Retalian army on Minisian soil had few secrets to speak of.

For example, players know that the Reteria army is stationed in six separate camps, including two large camps and four small camps.

Two of the large military camps had 20,000 men each. One was in the port city of Omdur in the Dur province, and the other was in Lev, also a port city, in the Civelevka province.

Players learn from dockworkers in the two cities that the Retalia Empire and the Kingdom of Minicia are engaged in a winter naval battle, with neither side gaining the upper hand.

Whether this actually happened or not, players don't know, because the dockworkers speak incoherently and their language logic is unclear. Players can only keep hoping that there will be naval battles in the game.

The other four small military camps, with five thousand or more soldiers, were deployed at key points on the roads of the two provinces, blocking the main routes for foreign troops to attack the two fallen provinces.

The military camp that the player has his eye on is one of them; the Retelians have driven a large nail into the main road from Tavitsky to the province of Chivelevka.

……

The thick woolen felt curtains of the tent could not completely block out the howling cold wind outside. The charcoal in the hearth was burning brightly, making a soft crackling sound, but it could not dispel the chill in Count Mikhail von Eisenberg's heart.

He sat at a rough wooden table, his fingers tapping irritably on the surface. In front of him lay several parchment reports brought back by scouts, the ink of which was stiff from the cold.

Every word in the report felt like a cold needle pricking his nerves.

"In the direction of the Tavitsky Province, the Bagnya army is frequently moving around. Large packhorse caravans are leaving the Anvil Fortress and entering the city of Tavitsky to its east, suspected to be military supplies and provisions... There are about three or four thousand soldiers accompanying them."

"The frequency of Bagnia's 'Blue Banner' new army's snow drills outside the Anvil Fortress has increased..."

"Border outposts have been reinforced, and the number of patrols has doubled, indicating a heightened state of alert..."

"Three days... A normal march only takes three days, and a forced march can even take two days..."

The count muttered to himself, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a hint of unbelievable absurdity.

"That Prince Chris of Bagnia, has he gone mad? In this awful weather that can freeze a person to the bone, he's attacking us on his own initiative?"

While it's true that Minicia is cold, it's not as cold as Baghnia, a mountainous country nestled at the foot of the Casro Mountains. Its temperature is currently only around -2 or -3 degrees Celsius, and although it's snowing, the snowfall is light.

However, for the Retalians, who come from the vast plains of the south, such temperatures are considered bone-chillingly cold.

Mikhail picked up the cold tin cup on the table, which contained a weak ale, and took a big gulp.

The cold liquid slid down my throat, bringing not warmth, but a deeper sense of irritation.

Reason told him that his speculation was a delusion, and that it was almost impossible.

Marching in the dead of winter, especially attacking an enemy that is well-rested and has taken up a stronghold, is tantamount to suicide.

Soldiers will freeze, horses will die, and supply lines will be swallowed up by the wind and snow.

"A bluff? To mislead us?"

The count tried to find a reasonable explanation.

Perhaps Chris just wanted to keep him in check, so that the Bagnians would not dare to act rashly and make it easier for them to consolidate their rule in Tavitsky.
Or... is it a deliberate offensive posture in preparation for the upcoming spring?
He cannot afford to be careless in any of them.

That ruthless young man who rose rapidly in the Bagnya Mountains may be a madman, but he is definitely not a fool.

Count Mikhail forced himself to suppress the feeling of "ridiculousness," grabbed a charcoal pencil, and scribbled the order on another piece of parchment.

"Double the number of scouts to closely monitor all paths and valleys from Tavitsky to our camp, especially at night... Report any unusual activity immediately. Also, reinforce the outer trenches and barricades of our camp, check that all artillery pieces are properly coated with antifreeze, and double the number of people on night watch at the watchtowers."

After handing the order to his adjutant who was standing to the side, Count Mikhail's brow furrowed even more.

The threat from the Bagnians was still speculative, but another crisis was a real sword hanging over his head... food.

He pulled open a heavy wooden box under the table, inside which were the ledgers for the army's provisions.

Fingertips traced the cold parchment, the numbers on it chilling and cruel. The food supply, originally expected to be continuously "requisitioned" from the occupied territories, had nearly dried up due to repeated looting.

The towns and wealthy villages of Minicia had long been scavenged, leaving nothing but scraps, like bones that had been gnawed clean. The grain requisition teams sent out had returned with less and less grain each time, complaining that "even the rat holes have been dug out."

Even with careful calculations and the slaughter of some weak horses that couldn't pull the carts, the grain reserves on the books were only enough to feed six thousand people for a month and a half at most.

And this damned winter has only just begun to bare its most ferocious fangs.

However, the country is currently unable to provide him with any support. There are many reasons for this, including the war with the Bohemian Empire, the drought in the country, and peasant uprisings.

This is why the number of troops invading the Kingdom of Minicia has been increasing... If they can't be fed domestically, they'll be sent abroad. Even if they can't be fed domestically, at least they'll starve to death overseas.

The count's gaze swept across the outside of the tent, where his soldiers were located.

Among them were professional veterans from the empire's homeland, auxiliary soldiers forcibly conscripted from conquered lands, and private soldiers of noble families like his own. Their composition was complex. What bound them together was the prestige of the empire, the hope of victory, and even more so... the daily rations that could fill their stomachs.

Mikhail tried to request food from two large camps, both of which were stationed by the sea and could catch some seafood even in winter.

The request was made, and the pickled fish did arrive, but not in large quantities. It was just enough to fill the officers' stomachs, but none for the soldiers... The Third Prince's meaning was clear: he had many more soldiers to feed, so don't bother him next time.

"Does this mean... we really have to abandon some people?"

This thought, like a venomous snake, coiled around his heart.

Whom should we abandon?
Of course, it was the lowly auxiliary soldiers and forcibly conscripted imperial peasants who fed the knights, officers, and core veterans, maintaining the army's backbone and fighting capacity. This was the cruel law of survival in chaotic times, and it wasn't the first time he had encountered it.

But each time he made such a decision, he felt an indescribable exhaustion and...shame.

This not only signifies his incompetence as commander, but also greatly increases the risk of mutiny, desertion, and even defection once he begins to cut the rations of the lower-ranking soldiers.

"no!"

The count suddenly stood up and paced around the cramped tent, his thick bearskin cloak stirring up a gust of wind.

"We must find a new source of food!"

He stopped in front of the rough map hanging on the tent wall, pointing heavily with his finger at the area representing the heart of the Kingdom of Minicia.

There, the area has not yet been completely consumed by the war, especially in some areas near the sea, where there may still be stored food.

"Send cavalry, elite cavalry, led by experienced knights!" A resolute glint flashed in his eyes.

"Go deep in! Don't get entangled in towns, avoid large garrisons, target... the large manor in the countryside, the granary of the Sea God Monastery, quick in and quick out, at any cost, plunder as much as you can."

What he needs is food, not land, nor a pointless war of attrition.

An elite cavalry unit, under the cover of snow and wind, might be able to break through the Minesian defenses weakened by the winter and civil war, and bring back valuable supplies.

He turned, ready to call back his adjutant to give the risky order. It was dangerous, deep in enemy territory, with snow blocking the way, but he was willing to take the risk rather than wait to die.

Just as he lifted the tent flap, the biting cold wind instantly rushed in...

Uh...

A gust of wind, ten times stronger than before and as fierce as the howling of a thousand demons, crashed into the tent without warning, causing the thick wool felt tent to shake violently and groan under its strain.

The flames in the furnace were instantly dimmed by the wind, almost going out.

Outside, the snow was no longer fine, scattered particles, but rather waves of snow, like solid walls, whipped up by the gale, covering the sky and instantly turning the world into a raging chaos.

As far as Mikhail could see, there was only whiteness; even the outline of the watchtower a few steps away had completely disappeared.

The wind carried the soldiers' cries of alarm, the horses' uneasy neighing, and the crackling sound of wooden frames snapping in the gale.

Count Mikhail stood frozen at the tent entrance, the biting cold instantly penetrating his thick clothes.

His outstretched hand froze in mid-air, his knuckles white from the cold.

He gazed at the raging, all-consuming white hell outside the tent, and the little bit of determination he had just ignited to fight to the death was mercilessly and utterly extinguished by this sudden, absolute power of nature.

Send cavalry?
In this kind of weather? That would be tantamount to sending them straight into the arms of death, without even seeing a shadow of the enemy.

He slowly lowered his hand and heavily pulled the tent flap shut, shutting out the apocalyptic scene outside.

The fire in the stove flickered weakly in the lingering force of the gale, reflecting on his ashen and desperate face.

The plundering plan was abruptly and completely interrupted by the violent blizzard that seemed poised to tear the world apart.

The food crisis and the potential threat from the Bagnians seemed so insignificant in the face of the power of this world, yet they remained fatally uncertain.

He slumped back into his chair, listening to the howling wind outside the tent, which sounded like the end of the world. He felt a heavy sense of powerlessness, like the blizzard, completely engulfing him.

Now, all he could do was pray that the damned blizzard would pass quickly, that the little food stored in the granary would last a little longer, and that... the Bagnians were really just bluffing.

……

"Aha, see? My prediction was right!"

At the same time, on the walls of Tavitsky, a player with a "clear blue sky" above his head, braving the howling blizzard, pointed at the sky, grinned widely, and shouted confidently and arrogantly at the guild leaders such as Little Knife Stabs Buttocks and Lin Ruoyu.

“My observation is absolutely correct. If I said there would be a blizzard soon, then there really is a blizzard... although this blizzard is a bit small.”

What he called "a little small" was, for the NPC soldiers below the city wall, already a severe weather condition that could bring their march to a standstill and make the sentries tremble.

The wind whipped up dense snowflakes that stung people's faces, and visibility was less than twenty meters.

But for the elite players who had gathered in the shadows at the foot of the city wall, already fully prepared, this snow was a godsend.

"The snow layer is thick enough."

Xiao Dao stomped his foot hard; the snow beneath his feet was already up to his calves.

"Perfect for our skis to perform!"

The battle plan had already been drawn up by the chapter leaders: using the blizzard as cover, players would be equipped with specially made skis, carrying short weapons and Molotov cocktails, and would glide at high speed along the concealed routes discovered by scouts such as Barbarossa, heading straight for the Reteria military camp located dozens of kilometers away in the province of Chivelevka.

When the enemy is complacent and holed up in their camp due to the snowstorm, launch a lightning-fast surprise attack. Strike as hard as you can. Victory would be a great thing, as it would remove a thorn in their side and pave the way for subsequent offensives.

Losing is not a big deal. With the players' mobility and combat strength, as long as they don't get carried away, it's easy to retreat. If they fail the first time, they can wait a few days until the blizzard stops and launch a night raid.

If it doesn't work the first time, try a few more times.

The plan is in place, but there are a few issues that need to be addressed.

First, the blizzard provides not only cover, but also deadly low temperatures.

The temperature plummeted to around minus ten degrees Celsius, and the cold wind was like ice scalpels. Even though the players were wearing the best thermal coats and thick fur linings, their body temperature still dropped very quickly after being exposed to this environment for a long time.

Fingers and toes are the hardest hit areas; even with gloves on, they can freeze. Once the fingers are stiff, players will be unable to maneuver weapons or even ski poles effectively.

Even more terrifying is the "whiteout"... The gale whips up the snow on the ground, forming a swirling, suffocating snow fog that can instantly disorient people, and inhaling the icy snow droplets can even cause lung spasms.

Secondly, there's navigation and visibility: no matter how accurate the map provided by Barbarossa is, it's practically useless in a snowstorm with visibility of less than 20 meters.

Players must rely entirely on a lead guide, such as Barbarossa, or one of his top survival experts, and on pre-set, subtle markers, such as piles of rocks of a specific shape, or strips of dyed cloth buried under snow with only a small part showing, for guidance.

Once separated from the group or lost from the guide, getting lost in the vast snowfield is almost fatal. Even if the player can revive, they will miss the crucial opportunity for a surprise attack.

Finally, there's physical fitness. Skis offer a huge speed advantage on thick snow, but they require a high level of skill and stamina from the rider.

Even for experienced skiers, gliding at high speeds on rough, uneven snow with hidden obstacles such as tree roots, rocks, and gullies while fully equipped and carrying heavy loads is a huge challenge. Only highly respected veterans can take on this task, and new players are excluded.

Therefore, after some discussion and selection, even if several battle groups pooled their resources, only two thousand players could actually participate in the battle, and they had to be prepared to lose half of their players.

"When to set off?"

"We'll set off in the latter half of tonight and arrive in the vicinity around dawn tomorrow. We'll rest for one to two hours and wait for the stragglers to catch up. We'll launch the attack as soon as possible after the sun rises, as this will maximize our success rate."

"Will it succeed?"

"Who knows, as long as it's interesting, that's fine. If the event can't start until spring, I can't wait... Rather than waiting for the story to unfold as scheduled, we might as well start the event ourselves."

(End of this chapter)