I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 348 Have they gone mad?
Minicia and Retalia fought a naval battle, an offensive and defensive battle just outside the port of Omdur.

The Minisian fleet, relying on its familiarity with the seas and its own strength, launched a surprise attack on the Retalia fleet anchored in the port.

Without a doubt, the Retalian fleet suffered a crushing defeat and was completely annihilated; not a single ship escaped the port and all sank.

With the fleet gone, the port of Omdour could no longer be defended. That very night, the Minisian fleet launched a night-long bombardment of the port, reducing it to rubble.

They were extremely ruthless, as if the city of Omdour, the port, and Minicia had nothing to do with each other; everyone living in the port was an enemy.

The Minisian fleet bombarded the port of Omdur all night, using up all its shells, which caused the port to burst into flames and one side of the high, straight city wall to collapse.

The old smoker, who had been gathering information last night, anticipated the trouble and evacuated the port early, thus avoiding being affected by the shelling.

However, some players didn't leave in time, or didn't want to run, and wanted to experience the feeling of watching a movie in a hail of bullets first, so most of these people died.

The Leterians, who should have held the city to the death, fled under heavy bombardment. When they lost the naval battle, they cleanly and decisively abandoned the city's defenses.

After witnessing this scene through the player's eyes, Chris immediately realized the danger.

Something's not right, this is too abnormal. Omdul still has a chance to hold out, and the Retelians can hold the city for a while, wear down the Minisians' forces, and even allow them to win the naval battle but not land at the port.

The Leterians, with their large cavalry force, could have done it, but they didn't!

The abnormality means there's a story behind it, something Chris doesn't know has happened, and his lack of knowledge means it's dangerous for him.

At three o'clock in the morning, Chris, who was lying in bed watching the show, jumped out of bed without hesitation.

"Secretary!"

"I'm here."

"Record this, dispatch your messengers to order the Marlowe Army to retreat immediately back to Tavitsky... Tell him to take food and artillery immediately, and leave any other supplies that are inconvenient to carry to the rearguard to be destroyed on the spot!"

Chris has always been decisive and confident, just like his choice in the Neapolis. Once he senses that something is wrong, he makes a decision immediately and never regrets or feels remorse for it.

Just like now.

Tavitsky was not far from the No. 1 camp where Army Group Malow was stationed. The messenger team rode their tired horses into the camp at around six o'clock in the morning.

The messenger team, with the highest clearance, did not delay. They rode directly to Major General Marlowe's tent. One of them jumped off and charged forward, while the others continued to run to other places.

"Major General Marlowe, urgent military order, personally ordered by His Highness Chris!"

The young messenger was panting heavily, but his voice, though filled with pain, was perfectly calm and even. He had barged into Marlowe's tent, slammed the scroll of orders stamped with scarlet wax onto the table covered with maps, and then unfurled it, waking the tent's owner from his sleep.

Major General Marlow was somewhat angry. No one is in a good mood when their good dreams are disturbed. As he got off the wooden bed, wearing his coat and with a furrowed brow, he even wanted to order the guards in the tent to throw this rude fellow out.

But Marlowe only thought about it for a moment and didn't do it... The fact that the messenger was able to come in meant that he was now acting on behalf of Prince Chris.

Marlowe suppressed his anger and took the scroll handed to him by the guard. By the bright light of the windproof lamp, he quickly scanned the concise yet sharp handwriting on it.

+To Major General Marlowe, Commander of Army Group Marlowe:
Effective immediately, all troops shall withdraw from their current positions and retreat at full speed to Tavitsky.
Priority of action: personnel > food > artillery.

Any remaining baggage, weaponry, tents, and supplies that are inconvenient to carry shall be completely destroyed on the spot by the rearguard.
No delays! No hesitation, execute immediately!

...Chris Lynn+
"Retreat immediately? Or destroy supplies?"

Marlowe's brows furrowed, his voice filled with disbelief and deep heartache.

"...The situation in Leteria and Minicia has changed!? But whatever the changes, we still have time to strengthen our defenses or orderly transfer supplies. Your Highness, what is this..."

"Major General, please carry out the order."

The messenger's voice was cold, and his face was expressionless.

Major General Marlowe frowned again, his gaze sweeping over the piles of military supplies documents in the tent, his mind racing with calculations.

Mountains of spare flintlock muskets, barrels of gunpowder, sophisticated siege equipment, sturdy camp components, and a large number of spare wagons and infantry armor... These things were the cornerstone of his army group's combat effectiveness.

If His Highness's orders are followed, almost everything except the food and the field artillery will be burned to the ground!
"This was too hasty, and the losses are too great!"

Marlowe couldn't help but growl in a low voice, pressing his finger hard on the location of Camp Number One on the map.

"Losing these things will reduce our army's combat effectiveness by at least 50%. Without these supplies, we may not be able to hold our ground even if we retreat to Tavitsky... Messenger, does Your Highness have any other instructions?"
What are the enemy's movements? Why the urgency?

The messenger was still panting heavily, his face covered in sweat and dust, but his tone remained calm and even.

"Please carry out the order, General."

A surge of anger welled up inside Marlowe, but he retained his basic rationality and did not unleash it.

Obeying orders is a soldier's duty, especially since this is a direct order from Prince Chris.

But as a responsible commander, he could not stand by and watch such a massive amount of strategic materials vanish in an instant.

He needs time, even just one day. If he has just one day, he can organize people to pack up and transport most of the critical supplies instead of destroying them.

"listen."

Marlowe took a deep breath, suppressed his anger, and made a compromise as calmly as possible, trying to find a balance between His Highness's strict orders and his own responsibilities.

"I now order the troops to begin preparing for retreat immediately, prioritizing the assembly of personnel, loading of food, and preparation of towing artillery."

As he spoke, he grabbed his sword and military cap, and strode out of the tent, preparing to personally supervise and explain.

The Malow Army Group will withdraw immediately, but it will take a day to regroup the troops, so this is not considered a breach of order.

He trusted his judgment and believed that His Highness would eventually understand his efforts to preserve the army's strength. However, when Marlow abruptly lifted the heavy tent flap, ready to issue his orders, the scene before him froze him in place, all the words he had prepared stuck in his throat.

Outside the tent, the first rays of dawn were breaking, but the campsite was no longer the familiar sight he knew.

There was no chaotic assembly, no officers anxiously running around waiting for his instructions.

The entire No. 1 camp was like a huge and sophisticated machine, operating with an efficiency he had never imagined, almost ruthless.

The infantry were assembling into a square formation. Most of them were fully equipped, wearing armor and carrying weapons. Organized by company, they were marching out of the camp gate in an orderly fashion, heading quickly toward Tavitsky, to the low commands of officers and sergeants.

The heavy footsteps blended into a muffled rumble of thunder.

The mules and horses of the supply convoy were already harnessed, and sacks of grain were being loaded onto the carts at lightning speed. The quartermaster in charge of the provisions was not counting them, but shouting and urging them to hurry up.

"Fill it up, fill the whole truck and leave, don't worry about the loose pieces! Hurry up!"

The most glaring were the engineers and military judges.

Armed with torches and hammers and axes, they rushed without hesitation into the warehouses and tents storing spare weapons, equipment and supplies, under the cold gaze of the military judge.

The piercing sounds of axes chopping through wooden crates and tearing canvas rang out. Torches were thrown directly onto the mountains of hay, spare tents, and timber, instantly sending thick smoke billowing up as orange flames greedily licked everything in their path.

Some heavy four-wheeled vehicles, unsuitable for moving on the muddy driveways in spring, were simply overturned, doused with kerosene, and set on fire.

The artillerymen were frantically harnessing extra horses to the not-so-heavy gun carriages, cracking their whips and yelling at the horses to hurry up and keep up with the infantry.

Meanwhile, sappers were already planting explosives next to the spare gun carriages, anvils, and other items that were too difficult to move, preparing to blow them to smithereens in a moment.

The cavalry reconnaissance squads belonging to the Prince's Guard had already set off ahead, spreading out towards Tavitsky and his flanks, clearly carrying out His Highness's orders, which included the highest level of vigilance and cover for the retreat.

The entire camp was filled with the smell of burning, sweat, and extreme tension.

There was no commotion, only the urgent commands, the clanging of metal, the crackling of flames, and heavy footsteps. The speed, decisiveness, and thoroughness of the action far surpassed the effect of any order Marlowe had given.

A colonel with a military judge's armband on his arm happened to run by. When he saw Marlowe, he stopped abruptly and saluted meticulously.

"General! His Highness's retreat order has been received. My troops are executing the highest priority destruction order and are expected to complete the destruction of major non-portable supplies within one hour. The infantry vanguard has set off. Please give further instructions!"

Marlow opened his mouth, but found that he couldn't make a sound.

instruct?

Is there anything else that needs his instructions?
His idea of ​​"buying time and orderly evacuation" seemed so pale, superfluous, and even... foolish in the face of this scene of retreat amidst iron and fire.

A chill instantly shot from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, making him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave in the chaotic and scorching morning.

He understood, he understood completely.

His Highness Chris's orders were not given to Major General Marlowe alone.

That scroll was merely a formality; His Highness's all-pervasive will had already been conveyed through a system he controlled, independent of the traditional chain of command.

Through those loyal to the point of fanaticism, those guards who only obeyed the prince, and those instructors scattered throughout the army, his orders were directly transmitted to every corner of the army group, and perhaps even precisely to the ears of every second lieutenant and sergeant.

His Highness's control over this army has far exceeded the imagination of him, the nominal commander of the army group.

His Highness can directly command this massive army as if it were his own arm, executing the most ruthless and thorough orders without hesitation, while the supreme commander is still hesitating, weighing, and trying to "revise" the orders.

That "immediately, right away" was not a requirement for Marlow, but the ultimate decree issued to every cell of the entire Marlow Group!

Major General Marlowe stood before the burning tents, watching his painstakingly built military camp turn to ashes in the flames, and seeing the army retreat at high speed like a finely wound spring. For the first time, he realized with unparalleled clarity what had happened.

In this army, the truly supreme will of command belongs only to Prince Chris. As for Marlowe, he is perhaps just a "manager" who is allowed to temporarily hold the seal of command.

His Highness might even directly order a low-ranking captain to carry out any task he desires.

The shock and a sense of inexplicable fear brought about by this realization were far more disheartening to him than the news of the fall of the port of Omdour.

He no longer hesitated, nor did he feel sorry for the supplies. He simply spoke in a hoarse voice to the captain of the military judge who was waiting for instructions.

“...Execute His Highness’s orders...Execute them thoroughly.”

After the military judge left, Marlowe pondered how Prince Chris had managed to do that.

Marlowe was completely baffled, but Chris's orders were indeed carried out, and Marlowe's army group completely withdrew from Camp One in the morning.

Then, at noon the next day, Camp One was attacked... Without any warning, tens of thousands of Reteria cavalry rushed over and surrounded the camp.

It was very sudden. The Retalians hadn't even intensified their scouting and reconnaissance of the camp outside of their operations. And just like that, on this seemingly ordinary, unremarkable daytime, the attack suddenly began.

If Marlowe insists on staying, his troops will certainly be unable to evacuate, and if they are discovered halfway through the retreat, there will be no other outcome but total annihilation.

The Retalians' deliberate avoidance of sending scouts in this direction to conceal their intentions prevented them from promptly discovering the anomaly caused by the burning of the camp by the Marlowe army.

No, perhaps it wasn't that they deliberately didn't send scouts, but rather that there were no scouts left to send.

Players and Leterian scouts fought a fierce battle in the snow all winter. The former suffered many casualties, while the latter... suffered even more devastating losses. Players can revive, but they don't have that ability.

With so many dead and unknown, the Leterian army no longer had many experienced scouts left, so much so that even now, in the spring, they could not, and dared not, continue to send scouts towards Camp One.

Therefore, with Chris's quick reaction and decisive action, the fact that the Ratelians missed their target became both a fluke and an inevitable outcome.

(End of this chapter)