I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 436 Who am I?
The afternoon sun struggled to penetrate the thin mist, unique to the edge of the Snakeman Swamp and carrying a rotten, sweet, and fishy smell, casting dappled light and shadows through the forest.

The air was filled with the fresh scent of sawdust, but this invigorating aroma was mercilessly suppressed by the smoke drifting from further away and the faint stench of decay emanating from the depths of the swamp.

"Zi la...Zi la..."

The rough but steady sound of sawing wood is the main melody of this temporary logging site.

Driven by the muscular arms of two burly workers, the massive double saw greedily gnawed at the roots of a thick oak tree with its sharp teeth.

Wood shavings, like golden snowflakes, fell in a soft rustling sound with each forceful push and pull.

"Keep a steady hand and align with the ink line!"

A steady voice rang out, not loud, but clearly penetrating the noise, reminding the loggers.

The speaker was Athos.

He was wearing a coarse cloth shirt covered in mud and sawdust, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms.

The armor and swords that once symbolized the officers of the Kingdom of Miniscia are long gone, replaced by a gleaming short-handled axe at their waist.

His gaze swept over each group of lumberjacks at work, his face etched with the marks of time and a lingering weariness.

He was no longer the captain who patrolled the city walls and protected the peace of the area.

He is now the foreman of this makeshift logging team, providing the Kingdom of Bagnia's Holy Expeditionary Army with timber for building camps and fortifications, as well as for attacking the swamp.

"Here, give it your all, the tree's almost pierced!"

Atos walked to another large tree that was being sawed, patted the trunk with his palm, and felt the vibration from the saw blade cutting deep into it.

The workers were well-organized under his direction.

Some were responsible for measuring and marking, some for sawing, some for clearing branches, and others for vigilantly observing the surroundings... Although the Holy Expeditionary Army had cleared the area, no one could guarantee that a few snake people wouldn't wander out from the depths of the swamp.

Efficiency is life, and order is safety.

Suddenly, one of the workers responsible for observing the direction the tree was falling blew a sharp whistle and shouted at the top of his lungs:

"The tree has fallen... Watch out..."

"It's tilting to the right..."

The shouts were like commands, and all the workers in the path of the collapse quickly stopped what they were doing and nimbly retreated to the safe areas on both sides.

"Creak...creak...squeak squeak...boom!!!"

With a tooth-grinding cracking sound and a dull thud, the massive oak tree crashed down onto the designated clearing, its branches and leaves violently striking the ground, kicking up clouds of dust and broken leaves.

The earth seemed to tremble.

Before the tremors had even subsided...

"Boom!!!"

"Boom... Boom..."

In the distance, a series of muffled, rolling thunderous roars, accompanied by a piercing shriek that tore through the air, followed one after another, relentlessly shaking the leaves in the forest.

The sound came from the depths of the swamp, from the direction of the Holy Expeditionary Army's artillery positions.

Atos instinctively stopped and raised his hand to wipe the dust that had splashed onto his face.

He didn't look at the fallen tree, but instead turned his head slightly, his gaze piercing through the sparse trees and landing on the horizon where the sound of cannon fire was coming from, where the fog had thickened even more.

Every boom of artillery fire struck his heart like a heavy hammer.

He could picture the scene: the Bagnians' prized heavy artillery spitting deadly flames as it poured expensive shells into the depths of the swamp inhabited by the snake people.

The artillery fire tore apart the twisted monsters, and it also tore apart the land beneath his feet that should have belonged to the Kingdom of Minicia.

Holy Crusade...Bagnians...

Atos's lips were pressed into a stiff line, and his eyes were filled with complex emotions that were hard to describe.

There was a deep-seated hatred for the snake people, for these monsters from overseas destroyed his homeland of Suvano and slaughtered the civilians he protected and the brothers who fought alongside him.

The thought of them being reduced to ashes by the Bagnians' artillery fire instantly evoked an almost instinctive sense of pleasure.

But what followed was an even deeper and heavier bitterness and humiliation.

why?
He cried out silently in his heart.

Why were the Bagnians the ones who came to save this Minician territory ravaged by the snake people?
Why wasn't it the Minisian army, which should have been there, raising its flag, driving out the invaders, and avenging the deaths of its compatriots, that was present?

How long has Suvano been trapped?

The horrific scene when the city fell, the desperate cries of my compatriots, and the memory of fighting my way through the city only to be forced to flee in despair—these memories are as vivid as if they happened yesterday.

He escaped and wandered aimlessly, struggling to survive like a wild dog, always holding onto a sliver of hope that the kingdom would not abandon its people and that the army would eventually return to reclaim the lost territory.

He waited and waited.

What awaited them was only news of the fall of other towns heard on their exile journey, rumors of the decadent lifestyle of the nobles in the capital, and... when they finally arrived at this border forest, what they saw was the heavily fortified camp of the Bagnians, the fluttering double-headed eagle banners, and the army that was now marching into the depths of the swamp.

What about the Miniese army?

What about the glory of the royal family?
What about the tens of thousands of innocent souls who died unjustly in Suvana?
No.

Nothing at all.

There was only a chilling silence.

It was as if Suvano, and this vast eastern coast, had been completely forgotten by the kingdom, or... coldly abandoned.

Now, he, Atos, the former captain of the third squadron of the Suvano City Guard of the Kingdom of Minicia, is here leading a group of equally displaced Minisians to cut down trees for the Bagnians and build for the attack on the Serpent People.

what is this?
Is it ironic?
Or is it the greatest humiliation for him and all the survivors?

"Chief Atos?"

A young worker approached, carrying an axe, and looked at his gloomy face with some concern.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

Athos snapped back to reality, forcibly suppressing his turbulent emotions.

He couldn't afford to panic; he was the backbone of this small team. But taking a deep breath of the air, which was filled with the smells of gunpowder, sawdust, and decay, made his throat itch.

"fine."

Atos's voice was a little hoarse, but he tried to keep it steady.

"Brothers, keep working. This area of ​​wood must be cleared and removed before dark. We can't delay our dinner tonight."

After saying this, Atos turned around and stopped looking in the direction of the cannon fire. He bent down to pick up the rope on the ground and began to direct the workers to clear the fallen giant trees.

His movements remained swift and his commands clear, but his upright figure, set against the backdrop of the distant explosions, appeared exceptionally lonely and heavy.

Each screech of sawing wood felt like sawing away at the flag of loyalty and belonging in his heart. And each roar of artillery reminded him that the kingdom he had sworn to serve to the death might have already abandoned him and his beloved homeland in this swamp bombarded by foreign cannons.

A chilling feeling called betrayal seeped into his very bones, deeper than the damp cold of the swamp.

time flies.

The afterglow of the setting sun bathed the vast camp of the Bagnian Holy Army in a weary golden-red hue.

After a hard day's work, the logging team workers dragged their heavy steps, covered in sweat and sawdust, and filed into the area designated for support staff.

The air in the camp was filled with the smells of sweat, earth, cooking smoke, and the incredibly tempting aroma of food wafting from the distant mess hall—the rich flavor of stewed meat, the wheaty aroma of bread, and the refreshing aroma of vegetable soup.

Athos followed silently behind the group, clutching his wooden bowl and spoon tightly in his hands.

The day's work temporarily numbed my thoughts, but as soon as I stepped into the camp where the Bagnian double-headed eagle flag was flying, that heavy sense of humiliation quietly crept back into my heart.

With mixed feelings, he skillfully walked towards the long line for food and received the same dinner as the other workers.

A large piece of rye bread, a bowl of steaming hot vegetable stew with oil and chunks of meat floating on top, and even a small piece of cheese.

The food provided by the Bagnians to the lumberjacks and all the locals who came to stay was indeed plentiful, far exceeding what he could have imagined during his exile after the fall of Suvano.

Athos, carrying a heavy wooden bowl, deliberately avoided the crowded and noisy central area, finding a relatively quiet corner on the edge of the camp, and sat down with his back against a wagon piled with timber.

He had just taken a bite of bread and hadn't even had a chance to chew when he clearly heard the hushed arguments of several lumberjacks who had also just finished eating and were gathered around a pile of wooden crates.

"...So I'm saying, whose side are we on now?"

A younger voice spoke with obvious confusion and a hint of unease.

“Minesia? But where is our king? Where is our army? We haven’t even seen a shadow of them. Suvano was occupied by the snake people for so long, and it was only thanks to the Bagnians that it was reclaimed?”

"You can't say that, little Tom!"

Another slightly hoarse voice immediately retorted, with the stubbornness of an old-fashioned person.

“We were born as Minicians, and Minician blood flows in our veins. We worked for the Bagnians because we had no choice but to survive, but we must never forget our roots!”

"The root?"

A slightly shrill voice broke in, and Atos subconsciously looked over. He recognized the speaker as a middle-aged worker in the team who was usually quiet but had a shrewd look in his eyes.

"Old John, where is the root you're talking about? In the ruins of Suvano? In the bones that the snake people have gnawed clean? Or in the pockets of those old men who only know how to collect taxes and enjoy themselves in the capital?"

He paused, lowered his voice, but made it more forceful.

“Look at the bowls in our hands, look at the meat, look at the warm and sturdy coarse cloth clothes on our bodies, and look at the tents on our heads that can shelter us from the wind and rain. Which of these was given by the Kingdom of Minicia?”

They were all given to us by the Bagnians!

They provided us with food and clothing, and even sent soldiers to protect us from being carried away by the snake people!

"That's right."

Another voice joined in, carrying a sense of recklessness.

"And I've heard that His Majesty Chris of Bagnia married a noblewoman from our Minissia as his queen! Aren't we Bagnians one family?"

Why can't he be our king?
"What's wrong with us serving him, cutting timber, building camps, and hunting snakes for him? I think it's far better than risking our lives for those Miniese lords who don't care about our survival!"

"Nonsense!"

Old John's voice rose in agitation, tinged with offended anger.

"The Queen is the Queen, and the King is the King. Chris is the King of Bagnia, how can he be our King?"
This is ungrateful, it's betrayal!

"betray?"

The shrewd worker's voice suddenly rose, filled with long-suppressed resentment.

"Who betrayed whom first? Was it us who wanted to leave our homeland to work for the Bagnians?"
It was our king and army who abandoned us first, abandoned the entire Suvano, abandoned the east coast!!!

If the Bagnians hadn't attacked, we'd either be food for the snake people or still gnawing on tree bark in some cave. Old John, you say being a Miniese is good, but what's so good about it?

"Is it heavier taxes? Or will it lead to a quicker death?"

"you……"

Old John was so angry he couldn't speak.

"I think Pete makes a good point."

Little Tom's voice rang out timidly, but he was clearly persuaded.

"As Bagnians, at least His Majesty Chris cares about our lives. He will send troops to protect us, and he will make sure we have food to eat and work to do."

Minnesota? What has Minnesota ever given us? Except when it comes to collecting taxes…”

The argument fell into a brief silence, broken only by the sounds of wooden spoons scraping the bottom of bowls and chewing food.

A sense of bewilderment, pain, and a shaky sense of identity, shattered by the impact of real-world interests, permeated the air.

Atos sat stiffly in place, the bread in his hand feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Every word the workers said was like a cold needle, precisely piercing his most sensitive and painful nerves.

Especially what that middle-aged worker named Pete said...

Who betrayed whom first?

These words were like a red-hot branding iron, searing his very soul.

He instinctively reached for the hilt of the sword at his waist, but only touched the rough edge of the wooden bowl.

He looked down at the sumptuous stew in the bowl, but the few pieces of meat that had been stewed until tender now seemed so jarring.

Yes, the Bagnians gave them a chance to survive, and provided them with safety and sustenance.

And Minicia... Minicia only gave them despair and oblivion.

In the distance, a Miniese woman holding a child was laughing and talking to a Bagnian soldier. The soldier handed her a small piece of candy, which made the child roll around happily in the woman's arms.

This scene, so harmonious in the sunset, struck Athos like a hammer blow to his heart.

He suddenly lowered his head, took a big bite of bread, and chewed mechanically.

His once-proud Minician identity, for which he fought and bled, now seems to be nothing more than an empty symbol, a shackle that brings endless bitterness, in the face of harsh reality and the stark contrast between his current state of basic needs and his current poverty.

The double-headed eagle banner flying over the camp, and the powerful, ruthless yet effective His Majesty Chris that the banner represented, were undeniably eroding the last spiritual home of these exiles in a material way.

Athos silently swallowed his food, his stomach heavy, but his heart felt as if a piece of it had been hollowed out.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over the workers who had fallen silent after the argument, and landing on the Baghnia military flag fluttering in the evening breeze in the center of the camp.

The golden light of the setting sun edged it with gold, but it could not penetrate the cold, betrayed darkness in Athos's eyes.

He was once a guardian, but now even the identity of the one he was protecting has become blurred. In this land shrouded in foreign gunfire and foreign food, where should he go?
(End of this chapter)