Colonial Era: From Remnants to European Dominator

The cold wind lashed against Olof Rudbeck's face. As an explorer and scholar, after retiring from the Swedish army, he first worked as a mercenary in North Africa for a time, just to study the local culture and history and incidentally collect and sell antiques to earn some extra money.

Joining the Tsarist settlers in Siberia was largely out of necessity. Good heavens, this place was uninhabitable. The barbaric Cossacks, the uncouth Kazakhs, and even the incessantly chattering Orthodox priests made him feel a sense of loss from the protection of the civilized world.

If I hadn't been tricked into gambling in Moscow and ended up with gambling debts, even a dog wouldn't have come to this godforsaken place, Barnaul.

[It was precisely because of this important mining region in Siberia that Tsarist Russia was able to attract Cossacks and mercenaries who came from Kazakhstan to pan for gold.]

With a "crack," boots pounded across the frozen earth. Several Cossacks stood by the roadside, shivering as they finished urinating in the cold, before mounting their horses again and continuing towards the main force.

The Cossacks' warhorses were all crossbred with Mongolian horses, which are resistant to cold and hardy feed. Therefore, they were relatively shorter than European horses, which often have a shoulder height of 1.55 meters or even 1.6 meters or more, and were about 1.5 meters tall.

Even so, it was still better than the Mongolian horse breeds that averaged 1.3 meters or even less than 1.3 meters in the Central Plains at that time, and it would be considered a tall and strong horse even in the capital.

"We should head towards the Altai Mountains instead of continuing into the unknown wilderness, or our horses will starve."

Andrei Ivanovich Shkula, a Cossack centurion with the rank of captain in the Russian Army, held a map made of deerskin and pointed to a region marked "Altai" in Russian. He said to his deputy, Hook:

"Based on past experience and even the intelligence we obtained from the affiliated tribes, although this area belongs to the Dzungar people, their central government has no control over it. Just like with orders from St. Petersburg, we can sometimes simply pretend we don't see them."

At this time, the capital of Russia was St. Petersburg.

As Andrei and Hook spoke, they both smiled in unison. For the Cossacks stationed in Barnaul, their obedience to the Tsar's orders was partly due to fear of his power, but more importantly, it was because following Russia would bring them more money. Otherwise, why would the tax revenue transported from Barnaul to Moscow each year be several times less?

The Tsar himself could only get 20%. Of the extra 80%, after deducting 10% for bribing the nobles in Moscow and St. Petersburg, the remaining 70% was used to support these worthless Kazakh mercenaries, and the rest went entirely to the Cossacks.

Oh, and there's also a part of the Eastern Orthodox Church, otherwise things could easily go wrong.

"As usual, we'll plunder along the way, all the way to the foot of the Altai Mountains, then we'll go back and, on the way, bring this vast land into Russia's territory as an early Christmas gift for His Majesty the Tsar this year."

Andrei licked his dry lips. His large beard hadn't been shaved in a long time, and if this continued, even eating would be a hassle.

"By the way, what's that Swede doing? Continuing his geographical discoveries, or is he still looking for those weeds?"

Andrei had a great disdain for Orlov Rudebeck, who traveled around constantly, always with pen and paper studying so-called geography and plants. In his view, a man should ride on horseback, take up a saber and a musket to conquer everything he could see, and acquire the most precious treasures in the world, instead of being like Orlov, submitting a "fire report" or "analysis of plants along the way" every day to get by.

"Look, he's right behind us, drawing again—"

Following Hook's hand, looking towards the ranks behind, Orlov, dressed in a thick gray military uniform, wrapped in a military overcoat, and smoking a pipe, was sitting on the back of a Kazakh mercenary's horse, swaying back and forth, holding a paintbrush and a drawing board, seemingly painting something.

"That damn Swedish pig, this time I'm not paying him, let's see what he does then!!"

Remembering the gambling debts the other party still owed, Andrei's angry eyes instantly turned into gloating. After all, the power to distribute money was in his hands, which was also the secret to his rule over these Cossack compatriots. Without his orders, this bastard wouldn't be able to get a single ruble.

---------

The "bang bang" of gunfire shattered the peaceful tribe. Groups of herders fell. These poor herders, riding horses and wielding flimsy scimitars, died in the unprecedented gunfire. They didn't know why they died or why they had a bloody hole in their bodies.

"Woof woof----"

Several sheepdogs kept by the herdsmen were barking wildly at the group of strange-looking villains, and even lunged at them. Unfortunately, as soon as they pounced, they were stabbed to death by a bayonet next to their master, a case of master and servant sharing life and death.

"Let me go, let me go----"

"Tengri's calamity will befall you!!"

The woman struggled and cursed on the Cossack's back, but the Cossack, who couldn't understand her language, took it as the best reward for his bravery and carried her toward the haystack.

The cold wind dispersed the bloodstains, but it could not dispel the departed souls. The Russian settlers, who had lost four Cossacks and nine Kazakh mercenaries, held a simple funeral and memorial service under the leadership of Pastor Paul.

Dressed in a white robe and wearing a traditional Orthodox top hat, Pastor Paul softly chanted a eulogy adapted from the Bible:

"Lord, in memory of your servants, who shed their blood on this battlefield for the Romanov dynasty, for holy Tsarist Russia, and for the faith in God. Their bodies fell on this unfamiliar field, but their souls, as you promised in the Bible, will be welcomed by angels and enter into the embrace of the Lord—"

Even the Cossacks who harbored deep-seated skepticism towards Orthodox Christianity remained silent and solemn. After all, even the most ferocious beasts would show reverence when faced with inexplicable life and death, let alone a God with a complete system of heaven and hell and immense power.

After the mass to mourn the dead ended, the brutal Cossacks, along with their Kazakh mercenaries who followed suit, continued their unfinished bestial work.

Sipping his goat's milk wine, Orlov watched the Cossacks killing and butchering for provisions for their journey. A wave of nausea washed over him again; the thought of eating it himself was too much to bear. Taking advantage of Andrei's rest, he pulled out a prepared pipe, stuffed it with tobacco he was reluctant to smoke, and offered it to him.

"Respected commander, I hope you can give me more clean food."

What is clean food?

Andrei glanced sideways at the Swedish pig, lit his pipe, took a deep drag, and said:

"Olov, you know, it's not that I don't want to give it to you, it's just that there are too many people. The tribe we conquered this time was too small and too poor. They only had so many sheep, and the rest of their food consisted of coarse bread made from grass roots and wheat bran. My soldiers also have to eat that dried meat. Do you think we were born liking it?"

"Yes, you are the famous Orlov Rudebeck. Without you, our four cannons would be impossible to operate, let alone fire accurately. But none of that matters to me. What matters is that you should show your sincerity."

Looking at Andrei, who resembled a bull's head, Orlov felt a surge of anger, but he quickly suppressed it and asked in a calm tone:

"Respected commander, please tell me what sincerity is, and how I can demonstrate it."

Andrei, with a pipe dangling from his lips, exhaled puffs of white smoke thick with the aroma of tobacco.

"You should write a letter to Tobolsk, telling dear Prince Vasimi Mikhailovich Dolgorukov that our artillery is broken and many gunners have died, and ask him to provide new military funds and artillery so that we can recruit new gunners and train new artillery units."

"And we need more muskets, because we've lost quite a few."

"Of course, ammunition is also essential!!"

The capital of the Siberian Oblast.

Looking at the greedy "bull's face" opposite him, Olof wanted nothing more than to punch him to pieces, but in the end, he suppressed all his dissatisfaction and anger, and after a moment of silence, he spoke:

"To ensure the Duke's trust, I hope to obtain some fragments, as well as the appropriate bribes."

"Otherwise, I can't be sure if he'll be willing to allocate the funds."

Fearing to anger the other party, Olof added another sentence. Upon hearing these two sentences, Andrei's expression changed as volatilely as the weather; just moments before it was cold rain, but now it was sunny. He immediately ordered that the stored beef jerky and the precious "white bread" be brought to Olof.

"If we're lucky this time, we can share some of the wealth we acquire along the way with you. Of course, considering we still have to bribe the Duke, it probably won't be much, but it will at least ease your gambling debts."

Andrei's shameless face was reflected in Orlov's mind. He was just about to mention the half-month delay in his salary when the other man, as if he knew what was going to happen, immediately followed up with:

"Recent profits haven't been great, so salaries will be delayed for now. I'll pay you in full once we've made more money or the mine's profits arrive, my dear Lieutenant Olof Rudbeck."

Listening to Andrei's seemingly respectful words, which were actually a reminder that he was only a retired Swedish lieutenant, not an active Russian lieutenant, Orlov could only grit his teeth and agree. As he turned back, he wrote about the other man's ugly face in his "Travelogue of Siberia," which he was currently compiling.

As Andrei watched Orlov's disheveled figure recede into the distance, he said to Hook beside him with a mocking and smug tone:

"See, what did I tell you? This is a Swedish sheep. I only need to scare it a few times, and it'll back down. Humph, once it's done once, it'll do it again. What excuse will it use next time?!"

"Oh, our dear Lieutenant Orlov needs a group of deputies, to assemble a group of truly useful talents for the Tsar in Barnaul, ha ha----"