Colonial Era: From Remnants to European Dominator

The snow covered the mountaintops and the trees in the mountains. From a distance, it looked like a snow-capped mountain, but up close, it resembled a green bowl covered by a pot lid.

The birdsong in the mountains has never ceased since the arrival of this group of outsiders. The migratory birds, still in winter, sometimes circle overhead, sometimes perch on the treetops, chirping in calls that only their own kind can understand, keeping a watchful eye on this group of two-legged creatures with a less-than-stellar reputation.

Before long, the two-legged creatures in their sight stopped, and then some of them, holding what looked like wood with what looked like stones at the front, chopped down on a few not-so-thick trees.

With a deafening roar that sent flocks of birds into flight, several trees, which they considered their home, fell before the two-legged creatures. In an instant, the cacophony of alarms was louder than gongs and drums, prompting the bearded two-legged creatures below to curse "beasts" from time to time.

The saw cut through the tree branches, and with a few sawdust and leaves falling, the firewood for starting a fire was collected. The rest was left aside, after all, there was plenty of firewood in this mountainous area.

Perhaps they had drunk too much, or perhaps they were warmed by the firelight, several Kazakh mercenaries speaking their native dialect gathered together and started dancing, which drew cheers from the other Kazakhs.

Kazakh mercenaries are actually more "human" than the indifferent Cossacks. At least the game they play most often is using human heads as targets, then using the riddled heads, stringing together bits of rotting flesh, to fish in the nearby lakes and streams.

The Kazakh dances, accompanied by songs, reached Orlov's ears. He forced his eyes, which were already half-closed, to open them wider. What came into view was a scene of dozens of Kazakhs dancing around a bonfire, accompanied by music produced by ancient instruments.

Orlov instinctively glanced toward where Andrei was, and seeing that the other was still drinking and boasting, he felt relieved, wrapped himself in sheepskin, and hid in the tent that had been lined with dried hay.

The tent wasn't very big, just big enough for two people. Scattered on the ground was a leather suitcase and several science books written in Latin, one of which was a book on "Geometry," which he often read. After all, as an artillery officer in this era, it would be almost impossible to command an artillery unit without understanding mathematics and geometry. After all, a so-called illiterate artilleryman who is self-taught could be said to have a special talent, but for a qualified artillery commander to be illiterate, apart from a gift from God, is either the fantasy of some writers.

For example, when facing a battlefield on a slope, how do you aim, in which direction do you deploy artillery, and even how often do you fire a shell? In this era of scarce resources, these are all headaches.

The saying "When the cannons roar, gold flows like water" may be an exaggeration, but it doesn't mean that a country without any industrial base can act recklessly. Moreover, given the productivity of this era, even maritime powers like England and Spain wouldn't dare claim they could use firepower to cover every battlefield. They were more focused on researching the accuracy of artillery and training the professionalism of their officers and soldiers.

Picking up his well-worn copy of "Gulliver's Travels," Orlov found himself reading this English novel, a work of fantasy and satire, again. He had read it many times before, but with nothing new to read, he simply lay down on the hay and read it one more time.

Perhaps he had read some of the storylines in the book, or perhaps he had been moved, after fidgeting for a while, Orlov rolled over and lay down on the hay, picked up the quill pen tucked in his wallet, dipped it in black ink mixed with a little water, and began to write in his diary. This was also a draft he was preparing for compiling his Siberian travelogue in the future.

The diary, wrapped in thick cowhide, was half-written, with ink stains and fingerprints on the cover.

"On February 13th, we set off again. When we passed through a pasture, the Cossacks slaughtered all the local inhabitants and looted a large number of cattle and sheep. Of course, there was another brutal massacre in the process. I saw with my own eyes a Cossack soldier hang a local from a tree and then burn him from the bottom up with a torch. I will never forget that miserable sound in my life."

"Of course, this wasn't the only incident that happened that day. In fact, based on my observations along the way, the Cossacks and the natives have a lot in common. For example, they both like to take off the heads of their enemies as a way to show off. I even saw a large number of bowls made from skulls in a wooden house in one of the tribes. One of them was even inlaid with gemstones. Later, I heard from a Kazakh that it was probably made from the head of a tribal chief. I carefully counted the number of bone bowls, and there were more than thirty in total. The custom here is to make bowls from the heads of the famous and powerful losers, while those of low status don't even have the right to be made into bowls."

The quill paused for a moment, then Olof's wrist tightened again:

"Cossacks like to eat people, well, to use that damned Andrei's words, people are healthier and easier to cook than livestock. God, what kind of bullshit Satanic cooking is this, just because people don't have skin? Damn it, I should atone to the Pope, because I have seen the ugliest sin of mankind, and I cannot stop it—"

Olof's expression as he lay on the hay, pen in hand, gradually became out of control, and his writing became increasingly sloppy, but he continued writing:

"Altai, I like the name. At least it doesn't sound too bad even when translated into Latin. The air here is noticeably warmer than in Siberia. Although there is countless riches underground in Barnaul, I haven't earned enough money or gained the respect I deserve here yet, so I think Altai is far better than that damned Barnaul."

"It's just a pity that such a beautiful place has been invaded by a group of wild beasts. When I was in high school, my favorite subject was actually design, but I only knew how to appreciate its beauty. I don't know what kind of consequences a group of wild beasts would cause if they broke into a prince's castle, but I'm sure this place would be a mess, and it wouldn't be able to regain its beauty until all the beasts left."

Perhaps he had come to his senses, or perhaps it was out of anger towards Andrei, but in the end he once again labeled him a "carnivore."

"Olov, here's your food."

The tent was roughly ripped open, and a blast of cold wind rushed in, making Orlov, who was lying on the hay, shiver a few times. He then reluctantly accepted the burnt white bread offered by the Cossack soldier. Although he cursed the soldier inwardly as a lowly commoner who had never eaten white bread in his life, he still stuffed the charred crust into his stomach after closing the tent.

Despite Orlov's inner turmoil and his diary where he cursed Andrei as a beast and even used his own coined term "Siberian maggot" to humiliate him and satisfy his own self-deceptive pleasure, the truth is that Andrei was actually quite good to him, except for not paying him on time and frequently making him get "extra money" from the Duke.

Putting aside everything else, among the more than 400 people in the entire Tsarist colony, apart from 105 Cossack cavalrymen and less than 370 Kazakh mercenaries, among the remaining few, only he and the pastor named Paul were able to enjoy special food supplies and private kitchens, and even the amount of wine allocated to them was twice that of ordinary Cossacks.

Even the Cossack adjutant named Hook didn't have this treatment; he ate the same food and slept in the same shared tents as the ordinary Cossacks.

The initial force consisted of 120 Cossack cavalrymen and 400 Kazakh mercenaries. After the losses from this period of raiding, only 477 men remained, including the priest, the commander, Orlov, and his adjutant.

"Look, our esteemed Swedish leader has come out after his meal."

"If I steal a woman from him next time, will he stay inside forever? --"

Hook's sarcastic voice reached Orlov's ears as he stepped out of the tent to wash his face and shave in the nearby stream.

Orlov paused for a moment, then walked silently toward the stream flowing from the cracks in the rocks not far away. Hook, who had been watching his movements, did not mock him this time, but simply spat and walked toward the tree where Andrei was.

While eating the unknown "ham," Andrei, using the familiar scent of vodka from his treasured tin flask, sipped it into his stomach. When he saw Hook beside him, he generously handed him the flask. Hook took it without hesitation and took a big gulp, almost making Andrei curse. Only after returning the flask did Andrei carefully put the silver lid back on and hide it in his coat.

How far are we from the "Golden Mountain City" that the indigenous people talk about?

"It's estimated to be at least another five days' journey."

Hooke, who wasn't good at math and only knew basic Arabic numerals, could only judge direction and distance by instinct.

Andrei used a sharpened splinter to pick his teeth and pull out his somewhat smelly boots:

"The wealth that a city brings is far greater than that of those poor natives. If we can conquer it, it will be enough to feed all of us, and we can even let Barnaul's family wear European-style floral fabrics and use gold and silver utensils that only nobles can use."

"But according to the natives, it's a big city. Although the natives' stories are always so exaggerated, they can regard a mountain a hundred meters high as a sacred mountain, and they can worship a white wolf as a totem. But don't forget, a large part of the ironware we captured came from that Golden Mountain City, that treasure city right in front of us."

An unprecedented longing and solemnity appeared on Andrei's rugged bull-headed face, and even the hands that were roasting the boots were trembling:

"Treasures are always guarded by wild beasts, just like Barnaul."

"But we are Cossacks, the bravest hunters. No prey can stop us along the way, not even those large tribes of thousands. Under the onslaught of muskets and cannons, even their cries of agony are so beautiful and delightful."

Hook's expression was one of madness, and he followed up with a utterance of his hometown slang:

"Our sabers are like sisters to us; we'll annihilate those laughable worms like chopping vegetables. Cossacks have no cowards!!"

"Yes, there are no cowards among the Cossacks—"

A shrewd glint flashed across Andrei's deep, bull-headed face:

"The city walls are too thick for us to break through on our own. We must let the sheep out of the city, kill some of them first, then intimidate them and make them pay a ransom, and then, like a bear, devour them all, bite by bite."

"Finally, they obtained the treasure in the sheepfold!!"