Colonial Era: From Remnants to European Dominator

The Cossacks felt exhausted, really exhausted. The smoke tubes of their muskets were practically glowing red, but the local tribesmen, except for the initial few dozen who were fearless, disappeared completely. They just wandered around the perimeter, and the group grew larger and larger until the Cossacks were completely surrounded and killed.

Without the protection of the Kazakh mercenaries, it wouldn't be difficult for these few Cossacks and a few remaining Kazakh musketeers to gain some distance, but the challenge would be to survive a prolonged siege.

In the past, the largest nomadic tribes on the grasslands were only a thousand people, and the number of cavalry they could mobilize was only two or three hundred. They didn't even have the strength to fight, let alone besiege.

But this time was different. With the issuance of the conscription order and the lure of silver and the position of leader, almost every man in the vicinity who was capable of riding a horse came. If you were there, you could hardly see the end of the line.

When Li Yuanheng returned with the Kazakh prisoners, he glanced at them from afar and estimated that the thousand cavalrymen were no longer enough to hold them off.

As the saying goes, "Many ants can kill an elephant." No matter how skilled these Cossacks are or how sophisticated their firearms are, without the merciful help of a Gatling gun, their chances of breaking through and surviving would truly depend on divine intervention.

And here we are, Pastor Paul is already praying:

"Lord, please watch over your believers and deliver them from disaster and harm—"

"Snap!" The banner symbolizing the Virgin Mary and the cross was cut in half. The one who cut it was none other than Andrei. At this moment, his face was full of murderous intent, but that murderous intent was not directed at the natives, but at Paul.

"Andrei, you serf, how dare you blaspheme against the Lord!!"

"You'll go to hell!!"

Andrei coldly observed Pastor Paul, who was hurling insults, and his white priest's robes. He was unusually calm at this moment. From the moment the firefight began, he understood that the people on the other side were not some backward natives, but true "infidels".

Andrei was cruel and greedy, but such people are also the most intelligent. He knew very well how to survive in a pagan land bordering Tsarist Russia. No matter how panicked and suspicious he was, he had only one choice at this moment: to make a deal with those pagans—no, to offer them a gift—using Pastor Paul and the flag symbolizing God.

He firmly believed that this group of theocratic fanatics who valued gods above all else would pay the price for this.

As the broken flag and Pastor Paul, who was tied to the log, took to the air, Li Yuanheng, who had been observing the situation from afar, felt no joy whatsoever. This was the moment for him to fulfill his promise, not simply to accept surrender.

Look at those restless savages. Their desire for money and power has driven them here. If they were to accept even one prisoner, it would bring unpredictable disaster to his reputation and even the influence of Jinshan Prefecture.

However, if he didn't accept it, he would find it difficult to get the answer he had been asking. Thinking of this, a glint of calculation flashed in Li Yuanheng's eyes. He then called Hu Wu over and whispered a few words in his ear. The latter, carrying the destiny that was about to be revealed, headed towards the pack of wolves that were about to go out of control.

After talking for an unknown amount of time, the pack of wolves finally put away their bows and scimitars and chose to stand around and observe coldly. However, anyone with a discerning eye could sense that most of those cold eyes were filled with "greed" and "expectation." They looked at the Cossacks kneeling on the ground as if they were looking at lambs about to be slaughtered, just waiting for the feast to begin for their distinguished guests.

Kneeling on the ground, Andrei cautiously observed the young Tatar face that approached him. Although he didn't understand why the young man looked different from other Tatars, he still performed the most honorable Cossack salute upon seeing the armored soldiers surrounding him.

"Honorable conqueror, I, Andrei Ivanovich Shkula, salute you and your great army, and wish to serve as a member of your ranks, bringing you wealth and victory—"

Looking at the Cossacks crawling on the ground, stretching their heads out hoping to kiss his boots, Li Yuanheng disdainfully stepped on the Cossack's shoulders with his boots. Feeling the enthusiastic welcome, Li Yuanheng suddenly envied the Tsar. After all, he had quite a few slaves who were so sensible and useful, while he had none.

"Tell me, which Russian team you are, and where you come from—Eastern Europe, Siberia, or the Caucasus?"

Hearing the unfamiliar language spoken by the boot owner, Andrei's face showed confusion. Li Yuanheng also saw this scene. After all, English was not a universal language in this time and space. The reason he used English earlier was because he instinctively wanted to know if this time and space had become chaotic because of his and Jinshanfu's appearance. Now it seems that apart from these Cossacks, everything is still normal.

"So you are from—"

This time they switched to Turkic, but before Andrei could reply, a sentence in English was heard from the kneeling ranks:

"We come from Barnaul; this group is called the Tsarist Pioneer Corps."

"Who are you??"

Li Yuanheng's broken English, though not fluent, reached the ears of the neatly dressed European man opposite him. His anxiety eased slightly, and he replied:

"My name is Olof Rudbek, a Swede, a lieutenant. I am currently in charge of the artillery for this group of Cossacks and helping them refine and record the routes before handing everything over to the Tsar."

Li Yuanheng carefully sized up the man in front of him who claimed to be a Swedish lieutenant:

"Were you in command of the second artillery barrage that appeared on the slope just now?"

"Of course, but all of this was ordered by that idiot, and has nothing to do with me."

Orlov first admitted it, then shifted all the blame onto Andrei, who couldn't understand their conversation.

Li Yuanheng raised an eyebrow at Olof, who also looked back down. After what seemed like an eternity, Olof finally spoke:

"You're from Sweden and have nothing to do with these Cossacks, but you commanded them to fire their cannons and almost killed me. That score needs to be settled."

"How can one repay with a life?"

Orlov was feeling uneasy. He revealed his identity and artillery command skills in the hope of gaining the respect of this Easterner. After all, judging from the fact that the enemy's artillery fire had barely made any difference, although these Easterners could manufacture firearms, they were still very primitive in their use of them. Thus, his value was naturally greater.

"You'll never be able to repay it in your lifetime. Besides, your life isn't worth much anyway."

Orlov was speechless for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Li Yuanheng glanced sideways at the other man's trouser legs, yellowed from the mud, and at his indecisive knees as he tried to stand up, his lips curving into a smile. He said gently:

"Stand up."

Orlov's eyes widened, and he staggered to his feet. As soon as he stood, a tingling sensation ran through his legs. He took a deep breath and, mustering all his courage, spoke to the person opposite him:

"Your artillery is terrible. If I were training them, they wouldn't even touch a shell, let alone allow it to fire. If you give me a chance, I will give you a qualified artillery unit."

The words were sincere and much more pleasing to the ear, but this pleasantness was quickly replaced by a string of nauseating Russian:

"Dear Lieutenant Orlov, no, Mr. Orlov, please, for the sake of my friendship with you, help me out!!"

Looking at Andrei below, who had turned and was now clinging to his legs, and especially seeing the other man's repulsive bull-headed face, Orlov's anger erupted like a volcano bursting open.

"Damn it, you Cossack slave! Who's your friend? You haven't helped me at all! You still owe me at least thirty-five rubles in wages—enough to buy your life!!"

"Get out of here, you bastard!!"

He kicked the disheveled Andre aside, then turned to Li Yuanheng and said:

"Your Excellency General, my willingness to serve you is conditional on this: this idiot must die. Otherwise, I cannot imagine how criminal it would be to live under the same roof as such trash."

"Olov, you bastard, you Swedish bastard—"

Andrei's insults, along with his lunging motion, pinned Olof down, gripping his neck tightly with both hands. The insults from his mouth seemed to have exhausted all his vocabulary, and only stopped when Li Yuanheng ordered someone to stop him.

"Damn it!!"

Olof, barely managing to stand, glanced at Andrei, who was still flailing his arms but being restrained by several Eastern soldiers. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked at the Eastern general opposite him, whose name he still didn't know:

"I not only know artillery, but I also have sufficient insights into how to train musketeers. Moreover, I speak multiple languages ​​and can act as your translator. I think you don't know any other languages ​​besides English, such as Latin and French, which are now used throughout Europe."

Orlov's words were filled with a desire to live, and he kept trying to convince himself that he wanted to sell everything he had to this handsome Eastern general.

Perhaps his efforts paid off, or perhaps he had truly moved the other party, after a few moments of "hesitation," Li Yuanheng finally spoke:

"I hope what you said is true. If there's even a hint of falsehood, then you'll enjoy the special treatment unique to the grasslands."

Orlov didn't understand what this special treatment for the steppe was, but he soon saw it. Li Yuanheng turned to Andrei and asked him again, this time in Turkic:

"The name of the unit, the mission, and I want to know who this guy is and what he can do. Not a single word can be lied about, because I just asked him the same question. If he answers correctly, I'll consider sparing his life—"

Andrei stared intently at the relieved Orlov, his hatred for the man burning deep within him. If he had the power, he would have strangled him again, until he breathed his last. But facing this young man speaking Turkic, he wore a fawning expression, carefully placing the man's feet back on his shoulder, and replied sincerely:

"I am the commander of the entire Tsarist Expeditionary Corps. My name is Andrei Ivanovich Shkula. I come from Barnaul, a mining city with immense underground wealth. My mission this time is to explore towards the Altai Mountains. As for that scoundrel—no, that esteemed Mr. Orlov—he is a Swedish artillery officer, but he has retired. He owes gambling debts, so he begged to join us to earn money to pay them off. I took pity on him and gave him this opportunity—"

"But this guy repaid kindness with enmity. Not only did he falsely report the loss of artillery and defraud the Duke of his funds, but he also threatened to report my embezzlement of taxes to the Tsar if I didn't do so, threatening to cut off my head!!"

Most of what Andrei said was true, but when it came to Orlov, he would smear him relentlessly, as if he wanted to portray him as a treacherous villain who was both a gambling addict and had no integrity whatsoever.

Li Yuanheng listened quietly to Andrei's incessant complaints, then, as if nothing had happened, turned to Orlov, who was also waiting, and said:

"He told me you were a gambler who came to this army because of gambling debts, and that you were a cunning villain. I don't believe any of that. I only believe one thing: since you are an officer, you must have your own books. I want to see your books."

"Even notes, only these can prove everything you said before."

Olof's face showed "surprise", followed by horror, because the other party knew him, or rather, the European officers of today, too well. Compared to those illiterate soldiers who couldn't even recognize all the letters, the European officers of this period, especially technical officers like him, were all cultured people, and some were even nobles. This question seemed a bit far-fetched, after all, who said that officers had to carry books and notes?

But he also firmly blocked the "Achilles' heel" because he really had those things.

"Wait for me."

After saying that, Olof hurriedly ran towards the herd of warhorses that had already begun to be led away. With Li Yuanheng's tacit approval, he found his own warhorse and retrieved his suitcase.

"These, these, can all prove my point."

Orlov opened his suitcase and showed the other person all the books he had brought with him.

Li Yuanheng squatted on the ground and picked out a book titled "On the Causes of the Rise and Fall of Rome." At the bottom of the book was a passage of Latin text. He struggled to spell it out and finally came up with a pronunciation similar to "Montesquieu."

He casually flipped through the pages and found handwritten Latin annotations on almost every page. Although he couldn't understand them, this completely put Li Yuanheng at ease. He then announced:

"Olov Rudbeck, you are the only survivor."

Olof hummed the word "survivor" to himself, his eyes widening as his breath rose faster than a sprint.

Andrei, unaware of what awaited him, simply grinned foolishly at Li Yuanheng.

"run."

Andrei didn't understand what it meant, but Li Yuanheng didn't explain. Instead, he left with Orlov, who was carrying a suitcase, without looking at him even once more.

Then they saw the shepherds, who had already nocked their bows and arrows and were aiming them at them.

At that moment, his mind went blank, and the instinct for survival urged him to flee towards the only way out in the distance amidst constant screams.

Arrows came, and one after another, fleeing Gosaks died on the road. If you look closely, each arrow has a different symbol of the grassland engraved on its underside; that is the only information to determine ownership.

"Whoosh----"

Andrei felt like his lungs were about to explode. His legs, which were originally sore and tired, were no longer so tired. Instead, he had the illusion of being a "perpetual motion machine".

His will to survive kept him from giving up, and after dodging the last arrow, he escaped into the forest.

Sitting on a rock, panting, Andrei was not only exhausted but also furious. He couldn't believe that anyone would refuse the Cossacks' allegiance. Even a powerful emperor like the Tsar needed them to expand his territory. How dare these ignorant barbarians from the East treat him like this? Andrei had only one thought at that moment: to find a way to survive, to survive until he reached Barnaul, or at the very least, to reach the nearest Russian castle. He wanted to tell the Duke that there was a city here with even greater wealth than Barnaul.

He wanted to personally lead his army back to fight, and then, slice by slice, cut open Orlov's flesh and blood, watching him die a miserable death.

Yes, up to this point, the person he hates the most is actually Orlov. Why can this Swedish pig survive while he, the Cossack commander, can't? He's a Russian army captain awarded by the Tsar, a real officer!

"Andrei, so you were here."

"Who's there?! Who's there?!"

Andrei was like a stray dog, now only able to bare his teeth and bluff.

"It is I, Bart Karavich, your dear subordinate."

"You survived."

Upon seeing Barth with his men, Andrei's face first showed fear, then he feigned joy and said:

"I knew you were lucky. Damn it, it's all that beast Orlov's fault. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have lost so badly. We must go back, back to Barnaul, and tell Prince Vasimi Mikhailovich Dolgorukov everything that happened. We must tell him everything, then take over the city and share its dazzling wealth."

"Hmph, I'm not like you bastards; I'm a true free man."

"Free man, what are you talking about?!"

As the Kazakh mercenaries approached him and he saw their mocking gazes, Andrei felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave. He tried to fight back, but found that all he had was a dagger hidden in his boot. He wanted to commit suicide, but his hands were trembling.

For the first time, he realized that he was actually more cowardly than the jerky he had eaten.

Finally, with his legs trembling, Andrei was stuffed into a sack, which was then tied to the back of the horse.

Watching the struggling pocket, Barth coldly observed and uttered his final words, as if bidding farewell to Andrei inside the pocket:

"Freedom belongs to the true Kazakhs, not to the slaves of slaves!!"

Kazakh horses gallop across the grasslands, and sacks fly along with them. Perhaps the horses have gone too far, and no one knows what happened. Only when the horses return on their own do people see everything inside the sacks.

What a gruesome sight it was, the flesh and blood were just like that of a wild dog that had just been slaughtered, even more wretched.