Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 474: Chapter 77: Dealing

Time! Time! Time!

Right now, the most important thing is time.

No sooner had the baggage train moved out all of White Lion’s belongings than the Paratu army immediately set about destroying Bianli City—many troops were still on their way back to the main camp at this very moment.

However, the task of destroying Bianli was soon halted.

Due to an unexpected twist of fate, the torrential rain not only ruined the gunpowder but also turned the originally dry and flammable Bianli into a sponge soaked with water.

Choking blue smoke filled the city of Bianli, but in reality, only a few houses caught fire.

The houses could still be ignited from the inside, but the problem was that the fire spread too slowly.

The water drenching the straw roofs and wooden walls had to be completely dried out before the flames could spread to the next house.

This was a far cry from the earlier situation when fires were stoked by the wind, and the flames were fiercer for it.

According to the pre-war plans, Bianli was to be thoroughly destroyed: the city walls would be brought down, temples and tombs would be leveled, and all the people would be taken captive to serve as a warning to others.

But given the current situation, if the Paratu army dared to waste time digging at the literal walls of Bianli, White Lion would wake up laughing from such a dream.

Sekler and Alpad would not possibly waste precious gunpowder on blasting the walls.

Therefore, the soldiers tasked with breaking down the walls were quickly withdrawn, and Sekler sent only a portion of the auxiliary troops into the city to set fires.

…

Winters dropped a torch down the well, and it did not go out.

“That’s enough!” Seeing that the well was almost filled, Winters called to his men, “This well is ruined, on to the next.”

The militia picked up their shovels and went running towards the next well.

Looking into the dark abyss of the well wall, Winters couldn’t help but think, “How long has White Lion been preparing for this battle?”

Bianli is adjacent to the Confluence River, so getting water should not be difficult.

But this is actually a mental trap, for because the acquisition of water is too easy, its importance can be overlooked.

Once Bianli is besieged, going out of the city to fetch water would mean risking one’s life, or even having the water supply route completely cut off.

Even Little Lion, when leading troops to attack the northern fort, knew to cut off the water-fetching soldiers.

Far from ignoring the problem of water, White Lion had prepared accordingly—by drilling wells.

It was only after entering Bianli that Winters realized there were wells in the city, a dozen or so, evenly distributed across the residential areas.

Bianli was located on a small hillock with higher terrain, which made well-digging extremely difficult.

Moreover, with the Confluence River just outside the city, within arm’s reach, no one would be foolish enough to go to the trouble of drilling wells in Bianli—unless he was White Lion.

Approaching the next well, Winters saw Pierre and Bell butchering a dead horse.

Two Dusacks swung their axes and split the carcass of the warhorse, flesh and bone.

The dark red blood flowed all the way to Winters’ feet as pieces of the horse were thrown into the well.

A Ganshui Town militia member, Ish, was also in the well-filling team, muttering with distress, “What a waste! All that meat! And the hide too.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Ish,” Winters recognized the speaker and reassured him, “General Sekler has already ordered that two horses be allocated to each century. There’s no fear of not having enough to eat, only of not being able to finish it all.”

“We can finish it!” Ish’s eyes lit up, “Guaranteed to finish it, sir.”

Soon, the carcass of a horse, blood and all, was thrown into the deep well.

According to the officer’s manual, the best way to destroy a well was to use dead livestock.

But pressed for time, Winters could not find any diseased livestock, so he had to make do with horse carcasses.

Along with the horse remains, a dozen buckets of human and animal feces were dumped into the well.

It didn’t sicken the Herders momentarily, but the Paratu People around them and Winters felt nauseated.

After dumping the dirty stuff into the well, without Winters’ order, the militia began to fill the well with soil on their own initiative.

After filling in two wells in a row, the militia became adept at this task.

Pierre took some dirt and rubbed off the blood on his hands, took a small tube of salt from his belt pouch, poured it into the well, and mumbled, “[Ancient Language] From now on, may your livestock never prosper, from now on, may your brides have no color…”

The others didn’t understand the ancient language Pierre was using and felt somewhat confused.

“Throwing salt?” Winters couldn’t help but smile wryly, “[Old Language] When you take a city, you kill its people; when you destroy a city, you sprinkle it with salt?”

This time it was Pierre’s turn to be baffled, “What are you saying?”

Winters repeated himself in the common tongue and asked Pierre, “[Ancient Language] Do you speak the ancient language?”

Pierre answered proudly, “[Ancient Language] A little, my mother taught me some, and I learned some at school.”

“I see.” Reflecting on Mrs. Mitchell’s demeanor, Winters thought it wasn’t strange for her son to speak the ancient language, “Who taught you to perform the salt-throwing ritual?”

“It’s not a ritual, just a story I heard from my mom when I was a kid,” Pierre replied somewhat embarrassedly.

Winters was caught between amusement and exasperation, “Pierre, why would the Herders fear salt-throwing, when the sheep on the plains fight over salt licks? Salt has always been valuable, the sprinkle of salt is merely symbolic. Don’t waste salt in a place like this, just a pinch will do.”

Pierre scratched his head.

The militia started by knocking down the walls of the well and then began digging soil into it, quickly filling another well.

“Good!” Winters waved his hand to signal, “Next one.”

“`

…

The army set out, truly innumerable concerns and tasks at hand.

Not all forces had been assembled yet when two battalions had already set off as advance troops.

Normally, all equipment would have to be carried by the soldiers themselves.

But this time was different, to increase the marching speed, Sekler had allocated a single horse-drawn cart to each hundred-man unit for carrying heavy items.

The carts and horses were all captured from the Herders and how long they could last was uncertain.

Supply wagons within the military camp were filled one after another, but there were still many supplies left.

Initially, determined to fight a war of attrition, Paratu’s military had spent two and a half months transporting a large quantity of supplies—even managing to bring luxury items for the officers.

The mountains of grain and fodder in the warehouse next to the legion’s headquarters allowed Sekler to dare continue fighting despite the supply lines being cut off.

Even if Paratu’s army lost their rear supply, the Herders inside Bianli City would surely starve to death first.

Now these supplies became a burden—they couldn’t fit in the carts.

“Take as much as we can,” Sekler ordered through gritted teeth, “Burn everything we can’t carry, not even leaving a single grain of wheat or a blade of grass for the Herders. Aside from the food and hay, throw everything else away!”

In Jeska’s battalion area, the lieutenant colonel was also ordering Mason, “Nail the cannon touch-holes shut and push them all into the heart of the river.”

“We’ll definitely need them later,” Mason said dejectedly, standing still without carrying out the order, “They’re all good cannons.”

Jeska’s lieutenant colonel frowned and replied, “Not ‘they,’ but ‘them’! The road ahead won’t be easy, better than struggling to carry them, only for the draft horses to collapse one by one and having to abandon them in the end. Better to ditch them at the outset to save the horses some effort.”

Knowing he was in the wrong, Mason saluted and walked out of the tent.

Seven cannons, four light and three medium, all ultimately disappeared into the waves of Confluence River.

Along with the cannons, captured armor and weapons were also tossed into Confluence River.

Luxury items painstakingly transported to the officers by the supply teams were also utterly destroyed.

Robert and Jeska—both lieutenant colonels—stood by the river, watching as soldiers smashed ceramic wares with the handles of their knives and dumped entire crates of liquor directly into Confluence River.

“The old man still isn’t resolute enough,” Jeska said with knitted brows, “Speed is our priority; aside from fodder, nothing else is important, everything must be thrown away, even items of combat value. Carrying one extra knife means one less mile traveled.”

Robert sighed, “Have some sympathy for the old man. If he forced the men to surrender their spoils of war, there could be an outright mutiny.”

“Not likely,” Jeska shook his head, “Life is most important. We need to stay alive and get home first, then we can worry about the spoils.”

“Do you remember that fable? The one about gold?” Robert asked in response, “Only a few were willing to let go of the gold to swim to shore. Most couldn’t bring themselves to release it until the very moment before they drowned, but by then, it was too late. Human nature is such; you, I, and the old man, none of us can do anything about it.”

A thick plume of smoke rose behind the two lieutenant colonels—it was the Paratu camp burning supplies.

To the south and the north, more columns of smoke rose.

It was the Paratu People setting fire to fortifications and camps everywhere.

Inside Bianli City, Winters and Andre also contaminated and filled up all the wells.

The smoke within the city gradually grew thicker, and Winters and Andre quickly led people out of Bianli.

Exhausted, the group slumped on the riverbank north of the city to catch their breath.

“Let’s go!” Winters licked his dry, cracked lips and urged his men to move, “Not here, rest back at camp.”

The militiamen slowly rose, shoulders drooping, dragging their tools as they followed the Centurion towards the main camp.

“There are people coming!” a militiaman with keen eyes shouted, pointing ahead, “Looks like Herders!”

Winters’s heart tightened; he stepped on the stirrup and stood up to look.

“They are Herders,” Winters confirmed, and added, “But it’s fine, they’re captured Herders.”

Two infantry battalions marched by, escorting the prisoners past the group.

Winters’s gaze swept over the Herder crowd. The Herders—now more accurately Herder slaves—looked miserable, in pain, and somewhat numb.

Winters saw Paratu soldiers crudely separating men from women and children, with the cries of Herder women and children filling the air.

All Herder men capable of riding had already broken through with the White Lion. The men left in the city were either too old or injured.

Like separating egg whites from yolks, Paratu soldiers picked out Herder men from the crowd, driving them to continue east towards the beach where the two rivers converged.

The Herder men realized their fate; several injured men shouted in rage and despair, charging at the Paratu soldiers in front of them.

But battered and unarmed, they were no match for the fully armed Paratu, and all were swiftly killed.

The Paratu soldiers with bloodied weapons continued driving the remaining Herder men towards the riverside.

“Dispose of all the Herders.” Winters suddenly recalled the order that Andre had relayed.

The Paratu’s method of ‘disposal’ was execution.

Men were being dealt with first; next would be the women and children.

Winters had ‘disposed’ of his fair share of prisoners.

But women and children… he had yet to cross that line.

Watching the remaining Herder women and children wailing pitifully on the spot, Winters only tasted bitterness in his mouth.

“Let’s go,” said Andre, a man normally heartless, also showed a rare sign of mercy, lowering his head and murmuring, “It’s hard to watch, just let them do it.”

“Wait! Don’t go!” Winters suddenly spurred the flanks of his horse and galloped toward the riverbanks, where the two rivers met, “I need to speak with the officer in charge of ‘disposing of the Herders’!”

“`

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