The drone's hum gradually subsided, like the lingering echo after a heavy rain. On the slope, the Imperial Army's proud charging formation was left in ruins – armor, melted by lasers, was twisted into bizarre shapes, some still holding the pose of shields raised, but their surfaces were dotted with scorched holes like a honeycomb. Shallow craters from plasma cannon blasts were scattered with debris, indistinguishable as armor or flesh and bone. The steam rising mixed with the stench of blood, giving off an oily sheen under the sun.
Several un-destroyed siege ladders leaned against the ground, their iron hooks still biting into the battlements at the top, but the rungs now bore only a few strips of bloodied cloth. Soldiers who had miraculously survived huddled at the edge of bomb craters, their severed limbs seared into black scabs by the high temperatures. They let out gasping moans, lacking the strength to even raise a hand to call for help. On the hills to the side, the remains of cavalry and warhorses torn apart by grenades were piled together. Some horses were still twitching, their front hooves futilely pawing the blood-soaked mud, letting out shrill neighs that intertwined with the distant, scattered groans into a symphony of despair.
Chen Yan stood on the city wall, the wind lifting the hem of his robes, the smell of burnt flesh and blood assaulting him, making him nauseous. He looked at the carnage below, his fingertips turning cold. After a long while, he turned around, his voice as calm as if he were commenting on the weather, "It's over."
Posses suddenly snapped back to attention, her fingertips digging into her palm without her realizing, drawing blood. She gazed at the battlefield, a hellscape crushed by technology, and felt a surge of nausea. She had seen mountains of corpses and seas of blood, but never such "efficient" slaughter. There were no clashes of flashing blades, only a one-sided harvest, making even the slightest struggle seem utterly insignificant.
The knights of the Yellow Rose were the same as her. Although they had followed Posses and experienced over a dozen battles, large and small, they had never been like this. Some younger knights' stomachs churned, and they couldn't help but run off the city wall to vomit.
"Statistics complete," Argo's electronic voice sounded in Chen Yan's ear, with its usual coldness. "For this operation, confirmed destroyed siege ladders: forty-six. Enemy infantry killed: eight thousand seven hundred and sixty-three. Seriously wounded: nine hundred and twelve. Routed: over one thousand one hundred. Cavalry killed: one thousand six hundred and eighty-seven. Warhorses lost: over one thousand three hundred. Remaining cavalry all routed. Total enemy eliminated: ten thousand four hundred and fifty. Seriously wounded: nine hundred and twelve. Approximately two thousand two hundred routed. Our side: zero casualties. Defensive systems damage: almost zero."
The numbers, precise to the last digit, struck Posses' eardrums like ice picks. She suddenly turned to look at Chen Yan, the man who had just been teaching refugees how to use chopsticks in the dining hall. Now, his face was devoid of any expression, as if Argo were reporting not lives, but irrelevant figures.
"Ten thousand... people?" Posses' voice trembled. She clenched her sword hilt, her knuckles turning white. "Just like that... gone?"
Chen Yan did not look at her, his gaze still fixed on the battlefield. "Argo, tally the recoverable resources. The rest... dispose of it cleanly."
"Understood."
Posses looked at his profile and suddenly felt a chill creep up from the soles of her feet. She had thought she understood "the cruelty of war" well enough, but today she realized that Chen Yan brought not just greater power, but a transformative mode of warfare. Here, lives could be so precisely quantified and harvested, and even death became as efficient as assembly-line work.
The wind blew across the city wall, rustling her golden hair and scattering the last wisps of heat from the battlefield. Posses looked down at her hands. These hands had once drawn bows and shot through the throats of countless enemies, but now they felt inexplicably cold. She finally understood what kind of unimaginable power lay behind Chen Yan's talk of "safety," and what kind of cold price it entailed.
"This is... your war?" she murmured, her voice so light it was almost scattered by the wind.
Chen Yan did not answer. He merely raised a hand and tapped his ear, as if an echo of ringing was still there. On the city wall, only the low hum of returning drones and the dead silence of the distant hills remained.
***
As the setting sun dyed the imperial road a dark blood color, Herman's warhorse collapsed before the main camp's gate. He scrambled and fell into the mud, the scabs on his armor mixing with the dirt, leaving a trail of pathetic marks on the ground. His guards tried to help him up, but he shoved them away, "Get lost! A bunch of useless wretches!"
He stumbled into the central command tent, the tent flap rustling violently as he entered. Duran was staring intently at a sand table, the candlelight casting a cold, hard shadow on his profile. Herman swept a table off its legs, and the ceramic water pot shattered on the ground, splashing murky water onto the marking of "Mount Olympus" on the map.
"Magic! They used magic!" Herman's roar made the candlelight flicker. He clutched his cloak, which bore scorched marks from a laser, his eyes bulging with fear. "That cursed fortress is full of sorcery! Flying iron bugs spewing fire, and light that can split a person into pieces shoots from the cracks in the rocks! My men... my men were mown down like sheaves of wheat!"
Duran slowly raised his eyes, his fingertips lightly tapping the edge of the sand table. "Oh? Magic?"
"What else could it be?!" Herman's voice suddenly rose, spitting onto Duran's face. "Can normal weapons make holes in iron armor? Can they turn cavalry into bloody mist, men and horses alike? Those are devilish means! Those Valentian scoundrels must have hired sorcerers!" The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, as if attributing the defeat to "magic" could absolve him of his incompetence. "I said long ago that fortress was wrong! You insisted I attack--"
"How many returned?" Duran suddenly interrupted him, his voice as calm as ice. "
Herman's roar cut off abruptly, as if his throat had been choked. He opened his mouth, a flicker of panic crossing his face. "I... when would I have had time to count? I was only focused on breaking through... In any case, that cursed place is extremely sinister, we must bring siege engines! No, we need to request the Royal Mage Corps--"
"Reporting, General," a guard's urgent voice came from outside the tent. "Lord Herman's remaining troops have been gathered. Counting the numbers... only a little over three hundred, and most have minor injuries."
"A little over three hundred."
The air in the tent froze instantly. Herman's face turned pale. He suddenly turned to the guard, "You're lying! My vanguard had fifteen thousand! How could there only be three hundred..."
"Whether you have three hundred or three thousand," Duran stood up, the clinking of his armor extraordinarily sharp in the silence. "From Karelia to Mount Olympus, Lord Herman, it took you less than a day to turn the vanguard personally appointed by His Majesty the Emperor into three hundred stragglers."
Herman suddenly panicked. He stumbled back half a step, reaching for Duran's sleeve, his tone shifting from arrogant to pleading. "Duran! Listen to me! That wasn't an ordinary fortress! It's magic... it's really magic! I can redeem myself! Give me a cavalry unit, I'll burn that forest and leave them nowhere to hide--"
"No need."
Duran waved away his hand and shouted to the outside of the tent, "Guards, apprehend Herman!"
Two soldiers immediately stepped forward, their iron-like hands grabbing Herman's arms. He struggled as if mad, the clanging of his armor hurting people's eardrums. "Duran! How dare you touch me? I am a distant relative of the Emperor! What you're doing is--"
"Silence!" Duran sneered, speaking to Herman at close range. "You've lost fifteen thousand soldiers and disgraced the Imperial Army's might. What crime do you think that is?" He watched as Herman was subdued by the guards, the crisp sound of chains locking around his wrists reminding him of the words of the old foxes in the Senate – "Herman is a double-edged sword; if not used properly, it will cut oneself."
It seemed this sword was not only dull but also foolishly stupid.
"Escort Herman to the Imperial Capital and hand him over to His Majesty for judgment." Duran's voice echoed in the tent, carrying undeniable authority. "As for the 'magic' he mentioned..." He turned to the location of Mount Olympus on the sand table and tapped it heavily. "Issue an order: the entire army will rest for three days, and scouts will expand their reconnaissance range – I want to see exactly what is hidden in that fortress."
Herman's curses faded into the distance. Only the crackling of the candlelight remained in the tent. Duran looked at the blank space on the map, a cold curve forming on his lips. Sending the discarded piece, Herman, back to the capital would naturally give the senators ample material to work with, and he could use this opportunity to thoroughly investigate the foundation of that white-walled fortress.
***
The dusk, like cotton soaked in ink, gradually pressed down on the last wisp of light atop the city wall. The base's streetlights were lit, LEDs replacing the sun, casting a circle of bright white light on the road home. Chen Yan rubbed his sore neck and turned towards the headquarters building, his heels clicking on the metal walkway, creating a hollow echo. Suddenly, the sound of armor scraping behind him made him turn. He saw Posses quickly catching up, her golden hair shining softly under the streetlights.
"Lord Chen Yan, please wait a moment." Chen Yan stopped, waiting for Posses to voice her question. "You ordered the collection of enemy supplies just now... those are things from dead people, it's unlucky."
Chen Yan raised an eyebrow and said, "I know." He pointed in the direction of Karelia, where drones were still buzzing. "These funds were stolen from Karelia anyway."
Posses' steps faltered. "I know... but what does that matter?"
"What does it matter?" Chen Yan looked up at the starry sky, his expression as if to say, 'How can you not even understand this?' "Fine, let me tell you. If the military pay for fifteen thousand people, and looted wealth, all go to accompany the dead, what do you think will happen to this country?" Seeing Posses frown, he decided to be more direct. "Part of the currency disappears out of nowhere, and the remaining money becomes more valuable. Conversely, commodity prices will drop significantly. The currency, due to its scarcity, will no longer flow into the market, and everyone will hoard it like treasure, ultimately leading to the kingdom's economic recession."
"Economic... recession?" Posses was stunned. She understood military strategy and governing territories, but she had never thought that "dead people's money" could be related to "the rise and fall of a kingdom." When Karelia fell, she only thought about the lost lives, not realizing that the disappearance of wealth could also cause disaster.
"Is that why you're collecting the supplies?" Her tone was less questioning and more inquisitive.
"What else?" Chen Yan shrugged. "I can build such a fortress and factory without spending a single coin. Where would I spend these dead men's money?"
Posses fell silent, unconsciously tracing the patterns on her sword hilt. After a long while, she looked up, a new confusion in her eyes. "Then... what about the wounded? There were still people alive on the battlefield."
Chen Yan paused, then remembered the "nine hundred and twelve seriously wounded" that Argo had mentioned. He had assumed they had either fled or... He subconsciously asked, "Argo, are the wounded soldiers still on the battlefield?"
"Scan indicates that approximately thirty percent of the severely wounded are still in the battlefield area, with vital signs detected." Argo's electronic voice was devoid of emotion.
"Damn it," Chen Yan cursed under his breath, raking his hair in frustration. Prisoners were the most troublesome – killing them was out, he already carried too much weight and couldn't add more unnecessary lives; keeping them, the base lacked spare personnel to care for them, and even less space to house them. He paced back and forth irritably, finally setting his gaze on Posses. "How about this, let's make a deal."
"What deal?" Posses took half a step back, as if wary of Chen Yan. "I'll provide simple medical treatment for the wounded, and then you take them all back."
"No way!" Posses immediately refused, without any room for negotiation. "Italica gets no benefit from this, how can it be called a deal."
"The warhorses and weapons will all belong to you." Chen Yan thought that these were necessary supplies for an army, and Posses should accept them.
"No, our army doesn't have that many troops. We'd be burdened if we took them." Posses was unyielding, or perhaps she needed more leverage to agree.
"Then I'll give you half of the confiscated money. That should be enough, right?" Chen Yan did not expect that the answer he received would still be a refusal. "No, that's dead people's money. I won't take it."
"Hey~" Chen Yan encountered someone who wouldn't take a bargain for the first time. But thinking about it, Posses was nobility and her family wasn't short of money. However, these prisoners really couldn't be kept. This was a war between natives, and he was just someone caught up in it.
"But they came for Italica, didn't they?" Chen Yan raised his voice considerably, intending to negotiate with a strong stance. "This is your war with the Empire. I was just dragged into it. You can't expect me to take bullets and also take care of prisoners, can you?"
"What benefit does Italica get from me taking them in?" Posses remained unyielding. She knew too well how tight the food supply was in her territory. Every extra mouth to feed meant more consumption.
"I am helping you stall the Imperial main force." Chen Yan's tone became heavier. "With the vanguard wiped out, the main force won't dare to act rashly. Whether you go to seek reinforcements or make some small moves, this time is enough."
"Not enough." Posses looked him straight in the eye, her golden hair shining exceptionally under the streetlights. "What if... I'm just saying, what if you suddenly leave one day? Won't these wounded soldiers, these troubles, still fall upon Italica?"
Chen Yan gave a wry smile. "If I wanted to leave, I would have left long ago. Why bother building fortresses and saving refugees?"
"Words are not proof." Posses suddenly stepped forward, her tone decisive. "If you want me to take in the wounded soldiers, fine, but we need to sign a written agreement."
Chen Yan looked at the seriousness in her eyes and suddenly understood. This wasn't about a written agreement; it was clearly an attempt to establish an alliance, a roundabout way that ultimately led back to the starting point. The probing that had taken place in between seemed wasted.
"Playing this card, huh." Chen Yan deflated like a punctured ball, losing all motivation. He turned towards the building. "I admit defeat. Do as you say."
Posses looked at Chen Yan's retreating back, overjoyed. "You said it, don't go back on your word!"
"Yes, yes, I said it, I won't go back on my word." Chen Yan didn't look back, continuing towards the headquarters building. Posses, with light steps, trotted behind Chen Yan. Their figures under the lights were so... harmonious? Cute? Forget it.