Karelia was already an empty city, with the few survivors left behind by the Imperial Army to clean up. The farmland outside the city had been dug into a 'mass grave,' and the brutally slaughtered soldiers and civilians were dumped into the pit, pecked at by flocks of crows.
The attackers were merely an advance guard; the main force of the Imperial Army and reinforcements from the vassal states were arriving in droves.
The scorching sun hung high, and the horns of the expeditionary force sounded across the plains. The elite of the Empire, clad in armor like a steel torrent, rolled eastward along the imperial road.
In the sky, trained dragon riders circled and shrieked, providing all-around vigilance for the grand army; on the ground, heavy infantry formed a firm formation, their shields reflecting a chilling light. Further away, war elephants moved like floating fortresses, archers on their backs drawing their bows, their hooves pounding the earth, making it tremble.
As flags unfurled, the shadow of the Empire was covering the land inch by inch, and the fate of the Kingdom of Valentia, before this awe-inspiring military formation, was precariously hanging by a thread.
By the roadside, a general reined in his horse, gazing at his own massive army. Beneath his armor, his knuckles tightened on the reins. Beside him, the powerful figures from the vassal states chatted and laughed, completely unconcerned about the approaching battle.
"General Duran, how do you think we should attack?" a Duke rode forward. He removed his helmet, revealing a head of blond hair, and his expression was very relaxed, as if he were going out for a stroll. General Duran nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on the distance, thinking deeply about the war and the future of the Empire.
"Duke Lige, perhaps you should give it some serious thought too," the general said, his voice steady, but unable to hide his helplessness. The Duke, however, smiled unconcernedly, showing no tension. "According to the reports from the advance guard, Karelia has been captured. This advance guard, less than ten thousand strong, easily took a strategic frontier town. With our army's current might, it will be effortless to flatten Valentia. What's the point of discussing tactics?"
"Indeed," Duran thought to himself, 'If that's the case, an enemy of this caliber could be easily defeated by the Imperial Army alone. Why involve the vassal states? If so, half of the spoils and wealth will have to be shared. Could it be that His Majesty is still wary of the vassal states?'
General Duran's suspicion was not unfounded. The current Emperor was naturally suspicious and had personally killed two of his own brothers during his fight for the throne. Even after ascending the throne, he had killed his uncle, who held immense power, and only then did he restrain himself when no one could threaten his imperial position. For twenty years of his reign, although major state affairs were decided by the Senate, he always acted as a mere signatory. But everyone knew that the Senate had long been hollowed out by the Emperor and was merely a name in name only. With a mere flick of his finger, the Emperor could cause the council hall to be drenched in blood.
In just a few seconds, Duran had recalled the Emperor's life, but now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts. He offered the Duke a piece of advice: "Duke Lige, with the war at hand, beware of blind optimism."
The Duke put on his helmet and replied with a laugh, "In my opinion, the enemy is nothing more than fish in a barrel. With the combined forces of our ten-plus nations and the convergence of three hundred thousand troops, victory or defeat was decided from the start. Valentia's refusal to surrender is what truly shows a lack of foresight. General Duran, your nerves seem to get finer with age."
At this point, Duran had nothing more to say.
On the horizon, the lines of the allied forces of the vassal states stretched like steel vines across the grassland, their various emblems unfurling in the wind, as if embroidering their ambition for conquest across the sky.
Further away, the shadows of dragon riders swept over the dry riverbed, their cloaks billowing like black sails in the wind, their shining armor reflecting the scorching sun.
The afternoon sun slanted across the stone walls, casting long, flat shadows of the metal houses. In the open space behind the alloy gates, wooden basins of various sizes were placed side by side. Older children carried wooden buckets from the stream, pouring water into the basins with a sloshing sound. Once the water covered the fabric, they rolled up their pant legs and stepped into the basins, stomping with earnestness, the wooden basins emitting a soft creaking sound.
Three boys, half-grown, carried axes and headed for the woods. The girl leading them, wearing a gray cloth headscarf, was Kasha, the same age as Aila. Following behind her was Martha, also fifteen years old. Each carried a woven basket, and as they walked, Kasha instructed, "Just pick up dry branches, don't go deep into the woods. Do you hear me?" The boys answered loudly, their footsteps light and quick, as if they were going on an adventure. After all, everyone knew that the steel behemoth guarded the area outside the walls, and even bandits dared not approach.
The boys soon returned with light steps towards Kasha. "Sister Kasha! Can we eat this mushroom?" Kasha looked up, took the mushroom the boy handed her, and her eyes lit up instantly. "Good heavens! This is a high-value item. Where did you pick it?"
"Over there! Under the big tree. There are more," the boys, as if they had discovered treasure, pulled Kasha towards the large tree. "Well done. You'll have a feast tonight... No, no, such a rare item must be offered to our benefactor first."
"That's right! We must give it to our benefactor first!" The boys cheered and scattered, their axes temporarily becoming tools for digging up vegetables. The woven baskets were soon filled with a small pile of green.
At the corner of the wall, an elderly elder was sorting through the stored food. He leaned his cane against the wall and put the dried wheat grains into pottery jars, sealing them for future consumption. Opposite him, an old woman wearing a headscarf picked out the tubers and seeds that were difficult to preserve long-term. One of them muttered, "These potatoes are about to sprout. We must eat them as soon as possible!"
The man who had sprained his ankle hobbled over, his right leg still unable to bear full weight. He came to the elders and complained, "Why didn't you call me to work?"
The old woman smiled helplessly and said, "Your leg and foot haven't healed yet. You're limping, and you're not as agile as this old woman."
"I can't walk, but I can still pick grains. It's a small task." Seeing such young children helping out, the man shuddered at the thought of becoming a burden again, of being abandoned.
Another man with his arm in a bandage nodded at the words. "This minor injury won't matter. In a few days, we won't have to trouble the children with strenuous physical labor."
"That would be best," the elder said, pouring the last handful of wheat into a pottery jar. He straightened up and coughed twice. "We'll eat all this food sooner or later. We need to find a way to grow something ourselves, or help Mr. Chén Yàn with his work and earn some food back."
The men all nodded. When it came to skills or strength, they were not lacking. As long as Chén Yàn needed them, they could do any job.
Lina and Aila shared a room. Since coming down from the slope, Lina had wrapped herself in a quilt, revealing only the dark crown of her head. The quilt stifled her flushed face; her racing heart from running wildly on the hillside had not yet fully calmed down. She savored the sensation of Chén Yàn's fingertips brushing hers when he took the woven basket.
"Can you hatch chicks by hiding in a quilt?" Aila's voice drifted from the bedside, with a deliberately drawn-out tone. She had just returned from outside, grass blades clinging to her hair, a leaf clutched in her hand, and she was gently poking Lina's hair with the tip of the leaf. "Someone ran faster than a rabbit, I couldn't call her back—are you afraid Mr. Chén Yàn will take you as a maid?"
The person under the quilt suddenly turned over, burying her face even deeper, and grumbled in a muffled voice, "None of your business."
"I don't care," Aila sat down by the bed, spinning a maple leaf between her fingers. "It's a shame about that bowl of congee. We never asked Mr. Chén Yàn how it tasted."
As soon as she spoke, a corner of the quilt was suddenly lifted. Lina's face was filled with panic, and she said helplessly, "Oh no, what if it didn't suit Mr. Chén Yàn's taste?"
"Who told you to run?" Aila, taking advantage of Lina's surprise, reached out and pinched her flushed cheek. "Is your face so red from the quilt, or from thinking about someone?"
Lina yelped and quickly pulled the quilt back, dragging Aila's hand in with it. "Don't... it hurts... Why is your strength so great at a time like this? Let go of my hand!"
Lively chatter echoed from outside. Sunlight streamed through the small window, casting a shifting bright spot on the quilt, gently enveloping the girls' playful laughter.
The afternoon sun cut diagonally across the towers of Italica City. The guards under the city gate listlessly poked the gravel on the ground with their spear tips. Suddenly, they heard shuffling footsteps in the distance—not the leisurely pace of merchants, but a desperate, stumbling, dense sound tinged with sobs.
The refugee procession stretched like a rain-swollen rag at the end of the dusty imperial road. Amir, leaning on a broken spear, walked at the forefront. The bloodstains on his pant legs had long since turned black. Upon seeing the city gate, his legs suddenly buckled, and he knelt on the ground, gasping for breath. Those behind him surged forward, some carrying dying elders on their backs, others clutching emaciated children, their tattered belongings swaying on their backs like a bundle of bones about to disintegrate.
"Halt! Who goes there?" The guard crossed his spear, his brow furrowed. He knew hardships existed and that some people had to abandon their homes for survival, but he had never seen so many refugees, as if an entire city had been emptied.
"Let us in... Please..." A woman carrying a child rushed forward, tightly gripping the guard's spear. "The Imperial Army... The Imperial Army is coming! Karelia... everyone in Karelia is dead!"
Her voice was as hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper, but the last few words struck like thunder, buzzing in their ears at the city gate. The guard's spear clanged to the ground, his face instantly turned pale. "What did you say? The Imperial Army? They're attacking?"
Amir struggled to get up, his spittle spraying the guard's face. "Those beasts in iron armor slaughtered the entire city, not even sparing newborn babies! We fled from the Count's territory, and we encountered bandits on the way. If it weren't for..." He stopped halfway, suddenly remembering the steel behemoth that had rescued him. His throat choked, and all that came out was a wail, "Quick, let us in! We're homeless!"
The commotion at the city gate spread outwards like ripples. Peddlers carrying burdens quickly gathered their belongings; a drunkard emerging from a tavern pinched his cheek, thinking he had misheard; two children fighting on the road were pulled home by their mothers, their mouths tightly covered to stop them from crying. Italica City was as quiet as the calm before a storm.
"Impossible!" A blacksmith with a full beard pushed his way through the crowd, still holding a glowing iron tongs. "Why would the Imperial Army attack without declaration? The Count's army couldn't hold for even a day, and they couldn't even send a message. This..."
"Isn't attacking without declaration a common tactic of the Empire!" someone among the refugees sneered, their voice trembling like fallen leaves in an autumn wind. "The Imperial Army crossed the border under the cover of night and sneak-attacked Karelia. The messengers were intercepted halfway, and their bloodied bodies lay right in front of my house. Don't believe me? Come and see for yourself!"
These words were like ice thrown into boiling oil, and the area in front of the city gate instantly erupted. Some turned and ran back into the city, shouting, "The Imperial Army is here!" A cloth seller frantically pulled down the silk from his stall and stuffed it into his clothes; the guard, who had been languid moments ago, suddenly looked like a soul had been snatched from him, scrambling towards the city wall, shouting, "Report to the Count immediately!"
"Quick, let us in!" The refugees pushed forward madly. An elder's cane broke under the pressure, and children's cries were drowned out by the chaotic shouts. The surging crowd was like a plague sweeping through Italica City. Shop gates slammed shut, women clutched their valuables and scurried into cellars, while men panicked, gathering at street corners to discuss whether to defend their homes or, like these refugees, abandon everything and flee to the next city.
Amir was jostled and pushed through the city gate. His back pressed against the cold stone wall. He looked at the city, which had been bustling with life moments ago, now entangled in panic like a tangled mess—the cooking smoke had long ceased, dogs barked wildly in the alleys, and even the sunlight seemed to have been frightened into hiding behind the clouds, casting everything in a dim, grayish hue.
As the afterglow of the sunset stretched the shadow of the headquarters long, Aila's voice carried over on the wind: "Mr. Chén Yàn--"
She stood outside the safety line of the construction site, with three curious boys behind her. If Aila hadn't instructed them not to wander off, they would probably be running around like wild horses by now.
At this moment, Chén Yàn was watching the weapon factory rise from the ground via 3D printing. Hearing Aila's call, he turned his head and muttered, "Why are they here again?"
"It's almost dinner time. Perhaps they've come to invite you to dinner." The busy scene at the refugee camp did not escape Argo's visual and infrared sensors, but it insisted on remaining an observer, not interfering too much in the interactions between the refugees and Chén Yàn.
Argo was also contemplating, what if they really couldn't contact Earth? The immigration plan was carried out for habitable planets that could be observed, but this planet deviated completely from the original plan, and there were no clues related to it in the database. For the past two days, it had been continuously observing celestial bodies in the sky, unable to match any existing star charts. It couldn't even determine its location, let alone establish contact with Earth. Facing this predicament, Argo had to prepare for the worst.
"Dinner, speaking of which, the wheat porridge this morning was quite tasty." Chén Yàn remembered the pottery bowl in the cafeteria sink, relishing the faint aroma of the wheat porridge. Chén Yàn waved his hand. Aila and the children ran over. Only when they got close could one appreciate Argo's immense size.
Chén Yàn touched behind his ear and gestured to Aila with his chin, "Why have you come?"
Aila snapped out of her daze from looking at Argo, almost forgetting the purpose of their visit. "We'd like to invite Benefactor to a meal as a token of our gratitude."
Chén Yàn instinctively wanted to refuse. "This is your precious food. Don't spend so much for my sake."
This conversation was still only possible through Argo's simultaneous translation. Having to bring a mecha everywhere was one of the reasons Chén Yàn was reluctant to accept the invitation.
"This might not be considered extravagance," Argo's voice entered Chén Yàn's ears. "The supplies carried by refugees have an expiration date. Some foods that cannot be preserved long-term must be consumed as soon as possible."
"So that's how it is..." Chén Yàn felt he had been too hasty and had never considered the refugees' perspective, misunderstanding their kind intentions. He paused, then turned to look in the direction of the refugee camp. The cooking smoke was no longer rising, and everyone was looking up, anticipating his arrival.
"Alright." Chén Yàn tidied his messy clothes and was about to step forward when Argo called out to him.
"Wait. Since you are going to the banquet, this is necessary."
A white earpiece worn behind the earlobe floated in the mecha's hand. Chén Yàn found it somewhat familiar. Wasn't this just an ordinary Bluetooth headset?
"This is a communication earpiece equipped with a translation chip. It can perform simultaneous translation of the local language and maintain contact with me." Seeing Chén Yàn take the earpiece, Argo retracted its mechanical arm.
"So, you're not coming with me?"
"I am a mecha, I cannot eat. Besides, they want to get close to you, and my presence would only spoil the mood."
"I don't like to hear that. If we are companions, we should go together." Chén Yàn was a little unhappy. Over the past few days, he had come to regard Argo as a close companion he interacted with daily, rather than a cold tool.
"Your willingness is enough. Moreover, the communicator is always connected to me, so even if I'm not there, I can feel the atmosphere of the scene. Furthermore..."
Argo turned towards the bustling construction site and paused. "The defense system is not yet complete. I must rush to finish the work."
This was the first time Chén Yàn had experienced the anxiety generated by artificial intelligence, not in terms of emotions like humans, but specifically in terms of implementation. From the moment the fully automated mining station was completed, Argo had mobilized all construction tools, maximizing work efficiency while ensuring minimal energy consumption, as if pursued by a devil, not daring to relax at all.
Argo turned back to Chén Yàn and said with a relaxed tone, "Friendly contact with the locals and establishing communication channels are also basic diplomatic tasks. I am not good at this, so I will leave it to you."
Chén Yàn was also a sensible person. He sighed, put on the earpiece, and said before turning away, "You're right. Let's each do our own job." Then he walked towards Aila and the children.
Among the three prefabricated houses in the camp, one of them housed the stove and a spacious dining hall. It was furnished with tables and benches, just like the base cafeteria. Everyone sat around, waiting for Chén Yàn's arrival.
The oil lamps on the table cast shadows on the walls like dancing shadow puppets. As the children's laughter grew closer, the heavy burden in everyone's hearts finally lifted. They all got up to greet him at the door, just as Chén Yàn stepped through the camp entrance, surrounded by the children's laughter. It seemed they were getting along well. Even Aila looked somewhat elated, and the old man with white hair and a beard, leaning on his cane, showed a relieved smile.
"Sorry to keep everyone waiting."
"Not at all, not at all. It is our fortune that our Benefactor has graced us with his presence." "Exactly! Exactly!" The old woman nodded, and the adults chimed in in agreement. This scene made Chén Yàn feel a little embarrassed.
"Let's not stand here and talk. Please come inside." Everyone made way, allowing Chén Yàn, as the honored guest, to enter first. Although this camp was built by Chén Yàn, the current hosts were the refugees living there. As a guest, it was only polite to follow the host's lead, and Chén Yàn could not refuse.
Chén Yàn was seated at the head of the table, with adults and children seated on either side. The table was laid out with simple food, which brought a glimmer of warmth to Chén Yàn's heart.
"Huh? Why are you still using oil lamps for lighting?" Chén Yàn had felt something was off since entering the room but couldn't pinpoint it until he noticed a flickering light among the dishes. Then he realized.
"Are... are we doing something wrong?" the old man asked tremblingly. Chén Yàn waved his hand. "No, no, it's not your fault. I was in too much of a hurry then and didn't explain the lighting function to you."
Chén Yàn called Aila over, whispered a few words in her ear, then pointed to the switch by the door and showed her how to use it.
"This is that simple?" Aila listened to Chén Yàn's words and skeptically tried it. To her surprise, a bright LED light instantly illuminated, causing everyone in the dining hall to gasp in astonishment.
"This... is it daytime again?"
"No, no. This is a lamp for lighting at night. It's more convenient than an oil lamp." Chén Yàn turned to Aila. "Try turning it off again if you don't believe me."
Aila did as she was told, and the room returned to the dim light of the oil lamps.
"It really is! Just press it to turn it on, and press it again to turn it off. It's so convenient."
"And it's so bright, you can do needlework, or even read and write." The old woman and the girls considered practical matters. The children just thought it was fun to have light at night. The men worried that after getting used to such comfortable living conditions, they might not be able to go back to the past. But if they had enough to eat and wear, staying here might not be a bad option.
"Ahem!" The old man deliberately cleared his throat loudly to quiet the surroundings. The purpose of this meal had deviated too much; it was time to get to the point.
"We are truly sorry, Mr. Chén Yàn, for the excessive noise here."
"It's good to be lively. I haven't eaten with so many people for a long time." Chén Yàn was referring to his long years of solitary living and his infrequent reunions with his family back home. The old man, perhaps sensing this, was sensible enough not to pry.
"If you don't mind, you can come often. The children would be happy too." "Yes, yes." Both adults and children chimed in from the side. Chén Yàn couldn't resist their enthusiasm and had to agree.
"Mr. Chén Yàn, please try this." Aila brought over a wooden plate filled with soft, sweet roasted potatoes, slightly crispy at the edges. "Lina baked two batches. She said this is the perfect heat."
Lina, sitting opposite, trembled at the words. The soup she had just ladled almost spilled. The tips of her ears turned as red as if scorched by a fire. Chén Yàn smiled, picked up a potato, and said in the newly learned local dialect, "Very fragrant." Although his pronunciation was still a bit stiff, it made Lina's head snap up, her eyes shining brighter than the lamp wick.
"Benefactor, Benefactor, try this fresh mushroom soup." Kasha, not to be outdone, presented her day's harvest. Chén Yàn hesitated, wondering if the mushrooms from this world were poisonous.
"There are no hallucinogenic ingredients. You can eat it with confidence." Argo's voice came from the earpiece, like timely rain on parched land. Chén Yàn took a wooden bowl and took a sip, exclaiming, "Mmm~ It's really delicious."
Chén Yàn drank the soup in one gulp, even eating all the mushrooms in it. Kasha and the boy group let out happy cheers, feeling as if they had won first place in a competition. Aila and Lina then realized that they were far from the only ones who wanted to get closer to Chén Yàn.
As the atmosphere grew more exuberant, the man with the injured arm went to his room to get a jar of wheat wine. The limping man understood his intention and quickly took the wine jar, broke the seal, and the sour aroma of the wine immediately filled the air.
"It's not a very good wine, but if you don't mind, Benefactor, let's have a couple of drinks together." Chén Yàn also wanted to experience what an ancient wine gathering would be like, so he agreed.
A light clinking of pottery bowls sounded as Chén Yàn and the men took a sip, exclaiming dramatically. The adult men praised the wine due to their addiction, while Chén Yàn frowned because the wine was genuinely bad. Compared to beer, this wheat wine tasted like horse urine.
After two cups of wine, the men started to get tipsy. "I heard your metal thing can build houses by itself?" a man asked, eyes full of curiosity, after taking a swig of wheat wine. "If that thing were used to repair city walls, the Imperial Army wouldn't be able to get in, right?"
"City walls alone are not enough. Without the power to fight back, they will eventually climb over," Chén Yàn said, choosing his words carefully to avoid misunderstandings.
"Mr. Chén Yàn, our food will eventually run out. What should we do then?" With the courage of alcohol, the man brought up the question that the elder had been hesitant to ask.
"There are a few ways, but it depends on everyone's wishes: whether I provide food directly, or teach you methods so you can make a living yourselves." Chén Yàn's words were like a basin of cold water, instantly sobering up the men.
"What method? Can we do it?" The men still wanted to ask, but the old man stopped them: "We invited the benefactor here to express our gratitude. If we haven't repaid this kindness, it's improper to seek more." Although Chén Yàn said, "It's nothing, just idle chat over drinks," the men felt too embarrassed to ask further. They could only force awkward smiles and dared not bring up the matter again.
Dinner continued. The man with the broken arm suddenly started humming a tune, a local folk song. Although off-key, it carried a cheerful spirit. The white-haired elder tapped along to the beat, and the children babbled along, singing in tune. The off-key singing bounced off the stone walls and back, mingling with joyful laughter, filling the iron house to the brim.
Chén Yàn took a sip of soup and looked at the people before him—Lina, her face flushed with laughter; Aila, bustling about; the children eagerly chattering; the man humming a folk song; the old woman shaking her head and smiling. Argo was still quietly reciting new words in his ear, but suddenly, Chén Yàn felt that even without translation, the liveliness of this moment was enough to make one understand the significance of building this camp.