Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Walking, building camp, resting, walking... day after day.

The exhaustion and monotony of the march can be glimpsed through Winters' logs:

On the first day, we marched along the southern bank of the Confluence River, crows were pecking at floating corpses, nothing happened.

On the second day, we continued eastward, the weather turned cold, nothing happened.

On the third day, we crossed the river at Alpad's ford, the water reached up to the horses' knees; we fortified on the north bank of the ford, nothing else.

On the fourth day, we continued the march, nothing happened.

On the fifth day, we marched, nothing happened.

On the sixth day, nothing happened.

On the seventh, eighth, and ninth days, no records were written.

On the tenth night, Bard, Andre, and Mason quietly slipped into Winters' tent.

In the dim light, they began to piece together a large, incomplete map from smaller sections.

To see a small-scale map of the legion, their ranks were not high enough.

Fortunately, their immediate superior was John Jeska, Colonel Jeska was used to providing his subordinates with large-scale tactical maps to explain and discuss the terrain.

The map was the route.

After looking for a long time, Andre concluded, "We are heading northeast."

"No shit, but the key question is why are we heading northeast?" Mason supported his chin, his thumb unconsciously rubbing his stubble.

"The Styx, it's all because of the Styx." Winters yawned from exhaustion as he pointed to an empty space beyond the map, "The Floating Bridge is gone, we can only go upstream to find a narrower spot to cross the river."

Andre also yawned. He got up to stretch his stiff muscles, impatiently asking, "How much further do we have to go before we can return to Paratu?"

Winters gently lifted his hand.

"Whoosh."

"Whoosh."

Two faint sounds of an object cutting through the air.

A steel pin was added beside the small circle that represented Bianli on the map, and another steel pin flew off the paper into the ground beyond.

If they were unfamiliar officers observing this scene, they might think Winters was showing off his skill.

But the few in the tent understood: Winters was forcing his spirit.

The more tired he was, the more frequent he used magic for non-combat purposes.

The phantom pain slightly sobered up the groggy Winters; he propped his forehead and said in a low voice, "From the Styx camp to Bianli, I remember it took us eighteen days on our way here."

Bard pondered for a moment before answering, "That's correct, eighteen days."

"Eighteen days, considering the marching speed of the baggage train, it's better to overestimate than underestimate, let's say 200 kilometers."

"About right."

Winters fetched paper and pen, speaking as he wrote, "Past the Styx lies a no-man's land, that's another 100 kilometers. All in all, a full estimate: 300 kilometers."

"Let's just go with 300 kilometers, no need to be so precise," Mason also picked up a measuring tape and began to measure with Bard's help.

Mason and Bard were in charge of measuring, while Winters took care of the calculations, and Andre was there for the spectacle. Discover more content at My Virtual Library Empire

Ultimately, the few concluded that they were about 210 kilometers away from Matou Slope town and approximately 98 kilometers from the Styx.

"It isn't too far," Andre optimistically estimated, "Twenty days?"

The other three's gaze turned towards the river not included in the map but present right there—the Styx.

210 kilometers, with the pace of strong marchers, would not exceed four days, and could be even faster with spare mounts.

But marching an army was not like racing horses on a track; the issue was not so much the distance as the terrain.

Rivers, hills, and marshes—what were minor pains on the way there turned into major obstacles on the way back.

Other barriers were manageable, but the Styx—Kurwalleya—was the crux of the problem.

Jeska's unit took the supply line on the way there, which was theoretically the shortest route.

That's because the Paratu People's planning of the supply line was brutally simple: the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, they simply draw a straight line between Bianli and Matou Slope town on the map, which becomes the principal supply route, and the actual route would be revisions of this straight line.

The intersection of the supply line and the Styx was where the Floating Bridge once stood.

Although that junction was not the best location, with early reconnaissance and planning, well-trained engineers, and a large supply of prefabricated components, the Parlatu Army was capable of building a bridge where it was otherwise unsuitable for one.

However, what was possible then does not mean it is possible now; the retreating Parlatu Army lacked the leeway they once had.

A few Centurions guessed close to the mark: the original Floating Bridge was destroyed, and with only the current resources, Parlatu engineers were unable to build a bridge of the same scale again.

Therefore, the Parlatu Army had to go upstream to find shallower and narrower river crossings.

That meant a detour.

"We don't know," Winters shook his head, "Where's the bridge? We don't know. Is there an enemy pursuit behind us? We also don't know."

"Annoying!" Andre complained aloud, "Keeping everything hidden, telling us nothing, and leaving us to guess for ourselves!"

Winters too struggled to keep his temper, "They should at least inform us a little. Saying nothing makes people anxious."

Andre was complaining about the Parlatu Army, but the Vineta Army was not much different.

To prevent leaks and panic, combat intentions and intelligence were strictly classified. Information was not disclosed to lower-ranking officers until the last moment.

Most of the time, soldiers went into battle without knowing the full story.

Military maps were among the deepest secrets.

If you go back thirty years, the drafting of maps and nautical charts was theoretically the privilege of clergy, because "mortals do not have the right to depict the world created by God."

The Parlatu Army stipulates that Centurion-level officers are not allowed to use or consult medium and small-scale military maps but can refer to and use large-scale tactical maps.

However, in practice, Centurions barely saw any maps at all—after all, strategic maneuvers hardly required the execution of Centurions.