Year 1699 of the Third Era, the Year of the Bloody Edge
The war on the Western Continent has entered a new phase, one that is even more brutal than before.
The Battle of Green Hill, the Ambush of Tisilan, the Battle of the Thirteen Counties of Falcon, the Battle of Mount Nebel, the fierce battlefield was like a meat grinder, mercilessly devouring lives.
Countless soldiers were blown away by artillery fire, pierced by spears, and had their throats cut by swords on the battlefield. News of thousands or tens of thousands of casualties was received every day, and countless names were crossed out with a red pen on the pages of paper and then transmitted to that distant hometown.
The messengers dressed in black and carrying sturdy military satchels delivered the ominous white envelopes to the bewildered parents, and were greeted with tears of sorrow.
Tears fell drop by drop on the unfolded letter paper, wetting the formulaic text printed with ink. Only the column for the name was written hastily and carelessly, perhaps not even a second was used, but it represented the passing of a young life.
Perhaps not long ago, before leaving, this young man smiled at those around him, saying they were waiting for news of his triumphant return. But in the end, all he received was a piece of paper and the irretrievable medal of sacrifice.
"I know you are very sad, but please allow me to pay the highest tribute to your child." The messenger in black took off his hat and held it to his chest.
"He sacrificed his life for this country and fought for the future of all of us. The country and its people will never forget this."
"Tyranny must be repaid with blood."
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Seabuckthorn City, formerly a westerly border city, is now occupied by the imperial army.
In the barracks inside the city, thousands of soldiers were resting here, many of them were wounded, and the sounds of painful cries could often be heard in the camp.
The large tent used to accommodate the wounded was opened, and an imperial soldier came out. Judging from his face, he looked to be in his early twenties.
Compared to the confidence, enthusiasm and excitement at the beginning of the war, his face now showed only numbness and dullness.
Coming to a corner of the camp, he was about to take his hands underwater, which were stained with dirt from cleaning the patient's body just now. The smell of blood and stench was mixed in and was unbearable.
But when he reached the well, he saw a recently written wooden sign standing nearby.
'The well has been poisoned!'
The bright red handwriting on the white wooden board is shocking.
"Damn it!" He spat, then thought back to what had happened in the past few days.
This is not the first wellhead that has been poisoned. The local residents are always looking for opportunities to cause trouble for them.
Poisoning, arson, attacks, all kinds of things happened.
The noble officers in the camp were very angry and slaughtered many suspected local residents. Thousands of corpses were even piled up outside the city.
"If they dare to rebel again, we will keep killing them until they are afraid."
"To deal with such stubborn elements, we should kill more people and terrify them. That way, even if a few of them still want to cause trouble, they will be immediately betrayed by the people around them." The officer recounted the experience left by his ancestors.
Conquering a country and a nation has never been an easy task, but killing is indeed the simplest and most brutal method.
There are always people who are afraid of death, right?
After invading Clancy, many noble officers adopted such measures. In their minds, there was not much difference between the civilians of these enemy countries and livestock.
"Stupid, dull, and unwilling to surrender properly!"
The people above found it difficult to understand such a situation, because such a situation had never occurred in previous conquests. As long as the enemy's large army was defeated, many small towns and villages would surrender, and they could just send a few people to take over.
But now the expedition seems to have entered a quagmire. No matter what it does, it will feel a kind of resistance. This resistance comes from the people of this land.
He once saw a local peasant woman while marching in the fields. The woman had tanned skin, was wearing coarse linen clothes, and was holding a child in her arms.
When she saw imperial soldiers passing by, the woman would whisper in her child's ear.
"This is our enemy, someone we must kill in the future."
Unlike other soldiers, he had an exceptional talent for hearing, and that was how he understood what the woman was saying.
But he did not report the matter to his superiors that day, nor did he pick up a spear and pierce the ungrateful peasant woman like his colleagues.
"I know this is wrong, and war only brings out the worst in us."
He said this to himself in his heart, but he also knew that such words were useless.
Now that the war has reached this point, both sides have accumulated a lot of blood feuds and can no longer stop.
Sometimes he even dreamed that the murdered Clansians came to his bedside and demanded his life, just like the Mercury Dynasty recorded in history.
It's a really sickening feeling.
Sitting at the edge of the open space in the camp, the imperial soldier looked at the gray sky, then stood up.
"What's wrong, Liger? Are you looking for water? Come over here."
A slightly tall and strong soldier came over. He was wearing scale armor covering his chest and back, with a gray-black tattered cloak behind him, and holding a steel halberd in his hand.
"Yes, it's Tulong." The soldier named Lige looked up at his familiar fellow villager, Tulong.
Following Turon's tall figure, Lige came to another part of the camp, where there was the only safe wellhead. Many people were queuing up to draw water, some for drinking and some for washing.
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