Chapter 125 Surprise Attack! A War Over Canned Food Ryan...
Ryan's camp was just awakening from the silence of the night. The soldiers on patrol were yawning as they handed over their shifts to their comrades, their chainmail condensing with dew from the night's high humidity. From the direction of the camp's kitchen, wisps of smoke were already rising, and the air was gradually filled with the aroma of burning firewood and porridge about to boil.
Between the tents, the soldiers gathered in twos and threes, wiping their weapons and talking in hushed tones.
"Hey, did you eat that jar of sauerkraut stew with pork that I sent last night? It was amazing, even better than what they sell in Blackrock City."
"That's right, but the quantity is too small. What are these dwarves thinking? Why would they leave such good food uneaten and insist on fighting us to the death? Did they get their brains smashed by a hammer?"
"Who knows? It's been three days and we haven't seen a single ghost. We don't know if they want to talk or fight. If this drags on, our own people will eat all the food we brought."
The entire camp was shrouded in a peculiar atmosphere that was both relaxed and wary.
Soldier Bren rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat up from his cold cot. Although only thirty years old, he was already a veteran who had participated in three battles. In his view, in an era where even having enough to eat was a luxury, being able to eat meat every day and receive his pay on time made being a soldier an even better choice.
He skillfully put on his leather armor, then carefully pulled out a clay pot wrapped tightly in cloth from the bedside table—a can of braised pork. This was a supply he had been allocated yesterday, which he had deliberately saved for this morning, intending to treat himself to some white bread from the camp kitchen.
"I heard this stuff can make those smelly, tough dwarves put down their battle axes? Tsk, I think that's bullshit." He muttered to himself as he pried open the iron clasp of the jar with his dagger. "But it does taste pretty good, much better than that tooth-grinding black bread in the military camp. Hey, if I could eat this every day, this mission would be worth fighting a battle for..."
The lid of the can was pried open a crack, and the aroma of soy sauce and meat instantly filled the small tent.
Bren took a deep breath and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.
Just as he was about to enjoy his meal, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of something flashing in the morning light on a distant hillside through the gaps in the tent.
"What is that?" He frowned, but then shook his head. "Probably just the reflection of the morning dew."
He ignored it, lowered his head, and focused all his attention on the braised pork that was emitting an enticing aroma.
At the same moment, inside the command tent.
Ryan didn't sleep a wink all night. The map in front of him was densely covered with various symbols and arrows. On the corner of the table, a half-cold cup of corn coffee emitted a faint, toasty aroma. Ever since he started drinking this coffee with Lin Yue, he felt he couldn't quit.
“My lord, you should rest.” The adjutant stepped forward, his voice tinged with worry. “The dwarves have been completely silent for three whole days. I think they’re probably intimidated by our display of force and dare not make any rash moves.”
“The quieter it is, the more abnormal it is.” Ryan rubbed his temples, which were throbbing from exhaustion. “Pass on my order to double the number of sentries and expand the perimeter by another 500 meters.”
"You mean...they'll really launch an attack? But we came here under the guise of peace negotiations..."
“Grey once told me,” Lane said with a bitter smile, “that in the Cursed Lands, never trust the surface of peace. That applies to every corner of the world.”
His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword, a habitual gesture he made when nervous. The blood and fire of Hope Town had long since eroded the scholarly air of a nobleman, replaced by the composure and sharpness of someone in a position of power.
Just then, a lookout soldier scrambled in.
"My lord! Something terrible has happened! On the hillside—"
Before he finished speaking, a deep, desolate, and desolate roar, filled with the atmosphere of war and slaughter, suddenly came from outside the camp, like a war drum resounding from the depths of the earth, making the whole earth tremble.
It's the war horn of the dwarves!
...
"Enemy attack—! Enemy attack—!!!"
Before the sentry's piercing cries could even echo throughout the camp, the first wave of spears thrown by the dwarven legion swept in like a dark cloud.
The morning mist was torn apart in an instant.
Hundreds of dwarven warriors, clad in heavy black iron armor and wielding massive battle axes and heavy warhammers, roared as they charged down the hillside.
It was a moving wall of steel.
Most of them were less than 1.5 meters tall, but their broad shoulders and heavy armor made them look like unshakeable mobile fortresses. The battle axes in their hands reflected a cold light in the morning sun, and the heavy warhammers slammed into the ground, sending up shards of stone.
The deafening battle roars they unleashed as they charged coalesced into a torrent of primal, untamed power that nearly overturned the entire camp.
The entire camp instantly descended into chaos.
Soldiers rushed out of their tents in a flurry, grabbing weapons leaning against the doorways. Some were even shirtless and still half-asleep when they were awakened by the exclamations of their comrades, and then, completely bewildered, were swept into this sudden war.
A soldier in a panic kicked over a large pot in the camp kitchen, spilling boiling porridge all over the ground and sending up a cloud of white steam.
Bren had just pried open the can lid, and the familiar aroma of braised pork had just wafted into his nostrils, when the tent curtain was forcefully cleaved open by a huge, gleaming battle axe.
Holy crap!
Bren's pupils contracted instantly. His survival instinct made him instinctively raise the pottery jar in his hand to block the oncoming battle axe.
"clang!"
A crisp sound of impact was heard, accompanied by splashing soup.
The earthenware pot shattered with a crack, sent flying by the immense force. Large chunks of braised pork and thick broth splattered all over Bren's face.
A dwarf warrior with a full beard and eyes burning with battle intent roared as he charged in. Without pausing, he brought his battle axe down on Bren's head once more.
In that instant, all of Bren's fear and panic were replaced by a more primal rage.
"I haven't finished my breakfast yet!!!"
He let out a furious roar, grabbed the kite shield beside him and the longsword at his waist, and charged headlong into the massive battle axe.
The shield clashed with the battle axe, producing a deafening roar. Bren felt an irresistible force surge through his arm, numbing his hand and sending him staggering back several steps.
The two engaged in a primal close-quarters fight within the cramped tent. Tables were overturned, beds were trampled, and various odds and ends were scattered all over the floor.
In the end, thanks to his familiarity with the terrain and his greater agility, Bren managed to pierce the dwarf warrior's axe-wielding arm with his sword, even at the cost of a huge gash being cleaved in his shield.
The dwarf winced in pain, letting out a muffled groan, and had no choice but to retreat temporarily, withdrawing from the tent. In the instant he turned, his left foot, by sheer bad luck, landed squarely on the jar of braised pork that had spilled all over the ground.
With a "crack," the earthenware jar was completely crushed to pieces.
Looking at the pool of meat and soup mixed with dirt and grass on the ground, Bren felt his heart bleeding.
"You owe me the canned food!" Without a second thought, he grabbed his sword and chased after the dwarf, roaring at his retreating figure.
The dwarf didn't even turn his head, but retorted in the same gruff voice, "Once we drive all you damned humans back to your homelands, all the canned food in the entire camp will belong to our Forge Royal Court."
Bren paused for a second, then suddenly understood.
"So... you're fighting this war just to steal our canned food?!"
...
"Heavy shield bearers in the front row, form a shield wall; spearmen in the back row, archers fire freely. Don't panic, hold your ground."
Ryan's booming voice rang out in the chaotic camp. His calmness quickly infected the somewhat panicked soldiers around him.
The elite troops of the Caslan family were not the Red Scorpion mercenaries who only knew how to fight when things were going well. Although they were thrown into chaos at the beginning of the raid, they quickly regained their composure under the command and organization of their respective captains.
Heavy kite shields were erected and quickly formed an impenetrable steel defense line around the camp.
Hundreds of spears, gleaming with a cold light, emerged in unison from the gaps in the shield wall, pointing like the quills of a hedgehog at the charging dwarf legion.
Ryan's mind was involuntarily flashing back to the chaotic scene a few months earlier when the Red Scorpion Army was ambushed by elves outside the walls of Hope Town. Those so-called elites fought individually, their formation crumbling at the slightest touch, like hornets whose nest had been disturbed.
Even under such a disadvantageous surprise attack, these soldiers are still able to maintain the most basic formation and discipline.
My father really went all out this time.
"boom--!!!"
The torrent of dwarven heavy infantry finally crashed heavily against the shield wall of the Kaslan family.
The sounds of shields clashing against battle axes, chainmail scraping against warhammers, and the roars and howls of soldiers from both sides instantly engulfed the entire battlefield.
Neither side backed down.
A fierce shoving battle began.
...
"Trying to steal my kitchen? Dream on!"
Jack, the camp's kitchen elder, watched as a small squad of dwarven assault troops attempted to flank them and head straight for their supply depot. He threw down his ladle, grabbed a huge, half-burnt fire poker, and roared as he charged forward.
Behind him, a dozen or so equally burly logistics soldiers also grabbed their weapons—huge iron pots that could split a person's head open, rolling pins sturdier than wooden sticks, and gleaming meat cleavers…
This ragtag army of cooks unleashed an unexpected and fierce spirit.
Just as a dwarf commando rushed to the supply wagon, before he could even lift the tarpaulin, a supply soldier slammed a huge frying pan into his helmet, stunning him with a loud thud.
Another tried to split open a barrel full of ale with a battle axe, but was instead hit repeatedly on the knees by two supply soldiers with two huge rolling pins, like whack-a-mole.
Old Jack was like a war god, wielding a glowing fire stick with ferocious force, forcing the two dwarves who were trying to approach the cannery to retreat repeatedly.
In the end, this dwarven assault team, which was supposed to be a surprise attack, was actually driven back by the cooks who were completely obsessed with protecting their canteen.
As one of the dwarves retreated, he couldn't help but glance back, muttering with lingering fear, "Have these humans... all gone mad...?"
Old Jack, panting heavily, slammed his fire poker heavily on the ground and roared at their retreating figures, "Anyone who dares to touch my canned food, I'll fight them to the death!"
...
The main battlefield has become completely deadlocked.
Ryan stood on the command vehicle, calmly surveying the entire battle. The dwarves' offensive came wave after wave like a storm, but Caslan's elite troops held firm. A fierce tug-of-war raged in the narrow area surrounding the camp, each inch a battleground.
Instead of blindly seeking a counterattack, he decisively adopted a strategy of defense as a substitute for offense.
"Archers, fire three volleys to suppress the left flank. Let them taste our might!"
"Heavy shield bearers, step back three paces and lure them in. Spearmen, prepare yourselves, await my command!"
He effectively limited the dwarven heavy infantry's charging space by using the makeshift fences and chevaux-de-frise erected around the camp. He also commanded archers to occupy the high ground, constantly harassing and suppressing the dense dwarven formation from the flanks.
"Hold on! Hold on!" a young captain roared hoarsely from behind the shield wall. His soldiers gritted their teeth, bracing their shoulders against the shields to fend off the dwarven warriors' raining down battle axes. Each impact sent shivers down their arms, but not one of them retreated.
From the gaps in the shield wall, spears pierced out with the precision of venomous snakes, seeking the joints and gaps in the dwarves' heavy armor. A dwarf warrior charging at the front was unable to dodge in time, his knee struck, and he fell with a scream, instantly swallowed up by the crowd behind him.
But the dwarves' tenacity and ferocity far exceeded Ryan's expectations. A dwarf warrior, wounded by two arrows, still wielded his massive warhammer, smashing a heavy kite shield to pieces. He roared like a wounded beast: "For the Mountain Kingdom!"
Blood stained the morning mist, and the number of casualties continued to rise.
As Ryan watched soldiers being carried off the battlefield, their young faces contorted in pain, he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, suppressing the urge to join the fight himself.
“Commander… must remain calm…” he told himself.
...
The sun slowly rose to its zenith and then gradually slid down to the west.
The battle has been going on for a whole day.
Bren had lost count of how many times he had swung his sword and parried the battle axe. His shield was covered in deep scratches, and the edge of his sword was bent. His throat was parched, and his arms felt as heavy as lead.
But the battle continues.
Both sides were bloodthirsty and exhausted. They tacitly created some distance between themselves, seizing this brief opportunity to catch their breath, drink water, and bandage their wounds.
Brun slumped to the ground, panting heavily.
His comrade next to him handed him a small piece of dry, hard black bread.
Bren took a bite, but found it difficult to swallow.
"If I had known, I should have eaten that pot of braised pork first..." He muttered to himself, looking at the equally exhausted dwarven ranks in the distance.
His comrade laughed, revealing a set of teeth stained red with blood: "After this battle is over, I'll treat you to ten cans of this."
"It's a deal!"
The two gave each other a weak high five, then picked up their weapons again, preparing for the next, even more brutal battle.
...
As the sun set, it dyed the entire battlefield a tragic, blood-red hue.
The dwarven army launched its final and fiercest offensive. Night fighting was extremely disadvantageous for this race, who were accustomed to living underground in the mines and whose eyesight was already poor.
"For the Mountain Kingdom!"
"For the Forge Royal Court!"
With a deafening battle cry, the dwarven warriors charged once again towards the already crumbling Caslan shield wall like madmen.
Ryan finally drew the longsword from his waist.
"Come with me!"
His figure shone like a burning golden flame in the setting sun as he was the first to charge to the front lines. His sword flashed through the air, precisely cleaving through the shield of a dwarf warrior.
Seeing their commander leading the charge, the soldiers were greatly encouraged and roared as they launched their final counterattack.
In the midst of the fierce battle, a battle axe flew out of nowhere and grazed Ryan's shoulder, its sharp blade instantly tearing through his ornate armor and leaving a deep, bone-revealing wound.
Ryan grunted, but didn't care. He swung his sword back and forced the dwarf who had ambushed him to retreat.
Night finally fell.
As the last glimmer of light disappeared, an eerie silence descended upon the battlefield, leaving only the painful groans of the wounded and the crackling sounds of burning torches.
The dwarven legion sounded the retreat horn. They slowly withdrew, not one turning to flee—that would be the greatest humiliation for a warrior. Shields in hand, they retreated step by step back up the hillside, orderly returning to the city walls.
Ryan also gave the order: "Do not pursue, defend where you are."
The soldiers breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed to the ground. No one had the strength to continue the pursuit.
The adjutant's heavy voice rang in his ears.
"My lord...we...we have thirty-seven dead, fifty-six seriously wounded, and one hundred and three lightly wounded...Although the dwarves' casualties seem heavy, they are, after all, on home ground, outnumbered, and better equipped, so their actual losses are much lighter than ours. More importantly, they can be replenished at any time, while we..."
Thirty-seven precious lives.
Ryan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was the first time he had truly commanded a large-scale battle, and the first time he had faced the brutality of war so directly.
He walked across the blood-soaked battlefield and saw a Hope brand can crushed to pieces on the ground. The broth from the braised pork, mixed with dirt and congealed blood, looked particularly jarring.
He gave a wry smile: "We came to deliver food, but... we ended up fighting a bloody battle..."
...
Late at night, in the command tent.
Ryan sat there alone, letting the medic bandage his shoulder wound, with a half-written letter in front of him.
He recalled Lin Yue's parting words to him: "Win people over with virtue."
But Ryan couldn't understand. In a time when survival was so difficult, only absolute force could secure a way out. Could virtue put food on the table?
Moreover, before De could even unleash his full potential, he was already severely beaten.
But he cannot back down.
If they retreat, Stone Fist will be unable to be rescued.
If we withdraw, those thirty-seven lives will have been sacrificed in vain.
If he were to retire, Ryan von Kaslan would forever remain a loser living in the shadow of his brother and father.
He picked up his pen:
"...avoiding war and delaying the inevitable, using food to undermine public morale, and using blockades to deplete resources..."
If you can't win, then don't fight.
The surviving soldiers sat together around the campfire.
Old Jack brought over a pot of hot soup and some canned goods that hadn't been damaged in the battle.
"You guys played well today. Come on, eat while it's hot."
Bren took a jar of [pickled cabbage, vermicelli, and stewed pork], opened it, and smelled the familiar aroma, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat.
"For...for the brothers who died in battle." He held up the can in his hand.
"For the brothers."
Everyone raised their cans together and silently took a sip of hot soup.
Warmth tinged with a touch of melancholy.
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