Chapter 1302 - 1220
February 7th, 1460, Xia Lvcheng.
With the troubled autumn Horn spoke of finally past, the long, bitter winter had set in.
At the tail end of winter, with the morning mist yet to disperse, thin shards of ice could still be seen drifting on the Nao’an River.
On the branches by the riverbank, a light dusting of snow had settled; at the slightest gust of wind it came swishing down onto the heads of passersby.
Those splashed by the snow cursed "unlucky, unlucky, unlucky," which made the other pedestrians burst out laughing in spite of themselves.
Brushing the clinging snow from his hair, Delawan pulled his coarse wool greatcoat tighter, sighed once, and jogged on.
His destination lay just ahead—a three‑storey wooden house that had once belonged to a country squire, now serving as the temporary headquarters of the Western Battle Group.
"Staff Officer Delawan."
"Hello." Delawan nodded to the sentries at the door and stepped into the porch.
Passing the green‑painted door and walking over the creaking floorboards, Delawan knocked on the door of Chief of Staff Socette’s office.
"Chief of Staff Socette is working. Please wait a few minutes."
Since that was the case, Delawan had no choice but to wait.
Sitting on the cold bench, sniffing back his runny nose, he could not help feeling a little wistful.
This was his third month in the staff section of the Western Battle Group.
He had to admit, working in the staff office and serving as a staff officer on an actual battlefield were very different things.
Take intelligence staff work for example—the reports in the folder he held read: "Vampire numbers estimated at 3,200 to 3,800, equipped with light blood‑pact muskets, garrisoned south of Piana Castle, rotation of guards at 12:00 each day."
In the past, they would have had to rely on wartime visual observation alone.
But now, thanks to the Holy Sect Brotherhood in Immortal Stone Field—through their watching, indirect probing, and tallying of vagrants drained by vampires—the estimate had been narrowed down to 3,200 to 3,800.
At the same time, it was also thanks to members of the Holy Sect Brotherhood that the mapping staff could complete their surveys for the maps.
A dozen years earlier, they would either have had to hire guides or send light cavalry to gradually sketch rough charts.
As for the maps hidden away in the Monasteries, they could only be glanced at in broad strokes, like something out of a legend.
It had to be said that the improved precision of cartographic tools and the various measuring methods scholars had brought in had made the Holy Alliance’s maps the most accurate in the empire.
Especially after the Saint’s Grandson unified weights and measures, the maps’ interoperability had greatly increased.
As for Delawan’s job, it was to use this intelligence and information to pick a route for the Battle Group—a route that led to victory.
"Staff Officer Delawan, you can come in now." Before the clerk had finished speaking, Socette came out himself.
"Chief of Staff Socette."
"Have you finished revising the map? I was just about to go brief Battle Commander Jeanne." Socette asked with a cold expression, shrugging on his coat as he spoke.
Delawan nodded quickly and pulled out a sheet from the pile of documents, unfolding it.
It was an operational map of eastern Immortal Stone Field.
The red markings indicated the vampire Mercenaries’ positions; in blue charcoal were the Holy Alliance Army’s lines of advance.
The river sections were annotated in small script: "Depth in meters, which vessels can navigate."
"There are three advance routes in total," he said, pointing at the map. "The Chongxin Battle Group takes the southern route, sailing directly along the Nao’an River.
The Fire Salamander Battle Group is in the New Five Counties and can march from the flank through Shalan Castle and Ukla Town before heading south.
As for the central route, the New Battle Group, along with the Cavalry Regiment and the command, totaling 7,500 men, will take the main road and strike Fishing City head‑on."
Socette nodded: "That’s what I had in mind as well. But note this—the Fire Salamander Battle Group may run into spring floods along part of their route. Better to detour than risk an accident, understood?"
"Understood. I’ll go refine the revisions right away."
Socette nodded again and patted Delawan’s shoulder. "You’re improving quickly. Keep it up. I won’t be sitting in the chief of staff’s chair for very long."
"Yes, sir."
Delawan nodded gratefully. Perhaps he was simply fortunate; he always seemed to meet benefactors.
In earlier days there had been the old Service Soldier and Bucken, then Bernardo, and now this Socette.
His practical training as a staff officer was almost entirely thanks to Chief of Staff Socette coaching him one‑on‑one.
These lessons were more useful than reading a hundred reports in the Privy Council.
"I’ll go file these documents."
"Go on."
Delawan folded up the map, slipped it into the manila folder, and strode toward the stairwell.
But perhaps he was walking too fast, for he failed to notice the dark figure darting out from around the corner.
He tried to brake at once, but it was too late—the two collided head‑on.
Delawan steadied himself and saw a young soldier scrambling to his feet.
Seeing Delawan’s attire, the youth plainly grew nervous.
"Are you alright?" Delawan stepped forward to help, grabbing the soldier’s arm and pulling him up.
"I’m fine, I’m fine!" The soldier stood up in a hurry. He was half a head shorter than Delawan, about eighteen.
His face still held a hint of boyishness, but he wore a brand‑new Chongxin Battle Group uniform trimmed in white.
He slung his pack back over his shoulder and snapped to attention. "Good day, sir Staff Officer. My name is McDowell, a soldier of the Chongxin Battle Group."
Delawan froze for a second, then immediately laughed. "You’re a new recruit, right?"
"How did you know?"
"Those old hands, when they see me, sure as hell don’t treat me as respectfully as you do."
"Huh?"
As the saying goes, a staff officer without rank can’t even make a fart sound, so the veterans don’t really take him seriously.
"Heading to the drill ground for a speech?" He pointed at the pack on McDowell’s back. "What are you lugging that pack for?"
"No idea, I just know I have to obey orders." McDowell shook his head helplessly. "Rally today, boarding tomorrow, heading to Immortal Stone Field!"
As soon as he heard that "I just know I have to obey orders," Delawan instantly knew who his instructor was. "Instructor Ke Ruxiu’s trials are rough, huh?"
Back when Delawan first entered the camp, he’d been drilled by Ke Ruxiu several times himself, so he knew the man’s methods.
He had to admit, Ke Ruxiu was a damned good training officer—just, his methods...
At the mention of Ke Ruxiu, McDowell first shrank his neck, then straightened his chest. "I made it through."
He really had made it through; looking back now, he could see that back then he really hadn’t looked like a soldier at all.
In three months, he’d given up the familiar gun drills to train with the bayonet instead; gone through complex, brain-twisting formation changes; drilled loading, reflexive advance and retreat into his bones.
Now, whenever his movements are a bit off, he immediately feels phantom pain.
Once it was all over, he actually felt like he’d lived through another lifetime.
But when it came to real battle, he was still both eager and afraid—this wasn’t some game.
"As long as you’re ready." Delawan patted McDowell’s arm. "Go form up, don’t be late."
McDowell nodded hard, snapped a salute, then turned and ran toward the drill ground.
His leather boots slipped now and then on the icy road surface, but he didn’t slow down.
The drill ground of Xia Lvcheng was on the east bank of the Nao’an River, a stretch of packed yellow earth, ringed by a wooden palisade.
The palisade was hung with the Holy Alliance’s "屮"-character banner—scarlet field, black border, and silver gears embroidered at the corners.
Right now the ground was already packed with soldiers, most of them from the Chongxin Battle Group and Joan of Arc Castle’s First Legion (no battle record, no official number).
Even so, there were already more than ten thousand men gathered here.
McDowell stood in the Fire Lizard Battle Group’s ranks, shoulder to shoulder with his hometown buddy Thomson.
Thomson was two years older than him and had been a blacksmith; his hands were strong, and he was the bayonet marksman of the battalion.
Seeing McDowell arrive, Thomson let out a long breath. "Finally. I thought you were gonna be late."
"Almost—took a spill on the way."
"You think, this time when we go to Immortal Stone Field, we’ll run into vampires?"
"We definitely will!"
"And we’ll get to kill vampires?"
"We... we should, probably..."
McDowell hesitated. They’d read way too much, in books and in novels, about how powerful vampires were.
"Quiet down, all of you!"
A shout rang from the platform on the east side of the ground—it was a Messenger from the staff office.
The soldiers immediately stopped talking and turned in unison to look at the platform.
They saw War Chief Saintess Jeanne D’Arc, mounted on a black army horse, actually leap straight into the center of the platform.
A stir ran through the crowd at once.
She wore a black-and-red war-chief’s uniform, golden gears embroidered on the shoulder boards. She wasn’t wearing a helmet, just had her long black hair tied back.
"Three months ago, Mr. Lemmington fell in Grewu City. With his life he showed us that vampires will show no mercy."
Jeanne’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried through the cold wind across the entire ground.
"Right now, in Immortal Stone Field’s Piana Castle, there are more than three thousand vampire Mercenaries. They’re holding blood-contract guns, staring at our lands, staring at our families."
McDowell clenched his fists. He’d read the papers, and he’d especially read that article, ’In Memory of Mr. Lemmington.’
No doubt about it, he was literate—he had an elementary school diploma!
In times this competitive, without an elementary school diploma it was hard to even get into the Defensive Army.
Feeling the calluses in his palms, he suddenly felt all his previous training had taken on a deeper meaning.
"I know some of you are afraid." Jeanne’s gaze swept the ranks. "Afraid of the bullets of the blood-contract guns, afraid of the vampires’ claws. But remember this: you are not alone.
Behind you stand the ry Court Barracks’ factories, the wheat fields of Thousand River Valley, the tens of thousands of faithful of the Holy Alliance."
She raised her hand and pointed toward the Nao’an River, where sails were already visible.
Troop ships were heading toward the docks one after another. Tomorrow they were supposed to board and depart for Immortal Stone Field.
"Now, I order the Chongxin Battle Group to be the first wave to board. Cavalry will advance along both banks of the river—give the Immortal Stone Field People a lesson!"
Huh?
McDowell’s jaw dropped. Weren’t they supposed to leave tomorrow?