Chapter 1288 - 1208: Massacre and Flowers
Remington sat in the carriage, his body swaying with its motion.
The King’s Path leading to Gerwu City was once in good condition, but it had fallen into disrepair due to the wars of recent years and the bandit troubles of late.
Remington paid no attention to the carriage, closed his eyes, and asked, "Where did those high-ranking vampires come from?"
"They probably first rode to nearby, then crawled from the thickets, and finally flew over to destroy the artillery positions.
This tactic is somewhat like the crow soldiers in the Second Thousand River Valley War."
The crow soldiers Mathis referred to are actually the Shadow Crow Army.
However, outsiders don’t know much about these mysterious extraordinary soldiers, so they often use names like crow soldiers as substitutes.
"And then?"
"With the artillery positions destroyed, those tall iron-clad foot knights launched a counter-charge against Falan infantry.
You know Falan’s oblique assault tactic, its strongest point was breached; naturally, the tactic collapsed..."
"So..."
"The Flanlaya coalition lost; they were evenly matched in crank-gun combat but lost to the opponent’s extraordinary soldiers, just like the Grey Robe Hill campaign back then."
Remington sighed noncommittally, another soldier he hadn’t heard of.
Unaffected by Holy Oil, they heal quickly and wear plate armor with chest plates up to 3 cm thick, carrying two blood mist tubes on their backs.
They can even use special large-caliber blood contract rifles, with the effect of a three-pound shotgun.
Like walking three-pound cannon towers, if not for being slow, clumsy, and prone to falling, they’re practically perfect warriors.
At this moment, Remington doubted—could the Royal Court’s technology truly be world-leading?
Otherwise, why have all these random new weapons and soldier types been appearing in the Royal Court lately?
"Alas." Remington sighed, gazing out the window.
Under the bright sun, flowers blossomed abundantly, alongside the smoke rising from village chimneys next to fences.
The wheat had turned yellow, forming a golden expanse.
The fertile land around Windmill City attracted a surplus rural population to urban areas, so territorial disputes were minimal.
However, nowadays, besides churches, many sentries and militia carrying bows have appeared in villages.
After the Hundred Years War, the continents east and west seemed about to enter another era of chaos.
How long this chaos might last is unknown.
"Mr. Remington, are we really going to meet the Royal Court’s governor?" Mathis cautiously asked.
Remington took several seconds of silence before answering, "Yes."
"Didn’t you say Windmill City people should be independent? Then why..."
"It should be independent."
"Then why are you doing this? Is it just for power?"
"Politics are complicated; you wouldn’t understand."
"Mr. Remington, I’m at least considered your student now, aren’t I?" Mathis blushed, quite uncharacteristically.
Remington looked at Mathis with admiration and disappointment, at a loss for words, only patting his shoulder.
Mathis also fell silent, sitting across with a cold expression, turning his head to the other window.
Remington wanted to speak several times but found no topic, and could only remain silent.
The scenery outside the window had changed, with less smoke rising, more wild grass, and no wheat fields.
The fallen fences, broken spears, and shields littered by the roadside.
The fields were covered in seas of flower scents, bones laying among the flower sea, growing on the once farmland.
They bloomed fiercely, red and purple, unbearably glaring, unbearably vile!
It’s as if they want to fill people’s pupils, turning them blood-red, a vampire’s blood-red eyes, before feeling satisfied.
"But what can I do?"
Remington wasn’t sure if he asked himself or questioned the air, maybe he didn’t even vocalize.
He began to wonder if he’d spoken.
He talked about Windmill City needing independence, not relying on others, breaking free from Holy Alliance’s control, and becoming self-reliant.
He said a lot, yet seemed to achieve nothing.
He wrote thousands of words of commentary in newspapers, attracting attention when walking the streets.
But he never succeeded in what he advocated.
He felt himself inferior to Holy Sect monks treating villagers’ illnesses.
At least they treated a dozen or so Windmill City people, whereas he claimed doctors couldn’t save Windmill City and proved less effective.
He now bore many Windmill City people’s expectations, viewed as a leader, with people rallying for his ideals.
But now, he must bear this expectation and join forces with vampires.
As for his motivations, they’re not complex.
Unlike opportunists and soulless El Commercial nobles, he could at least ensure Windmill City wouldn’t be ravaged by them.
This perspective was shared by many insightful individuals and urban elites who sought him out and urged him.
But allying with vampires means abandoning his ideals.
He might have to oppose Windmill City’s interests, damaging his decades-built reputation.
Still, what if?
Judging by current vampire attitudes, they seemed to be implementing a tax farming system again.
Vampires can’t transform all humans into kin and need to enslave humans.
Thus, they allow humans self-governance, provided they timely pay blood and monetary taxes.
Without many feudal restrictions, new crafts and cities had emerged.
Many empire cities were established under vampire rule.
This implies vampires can’t truly occupy a city.
Maintaining a city’s peace requires transforming most people or all nobles and human elites into vampires, which isn’t feasible.
Firstly, vampires lack enough source blood to transform significant numbers into vampires, even if the number is small.
Secondly, vampires need to feed on human blood. If humans are transformed into vampires, who’s left to feed on?
Thus, vampires must eventually withdraw, maybe in decades or a century.
He’s willing to feign allegiance initially and change course later.
Despite bearing infamy, if it benefits Windmill City people, he’s willing to endure it.
"Mr. Remington, are you truly determined to go?"
"Yes, at least this way those despicable people won’t occupy high positions."
"Why don’t you oppose them?" Mathis’s voice was somber, "My brother invited you."
"His place doesn’t suit me, plus I have my ways, no need to follow him." Remington shook his head stubbornly.
No response, only prolonged silence.
"Mr. Remington, I want to get off."
"What do you want?"
"I want to get off." Mathis lifted his head, lacking past admiration, only disappointment and disgust, "You can ally with vampires, but I refuse."
"What do you mean?! You..." Remington intended to berate but his voice grew quiet.
He looked at the young man, technically now a young adult, Mathis; his anger softened to calm.
"I thought you were Juanuo of Windmill City, but you’re not."
"Fine, then just get off."
Shouldering his luggage, Mathis left the carriage without a word.
The carriage continued on its solitary path in the sunset.
If people couldn’t understand Remington, leaving was unsurprising.
He felt no shame!
Yet three days later, when the carriage stopped in Gerwu City, and Remington set foot on its land, he felt rare confusion.
Walking past villagers along dirt roads lined with speared heads used as lamps, crossing streets dark despite daylight.
He wandered fields, facing a blood-red expanse.
Truly blood-red, redder than flowers blooming in flower seas.
It was human blood.
In ponds, rooftops, sewers, pots, and beer bottles.
Remington suddenly coughed violently, kneeling on the ground, clutching his chest and throat, as if coughing out his innards.
His coughs were so intense, even tears flowed down.
"Holy Father—what have these devils done?!"
Only then did news travel by waterway throughout Windmill City.
Due to Gerwu City’s resistance against the Vampire Army, Governor Akkadara ordered—
Massacre.