Chapter 113: No Way to Win

Even though we had known about it beforehand, when it actually happened right in front of me, I still couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

When the great Cretan army was struggling through the dense highland jungle, that should have been the best chance for our indigenous friends to launch a surprise attack and wipe out the Cretans. Unfortunately, our unreasonable friends rejected such an effective way of fighting. Instead, they chose to face the Cretans in a head-on decisive battle on a relatively gentle slope, for the “glory” and “pride” of “God Lumburi.”

When they suddenly charged up from behind the hillside and shouted loudly at the top of the slope, this unexpected way of “welcoming” really startled the Cretans. The Cretans, who were on the march, were thrown into confusion, and their formation fell into chaos because of their panic. If they had launched an attack at this moment, relying on their huge numerical advantage and the unstoppable downward momentum from the slope, they would still have had a chance to win.

But the High Priest foolishly missed that chance.

The old man walked slowly down the slope with a staggering but proud gait, came before the Cretan formation, waved the staff in his hand, and shouted loudly, dancing around: “Outsiders, your arrival has provoked the anger of God Lumburi. You are not welcome on this land. Leave this land at once, or you will die here.”

The Cretan army stirred slowly. After a long while, a high-ranking officer finally squeezed out of the formation and asked as politely as he could: “We have come from far away. We wish to know what kind of people are blocking our path…”

A long, meaningless dialogue began.

The High Priest repeatedly claimed ownership of this land and demanded that the other side stay away from it, while the officer, time after time, showed respect to the indigenous people with proper manners and asked many questions. His attitude was so humble and friendly that the High Priest never even had the chance to express the anger of himself and his people, let alone end this unsuccessful negotiation.

Of course, the High Priest did not know that, while they were chattering away, the Cretans had gradually reorganized their battle formation and carefully observed their enemies and the entire terrain. We watched as the Cretan formation gradually changed from scattered to orderly, and every defensive unit moved into its proper position, ready for battle. Faced with this sight, all we could do was worry inwardly, yet we had no way to warn the High Priest. In other words, even if we had told him all of this, what good would it have done? To some extent, the unpleasantness between us had weakened his trust, even though he still regarded us as his own people.

When the last Cretan soldier was in position, that officer ended the negotiation. At this moment, his attitude was arrogant and rude, completely unlike the humble manner he had shown at the beginning. His behavior and words finally enraged the noble elder. The High Priest was so angry that he wished he could tear off his own snow-white beard. He strode back up the slope and shouted something to the tribesmen around him. His words obviously stirred anger in everyone. The indigenous warriors loudly shouted and waved the crude weapons in their hands, waiting only for the High Priest’s command to charge at the invaders in front of them who had offended both them and their deities.

“Tell our partners that they must hold on. Before they receive my order, they must absolutely not attack,” Fred instructed Eckdin.

The warlike enthusiasm and careless living habits of our indigenous friends made us very uneasy.

Eckdin agreed and promptly emphasized the order to our allies.

After they spread the message to every warrior’s ears, the command to fight was given by the High Priest.

This was the greatest battle I had ever seen in my life.

More than a hundred thousand people surged beneath our feet. It was an incomparable wave charging at an extremely solid rock. You would not understand that, when the population gathers to such a degree, you would feel that war is the most terrifying thing in this world. As long as there are enough people, crazy war has the power to destroy everything.

There was no doubt that our indigenous friends were brave. If they were matched one-on-one against us or against the Cretans, very few could defeat these devout and fearless warriors. But Fred had once told them that on the battlefield, courage cannot decide everything. Now, the time had come to use their flesh and blood to verify this not-so-profound truth.

The charge of the indigenous warriors was chaotic and frenzied, without any formation at all, let alone cover or coordination. I even saw many warriors holding crude bows charging side by side with their spear-holding comrades, as if they could not wait to rush into the enemy’s ranks and personally thrust the arrows in their hands into the enemy’s chests.

This really was the worst charge I had ever seen. If the enemy had been a tired force of fewer than twenty thousand, it might have been able to shatter and crush them with its huge numerical advantage. But when it met an evenly matched opponent, such a charge was not much different from suicide.

Countless arrows leaped out from the Cretan formation. Death itself seemed to have hidden its form and sat upon those deadly arrowheads. They pierced deeply into the completely unprotected bodies of the indigenous warriors with sharp whistling sounds, bursting out puffs of red blood mist around their bodies and leaving wounds that could never be mended. Countless brave warriors fell screaming in agony. They lay flat on the ground, struggling weakly, letting their vivid life force drain out of their bodies along with the blood from their wounds. They had originally been fighters who dared to fight wolves with their bare hands. Their valor far surpassed that of the evil enemies ahead of them who had wounded them so badly with sharp weapons. But they fell in disgrace without even getting the chance to approach the enemy. The gap in weapons and equipment made the originally weaker side become strong, so strong that they could not even imagine it.

More indigenous warriors approached the Cretan position. They were lucky, because they had the chance to show their own strength. I must say that our indigenous friends were indeed strong. Even though they did not have a single piece of armor to cover their bodies, even though the “spears” in their hands were merely branches and wooden sticks fitted with crude metal spikes, facing those Cretan Heavy Infantry soldiers holding heavy shields at the outer edge of the formation, they still gained the upper hand.

During that brief contact, the entire defensive line of the Cretans was put to an extreme test. Many soldiers did not die at their posts. Instead, they were forcibly dragged out of the formation by the fierce enemies in front of them, cruelly killed before the eyes of their comrades, then stripped of their armor and robbed of their weapons, lying almost completely naked in front of the position. The indigenous warriors who had seized enemy weapons and armor shouted excitedly, constantly showing off their trophies in front of their comrades, making the others itch with envy and wish they could immediately grab an even better prize.

The scarcity of supplies made our friends treasure every ordinary weapon and piece of armor they got as if it were a precious relic. In their homes, food, wine, animal hides, and many daily necessities could be shared at any time, but precious metal weapons were the personal belongings of every adult male, and even his wife was not allowed to touch them. To them, the weapons in the enemy’s hands and the armor on their bodies were like an inexhaustible treasure house. They forgot that these precious items were also sharp weapons that could take their lives.

Their foolishness made their advantage disappear in an instant.

The looting frenzy of the indigenous warriors made their already disorderly formation even more chaotic. Many people began fighting one another over precious spoils right in front of the position, and some rough men even came to blows. This desperate war custom helped our enemies greatly. Just as the indigenous warriors were bending down one after another, rows upon rows of sharp spears viciously thrust out from behind the long shields of the Heavy Infantry, seeking bloody excitement among the sturdy bodies.

This was simply an asymmetrical battle. Whenever a Cretan fell, it always cost the lives of two or three indigenous warriors. What was especially bad was that the indigenous people’s disorderly attacks could not shake the Cretan defense in the slightest. Under the command of layer upon layer of officers, the Cretans moved calmly and in coordination. The entire army was like a living beast, devouring the small attackers before it at its own fixed rhythm. As for the indigenous people, they could not find their own leaders at all. From the very beginning, they had mixed up their different tribes, and they did not even know where their own Chieftains were. In fact, it was even possible that their Chieftains themselves did not know where they were. They were like a handful of sand scattered across the battlefield — huge in number, but unable to truly deal fatal damage to the enemy.

The Cretans used blood and death to teach our indigenous friends a cruel lesson about war. In this great classroom of the battlefield, flowing with blood, the word “discipline” was like a merciless millstone, instantly crushing “strength,” “bravery,” “fearlessness,” and “heroism” — qualities that were originally awe-inspiring — into fragments. They used facts to tell their opponents that mere physical strength was useless on the battlefield, and that a scattered “crowd” could never defeat a tightly connected “army.” This was the unbreakable law of the battlefield, the one and only rule for victors.

Another important word was “civilization.” This noble, elegant word was now standing on this land in an unprecedentedly bloody posture, displaying its power in an extreme way. I could almost see this word, which should have been respected by people, now wearing a cold smile, because it had knocked its opposite — the word called “ignorance” or “backwardness” — to the ground without any effort. It listened with satisfaction to the wailing of the Lumburi warriors, as if that were clear proof of its victory.

“See that? This is real war. It is different from every battle you have encountered before.” Fred pointed ahead and said to the stunned Eckdin.

“If we had charged down just now, the brothers lying on the ground and groaning right now would be you and me. You had better tell our friends that once the battle begins, they must not think about stripping the enemy of their spoils. After the battle is over, all of these will be yours. We will not take even a single bit. But before that, we must defeat our enemies. If we fail, those spoils will also be taken back by the enemy.”

Perhaps people in battle are always somewhat fanatical, so much so that they often ignore the facts happening around them. Thus, the indigenous fighters charging at the front did not realize the cruel fact that the enemy was unshakable, but Eckdin and his Chieftain friends standing on the hillside saw it all clearly. Cold sweat kept flowing from their heads. I guessed that for the first time, the thought of being unable to defeat the enemy arose in their hearts. This thought was so strong that it almost shook their faith in their own deities. Eckdin no longer looked as calm and wise as before. As soon as he heard Fred’s words, he immediately began to speak loudly to our indigenous allies.

The indigenous warriors behind us were not as wise as their Chieftains. They kept voicing their dissatisfaction with loud complaints. Most of them were annoyed because they had missed the chance to be the first to kill an enemy, and eagerly told their leaders that they wished to be thrown into battle as soon as possible. They did not know that they had avoided becoming the first unlucky ones to die at the enemy’s hands. Just as a proverb says, reckless eyes can never see the terrible truth.

Fortunately, the Chieftains usually maintained great authority among their tribes. Even though they were not happy with the arrangement, it seemed that no one would go against Fred’s will in these matters.

At this moment, a true massacre had already begun on the battlefield.

After withstanding the third wave of charges by the indigenous warriors, and taking advantage of their physical and mental exhaustion and fading will to fight, the Cretans sent out their cavalry.

This was a fierce and valiant Light Cavalry unit. Although, after seeing Winston’s “Formation-Breaking Iron Cavalry” and the “Star Knight” that we had founded with our own hands, this cavalry was still far from true strength in our eyes, before these brave but backward indigenous warriors, the unit displayed its most powerful side and became an invincible force that swept across the entire battlefield.

Iron hooves churned, tearing up dry turf and raising a high trail of dust behind the riders. The warriors on horseback wore light armor on their bodies and leather helmets over their faces. Like fierce tigers, they charged into the scattered indigenous warriors, using the sharp weapons in their hands to create blood-chilling scenes. In front of their tall horses and swift sabers, the crude weapons in the indigenous warriors’ hands were almost useless. They could only occasionally drag one or two unlucky riders off their horses and kill them, but this did nothing to change their passive situation.

This cavalry was not large, only about three thousand or so. This number was just right. The open slope was exactly suitable for them to gallop freely in all directions. If there had been more cavalry, the battlefield might have seemed narrow and cramped, making it unfavorable for the cavalry’s mobile operations. This showed that our opponent was at least an experienced commander, able to quickly make correct judgments about the battle situation and the surrounding environment.

Faced with the overwhelming superiority of the cavalry, the indigenous warriors had no strategy left. Before they met us, they had probably never encountered such invincible warriors riding tall warhorses and charging around recklessly. The Holy Fox Highlands were not without horses, and our indigenous friends were not without experience in taming them as mounts, but they had never seen such brave riders arranged in neat formations, fighting with irresistible force. They were breaking apart. You could not blame them. Their weapons were outdated, their formations were chaotic, their command was weak, and their discipline was loose. Almost every element that led to defeat was embodied in them. The only thing that barely held them up and kept them from total collapse was perhaps their firm belief in their deities. They were ignorant, but from this perspective, they were also admirable.

Those bravest and strongest warriors were still fighting the powerful enemy unyieldingly, and they caused the Cretans a lot of trouble. But the outcome of the battle should already have been clear beyond doubt. Our indigenous friends were suffering an unprecedented, disastrous defeat. If things were allowed to continue like this, they would undoubtedly lose this battle that had taught them cruelty and bloodshed, and in the end they would lose possession of this land and become slaves of another race. Before that, even greater and more tragic casualties were waiting for them. It was even possible that they would face the disaster of having their entire tribe wiped out. That would depend entirely on whether the Cretan rulers were cruel enough.

Looking at the scene before us, our hearts were very heavy. Even though the indigenous people’s way of fighting was extremely stupid, even though they themselves chose this doomed battle, and even though we had not failed to offer better suggestions, we could not say that we bore no responsibility for their losses. After all, we were the ones who had brought the flames of war to this land. No matter how great the kindness we had once shown them, it could not make up for the terrible casualties they were suffering.

“Mr. Guderian, we cannot wait any longer!” Our indigenous allies finally could not bear it anymore. Under the expectant gazes of his Chieftain friends, Eckdin walked over, opened his mouth to ask Fred, hoping that we could go rescue his people. The muscles on his face kept twitching in pain, and panic and anger appeared on his face by turns. This brave and wise tribal leader did not hide his emotions: he was indeed afraid of that powerful force across from him, but the deaths of countless tribesmen made him unable to hold back his fury any longer. The flames of revenge almost burned through his entire body, while pain and grief tore at his heart at the same time. I could not feel what he felt at that moment, but I knew that it was a feeling enough to drive a real man mad with pain. At this moment, Eckdin was already on the verge of exploding.

Fred looked straight ahead, almost as if avoiding Eckdin’s gaze. As the King of Delanmaya, as the leader of the entire army, and as the hope of saving the entire Lumburi Tribe, he had to make the right decision, even if sometimes it meant pain.

“Wait a little longer, my friend. Wait a little longer. The time has not come yet…” Fred’s voice was hoarse, as if even using all his strength, he could only speak in such a low voice.

“Wait longer? How much longer do you want me to wait? My people are bleeding!” Eckdin finally could not help but roar. His finger pointed angrily at our leader, and his tall body shook like a towering mountain. This giant strode forward, as if he was about to use force against Fred. Dakla and Rodrick were already ready to step forward and stop him.

“So, we must not let their blood be shed in vain!!” This time, Fred answered in an equally loud voice. His voice was resolute and powerful, and even faintly carried a hint of cruelty.

Eckdin stopped in his tracks.

On the battlefield, wails filled the plains, and blood flowed like a river. Even though the battle had only lasted less than half a morning, nearly ten thousand indigenous warriors had already fallen forever in pools of blood. The Cretan formation was not disturbed in the least, and the iron hooves of the cavalry were still trampling lives. This early spring field was all blood-red, as if the cold winter snow had frozen the sunset glow here, and the warm spring breeze had melted it, letting it flow with the wind.

There was no sign that this battle was about to end.

Eckdin watched all of this with grief and anger. I knew that the scene we saw was completely different in his eyes. In the end, he chose reason, and he also chose to trust Fred’s judgment. With a sigh, he walked toward his friends. He explained to the other Chieftains as calmly as he could. Fortunately, they were all sensible people.

He persuaded them.

Then, I saw this tall, burly man — the most honored person in a tribe — stand up, turn his back to his warriors, and silently shed tears.

His pain was caused by us, and we could do nothing about it.

May the grief he felt at this moment be repaid in equal measure. For now, all I could do was hope for that.