Chapter 29: An Early Dawn

The quiet Morning Light River flowed gently through the darkness. It was a river that gave life, wealth, and hope to the people on both of its banks, and hundreds of millions relied on its generosity to live. But it was also a river that brought destruction and death. Every time it flooded or changed its course, no fewer than a hundred thousand people would disappear into its embrace forever. In the mud of its riverbed lay buried the beloved husbands of countless lovesick maidens, and the kind mothers of countless hungry infants.

Now it flowed especially quietly, as if even the current had been silenced by a strange atmosphere. The unnatural stillness foretold that something unusual would happen on the river today. What would it bring to the people on the water? The hope of life, or the terror of death?

Dozens of large ships stretched out in a long line on the river. If the lookout at the lead ship’s bow had decent eyesight, he should already have been able to see the city walls at the northwest corner of Kampnavia. He might have felt a burst of tension, or a burst of excitement, or he might have snuck back into the cabin out of fear. Because these were no ordinary ships— they were warships, packed with Winston soldiers. Their goal was to cross over Kampnavia’s not-very-tall city walls and bring slaughter and destruction to the people within.

Up ahead, the river suddenly narrowed, with a sharp turn from north to east, and several thick clusters of water grass floated on the surface. This was probably a river diversion caused by a great earthquake three hundred years ago. Although the water looked calm, the bend was sharp, the water was shallow, and the underwater terrain was complicated, so many dangerous undercurrents lurked beneath the surface. Ships that frequently traveled this river were always very careful when passing through this area, and even so, ships running aground or colliding here were a common sight.

Sailors from the two leading ships climbed to the tops of their masts and used lanterns to send flag signals. The line of warships gradually stretched out, with the ships arranged two by two, leaving enough distance between them to keep the pressure of the current from pushing the ships into each other.

Slowly, the two front ships emerged from the bend, their bows pointing straight at the docks of Kampnavia City. Only a few scattered lights could be seen at the docks, with no sign of any preparations to resist an invasion on the shore. The beautiful port city, known as “The First Sun of the Morning Light River,” seemed to have already loosened its clothes, baring its fragile body before the cruel invaders.

Just as the soldiers in the cabins were lining up on deck, ready to charge onto the docks and wreak havoc the moment they landed, the two warships suddenly jolted and came to a violent stop in the middle of the river. The halt was so abrupt that it seemed to defy the natural principles of wind and current. The ship decks let out painful groans, giving people the illusion that the vessels were about to break apart. Soldiers who had already gathered on deck—and those still streaming up—were thrown to the ground by the powerful inertia. Several heavily armored soldiers near the rails even stumbled into the river. Their heavy equipment dragged them down toward the riverbed, and in the darkness, only a few of the soldiers who fell overboard were rescued.

What they had encountered was a trap used by the river bandits of the Morning Light River to ambush ships. It was called a floating hook. It was actually quite simple: several rows of sharp hooks with special catches were tied with ropes to huge rocks at the bottom of the river, and wooden boards were tied to one side of the hooks to keep them floating face-up on the surface, covered with water grass for camouflage. When a ship passed by, the hooks in the water would catch the ship’s rudder, bringing the escaping vessel to an instant stop. Setting up a floating hook was no simple task—it required an intimate knowledge of the currents and ship construction to place the trap in the ship’s path and accurately catch its rudder. Naturally, the one who could set this trap so precisely and so concealed was the female river bandit Kelsey and her loyal companions.

Under the drag of the specially made tough ropes, the two warships swayed helplessly left and right, reluctantly drawing closer to each other until their port and starboard sides slammed together with a harsh, ear-piercing crash. Although this collision was violent, it couldn’t actually cause serious damage to the sturdy warships. But thankfully, our enemies were all land soldiers with no experience on the water. The turbulent river journey had already been a miserable ordeal beyond anything they had ever dreamed of. Their brief water training could not completely change the deep-rooted psychological traits of a horse-riding people. Their ignorance of rivers made them hopelessly imagine, when faced with the shaking and pitching, that the ships were about to capsize. The soldiers on deck let out shrill screams and ran around in confusion, not knowing where to go or what to do. The two ships immediately fell into extreme chaos. Some even ignored orders and lowered the small boats hanging on the sides into the water to escape. Most of these people met a worse fate than their less clever comrades, because they couldn’t skillfully control the small boats, and the strong waves churned up by the swaying warships quickly overturned the overloaded little vessels.

The sailors on the ships naturally knew that the vessels hadn’t suffered much damage—all they needed to do was lower the sails and adjust the angle of travel slightly, and they could escape this confusion. But their numbers and influence were not enough to change the chaotic situation they were facing. Moreover, there was no truly competent leader on the warships who could steady the troops in an emergency. The temporarily appointed captains knew about rivers only as the source of a delicacy called “fish” in their dinner. Originally, they had expected at most to sneak quietly up to the docks in the darkness, then set foot on solid ground and carry out the land-based raids they were good at. No one had ever imagined they would run into trouble while sailing on water.

The ships behind them came closer one after another, and finally, the three front rows of ships unavoidably collided. Though the river surface looked quite wide, the path that could actually accommodate such enormous vessels was now completely blocked. Fortunately, the sailors on the ships at the rear were quick-witted—seeing that something was wrong, they lowered their sails and dropped anchor early, preventing an even greater disaster.

After a while, the officers on several ships gradually realized that apart from some not-too-serious bumps, nothing worse had happened. Perhaps they attributed the small mishap to running aground, turbulent currents, or thick water grass. Freed from their panic, the calmer and more composed officers began to do their duty, shouting harshly at their subordinates who were running around like headless flies. The noisy clamor on the decks of several ships was gradually replaced by stern reprimands, and the chaos subsided.

We saw all this from the city walls at the northwest corner of Kampnavia. The darkness before dawn couldn’t completely hide the massive outlines of the warships, and Red Flame’s natural night vision gave us reliable information. Besides, the noises coming from the enemy ships had already shattered the stillness that had been flowing on the river, so it wasn’t hard to guess what kind of embarrassing predicament our enemies were in.

“They’ve lowered their small boats, and some sailors are coming down… the boats are turning toward the sterns… they might have discovered the trap—a few sailors have jumped into the water…” Red Flame reported every move of our enemies to Fred.

“What a pity. I thought we could delay them a little longer, but they calmed down faster than I expected.” Fred shook his head with a sigh, though not because our plan wasn’t going smoothly enough. “The sooner they calm down, the sooner their lives come to an end.”

He turned and shouted loudly: “Light the signal fire. Let’s welcome our friends.”

A red lantern rose on the flagpole of the city wall, taking the place of the morning star, heralding that the light was destined to arrive ahead of time. As the lantern swung back and forth, a dozen or so small fishing boats quietly appeared at both ends of the river channel. Under the cover of night, they silently closed in on the warships. No fishermen could be seen rowing on the small boats, but each was fitted with a simple triangular sail. The sails were fixed at their angles, guiding the boats toward the congested cluster of warships.

It wasn’t until the small boats were less than a bowshot away that the Winston soldiers on the warships finally shifted their attention away from the “strange water grass” tangled around their rudders and noticed the small boats’ presence. Instantly, rough shouts rang out from the warships:

“Who’s on those boats?”

“Stop, or we’ll loose our arrows!”

“They’re just Delanmaya scum—kill them!”

…

Just as the savage warriors were venting their frustration at being trapped with all sorts of crude language, they suddenly realized in terror that the many small boats rushing toward them had all erupted at once into towering flames. The dim river surface suddenly blazed with light. The flowing water reflected the color of the fire, rippling into long dragons of light and shadow, their greedy heads pointing straight at the several Winston warships tangled together in the front row, unable to move an inch.

The troops who had just stabilized after the collision erupted in an even greater uproar than before. Even the most seasoned and courageous officers couldn’t help but flounder at this sudden spectacle. The heavy weapons on the warships fired wildly and aimlessly at the approaching fire boats, but they were too close—most of the stones and thick bolts landed behind the fire boats. Even the rare few that accidentally hit their targets only slowed the fire boats’ advance. The night wind was strong enough to carry even the badly damaged little boats to the warships’ sides.

The first fire boat finally reached the lead warship, burning silently beneath its port side. Then came the second, the third… The heated wood must have been making crisp crackling sounds, and perhaps sparks were bursting and flashing now and then. If one had seen such a campfire during an outing, it would have been a very pleasant sight indeed.

But our enemies had no time to appreciate this warm scene. They hauled bucket after bucket of water from the river and frantically poured it onto the fire boats—then hauled more, and poured again… Judging by their fervor, if there had been a need, they would have bailed out the entire Morning Light River and then poured it all back in—and in fact, that’s essentially what they were doing. The flames of dry grass soaked in fire oil could not be put out by a few buckets of river water, especially since the panicked soldiers splashed most of the water straight back into the river without it ever spending a moment on the flames. The water that did land in the fire was instantly evaporated by the roaring blaze, rising up with thick smoke to spread a layer of uneven mist across the river surface, gradually shrouding the outline of the warships.

Before long, the water on every side of the besieged warships had been baked dry by the heat. The wooden hulls became fragile and highly flammable, and wisps of smoke were already curling up from several spots. Only then did the soldiers, who rarely played with fire on water, remember that pouring water on the fire boats alone wasn’t enough—they also needed to keep their own hulls wet. So large buckets of water were hauled up from the river and dumped down again without even a glance. They soon learned how dangerous that was. Kelsey and her fierce, cunning companions shot thick ballista bolts, as thick as a child’s arm, from the nearby shores and reed thickets. These ballistas had originally been used as the most threatening defensive weapons on the city walls. They weren’t large in appearance, and could be mounted on the bows of small boats, with a range and accuracy more than four times that of ordinary bows. Now, used by the bandits as tools of guerrilla warfare on the water, they revealed all the more their cold, murderous nature. What better target was there than a burning warship? One after another, bolts meant for attacking massive siege engines claimed people’s lives in strings, and those killed didn’t even have time to groan.

The bandits’ targets weren’t limited to the warships under direct fire attack. The ships hiding behind them, anxious and restless, received the same assault. The soldiers on those ships didn’t even know where these terrifying projectiles were coming from, let alone organize any effective counterattack. The bright firelight made the distant darkness seem even darker, and the bandits, staying true to their guerrilla style, never fired two bolts from the same spot—not only for their own safety, but also to protect our precious long-range weapons.

Finally, the fire oil in the large jars hidden among the dry grass was ignited. Several ships erupted in violent explosions. Some of the worn-out little boats couldn’t withstand the enormous pressure from within and shattered apart, vanishing into the sea of fire. Burning splinters of wood flew in every direction, triggering an even more intense chain of explosions. Freed from the confines of the jars, the black, sticky fire oil spread out across the river surface, and the flames followed it wherever it went. For the Winston warships trapped in the river channel, the situation was beyond salvation. The warships were now like a whole lamb skewered on a stick, helplessly roasting over a bonfire.

When the waterproof tung oil on the decks caught fire, everything was truly over. The vicious flames clung to the hulls, licking their way up onto the decks, up onto the bridges, up onto the masts. When those great sails soaked through with tung oil finally bloomed into brilliant sparks and, carried by the night wind, drifted down in pieces, dancing their deadly dance of fire across the decks, the Winston men understood what hell meant. The flames released the power of intense heat, twisting the very air before people’s eyes into terrible curves and choking their breath. Some Winston soldiers, unable to bear the heat, screamed and leaped into the burning river. This might have lessened their pain, but it only hastened their deaths.

Inhuman screams pierced through the air, so much so that even we—the designers of this slaughter—could hardly bear to listen. I saw Fred’s face turn somewhat pale, his body swaying slightly. I couldn’t help but walk over and gently put my arm around his shoulder. He patted my hand, and his palm was soaked with sweat.

Red Flame nervously drew his twin blades and sheathed them again, hanging his head, unwilling to look at the scene on the river—a scene that matched the meaning of his own name. The desperate death cries of the Winston men grated against the elf’s innate love for life. It wasn’t just him. Dakla, Riley, Roll, and even Rodrick, whose own brother had been killed by the enemy, were all unwilling to witness the terrible plight of the enemy. The few battles we had taken part in were not enough to erase our kind and fragile youthful hearts. Killing enemies on the battlefield to protect ourselves was one thing; watching hundreds of lives screaming as they turned into charred corpses was quite another.

But we had already been drawn into a war. In war, to feel pity for the enemy’s suffering was to doom yourself, to doom your comrades, to doom your own family.

“Think about it—would you rather it be them dying, or yourselves, or your parents and brothers? That might make you feel better.” Carlson, who had been through this before, understood how we felt at that moment. He looked at us and spoke in a loud voice.

His words were right. No matter how unwilling I was, in such a comparison, I would rather these unfamiliar foreign soldiers be the ones to die.

The first ray of sunlight had not yet pierced the night-covered sky, but the Morning Light River was already bright enough. Yes, this was an early dawn. And for our enemies, that was certainly not good news.