Chapter 42: Joyful Welcome to the Royal Army

Numbers and fighting ability were two different things.

Many people only looked at the data on paper, yet overlooked the critical role a leader could play within it.

A pride of lions led by a sheep would never defeat a flock of sheep led by a lion.

Such a simple truth was something the Church did not understand, or perhaps they understood it but refused to act upon it.

To the Pontiff, it was far more reassuring to have loyal confidants command the troops rather than capable men.

At this moment, Mitia did not know that the Church’s Eastern Expeditionary Army was in such a rotten state.

Her focus was instead fixed on Pue Lalor.

This was the home of the Queen Consort’s family.

Most of the troops conscripted by the Kingdom of Ovinia were stationed here, with the rest positioned in the Royal Capital.

Because it was close to the port city of Bonwich, supplies from other territories of the kingdom could be transported directly here by sea.

It was also the largest supply transfer hub for the entire kingdom’s army.

Meanwhile, at the frontlines of Alos territory, the first large-scale musket battle in the history of this world erupted.

The retreating soldiers’ reports allowed the generals in the rear to discover in time that the magic potions had been dampened and rendered ineffective.

Emergency replacements were brought out from the dry warehouses, and the troops were re-equipped.

The complex snowy terrain slowed down the Third Army Corps advancing toward Alos, giving the defenders enough time to resolve their own problems.

By the time the Third Army reached the city’s gates, the defenders were already entrenched in hastily-dug fortifications, waiting calmly to fight a decisive battle.

Corps Commander Graf had a military mage cast farsight for him to carefully observe the terrain.

What he saw gave him a headache.

The enemy had no barbed wire, but the trenches they dug crisscrossed everywhere, greatly reducing the effectiveness of field artillery bombardment compared to before.

Now, without rapid resupply within their own territory, he could not afford to let the cannons fire recklessly as before.

Heavy casualties seemed inevitable.

Graf drew his saber from his waist and shouted loudly: “Prepare to attack! For the people! For the Commander! Long live!”

At his command, two prepared artillery regiments began shelling, thunderous explosions and bursts of fire erupting across the enemy’s positions.

Just as Graf had anticipated, though the cannons still inflicted no small number of casualties, it was far from the previous sight of half the enemy annihilated after two rounds of bombardment.

At best, it was barely acceptable.

Meanwhile, soldiers moved forward hunched over under the cover of fire, occasionally aiming down the mechanical sights of their long rifles to search for enemy silhouettes.

The dense gunfire claimed many lives.

From the rear, General Alos frowned as he watched Astal’s firepower: “Why do their muskets have such long range?”

His adjutant’s expression was equally grim: “From my observation, there’s roughly double the range difference, and their accuracy is far superior as well.”

Since muskets had been introduced, the adjutant had taken a great interest in them, often testing them out himself.

He knew the strengths and weaknesses of the kingdom-issued muskets inside and out.

But compared with the enemy’s weapons, theirs had no advantages whatsoever.

Leaving aside accuracy, the enemy’s absurd reloading speed alone already crushed them completely.

By now, Astal’s soldiers had advanced into the effective firing range of the kingdom’s musketeers, who thrust their barrels out of the trenches and opened fire.

Remy fired one shot, then quickly ducked down to let a waiting comrade take his place.

He himself busied with clearing the barrel, then drew out a small powder pouch from his satchel, poured powder into the muzzle, used the ramrod to pack it tight, and finally placed a lead ball inside.

By the time he finished this procedure, four comrades had already rotated through his position—one of them, unlucky, had been shot in the head and killed instantly.

Taking a deep breath, Remy climbed back up the trench, extended his barrel, and through the haze of musket smoke saw a distant enemy collapse to the ground.

Joy lit his face—only for him to suddenly feel a heavy impact on his forehead.

Darkness swallowed his vision, and he knew no more.

The view rose high—Astal’s soldiers, spread out, surged swiftly toward the defensive line, while the Ovinian kingdom’s troops fired frantically in an attempt to force them back.

From time to time, explosions and screams echoed from the trenches—muskets bursting due to inexperienced soldiers overloading powder.

These sporadic disruptions often created brief vacuums in fire coverage, giving Astal’s soldiers opportunities to rush up to the trenches.

They pulled wooden-handled grenades from their belts and backs, pressed the magic crystal buttons, hurled them into the trenches, then dropped prone and fixed bayonets to their muzzles.

“Boom! Boom!”

“Ahhhh!!!”

“My leg! My leg!”

“Victory! Kill!”

In that moment of chaos, with bloodshot eyes, he raised his long rifle tipped with a bayonet and leapt into the trench, thrusting straight into the chest of a standing enemy.

Scenes like this played out across the trenches.

At such close quarters, the kingdom’s muskets became nothing more than firewood, while Astal soldiers wielding rifle-and-bayonet combinations over a meter long had every advantage.

The kingdom’s troops soon began to rout.

Unable to endure any longer, General Alos deployed his last trump card—the mage unit.

Yet as soon as they rose into the air, several Astal quadruple-Maxi anti-air trucks instantly tore them to pieces.

Against Astal, mid- and low-tier mages no longer held any meaning.

Watching this, General Alos’s face turned ashen.

After a moment’s thought, he chose to retreat, ordering his adjutant to continue withdrawing into the city for a final defense.

But to his surprise, not long after he left Alos, the adjutant led the troops and surrendered outright.

What a joke—if the general himself knew the situation was hopeless and had fled, why should anyone else keep fighting to the death?

When the smoke-stained troops entered Alos City, Graf was astonished to see that not only had the citizens not hidden away, but they had gathered on both sides of the main road, cheering for the very army that had just occupied their city.

From time to time, even former Alos soldiers who had hidden themselves were dragged out, tied up by civilians, and delivered to the troops.

Graf felt dazed, as though dreaming:

“Am I really fighting a war? Why does this feel like coming home?”

This was the result of the spies and caravans Mitia had previously dispatched.

They had not sabotaged anything.

They merely took every chance to spread word about the benefits and policies of Astal territory—things like 【My Relative in Astal】.

Not only that, they had also printed books filled with Mitia’s speeches.

What’s more, most of the Astal merchants had once been commoners or slaves themselves—living examples that stirred people’s yearning for Astal.

Because the distance was not far, many had fled famine to Astal, and their success in turn influenced relatives left behind.

One brought another, groups inspired more groups, until the situation of today naturally took shape.

“Long live Mitia!!!”

“Long live Astal!!!”

The people’s excited cheers rang out endlessly.

Graf even saw several individuals collapse to their knees and kowtow to them in fervent gratitude.

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