The sand sea of the Far South, the source of the Yinchuan River.
Brian sat in his tent, quietly awaiting news from the front lines. Across from him sat Gulz Emberfire, the chieftain of the Wildfire Clan, and Turam, the elder of the Proud Sand Clan.
The two of them had now become spokesmen for the Mojin people.
Adding the firearms battalion commander representing the grand chieftain, it could be said that the leaders who determined the fate of the sand people had all gathered here.
The desert's cold wind made the tent flap rustle, but inside the tent it was unusually warm - this sandy area seemed to be situated in a giant fire pit. No matter how cold the surface was, burying your feet in the salt sand always made you feel the heat surging up. The effect was comparable to the fire kang and heating in Neverwinter City.
The locals had even invented something called a sand bed - digging a shallow pit about the length and width of a person, replacing the white salt sand with sifted fine sand, and then burying oneself in it to maximize body temperature retention. And the fine sand felt soft, even more comfortable than a mattress woven from linen. If you put up a tent overhead, you could live comfortably throughout the winter.
Unfortunately, it was precisely this geothermal heat that destroyed the vitality of this place. The salt from the seawater continuously precipitated out, turning the desert for about a hundred kilometers into a white expanse. Not to mention flowers, plants, and trees, even sand worms and poisonous scorpions were hard to find.
Without oases, and without food sources, such a large plain was no different from a dead land. In terms of desolation, perhaps only the Blackwater Marsh in the Far South could surpass it.
For hundreds of years, the Mojin people had only built a few scattered wooden houses at the edge of the salt flats, providing temporary lodging for those who came from afar to collect salt, but now, the situation had become different.
"You're very calm, young man," Gulz suddenly said, breaking the silence. "The Raging Tide Clan and the Bone-Scraping Clan are both top clans in Iron Sand City. The grand chieftain can easily defeat them, but that doesn't mean the smaller tribes can do the same - are you so confident in them?"
Seeing someone start, Turam quickly added, "In the past year, no new tribe in Iron Sand City has been promoted to the six major clans. Obviously, they have controlled all the resources flowing into the city. And in the Far South, as long as there is enough food, the clans can quickly recover. Their current strength is probably even stronger than it was before you came here."
"Confidence? No..." Brian slowly shook his head. "I don't have such a thing in them."
"Then... why don't you use the grand chieftain's troops?" Turam asked, somewhat surprised. "You only need to dispatch a hundred people, and with the warriors of the Wildfire and Proud Sand clans, you can definitely prevent those arrogant people from crossing the small oasis."
"And then? Let the First Army patrol the Yinchuan Oasis line forever, acting as guardians for those small tribes?" Brian looked at him. "Do you think that's the scene His Majesty wants to see?"
"Uh, this..." Turam was momentarily speechless.
Not long after the Great Migration Plan was implemented, the development of the Far South also began. In addition to building Great Celebration Port at Endless Cape, another key point was the salt flats at the source of the Yinchuan River. Due to the lack of rivers, if one wanted to transport these white industrial resources out of the desert, one could only rely on a large amount of manpower and animal power, dragging them cart by cart to the nearest tributary of the Scarlet Water River.
For this reason, the Dragonfall Ridge and Azurewater Port cities offered generous terms to attract enough sand people to join the sand-hauling army.
In just one year, many more tents and people coming and going appeared at the edge of the salt flats.
Deep wells were dug, and fresh water was drawn from the underground Yinchuan River, which was used for drinking, as well as for filtering and purifying the salt sand.
Simple workshops were also established, without gushing steam or the roar of machines. Everything was done by hand. The whole process was like panning for gold, people condensing the wealth scattered among the millions of grains of sand, re-crystallizing it into blocks, and then loading it into carts and transporting it to the hinterland of the Western Region, waiting for further processing. This repetitive and monotonous work became the new rhythm of the salt flats.
Although there were still no oases, sand worms, and poisonous scorpions, this place gradually became lively.
The rewards that guaranteed food and clothing not only attracted migrants but also those small tribes that had not yet made a decision. They often came to the border area in groups, using physical labor to
exchange for wheat, dried meat, and cloth. Some people returned to the oasis with food, elated, while others stayed and became members of the migration.
This phenomenon aroused dissatisfaction among the major clans of Iron Sand City. The more tribes that left the oasis, the fewer resources they could obtain. This conflict finally erupted two months ago. The Raging Tide and Bone-Scraping Clans dispatched cavalry to intercept a group of people from a small tribe who were leaving the oasis, and threw their heads on the only way to the north. The intention was clearly to warn other restless Mojin sand people.
The major clans did not dare to be enemies of the King of Graycastle, so they turned their knives against those small tribes that had not yet submitted. They probably thought that this would not provoke the grand chieftain's thunderous anger. After all, no Northern king would really care about the life and death of a hundred or so sand people, but they did not expect that this action would directly touch the nerves of Neverwinter City.
Wanton reduction of population was undoubtedly one of the things that Roland detested the most - Brian already knew this.
As early as before Gulz's letter arrived, the firearms battalion commander had prepared for the response.
"What if they fail?" Gulz Emberfire rubbed his forehead. "If I remember correctly, it's only been three months since those people started receiving firearms training, right?"
"Then they will be killed, and their tribes will become slaves of Iron Sand City," Brian closed his eyes. "Before the expedition, I said that this battle was not for me, but for themselves - I gave them a sharp blade enough to fight against the iron cavalry. If they still can't protect their clansmen from the opponent's knives, then they don't deserve to be members of the Graycastle army. To me, it's just retraining another group of people."
"..." Gulz showed a serious expression for the first time, as if he had a new understanding of this young officer.
"And, you forgot one thing, three months is just the firearms training time -" he continued. "In addition to firearms, they also have sabers, bishou, fists, and teeth, and these weapons have been trained since the moment the sand people were born, haven't they?"
The members of the sand people's unit that Brian selected to form were precisely the residents from the small tribes. They were different from the major clans like Wildfire. Although they chose to stay on the Graycastle line, they still cared about the tribes in the oasis. These people had neither a unified background nor could they form an invisible connection between the two places, making them the best source of troops for the local army. And those淘汰(taotai) old-fashioned flintlock muskets became their standard equipment.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside the tent.
"Stop!" The guard on duty shouted.
"I am Juda from the ambush group, I have important matters to report to the battalion commander!"
"Let him in," Brian suddenly opened his eyes.
The curtain was lifted, and a man with a bloodied face stumbled in. After shaking twice, he seemed unable to support his body anymore and knelt on one knee. Although he was panting, his eyes were as bright as stars.
"Sir, we won!"