At the source of the Silver Stream in the Sand Sea of the Southernmost Region.
Brian was sitting in his tent, waiting for news from the front line. In front of him were Guelz Burnflame, the chief of the Wildflame clan, and Thuram, the elder of the Osha clan.
The two of them had now become the representatives of the Mojin clan.
Together with the commander of the Gun Battalion, who represented the great chief, all the leaders of the Sand Nation had gathered here.
The cold wind in the desert made the tent flap noisily, but the inside of the tent was unusually warm. It was as if they were sitting on a huge brazier. No matter how cold it was on the surface, they could always feel the hot air gushing out when they put their feet in the salt sand. The effect was comparable to the firebeds and heaters in Neverwinter.
The locals even invented something called a sand bed. They dug a shallow pit in the ground that was as wide as a person and replaced the white salt sand with fine sand that had been sieved. Then, they buried themselves in the sand to maintain their body temperature to the greatest extent possible. The fine sand was soft to the touch and even more comfortable than a linen quilt. If one could pitch a tent above one's head, one could spend the whole winter comfortably.
Unfortunately, it was this geothermal heat that destroyed the vitality of this place. The salt in the seawater constantly seeped out, turning the desert of about 100 kilometers into a snowy white. Not to mention flowers and trees, even sandworms and poisonous scorpions were hard to see.
Without an oasis, there was no source of food. Such a large plain was no different from a dead land. In terms of desolation, perhaps only the Blackwater Swamp was more desolate than the Southernmost Region.
For hundreds of years, the Mojin people had only built a few scattered wooden houses at the border of the saline-alkali land to provide temporary shelter for those who came from afar to collect salt. But now, the situation had changed.
"You're very calm, young man." Guelz suddenly broke the silence. "The Wildwave clan and the Cut Bone clan are both the most powerful clans in Iron Sand City. The great chief can easily defeat them, but it doesn't mean that those small tribes can do the same. Why are you so confident in them?"
Seeing that someone had started the conversation, Thuram hurriedly added, "In the past year, no new tribe in Iron Sand City has been promoted to become one of the six major clans. Obviously, they control all the resources flowing into the city. But in the Southernmost Region, as long as there's enough food, the clans can quickly recover. I'm afraid they're even stronger than before you came here. "
"Confidence? No … "Brian shook his head slowly." I don't have such feelings for them. "
"Then … why didn't you mobilize the Great Chief's troops?" Thuram was a little surprised. "We only need to dispatch a hundred people. Together with the brave warriors of Wildflame and Osha, we'll definitely be able to stop these arrogant people from crossing the small oasis."
"And then? Let the First Army patrol the Silver Stream Oasis forever and act as the guardians of those small tribes? "Brian looked at him." Do you think that's what His Majesty wants to see? "
"Uh, this..." Thuram was at a loss for words.
Soon after the Great Relocation Plan was implemented, the development of the Southernmost Region was also initiated. In addition to the construction of the Festive Harbor at the Endless Cape, another focus was the saline-alkali land at the source of the Silver Stream. Due to the lack of river channels, if they wanted to transport these shining white industrial resources out of the desert, they could only rely on a large amount of manpower and animal power to tow carts to the nearest tributary of the Redwater River.
For this reason, the two cities of Fallen Dragon Ridge and Port of Clearwater offered generous conditions in order to attract enough Sandpeople to join the sand-moving army.
In just one year, there were many tents and people coming and going at the junction of the saline-alkali land.
Deep wells were dug one after another, and fresh water was drawn from the underground river of the Silver Stream, which was used to filter and purify the salt sand.
Simple factories were also built. There was no gushing steam or roar of machines. Everything was done by the hands of people. The whole process was like gold panning. People gathered the wealth scattered among the millions of gravel and crystallized it into blocks. Then they loaded it into trucks and transported it to the hinterland of the Western Region, waiting for further processing. This repetitive and boring work became the new rhythm of the saline-alkali land.
Although there was still no oasis, sandworms, or poisonous scorpions, the place gradually became lively.
The reward of not worrying about food and clothing attracted not only the migrants but also the small tribes who had not made up their minds. They often came to the junction in groups, exchanging their physical strength for wheat, dried meat, and cloth. Some of them happily returned to the oasis with food, while others stayed and became one of the migrants.
This phenomenon aroused the dissatisfaction of the big clans in Iron Sand City. The more tribes that left the oasis, the less resources they could get. The conflict finally broke out two months ago. The Wildwave and Cut Bone clans dispatched their cavalry to kill a group of people from a small tribe that had set out from the oasis and threw their heads on the road to the north. Obviously, they intended to warn other Sandpeople of the Mojin Kingdom who were ready to make trouble.
The big clans did not dare to make an enemy of the King of Graycastle, so they aimed their butcher knives at the small tribes that had not yet surrendered. They might have thought that this would avoid the wrath of Thunder, the great chief. After all, no King of the Northern Kingdom would really care about the lives of hundreds of Sandpeople. However, they did not expect that this move would directly touch the nerve of Neverwinter.
Reducing the population for no reason was undoubtedly one of His Majesty's biggest taboos. Brian was well aware of this.
Before Guelz's letter arrived, the Firearm Battalion Commander had already prepared to deal with it.
"What if they fail?" Guelz Burnfire rubbed his forehead. "If I remember correctly, it has only been three months since they started training with firearms, right?"
"Then they'll be killed, and their tribes will become slaves of Iron Sand City." Brian closed his eyes. "Before we set out, I said that this battle is not for me, but for themselves. I've given them sharp weapons that can fight against the Iron Cavalry. If they still can't protect their tribes from the butcher knives of the enemy, then they don't deserve to be part of the army of Graycastle. For me, it's just training a new group of people. "
"..." Guelz looked at Brian seriously for the first time, as if he had a new understanding of this young officer.
"Moreover, you've forgotten that three months is only the time for firearms training." He continued, "In addition to firearms, they also have knives, daggers, fists, and teeth. These weapons have been trained since the moment the Sandpeople were born, haven't they?"
The members of the Sand Nation army that Brian had selected were all from the small tribes that were stationed here. They were different from large clans like Wildflame. Although they chose to stay at the frontline of Graycastle, they were still concerned about the tribes in the oasis. These people did not have a unified background, but they could form an invisible bond between the two places. They were the best source of soldiers for the local army. And the obsolete old flintlocks became their standard equipment.
Suddenly, there was the sound of hurried footsteps outside the tent.
"Stop!" the guard shouted.
"I'm Jodel from the ambush team. I have something to report to the Battalion Commander!"
"Let him in." Brian opened his eyes suddenly.
The curtain was lifted, and a man with blood all over his face stumbled in. He swayed a few times, and as if he could no longer support himself, he knelt on the ground on one knee. Although he was panting, his eyes were as bright as stars.
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