The setting sun, like blood, cast its last rays upon the desolate path where Gabella's army retreated.
The soldiers ' steps were heavy and disordered, the sound of their shoes scraping the ground particularly jarring. Their armor was stained with mud and blood, their helmets were askew, and their eyes were vacant, like a group of soulless shells. Their once high morale had vanished, replaced by endless frustration and discouragement.
Low coughs and painful groans occasionally broke the silence of the ranks as wounded soldiers, supported by their comrades, staggered along. Their wounds had not been properly treated, and the stench of blood filled the air, attracting vultures that circled overhead. These scavengers let out uncomfortably screeching or hissing sounds, sharp and short, like the mockery of death.
Whenever there was any rustling or movement nearby, it would cause a commotion. Some people would gasp in alarm, while others would grip their weapons tightly and nervously look around.
The army's commander, Woven Ruiz, sat on his horse, his face grim, his gaze frequently sweeping behind him.
"Get the soldiers moving faster!"
His commands were brief and stern, but his voice carried a hint of weakness. The officers and soldiers no longer trusted his command and simply carried out his orders mechanically.
Rumors circulated among the troops: some said the Papacy's war elephants had caught up, others said the roads ahead were blocked by enemy forces. These rumors gnawed at their will like venomous snakes, shrouding the entire army in panic.
The sound of horses' hooves approached from afar, and the soldiers stopped abruptly, holding their breath, their hands gripping their weapons trembling slightly. Some cursed under their breath, while others prayed silently.
"Lift the alert; it's our own scouts!"
Upon hearing these words, everyone felt a deep sense of relief, as if they had survived a catastrophe.
The group moved slowly again, but each step felt like walking into an abyss. They had only one thought in their minds: to survive.
Woven Ruiz looked ahead. As the sun set, darkness was creeping in, just like his hopeless life.
After the crushing defeat on Ursula Plain, many lords came to his aid with their troops, which briefly restored Ruiz's hope. However, his hope was once again ruthlessly crushed by the Papal army.
The fighting spirit that Gabella's army was so proud of had vanished due to a series of defeats, and he knew he would be severely punished when he returned to the capital.
In addition to the War Elephant Legion, the Papacy also had a strong regular army, and its weapons and provisions were replenished very promptly and abundantly.
Based on various intelligence reports, Ruiz estimated that there were between 300,000 and 500,000 people transporting various supplies behind the Papal army.
This is the power of faith. When the Papacy issued a proclamation, countless believers came to support them along their march, bringing their own provisions. Only after penetrating deep into Gabella's territory did this enthusiasm greatly subside, but many people from the Papacy's rear still traveled thousands of miles to Gabella to assist the so-called Crusader Army.
This even included many pious monarchs of small states whose own armies were weak and could only be a hindrance on the main battlefield, but were more than capable of maintaining order in the occupied territories as auxiliary troops. This allowed the Papal army to focus wholeheartedly on the main battlefield.
After penetrating deep into Gabella, the Crusader Army found it impossible to rely solely on supplies transferred from headquarters as its battle lines stretched out.
In order to maintain the massive military supply, the auxiliary troops began to prey on the people in the occupied territories.
The village's tranquility was shattered by the sound of iron hooves. Soldiers stormed into every house, kicking down doors, ransacking homes, and looting everything they could carry: grain, livestock, gold and silver utensils, even bedding and clothing. Villagers who resisted were brutally pushed to the ground, punched and kicked, and some were even executed on the spot. The cries of women and children echoed through the village.
Crops in the fields were forcibly harvested, and unripe ears of wheat were trampled into the mud. Livestock were taken away, chickens and ducks were slaughtered, and even dogs were not spared. The people in the occupied areas watched helplessly as their year's hard work vanished, and could only kneel and beg, only to be met with indifferent rebukes and whippings.
Shops in the town were looted, and merchants were forced to hand over all their stock and money. Officers sat on horseback, watching coldly, occasionally waving their hands to give orders to tie up those who refused to cooperate and display them in the square. There was no pity on their faces; they were only concerned with completing the confiscation task assigned to them by their superiors.
During wartime, such things are commonplace; even the Papacy's army, far from its rear in enemy territory, has to rely on such means to feed its soldiers.
Fortunately, they had a bunch of auxiliary soldiers to do the dirty work for them, so that the warriors who were bound by true chivalry and scriptures would not be put in a dilemma. They only needed to focus on fighting and eliminating heretics, and did not need to care about where the food came from.
The brutal war created a large number of refugees within Gabella, who, along with the retreating imperial army, flocked towards the capital.
Throughout history, the Gabella people only heard stories of the imperial army's victories over enemies and the expansion of imperial territory into new regions. These repeated victories instilled in everyone the belief that Gabella was invincible.
Now the tables have turned completely. The Gabella people have been defeated by other forces, and the suffering of those who were once conquered has beenfallen upon them in its entirety.
The empire's capital was overwhelmed by a massive influx of refugees. Each morning, when the city gates opened, instead of the usual caravans and travelers, hordes of refugees poured in. They were ragged, haggard, and their eyes gleamed with hunger and despair. As the shadow of war loomed and Gabella's territory continued to fall, these displaced people had no choice but to flock to the capital, seeking a final glimmer of refuge.
The once bustling markets on the city streets were now packed with refugees. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and anxiety, and the cries of children and the sighs of the elderly could be heard from time to time.
At first, some vendors pushed carts loaded with dry food and bread onto the streets, trying to make a last-ditch profit amidst the chaos.
But whenever they appeared, refugees would surge towards the trucks like a tidal wave, men's shouts, women's screams, and children's cries mingling into a chaotic sea. Some reached for bread, only to be pushed to the ground by others; others struggled to push forward, only to be shoved aside by stronger people. Food rations rolled off the trucks and into the mud, where they were immediately scrambled for by countless hands, and then people began to fight each other.
Faced with such a chaotic situation, the imperial government had to repeatedly deploy troops to suppress it and issue various bans, including curfews.
"What exactly is the Empire's army doing? Is it only capable of suppressing refugees from its own country?"
Countless people wanted to rush into the palace and ask the powerful figures who ruled Gabella questions.