Chapter 404: Cleanup and Reorganization

Cecil’s command center—the military intelligence bureau—soon delivered the frontline reports from the legion directly into Gawain’s hands.

Reading Byron’s report about setting up a temporary POW camp on the spot and sourcing grain from nearby farms in the Hosman territory to sustain the prisoners, Gawain couldn’t help but smile with satisfaction. “Byron’s a genius… Who would’ve thought to have the prisoners build their own camp and lock themselves in? Five thousand axes solved the problem neatly.”

Amber, standing nearby, rolled her eyes. “I knew this idea had to be right up your alley… I don’t even want to know how you people come up with these kinds of schemes.”

“The battlefield changes in an instant,” Gawain said seriously. “Only those with equally flexible thinking can seize the initiative.”

“Alright, alright, you’re the expert,” Amber replied dismissively, then her expression softened with a hint of reflection. “But honestly… this has been one long chase. At Shattered Stone Ridge, Philip crushed the noble coalition in under two hours, but then we spent over ten days chasing those scattered enemies around… I thought it’d take two or three days at most.”

Gawain shook his head with a smile. “That was a deliberate order I gave Philip—to stretch out the pursuit as long as possible. Don’t pressure the enemy too hard, don’t chase too closely. Always keep them within the intimidation range of the ‘Persuader’ railguns, and occasionally harass them with light infantry. The goal was to maintain this drawn-out chase for over ten days.”

Amber looked puzzled. “Why?”

“How else could three thousand men handle thirty or forty thousand enemies?” Gawain met her gaze. “The noble coalition did collapse quickly in direct combat, but that was just a matter of fighting strength. In terms of numbers, they still had tens of thousands of survivors—fit, clear-headed, and many of the elite supernaturals in the rear ranks probably still had the will to resist. Those in the back likely never even saw the artillery bombardment. Under these conditions, Philip’s battalion could defeat them head-on but couldn’t wipe them out, couldn’t stop their escape, and certainly couldn’t capture them all without risking their own safety.”

Amber finally caught on. “So that’s why you had Philip chase the fleeing soldiers with artillery shells for over ten days?”

“Up north, the mountain folk hunt red wolves before winter. They use loud ‘whistling arrows’ and drums to drive the wolves relentlessly, day and night, rotating shifts to push the wolves—who outnumber humans in the mountains—into a corner, forcing them to leap off cliffs in droves. The noble coalition’s willpower was no match for red wolves; after about ten days of being driven, they broke. Only by wearing down their will to the limit—exhausting their bodies, dulling their minds, stripping away basic judgment—could Philip’s three thousand men safely take control of tens of thousands of prisoners. Otherwise, why do you think Byron handed those prisoners five thousand axes and they obediently chopped wood to build their own camp and lock themselves in?”

Amber looked him up and down with admiration. “No wonder you’re a seasoned veteran of seven centuries… truly experienced.”

Before Gawain could casually grab something nearby and pin her against the wall, she quickly changed the subject. “But seriously… no one in Ansu has ever seen a chase like this in the noble wars, right? After all, you’re the first ever to refuse a ceasefire.”

“I accept ceasefire only after the enemy is completely destroyed or surrenders,” Gawain said casually. “And I believe that day isn’t far off.”

“So what’s your next move?” Amber asked curiously. “The noble coalition is utterly broken. Their lords are held in POW camps near the Hosman count’s lands. There are dozens of noble estates in the south waiting for you to take over. On the other hand, intelligence says a quarter to a third of the coalition escaped Philip’s cavalry on the plains. They probably won’t return to their lands, and if they roam around, they could become a big problem.”

Though usually carefree and unreliable, Amber had been Gawain’s guard for a year and now led military intelligence. She had gained some practical experience and spoke with reason.

“Of course, I’ll take over the southern lands,” Gawain said, standing and moving to the massive map of the south hanging in his office. “But the exact plan needs careful thought. As for those who escaped… it was expected. Philip’s forces are limited; the fact that only a few got away already exceeded my expectations. Don’t worry about those nobles and their remnants—they’ll be dealt with properly.”

His gaze traveled up the map, finally resting on the northern gate of the south: the Rockhold Fortress.

After a moment, he withdrew his eyes and scanned the patchwork of noble fiefdoms scattered across the south.

“Send messengers to the Hosman POW camp. Have Philip and Byron escort all the noble lords and supernaturals back to their lands. The POW camp will be handed over to the Walder Perich knights. Also, notify Hetty and all civil officials to gather at the administration hall—I have matters to discuss. The south isn’t fully pacified yet, but it’s time to start taking over some territories.”

The war wasn’t over. Some noble remnants still fled, and many captured nobles still clung to the naive idea of the “noble war game,” hoping to negotiate with Gawain or ransom themselves back to lordship. But from the start, Gawain never considered negotiating with the southern nobility.

He demanded a new order—and now that the forces opposing him were crushed, it was time to move forward.

Not long after, Gawain appeared before the officials gathered in the central administration hall.

The officials all rose, bowing respectfully to their lord.

The war had lasted over ten days. Through newspapers, bulletin boards, and other channels, nearly everyone knew about the overwhelming victories at Shattered Stone Ridge and Whitewater River, and the subsequent “great pursuit” by Cecil’s soldiers. The results shocked not only the enemy but also the people of Cecil. Except for Gawain, no one had expected warfare in the new era to look like this. Their awe was not just for Gawain himself, but for the sweeping changes he brought—the dawn of a new age.

Before outlining his plans, Gawain first inquired about recent developments in the territory.

“Ancestor, the territory is running smoothly, social order remains stable,” Hetty, head of the civil department, reported. “The newspapers played a major role—they provide timely news, preventing unnecessary tension and panic. Mr. Gawain’s commentary articles are especially popular. Also, thanks to the newspapers’ coverage of frontline news, recruitment for the new training battalions went smoothly and has met targets.”

Gawain felt he owed thanks to this still unenlightened era. The newspaper, a brand-new medium, wielded more influence than he’d imagined. People didn’t question authority yet; newspapers and their publishers were seen as the ultimate authority, so the public accepted their content almost unconditionally. Frankly, this wasn’t exactly what Gawain wanted—his advanced plans aimed to break this “authority monopoly” and awaken the populace—but for now, the newspapers’ influence was exactly what he needed.

After hearing the report, Gawain cleared his throat and began.

“Everyone, the war isn’t over. Some nobles escaped our pursuit, disappearing with their remnants into the northwest wastelands. We will find and eliminate them soon. But before that, it’s time to arrange postwar matters. First, a large-scale population migration…”

He explained his plan in detail, a plan that left everyone present stunned, even speechless.

He demanded that all southern populations relocate toward several major cities—nearly a third concentrated in the Cecil region, the remaining two-thirds redistributed around four key areas: Hosman, Leslie, Grant, and Kant.

“All villages far from cities, non-grain-producing knight estates, farms, and war-damaged towns are on the migration list. People will relocate to the nearest of the major cities I mentioned. Secondary administration halls will be established locally, led by officials and clerks trained in Cecil, with local intellectuals recruited later to supplement staff. All migratable populations in the south will move into Cecil, settled in the northern shore development zone to form a new urban district…”

Gawain laid out his plan point by point. Of course, this massive migration scheme involved countless details and implementation methods—ensuring farmland, resettling migrants, managing food supplies, scheduling, public communication and reassurance, new administration hall construction, urban development, and more. What he presented was essentially a draft, a set of demands, followed by a “question time” for the officials.

“My outline is finished. Now, you may ask questions.”

He placed his hands on the table and slowly scanned the room. But for a full thirty seconds after he finished speaking, no one spoke.

It seemed no one had yet processed what they’d heard. First came shock, then exchanged glances. Some appeared thoughtful, considering key points, but no one dared ask a question.

They didn’t know where to begin.

Gawain had anticipated this and waited patiently. After two minutes, Hetty finally broke the silence.

“Ancestor… may I ask why you want to carry out such a population migration?”

(End of chapter)