Boiling Beast Bloodline
Chapter 1052 - 269: Disadvantageous Start_2

Chapter 1052: Chapter 269: Disadvantageous Start_2

The second leg to Oxford Oasis from Harvard Oasis was merely three hundred miles, and the Vanguard Legion reached in just five days, with enough fresh water to afford some extravagance.

The third leg from Oxford Oasis to Yale Oasis spanned over eleven hundred miles, with no water sources along the way. Going by the maximum forced march speed of sixty miles per day, it would theoretically take the Vanguard Legion eighteen days to complete this stretch. Given the heavy water consumption of the Vanguard Legion, General Reyes specially ordered the corps craftsmen to construct two water carts from materials found in the Oxford Oasis before departure, and issued a freshwater rationing command to all soldiers.

If they followed General Reyes’ plan and rationed the water just a bit, the entire Vanguard Legion could definitely reach Yale Oasis on schedule and be ready for battle.

However, General Reyes had underestimated the gluttony of the Piegel soldiers.

Compared to all other sufferings, the sensation of thirst is undoubtedly the most unbearable. Marching in the desert was an entirely different matter from marching on the Donau Wasteland. Since entering the desert, all the Piegel soldiers of the Turun Corps had reduced their food intake significantly, but their need for water had increased exponentially.

Passing two oases had boosted the morale of Turun Corps’ Piegel warriors, living up to their elite status, but after encouraging larger appetites, suddenly asking them to cut back on water consumption was simply too unrealistic—the gluttonous Piegel and the steadfast Wolf were utterly distinct types of soldiers.

Under the scorching sun, the sweaty Piegel soldiers could hardly remember any orders about water rationing. After drinking the ten pounds of water they carried, their eyes began to wander—the sight of water carts moving alongside them while they endured the agony of a parched throat was sheer cruelty. If not for the strict military discipline and their well-trained nature, if it had been any other less capable unit of the Turun Corps, they might have long since looted the water.

Not just the soldiers, but the officers were no exception. The twenty Turun Corps’ middle-ranking officers, all Orephin giant strongmen from the same species, had an extraordinary need for water, given their weight exceeding five hundred pounds, making their proud physical strength feel more like a burden in the desert heat.

If even the mid-level officers looked at you and the water carts with almost mutinous eyes, no supreme commander could remain calm under such circumstances.

Unable to bear being surrounded by such gazes, General Reyes had no choice but to order a water resupply. This novice commander, fresh to the battlefield, completely overlooked the seriousness of military law. Since a precedent was set once, it could happen a second time—thus giving rise to people who would take any excuse as a command signal.

By the time the supply officer noticed the severity of the issue, it was already quite significant. The remaining water, if needed to last until Yale Grand Oasis, demanded a terrifying premise—the Turun Corps had to reduce the daily water ration by two-thirds while marching sixty miles per day through the desert for ten days and being ready to engage in an immediate battle.

With no choice left, General Reyes issued the water rationing order once again.

What good such a fluctuating order could do, only heaven knew. The situation the next day was exactly the same as before—the Piegel soldiers first drank all the water they carried, then their gazes shifted back to the water carts. However, this time General Reyes and the squadron leaders understood the gravity of the consequences and determinedly maintained the prohibition.

A day of restraint was bearable, even two days were manageable, but by the third day, the Piegel soldiers’ cracked lips were becoming unbearable. Lacking water was one thing, but hearing the sloshing water inside the carts whispering in their ears, every nerve in the Piegel soldiers was strained to its limit!

What caused significant trouble for General Reyes was the Assault Team comprised of prisoners. The reaction of these prisoners to the water restrictions was extremely fierce. The true danger wasn’t the prisoners themselves, but the agitating influence they demonstrated. The supervision team’s ten Zebra Warriors beheaded over a hundred prisoners attempting to forcibly take water in just one day, their arms grew weary from chopping—far from deterring the prisoners’ wave of demands for water, it made the Piegel soldiers unable to hold back any longer.

The moment the prisoners turned on the taps of the water carts and started chugging, every Piegel soldier was frantically swallowing their saliva.

The Vanguard Legion, like a centipede that had its legs cut off, meandered and stopped advancing in the desert—the even brave, disciplined Beamon warriors have a mental breaking point, and being deprived of the right to "eat and drink" meant pushing the Piegel soldiers to their lowest limit of psychological endurance. Serving as Northeast Province’s most elite troops, neither the Warted Pig Infantry nor the Porcupine Javelineers mutinied for water. Starting in the afternoon, they chose a peaceful protest by refusing to advance, venting their anger towards their commanders.

General Reyes almost ground his teeth to pieces, he truly despised the fact that the kingdom had this utterly deplorable tradition of having a battalion of prisoners as the Assault Team for the Vanguard Legion. Without these prisoners causing a commotion, perhaps the Vanguard Legion could have barely held out until they reached Yale Oasis.

The mission given to the Vanguard Legion by the corps was to march sixty miles daily and must seize Yale Oasis within thirty-four days, or face the harsh military law! Military law is merciless; if they failed to complete this specified task, the Beamon military law has a clear interpretation—the highest military officer must commit suicide, and the entire prisoner Assault Team would be hanged as a warning to others.

Because the elite was fully deployed, the domestic public opinion generally believed that this expedition to subdue the desert raiders would be easy to achieve. General Reyes, born in a Fawkes noble family from Northeast Province, was implied by his family to accumulate military exploits during this opportunity, in preparation for future promotions.

The gilded journey turned into a hellish ordeal, something General Reyes never anticipated. This vast contrast caused the young noble general to collapse instantly; with no way forward and certain death if retreated, presented with two choices leading to the same consequence, the noble general was on the verge of tears.

Upon his staff’s reminder, General Reyes quickly realized a very strange thing—the entire Ritual Group of the expedition was marching at the very front of the Vanguard Legion and camped far away from the rest, yet they never came to ask for a drop of water or a piece of dry ration from the supply column.

These shamans did not carry supplies, but the followers accompanying the carriages drank water like cattle, even dousing their heads to cool down.

The large cowhide water bags issued by the military department held ten pounds of water, which was not even enough to replenish half a day’s drinking requirement for the mighty Banilou Warrior.

What was going on? Where were the shamans getting their water? Doubts suddenly filled General Reyes’s heart.

The only way to solve the mystery was to find the answer.

The regiment’s Ritual Group operated as an independent system. In terms of rank, only Prince Kahn, the commander of the corps, was on the same level as the Chief Shaman, Richard. General Reyes was not yet qualified to directly question the Chief Shaman, but Fawkes’s wisdom compensated for these difficulties. Despite being beneath his noble dignity, General Reyes still dispatched a highly skilled guardsman who sneaked into the Ritual Group’s tent area under the cover of night to probe secrets.

This guardsman was tossed in front of General Reyes’s warhorse the next day, his face swollen and bruised. A few followers with indifferent expressions said nothing and turned away.

"Did you find out anything?" It was the first time General Reyes had seen one of his own guardsmen in such a pathetic state.

"I didn’t find out anything." The guardsman covered the gash on his face and rose from the sandy ground: "I was barely inside when I was pounced on by four mastiffs. It seems like these guys started beating me up because they accused me of daring to peek at someone bathing."

"Bathing?" General Reyes’s voice lost its tune.

**

Was not late.