Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 31: Merit

Although the ranks and titles of the Field Army and the Farming-Military Corps differed, they were both part of the Imperial Armed Forces, and it was still easy to find common ground between them. For example, a “Pai Jia” in the Colonization Army is typically responsible for overseeing one hundred colonization army households. Although the exact number may vary, it is generally considered equivalent to a deputy lieutenant at the company level in the Field Army. An officer such as Huang Dexia, holding the rank of Qianzhong, typically commands around ten Pai Jia units; again, the exact number may vary, but this rank is roughly equivalent to a battalion-level lieutenant. The highest rank in the colonization army is Dusi, but in terms of jurisdiction, a Dusi is equivalent to a Qianzong; in terms of military rank, it is equivalent to a Zhenwei in the field army, though the official title remains at the battalion level. (According to Ou Yang’s understanding, the relationship between a Qianzong and a Dusi is akin to that between a captain and a major commanding a battalion—they can distinguish between superior and subordinate, but they do not command one another. ) In the Field Army, the rank above Zhenwei is Zuowei, above which is Xiaowei, followed by Duwei. Those above Duwei may style themselves as “General.” In terms of military rank, this Xiao Wei, Zuo Hengbai, was three ranks higher than Huang Qianzong. Adding in the unwritten rule that the same rank in the Field Army is half a rank higher than in the Colonization Army, he could be considered four ranks higher than Ou Yang and the other Pai Jia officers. “General Zuo’s son has already reached this rank, and he’s still here personally greeting us at the gate. It seems he takes this matter very seriously,” Ou Yang thought to himself. “Liu Chenyong, Squad Leader of the First Squad, Anxi Garrison Thousand-Man Headquarters.” Liu Chenyong stood at attention and saluted. In truth, he had known Zuo Hengbai for quite some time, but since Zuo Hengbai had first rendered a military salute to everyone with such solemnity, the junior officer naturally dared not be disrespectful. “Song Wenmu, First Squad Leader of the Seventh Squad, Headquarters of the Anxi Garrison Farming Regiment.” The official title for a “Pai Jia” was actually “Squad Leader”; the term “Pai” was simply a conventional nickname stemming from the fact that all “Pai Jia” wore an iron plaque as proof of their identity. “Ou Yang, Squad Leader of the Eighth Squad, Headquarters of the Anxi Garrison Farming Regiment.” As Ou Yang introduced himself, he noticed that Zuo Hengbai had scrutinized him from head to toe. As the only newly appointed squad leader who didn’t recognize Zuo Hengbai, it was hardly surprising to receive such attention. “Huang Junxian, noncommissioned officer at the headquarters of the Anxi Garrison Reclamation Regiment.” The young man who had slain the Di Yi barbarians without batting an eye actually blushed—probably because he felt it was somewhat embarrassing to be a mere noncommissioned officer, not even a “Plaque Soldier,” in front of Zuo Shuijing. If one takes into account the unwritten rule that the Colonization Army ranks half a grade below the Field Army, a Squad Leader is the lowest-ranking officer in the Imperial Armed Forces. In terms of rank, a soldier is somewhat similar to the non-commissioned officers (NCOs) from Ou Yang’s previous life—still classified as enlisted personnel. However, unlike the NCOs of his past life, who were characterized by being veteran soldiers with specialized skills and included “top soldiers” such as master sergeants whom even generals had to salute upon meeting, the Empire’s soldiers were simply “soldiers who lead other soldiers”—merely a non-commissioned management tier ranking below plate-armor soldiers and second lieutenants. Seeing how seriously the officers were conducting the Q&A, Zuo Shuijing stood at attention with her head held high, chest out, and hands behind her back, standing obediently to the side like a soldier and saying nothing more. Zuo Hengbai first gestured to Ou Yang and the others, saying, “Gentlemen, please come in.” Only then did he turn to Zuo Shuijing with a gentle smile and say, “Little Pomegranate, your master is back and was just about to send for you.” “Aaaah~~~ Master~~~” In the blink of an eye, the beautiful young girl shed her serious expression and was the first to dash through the gates of the Commander-in-Chief’s office. After running a few steps, she seemed to remember something, turned around, stood at attention, and saluted the group still standing outside. Then, leaving behind a string of silvery laughter, she ran off out of sight… The crowd broke out in a cold sweat… “Ahem, ahem. My younger sister has been spoiled by our elders since childhood, so she’s a bit spirited. Please don’t take offense.” A dashing young officer, looking rather embarrassed, stepped in to explain on Zuo Shuijing’s behalf. “Please come in.” In the end, it was the auditor who came to Zuo Hengbai’s rescue: “Our work isn’t finished yet. Please follow me to the Audit Department.” The two deputy generals under the 11th Army had their own offices. As it was already dusk, most of the officers had already clocked out and returned to their quarters, so there weren’t many people left in the Commander’s Office. The Army Audit Department occupied the entire second floor of the main building, but at that moment, only two auditors were present. Upon seeing Zuo Hengbai and the audit officer leading their party inside, they immediately stood up to pour tea for everyone. Everyone took their seats around a long table in the center of the room. The military auditor stood up first and saluted, saying, “The severed heads sent from Anxi Garrison have all been examined. They are all genuine Di tribesmen, including one Lion Di, which matches the previous report exactly.” In a world where intelligent beings are not limited to humans, the method of examining severed heads is a field of study in its own right—particularly when it comes to orcs. After all, one cannot simply allow rank-and-file soldiers to grab a few pig heads and claim they’ve beheaded orcs. Fortunately, there are significant differences between the facial features of orcs and those of similar animal species, making it relatively easy for professionals to distinguish them. Upon receiving this definitive answer, Zuo Hengbai breathed a sigh of relief—a great nation with a population of over ten million, and potentially as high as thirty million, had extended its reach to the Empire’s western frontier. Since the fall of the Tatars, the Empire had never tolerated a threat of this magnitude on its doorstep. Take the Tibetan Empire, for example, which once posed a major threat to the Empire’s southwestern provinces. Nowadays, the Empire’s southwestern armies routinely raid it twice a year—once during planting season and once during harvest season. Each time, they seize countless people, livestock, and grain, then burn every building in sight. The Tibetan Empire, which once boasted a population of three million able-bodied men, likely doesn’t even have three million people left today. If it weren’t for the fact that Han people simply cannot adapt to the highlands, the very existence of that nation would be in question. With such a clear example before them, and given the Empire’s current spirit and resolve, it must at the very least cut off the filthy claws reaching out to it and deliver a few hard slaps to the enemy—otherwise, it will be impossible to swallow this humiliation. Furthermore, the emergence of another powerful nation on the border would give the various “barbarian” tribes an opportunity to hedge their bets, which could potentially undermine the Empire’s suzerainty and the credibility of its paper currency. This is something even the most “dovish” imperial officials cannot tolerate. As the saying goes, “When the cannons roar, gold flows in abundance.” Once war breaks out, the Empire will inevitably increase its support for the Lingxi Route. Facing an opponent with tens of millions of able-bodied men, the Cabinet will surely be more generous in recognizing military merits. Zuo Hengbai thought of Zuo Shuijing, who was deeply cherished within the family. The reason was likely tied to the fact that this younger sister was the only biological granddaughter of the world-renowned Zuo Helin; in reality, Zuo Helin’s branch could only be considered a collateral line within the Zuo family, a lineage of military commanders spanning generations. Yet today, when people speak of the Zuo family of the Northwest, the first name that comes to mind is General Zuo Helin, the Grand Guardian who once beheaded the Golden Khan of the Tartar Empire in battle. As for him and the other descendants of the main line, in the eyes of others, they were merely “such-and-such a son, nephew, or younger relative of General Zuo.” Such is the power of military merit. Even Zuo Hengbai himself felt that the main branch of the Zuo family—which had produced fifteen generals—could not, taken together, match Zuo Helin alone. Zuo Hengbai did not believe he could reach the pinnacle of military distinction in the Empire—the rank of Grand Guardian—a title almost exclusively reserved for commanders who had achieved decisive victories against the Tartar Empire, the mortal enemy of Huaxia. However, he believed he was qualified to become a Commander-in-Chief or a Naval Commander, to enjoy greater glory, and to become the true leader of the younger generation of the Zuo family after Zuo Helin. That is why Zuo Hengbai craved military merit—he craved it intensely. Now, the opportunity had arrived. Unfortunately, they had not yet secured conclusive evidence. Because that lion and the men he brought with him were all dead. The information provided by those two decrepit old men from the Di and Qiang tribes was even less than what the Empire already knew. The question that the Zuo family—and all the soldiers in the Western Regions eager to distinguish themselves—desperately needed to know was: What was that Lion’s true purpose? Had he come here for personal political gain, or to serve the strategic objectives of the Beastmen Empire? If it is the former, then this war will never even break out. The Empire’s most likely response would be to dispatch a small force to the other side of the Great Forest to burn and raid a few villages just to vent its frustration. If it is the latter, then how do the Orcs plan to cross the Great Forest to achieve their strategic objectives? How many forces can they commit to the east? Could the Empire use the same method to launch a counterattack against the Oak Empire? In other words, the scale of this war—whether it would be a mere probing skirmish or a major conflict capable of determining the strategic trajectories of the two great powers in the East and West—depended on how many forces the Orcs could commit to the east through the Great Forest and how many forces the Oak Empire could actually commit to the west. Zuo Hengbai shook his head, temporarily banishing these complex thoughts from his mind. Urging the Empire to go to war with another nation and alter the strategic direction of its expansion was not something he, as a military advisor, could accomplish—and it had even less to do with the junior officers from the Anxi Garrison standing before him. They had done their jobs well—they had even dispatched troops to lie in wait for the possible arrival of that orc caravan. However, the success of such a “sitting and waiting” operation depended entirely on whether the caravan actually returned; if they failed to capture it, Anxi Garrison could hardly be blamed.