Chapter 73: The Invaders

And so the battle, a war of colossal generational disparity, came to an end. No hot-blooded passion, only speed. By the standards of the seventeenth century, where wars were commonly measured in years, the battle that took place at the Dayuan Trading Post this afternoon was exceedingly brief—so brief it hardly seemed like a war at all.

Yet the harm a war should bring was not diminished in the slightest.

The square formation of corpses before the Shang Hall—no, the outer wall of the Shang Hall now had two breaches blasted open, and scattered around were the unlucky souls who had been standing atop those breaches and their assorted parts. Inside the rectangular Shang Hall, whether in the central plaza or on the corner forts, blood, discarded weapons, and the bodies of resisters could be seen everywhere.

Soldiers, crewmen, along with merchants, missionaries, doctors, carpenters, servants, hired laborers, and others—the Shang Hall's members, originally totaling 00, now had only 10 survivors. The rest were already dead, or in the process of dying—the pirates were ruthlessly killing the severely wounded. The survivors and some of the lightly injured were all rooted out and concentrated in the center of the grounds. Those strangely dressed, short-haired pirate officers holding peculiar guns stood not far away, loudly discussing something, as an oppressive, bloody atmosphere flowed through the air.

Some bald men, bent over and carrying crates or sacks, trudged into the Shang Hall, unloaded the goods from their shoulders, and then silently walked back out. Seeing these toiling laborers and the goods they were actually bringing in, one part of the Dutch had already realized: these people were not ordinary pirates; they had not come for plunder. Perhaps the Shang Hall itself was their objective.

The guess was correct, but it was of no damn use. All the Dutch present could now only shiver under the muzzles of guns, awaiting the pirates' disposal of them. To express it in theological terms: awaiting God's judgment.

God was already not far from here.

After hearing over the walkie-talkie that the Shang Hall had been occupied, Xia Xianze and the others hurriedly organized all the waiting laborers to set out, sending one part of the goods already unloaded on the shore to the Shang Hall. Then, leaving behind the sick and a small number of men to guard the ships, the rest rushed urgently toward the Shang Hall.

Slogging through the layered, silted-up shallow sand dunes of Dayuan Island, Xia Xianze's group of garrison Battle Power Weaklings soon spotted that fragment of corpses before the Shang Hall gate. This real-life scene instantly jabbed the pressure point of a certain gore-film enthusiast in the ranks; this fellow walked while exclaiming, and under the furious glares of the assembled weaklings, with a great sense of superiority, loudly popularized the difference between real human blood and flesh and prop tomato sauce and plastic.

As they reached the gate, a thick, cloying smell of blood mixed with the briny stench of the sea abruptly assaulted everyone's nostrils. The same guy who had just been loudly discussing the island's cannibal recipe immediately sprayed out everything in his stomach, triggering a chain reaction—the already pale-faced weaklings instantly erupted in a chorus of vomiting.

The Dutch finally met the pale-faced pirate leaders and their strange etiquette. These people not only performed handshakes but also vigorously slapped each other's upper arms, laughing and talking loudly. The crude victors were enjoying their own pleasures, while the captives had only cold and despairing eyes.

Soon, the captives could no longer even barely maintain their composure: these strange people opened several crates they had brought, and not long after, four monsters wearing green one-piece isolation suits, dark green masks, carrying blue pesticide sprayers on their backs, and holding black matte spray wands made their dazzling entrance.

Under these circumstances, the pitiful, highly strung captives without a doubt took these several monsters for the executioners of some impending Eastern-style torture. Especially after a certain mischievous fellow, as a prank, sprayed a cloud of disinfectant mist over the captives' heads and let out a Green Giant-like evil laugh—the crowd in the center of the grounds immediately began to stir. Someone shouted while coughing, "God, I can't breathe, that's the devil's saliva! Save me!"

The commotion was quickly quelled. The Dutch once again experienced the repeating fire capability of the invaders' short guns at the cost of three more lives, and the corpses were soon dragged away by pirate lackeys wielding knives and axes. Fortunately, those monsters spewing demon saliva had by now disappeared into the storehouse and barracks. The captives were now forced to sit cross-legged on the muddy ground in the center of the Shang Hall, each with head bowed low, their spirits broken.

Perhaps God had finally noticed his children were suffering tribulations and thus exercised divine power—a person radiating a holy aura appeared.

Cai Feiming was a transmigrator recruited from Cape Town in South Africa. Although one of South Africa's official languages is "South African Dutch," this Dutch, twisted through several bends, was barely understood even by native Dutch people in later generations, let alone used to converse with a citizen of the 17th-century United Provinces. So Comrade Cai Feiming, who had once sold luggage in Barcelona and leather shoes in South Africa and could speak authentic Dutch and Spanish, was currently an advanced, multi-disciplinary talent within the Organization, the designated External Liaison Minister, and today, guest-starring as translator.

The Dutch watched with some panic as several wooden crates were stacked into a pyramid shape, only then realizing it was not a gallows, but merely a simple podium. A yellow-skinned man with a well-proportioned build and a kindly smile on his face stepped onto the platform. He raised the electric megaphone in his hand, and the next moment, he slowly, with clear enunciation, spoke one sentence the Dutch present would never forget in their lives: "Vandaag is geschiedenis."

Looking at the dumbfounded Red Hairs below the platform, Cai Feiming was not entirely sure if these people had understood his Dutch from later generations, so he loudly repeated it: "Vandaag is geschiedenis."

The scene remained silent.

"You, stand up!" Cai Feiming, somewhat exasperated, pointed in Dutch at a Red Hair in the front row and issued the command.

The facts proved these people could actually understand.

That Red Hair slowly stood up.

"Can you understand what I just said?"

"Yes, sir."

"What does that sentence mean?"

"Today is history, sir."

"Very good, sit down."

The following is the full text of Cai Feiming's speech in Dutch.

"Today is history, gentlemen."

"The civilizations of East and West have arrived at a period of true, great intermingling. From this moment on, you gentlemen below the platform, and all you scum of various stripes—history is witnessed by you. The first contact between the United Provinces and a mysterious, great civilization is witnessed by you. You will be recorded in the annals of history. You have opened the door to wealth; countless benefits are about to arrive. You, and the power bases you represent behind you, will all participate in this grand feast."

"Additionally, the shareholders of the East India Company paid a little price today. But please believe me, this is just a small interlude. Please do not mind this minor detail. Compared to the glorious future, today's small loss is truly not worth wasting even a minute of time discussing."

"Finally, I have to kindly remind you all: it is very important to be aware of your current situation. Your status as captives will be maintained until an agreement is reached. Therefore, everyone, in the time to come, must unconditionally obey every command of the guards, if he does not wish to die a miserable death in the next moment."

"I have finished speaking."