Arc of Fire

Wang Zhong’s troops were currently advancing towards the Rokossovsky family’s manor according to the route provided by Ludmila.

Wang Zhong had intended to ride in Tank 422, but Bucephalus pulled at his hair so fiercely that he had no choice but to saddle up Bucephalus and ride the horse, with the tank following behind.

The Crown Prince was also mounted on a robust sorrel horse, proudly trotting beside Wang Zhong.

Curiously, passersby on the road didn’t even bother to tip their hats to the Crown Prince, as if he wasn’t the Tsar’s foremost heir.

The streets of Argesukov were much more peaceful and serene than Wang Zhong had expected.

Previously, when Wang Zhong and his troops entered a city, there was a desolate feeling, with little sense of the residents’ livelihood, but Argesukov was bustling with life, with numerous pedestrians in everyday attire on the streets.

Wang Zhong was surprised; the performance of the dandies at the train station already hinted at the decay typical of a dynasty’s end, but where was the expected atmosphere of “streets littered with frozen bones”?

Before setting out, Wang Zhong had thought he would see streets full of beggars, destitute people selling off their children, and bread in the bakeries costing 500,000 rubles each.

Yet, these clean and tidy streets, with rosy-cheeked, well-dressed civilians, seemed off, didn’t they?

As the troops moved towards the origin of the queue, Wang Zhong craned his neck, wondering what was at the end of the queue.

Soon, he saw it—or rather, the starting point of the queue—a shop adorned with the emblem of the Eastern Holy Church.

Civilians carrying large and small packages kept coming out of the shop.

Wang Zhong scrutinized the items in the hands of a jubilant elderly lady: smoked sausages as thick as a grown man’s thigh and forty centimeters long, four cans of fish, and canned oats, sour cream, mushrooms, mayonnaise, and the indispensable pickled cucumbers.

Although all were canned goods and processed sausages, with no fresh produce in sight, the variety still seemed quite rich!

Just then, a person dressed as a priest brought out a notice board and put it at the shop entrance, immediately drawing comments from the queued crowd.

The notice read: “Fish will only be supplied on Tuesdays and Thursdays from now on; we hope for your understanding.”

Someone in the queue shouted, “Why only supply fish?”

The Priest replied, “Many farms and meat factories have been occupied, and supplies have sharply declined. Be content; at least there’s fish from Riga and the North Sea!”

Immediately, the Priest’s words were met with dissent, “I was at a tavern yesterday and heard on the radio that we are about to defeat Prosen!”

Priest, “Yes, indeed, so it’s only temporary. Think of it as eating more fish! By the way, we have enough caviar in stock here; you can buy some more to enjoy!”

“I’m sick of caviar, and I really don’t understand why those noble lords like it so much!”

Wang Zhong raised an eyebrow.

It seemed that the Church’s shop had helped to ease the tension between classes.

Thinking it over, the Church had demonstrated strong mobilization power in Loktov.

Could it be because the Church assured bountiful delicacies for the common people?

Wang Zhong scratched his head, feeling there was much he still didn’t understand, and that he needed to observe more closely.

Anyhow, the Church’s mobilization power was a good thing. Considering the decadence of those nobles, relying on them to defeat Prosen seemed unlikely.

Passing by the Church store, Wang Zhong saw another shop on the street selling fried patties—not meat patties, but fish patties.

An older lady purchasing goods complained, “How come there has been no meat for two days?”

“Fish tastes quite good too,” smiled the girl frying patties. “We’ll have meat patties tomorrow!”

“Alright then, I’ll take some fish patties today. What kind of fish is it?”

“Cod from the North Sea!”

Wang Zhong walked past the fish patty shop.

He continued onwards, and there were several more shops like this one.

Wang Zhong fell deep into thought.

At that moment, the march of the troops suddenly halted.

Feeling puzzled, Wang Zhong spurred Bucephalus forward, overtaking the stopped infantry to reach the very front.

He saw that the road had come to an end, a metal gate imposingly bisecting the asphalt road.

Emblazoned on the gate were the family crest and Ante’s slogan, “Private Property, No Trespassing.”

Yegorov at the forefront of the troops said, “According to Miss Mailehovna’s directions, this is your manor, but… are we expected to climb over and open the gate ourselves?”

Wang Zhong had no idea what was happening—the gate didn’t even seem to have an intercom. How were they supposed to get it open?

Just then, on the other side of the gate, a formation of maids paraded in double files along the road towards them.

Seeing the procession of maids, the face of Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky—the iron-clad warrior and god of war adorned with the Peniye, Loktov’s Guardian, bearer of the Red Banner, and rememberer of soldiers’ names—unexpectedly revealed a smile of happiness, softened by the wreckages of war.

However, he quickly suppressed this inappropriate expression, and no one seemed to notice.

The maids arrived at the gate, then separated on either side of the road. The leading maid unlocked and opened the gate, pulled it aside with difficulty, then took her position at the head of the row of maids and bowed deeply.

Wang Zhong thought to himself, is it my imagination, or do these maids seem to have a bad attitude towards me?

Of course, with the Crown Prince present, the maids were undoubtedly polite, but it just felt as if the maids disliked him.

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