West of the Western Regions.
The Tigris and Euphrates rivers flowed from northwest to southeast, and the lands between them gave birth to an ancient Western kingdom.
Thousands of years ago, it was called Babylon.
Now, it is called the Sasanian Empire.
In later generations, it would be called Iraq.
On the west bank of the Euphrates, Motorola sat on a chair made of gold, his right hand holding a goblet of red wine that gleamed a particularly crimson hue under the sunlight.
Behind him, fifty thousand slaves, twenty thousand infantry, and ten thousand musketeers stood ready.
This was the greatest resistance he had encountered since undertaking his mission.
To the northwest were twenty thousand camel cavalry and thirty thousand slaves of the Byzantine Empire.
To the east, across the Euphrates, was the Sasanian Empire's navy of five thousand, along with twenty thousand infantry preparing to cross.
Along his journey, he had captured three cities of Byzantium, and all the territory of the Sasanian Empire on the west bank of the Euphrates had fallen under the muzzle of his guns.
For Motorola, conquering cities and capturing territory had never been his interest; it was merely incidental plunder during his missions.
He would plunder and leave, letting whoever wanted the cities have them. This Tsar only loved gold and silver.
However, for Byzantium and the Sasanian Empire, these actions were naked provocations.
On the Byzantine side.
"Esteemed Count, the King has sent messengers again to urge haste, stating that the Slavs in the north are becoming more ferocious in their attacks and that you should return quickly to provide support after concluding the conflict here."
A burly, hairy man knelt on one knee, speaking to a bearded man clad in leather armor.
The bearded man was the supreme commander of this Byzantine army.
Radu Tsimitsil.
He sat atop his camel, gazing at Motorola's vast army in the distance, an indescribable anger churning within him.
Because his territory had been conquered by the man seated on the golden throne!
That resplendent golden chair was a treasured possession from his vault!
Count Radu Tsimitsil urged his camel forward to the front of the slave soldiers' ranks. Pointing his scepter at Motorola in the distance behind him, he declared,
"Slaves, if you defeat the infidels opposite, this Count will pardon your transgressions and grant you the status of warriors!"
"Captured prisoners of war will become your personal slaves!"
"Felled soldiers will turn into silver coins, filling your pockets!"
"Glory in battle beckons you, and manors await your occupancy!"
"In the name of Jesus, charge!"
At his command, thirty thousand slave soldiers, armed with wooden clubs and worn iron swords, raised a clamor and charged towards Motorola.
Radu Tsimitsil pulled a small piece of silk from his pouch and covered his mouth and nose, inhaling its pleasant fragrance.
The charge of the thirty thousand slave soldiers kicked up a dust storm. The accursed sun had baked the earth until not a drop of moisture remained!
If not for his treasured silk piece, he would likely have been covered in dust from head to toe.
How did that magical country to the east weave their fabrics so thinly?
He truly wished he could go and see!
At a distance of three to four hundred meters between the two armies, Motorola regarded the charging slave soldiers with disdain. After taking a sip of red wine, he said calmly.
"Jack Sparrow!"
"Take your Blackbeard's Legion and show those bitches across the way what the Tsar's whip feels like!"
"Yes, my Emperor!"
From the crowd, a dark-skinned, slightly gaunt figure with dirty dreadlocks emerged. It was Jack Sparrow.
He drew the short-barreled musket from his waist, pulled the trigger, and fired into the air. With a bang, he roared to the infantry.
"Kill!"
Ten thousand infantrymen responded, emerging from the ranks. Clad in the cotton armor of the late Ming Dynasty and wielding Ming-era broadswords, they skirted around the flanks of Motorola's golden chair and charged headlong into the thirty thousand Byzantine slave soldiers.
Neither side had deployed their elite troops, for the Sasanian Empire's forces were waiting on the other side of the river.
As the infantry advanced, a beautiful concubine quickly approached Motorola and held his head, burying his mouth and nose in her bosom.
This action, too, was to prevent the pervasive dust from entering his mouth and nose.
In comparison, Radu Tsimitsil's act of covering his face with silk seemed utterly pathetic!
A distance of three to five hundred meters was covered in the blink of an eye.
The moment Blackbeard's Legion engaged the enemy, their sharp Ming broadswords were like a destructive force, cleaving the Byzantine slaves to the ground.
Meanwhile, the weapons in the slaves' hands were incapable of inflicting fatal damage on them.
The Ming Dynasty cotton armor from a thousand years in the future was not something these wooden clubs and iron swords could pierce.
The battlefield was obscured by a swirling sandstorm. Radu Tsimitsil could not see what was happening within, but regardless of whether it was going smoothly, he did not care.
They were merely slaves; if they died, more would be captured and thrown a wooden club and a broken sword.
Their purpose in life was to wear down the enemy's forces.
Calculating the time, he confirmed that the slaves he had dispatched should now be thoroughly entangled with the opposing infantry. He then turned to the camel cavalry behind him and said.
"Warriors of Damascus! That man opposite led the demon army to defile your wives and daughters and stole this Count's treasury!"
"An infidel like him deserves to be nailed to a cross and feasted upon by the sky's eagles!"
"Now, noble camel riders, draw your sharp scimitars and charge!"
"Under the camel's hoof, I am invincible!"
After Count Radu Tsimitsil's rousing speech, he sharply pointed his scepter at Motorola.
"Kill!"
Upon hearing the command, the twenty thousand camel cavalry drew their scimitars and, following Radu Tsimitsil, bypassed the ongoing engagement and charged directly at Motorola.
Motorola's head was still buried in the concubine's bosom, inhaling the perfume emanating from her.
He had heard that perfumes were also selective, and this beautiful concubine's scent was particularly compatible with one of the various perfumes awarded as mission rewards.
This perfume, he recalled, was something called pheromones.
This concubine was no ordinary person either; she was the contemporary queen of beauty he had plundered from Egypt.
From her appellation alone, one could discern her extraordinary nature.
Hearing the sound of camel hooves approaching in the distance, Motorola reluctantly withdrew his head from the queen's embrace and cast a devilishly charming smile towards the camel cavalry in the dust-laden distance.
"Little ones, you think cavalry is invincible? Let me show you my trump card!"
Saying that, he waved his right hand in the air, and a colossal object appeared out of nowhere.
A T-90 main battle tank!
Even though this thing couldn't be driven, it didn't prevent me from adjusting the turret angle through the system.
And, as for firing the cannon, that is a man's innate talent!