Chapter 60: Post-War Reconstruction

This victory did not come without a cost.

The knights of Lancaster wailed, mourning the deaths of their comrades. They were the price of this victory and the bait to lure High King Rodri into action.

John rode his horse through the crowd. When he reached the camp wall, even seasoned veterans like Guillaume were stunned. The wall was piled high with bodies, emanating an overwhelming stench of blood. John felt a wave of nausea and, unable to contain it, vomited in front of everyone.

"Ugh—"

Even after vomiting, John continued to retch, his body struggling to adjust to the horrific sight. The knights following him also looked pale, forcing themselves to walk past the gruesome path of flesh and blood.

Upon entering the camp, no one stood to salute John. Everyone was engrossed in their tasks. Some stood silently by the bodies of their fallen comrades, while others collapsed from exhaustion, ignoring their own wounds. For them, the loss of their comrades was the most important matter.

In this somber atmosphere, John walked through the crowd. The severed limbs and dried blood all testified to the brutal nature of the battle.

"Your Highness," Little Roches limped towards John, his face looking gaunt and devoid of his usual vigor, whether from exhaustion or injury.

"We have completed our mission, Your Highness."

Looking at Roches' face, John found himself at a loss for words. If he hadn't seen the gruesome scene, these men would have been mere numbers to him. But witnessing the carnage firsthand would touch even the hardest of hearts.

"You did well, Roches," John finally managed to say.

Little Roches merely nodded. "The casualties among our knights were severe. The battle was fierce, with the enemy launching wave after wave of attacks. We could barely hold the camp walls."

Everyone listened intently; no one interrupted Roches.

"Among them were Irish nobles, royal guards, and Aquitanians. Yes, those men must have been sent by the Duke of Aquitaine," Roches said, his voice trembling. "They killed many of our knights."

Lais, supporting his chin, asked, "Aquitaine is far from here. How did they end up here?"

"I don't know," Roches replied, bewildered. "The enemy's assault was so fierce that I didn't have time to think about it... and I couldn't come up with an answer anyway."

At that moment, John, who had been silent, suddenly dismounted and walked over to Little Roches, patting him on the shoulder.

"This time, you've truly worked hard," John said.

Such words of comfort meant little to Little Roches. Those who had come off that battlefield seemed to be taciturn and reserved. 

"If there's nothing else, take a good rest. You can go back and see your father, or stay in Dublin and enjoy your life. This battle was indeed brutal; you need to take a break."

Hearing this, Little Roches suddenly burst into tears. The immense pressure he had been holding back finally released. On the battlefield, he had forced himself to remain calm to maintain morale, often thinking about what would happen to his father if he died there. The Roches family had only him as a male heir.

Seeing Little Roches break down, John embraced him, patting his back.

"You are my finest knight, William de Roches," John's tone was full of praise and affirmation.

For Little Roches, this was the highest accolade, surpassing any reward of land or titles.

John then climbed back onto the camp wall. The ground was sticky and slippery, but he stood firm, facing everyone.

"By the grace of God, it is your fortune and His great mercy that you survived such a fierce battle. I apologize for the delay in bringing reinforcements. I must thank you for not giving up the fight, which allowed us the chance to annihilate the enemy."

John's powerful voice drew the crowd, and the knights, supporting each other, gathered before him.

"I, John, Prince of England and Earl of Lancaster, promise you this: I will build a monastery in Athlone to commemorate all the warriors who died here. I will compensate you with land and wealth so that you can thrive in Ireland, continuing your families and legacies. Praise be to God!"

Hearing the promise of land, all the Norman knights cheered, feeling that their sweat and bloodshed had been worth it.

This is the Normans.

John felt a bit sentimental.

In the records of later historians, the Battle of Aslon was an early masterpiece of John's military art. More importantly, in this battle, Ireland lost their High King.

From then on, Ireland no longer had any large forces capable of resisting John, and his remnants gradually engulfed Ireland.

Like hungry wolves from the north, they plunged all of Ireland into turmoil. Over the next hundred years, countless Irish people attempted to resist, but ultimately became prey to the English.

It all began with John.

After the battle, John immediately ennobled two hundred knights beneath Aslon Castle, distributing them across various locations in Connacht. These men formed the cornerstone of John's efforts to quell rebellion in these lands.

As for John himself, he returned promptly to Dublin.

For him, tidying up the aftermath was left to his subordinates; he merely needed to command his officers in Ireland, which was sufficient.

After all, he was a prince; there was no need for him to labor personally.

With the war concluded, John could now focus on preparation for development. After all, Ireland would serve as his logistical base in the future, and John couldn't afford to let it become a mere stable for horses.

There was also the matter of establishing a theater troupe.

To cultivate good relations with various courts, this troupe would undoubtedly play a crucial role.

Therefore, in John's plans, the first step was to renovate the entire city of Dublin.

A large parchment lay quietly before John, resting on the table. Only a few mathematically adept clerics joined John as they delved into this map.

"Your Highness, are you truly considering starting the new city planning from such a melancholy place?" the clerics' faces were filled with concern, as if John was about to commit a heinous act. John shrugged off their worries with a light-hearted nod.

"Of course, why not?"