Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 213 Dance
On May 1st, a rain mixed with small hailstones fell on the wasteland.

This is the first rainfall after a long dry season, announcing the arrival of the rainy season.

From this day forward, the herders of Hede will gradually move their livestock to higher ground, where it is cooler.

When the dry season comes, they will lead the livestock back to the low-lying winter pastures.

Winters thus migrated with the camp.

The little lion would often come to talk to him.

"Speaking of differences, the difference between us, the Boya clan, and the Jinren clan is even greater than the difference between the Venetians and the Palatine people. They worship stone piles, while we revere ancestral spirits. Further west, the Deer Herder tribe doesn't even speak our language."

The little lion said casually, "Hey, only you people from outside the grasslands call all the tribes 'Hede,' and the tribes don't have the pronunciation of 'Hede' in their own languages."

Winters quietly whittled the wooden awl, his skill improving with practice, and his control over the knife became increasingly precise.

After setting up camp, he would set up a pulley to suspend his knees and do simple rehabilitation exercises with Erlun's help.

While traveling with the camp in an oxcart, he kept sharpening wooden awls.

The wilderness was lush with grass but sparse with trees. When the people in the camp learned that he was whittling wood, they took the initiative to collect wood for him.

Thick branches, thin branches, tree trunks—regardless of their quality—were all sent to Erlun.

Seeing that he spent all day sharpening wooden awls, the little lion brought him a set of iron tools.

Winters began doing some simple carpentry work, and although he lacked nails, he still managed to make a few folding stools.

The little lion seemed to need only one listener. He chewed on a stalk of sweet grass and said casually, "You know what? Most people on the grassland have never seen the sea, not even my brother. I don't even know how to describe it to them."

"Even if they imagined it to the best of their ability, the sea was just a large lake. For them, the mountains to the south and north, the snowfields to the west, the Parat people to the east, and this grassland were the whole world."

“Sometimes I can’t help but think that it’s absurd and ridiculous that all the tribes, from birth to death, fight each other for such a small piece of land.”

"Sometimes I can't help but wonder, why do we kill each other? Is it for food and clothing? But in recent years, the grasslands have enjoyed favorable weather, and at least everyone can have enough to eat and wear."

"Was it out of hatred? The Paratus captured the people of various tribes and sold them into slavery beyond the sea. The tribes also captured Paratus and made them into 'Tutichar,' chaining them up with iron chains, making them even more ruthless than the owners of the Red Pine Manor."

"The tribes and the Paratu hate each other, yet they don't hate each other, because everyone is used to it. My brother even served as a bodyguard for the Paratu chieftain, didn't you know? Right after that man wiped out my father's tribe."

“The tribes are also fighting each other. We fought a battle with you, and now we have to guard against the other tribes attacking us.”

“Even outside the grasslands, aren’t you ‘civilized’ people killing each other? Your war between the Venetians and the archipelago is far more brutal than the war between the tribes and the Plato.”

"Or is it because of greed? I don't know. I can't figure it out, and I don't want to live a muddled life. Beyond the grasslands, there is an endless sea!"

The little lion spat out some grass and said casually, "Only you would listen to me on this vast grassland. If I told others, they would probably think I've gone mad."

“Oh, right, you know what? I heard in the songs of the singers that to the west, beyond the west, beyond the tundra and snowfields, on the west side of the mountains, lies another land and sea! Our ancestors migrated here from there. If I have the chance, I really want to go and see it, or maybe we can go together.”

Winters stopped what he was doing, looked at the little lion, and said softly, "You've grown up, much better than when you were on Red Iwo Jima."

"What do you mean by that?" the little lion feigned anger. "Aren't you saying I was an idiot when I was at Red Pine Manor?"

"I want to see your brother."

“I also want him to see you.” The little lion sighed. “He’s been busy lately. During the war, the Qin people raided our old camp. They stripped us of more than fifty pieces of clothing, killed more than a dozen people, and stole a lot of livestock. My brother led troops to fight against the Qin people.”

"Aren't you going with me?"

“I’ll guard the hearth.” The little lion then remembered something: “Oh, right, the Great Shaman wants to see you. To be precise, he wants to see Herstius. Don’t worry, he’s a very good person.”

“You call me Herstas,” Winters said, seemingly unsurprised. “It’s because of that ceremony, isn’t it?”

The little lion nodded, explaining with a troubled expression, "That's right, the Kurshitashi ritual is... it's hard for me to explain, but it's a very important ritual. Hersthas chose you as his successor—though I don't know why either, I understand a little bit now."

“You not only inherit the name and title of Herstius, but also the spirit of every generation of Herstius before you. They accompany you and protect you,” the little lion continued. “So to us, you are Herstius, our bridge to our ancestors and all spirits—though you may not look like it now.”

"Why me?" Winters pursed his lips.

“I’d like to know too.” The little lion said with a wry smile, “If you really are Herstius, you should be able to ask the previous Herstius yourself. Let’s wait for the Great Shaman to come and explain it to you.”

As he spoke, the little lion picked up two wooden awls from Winters' lap.

Upon comparing them side by side, he couldn't help but gasp: "I originally thought you were just whittling wooden skewers as a pastime, since they're too short even for grilling meat. But now I see, they're all exactly the same, not a single one different! Haha, that's quite a skill of yours."

Winters remained noncommittal and continued whittling the wooden awl.

“Someone’s come to see you, Winters!” Erlun said happily, leading a person in.

"Good luck and happiness, Champion Palatour, is your injury any better?" The visitor entered the tent and respectfully presented a small gift: "My Lord sent me to visit you."

The newcomer also spoke fluent Common Tongue, a language previously spoken only by three people in the camp: Winters, Erlun, and Little Lion.

When did the fourth one arrive?

Winters remained expressionless and did not accept the gift; he remembered who the person was.

The little lion raised its eyebrows high: "Who are you?"

The visitor answered meekly, "I am the interpreter for those warming themselves by the fire."

The little lion gave a soft snort, took the gift, opened it, and exclaimed, "Pepper?"

“It’s pepper.” The old interpreter’s attitude became even more submissive: “I was afraid that this gentleman wouldn’t be used to the food of the grasslands, so I brought some spices with me.”

"What are you here for?"

"Please allow me to speak with this gentleman alone. This old servant is weak and frail; this gentleman could kill me with a flick of his finger. Please rest assured."

The little lion wanted to refuse directly, but he still looked at Winters with his eyes and asked.

Winters nodded slightly, the little lion glanced at the old interpreter, and walked out of the tent with Erlun.

Winters remained silent, as did the old translator; the two simply stared at each other in silence for a short while.

"How is your injury?" the old translator broke the silence, asking with a smile, "Is there anything we can do for you?"

Winters remained silent, but conveyed to the other person with his eyes: "Speak plainly."

The old interpreter coughed lightly, then his expression suddenly changed, and he demanded in a surprise attack: "Where is the golden figure used for the sacrificial ceremony?!"

Winters remained unmoved: "We've broken up. Let Monkey Butt Face fight it out himself."

"You're lying!" The old interpreter's eyes were sharp as he stared intently at Winters' eyes, face, and fingertips, not missing a single subtle movement. "We haven't found any fragments of the golden statue! None of the prisoners have them, none of the camp has them! Nobody knows where they are!"

"Very well, that's your business."

The old translator suddenly grabbed Winters' wrist: "Where is the golden statue used for the sacrificial ceremony?!"

Winters gave a half-smile, his pulse as steady as a dripping water clock.

The next moment, the old translator vaguely saw a fist appear before his eyes.

Then came the crisp sound of bones breaking. He was knocked back and sat on the ground, tears, blood from his nose, and saliva streaming down his face.

"Don't be a fool." Winters' voice was clear and cold: "That monkey-faced guy wants to use a golden statue as a sacrifice? Let him save up some money, maybe he can make a smaller version."

Just as the old interpreter was about to lash out, the little lion and Erlun outside the tent rushed in upon hearing the noise.

"What's going on?" The little lion put his hand on the hilt of his knife and stared at the old translator with a hostile expression.

The old interpreter, holding the bridge of his nose, suddenly straightened it with a sharp movement. He got up from the ground, bowed to the group, and walked away with a gloomy expression.

"What happened?" the little lion asked Winters with concern.

Winters loosened his wrist: "In cahoots."

"That old servant is quite capable," the little lion said, scratching his head. "He didn't even complain of pain, and he fixed his nose and left."

“You might not win against him.” Winters recalled the feel of the old translator’s hand: “The calluses on that guy’s hands… were thicker than mine.”

Winters' thoughts returned to the north bank of the confluence: "It's a pity I didn't see it back then and didn't kill him with a single sword strike on the battlefield. Now, even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

Erlun fearfully threw away the bag of pepper the old interpreter had brought: "Let's not take this. What if he poisoned it?"

“Don’t worry.” Winters leaned back on the blanket and said slowly, “Right now, the person most concerned about my safety is Monkey Butt Face. I think we slaughtered a sheep today, shall we make some offal soup? Just like we did on Chiliu Island, with a little bit of crushed pepper.”

"Okay, I'll cook a sheep's head for you." Hearing the nickname "monkey butt face," Erlun's willow-leaf eyes crinkled with laughter as she walked out of the yurt with pepper in her hand.

Crush the peppercorns and sift them.

Clean and shred the sheep tripe, intestines, heart, and lungs. Blanch them first, then boil them in a pot to make a white broth.

Sprinkle pepper on the mutton soup and add a little sauce made from wild chive blossoms from the grasslands.

Take a big sip, and the chill of early spring will vanish without a trace.

Finally, Erlun served the noodles he had secretly prepared.

This was the warmest meal Winters had ever had on the Great Wilderness.

……

Winters ate well, but some people were annoyed.

After leaving the camp, the old interpreter rushed south without stopping.

Sixty kilometers away in a mountain valley, someone was waiting for him by a fire.

If the lion cub saw this, it would be furious.

Teltown's pastures are south of the river, closer to the Golden Peaks to the south.

The grasslands of the Chihe tribe are north of the river, closer to the shaded mountains to the north.

The "Great River" mentioned by the Hed tribes is the Jinliu River mentioned by the Parat people, and the Benliu River mentioned by the Venetians and the United Provinces.

This river flows from west to east, almost bisecting the land between two mountains.

Even the Styx River eventually flows into the Great River, which is why the Great River is called the River of a Thousand Rivers or the Father of All Rivers by the Hed people.

However, before it merges with the River Styx, the upstream river does not have as much water as the River Styx.

Not long after the Battle of the Styx, the Fire-Baker parted ways with the White Lion and led the Teldun tribe back to the "Henan Pastures".

But in reality, he not only didn't leave, but also led five hundred elite cavalrymen to hide in a mountain ravine near the Chihe tribe's camp.

This is a serious act of provocation, and it's only a hair's breadth away from starting a fight.

"How did it go?" the man by the fire asked impatiently as he saw the old interpreter return. "What did that guy say?"

"He's as calm as wood, as cold as stone." The old translator said with a sullen face, "The last time I saw him, he was as shallow as a pond. This time, I can't see through him at all."

The man warming himself by the fire was at a loss: "What should we do? Echige, are we still going to try and take him away?"

Not to mention the people of the Chihe tribe, even the lower-ranking members of the Teldun tribe would be startled when they heard their leader call the interpreter "Echige".

Echige means "father" in Hede. Considering that the previous leader of the Teldun tribe did not hang the old interpreter from the tree and shoot him to death with arrows, the fire-warmer should mean "adoptive father".

The quiver-wielders at the fire were used to this, and it was clear that this so-called "interpreter" was not just a simple interpreter.

The old translator pondered for a moment and said, "There's another possibility: that kid really doesn't know anything. That's why I can't see through him."

"What do we do then?" the man by the fire panicked. "If he doesn't know either, where are we supposed to find the golden statue used for sacrificial rites?"

"The worst possibility is that the Jurchens were taken away by the traitors." The old interpreter organized his thoughts: "The Jurchens' heads were cut off, and it's very likely that the other parts were also dismantled. Breaking them down into smaller parts would make it easy to take them away. Another possibility is that they were dismantled and buried, or even sunk in the water."

"What if we're really taken away by those two-legged people?!" The man by the fire was so anxious his voice cracked.

"What's the panic?" the old interpreter scolded sternly. "That golden man can neither produce foals nor kill people; he's just a lump of gold! In this battle, we obtained 1,500 suits of armor and countless weapons. As long as we can recover our strength, even without the sacrificial golden man, who can do anything to us? If we are weak, the sacrificial golden man in our hands will be taken away."

"What should we do then? Should we try to take them back?"

"No, we are now in a precarious situation with the Red River Tribe. Given that kid's value, it's not worth risking war with the Red River Tribe to forcibly take him. It's best to let the White Lion hand him over himself, and we must be careful not to let the White Lion know about the Golden Man of the Heavenly Sacrifice."

"Okay." The person warming themselves by the fire nodded repeatedly.

“The rebels retreated so resolutely, I can’t be sure if they’ll take the gold with them.” The old interpreter slapped his thigh: “Let’s go! To the River Styx! Send men to search the rebels’ retreat route. I refuse to believe we won’t find any clues.”

The five hundred elite cavalrymen of the fire-warming party quickly sprang into action, rolling up their packs, mounting their horses, and galloping toward the banks of the River Styx.

……

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Ocean City, at Navarre Manor.

Catherine happily entered Anna's room, only to find her sister sitting listlessly at her dressing table, flipping through a stack of letters. She couldn't help but feel annoyed.

She lay down on Anna's bed, gazing at the embroidered patterns on the ceiling curtain, and teased her sister: "Tsk tsk tsk, still thinking about your lover? While you're putting on this melodramatic show, he might have already forgotten all about you and is busy having a sweet time with some little slut from Palatine!"

These are Anna's two major taboos:
First, lying in her bed without permission—of course, she never allowed it;
Second, there were malicious attacks on the mysterious Mr. WM—but there were also attacks that were not malicious.

Catherine always used these two tricks to provoke her sister, and they never failed her.

But Anna was acting strangely today; she was usually so easily ignited, but today she was completely unmoved.

She remained seated blankly in front of the dressing table, flipping through the letters.

Catherine was almost driven mad with anger.

She jumped out of bed, snatched the letter from Anna's hand without a word, and angrily scolded her sister: "It's just your first love! What's the big deal! Is it worth being so heartbroken?"

"Okay, okay," Anna said wearily. "Stop fooling around, give it back to me."

"Look, I'm burning them all!"

Anna stopped talking and lay on the dressing table, sobbing softly.

“The more you give, the more you get hurt,” Catherine said, growing angrier with each word. “Only by not giving your heart will you never get hurt. Do you really think you, Olivia, and I can marry for love? Are you a five-year-old? We are the heiresses of the Navarre family; our marriage must be carefully considered. One wrong step and we'll be in deep trouble. Mom says you're more mature than me, but how come you open your heart to everyone? My God! How can you be so naive!”

Anna's crying grew louder and louder, and Catherine became sad as well.

She sat down next to Anna and hugged her sister's shoulders: "Alright, alright, don't cry. It's all my fault. I'm an evil witch, and you're a pure princess. Your Highness, would you like to come dancing with me? Madame Morluck just sent an invitation for both of us to come."

Catherine's fingers brushed through Anna's disheveled hair as she snuggled against her sister, coaxing, "Let's dress up in our finest today and outshine those three silly girls from the Moruk family. I'll tone it down a bit today and let you steal the spotlight, okay? I'll withdraw from the competition for a day and let you be the most dazzling lady in the aquarium. If you meet a handsome young man at the ball, you'll soon forget about Mr. M."

"I'm not going!" Anna cried, kicking the dressing table wildly.

Catherine was at her wit's end. She said helplessly, "Fine, fine, it's all my fault. You're a good person, Mr. M is a good person, only I'm the bad person. Mr. M must be thinking about you day and night, his mind is always on his mind, and he just wants to fly back to your side. Moreover, he is loyal and unwavering. Even if a dozen little sluts like Paratus were dancing around him, he would remain unmoved and refuse to yield to them."

"You're so annoying!" Anna burst into laughter through her tears. "Where did you learn to say such...you little slut...where did you learn to talk like that?!"

“That’s what all the men say,” Catherine scoffed. “What kind of good people do you think they are?”

“These letters were written by Mr. M in Tanilla.” Anna still gets shy when she mentions her lover’s name, so she always refers to him as Mr. M: “He hadn’t had a chance to give them to me before he was taken to Palatour.”

“Really?” Catherine’s foxy eyes crinkled with a smile. “Then I’ll have to take a good look.”

Anna blushed deeply and hurriedly reached out to snatch the letter, but Catherine wouldn't give it to her.

The two of them fought over the dressing table and onto the bed.

"Sigh, having a Mr. M is quite nice." Catherine breathed softly as she whispered in Anna's ear and gently bit her sister's earlobe. "Before you met him, I thought you liked women!"

Anna screamed and punched wildly, pushing her off the bed.

Catherine let out a soft scream, and despite her desperate grip on the bedspread, she was still forcefully pushed off the bed.

The next second, she stubbornly climbed up again, laughing loudly as she pounced on her sister: "Let me see who's so innocent!"

The two sisters bickered for a while, then made up as if nothing had happened.

"The Morluck family's ball, are you going?" Catherine nudged her sister's waist with her elbow.

"Don't go."

"Come on, come on, come on..." Catherine hugged her sister and began to coax and plead.

Anna gently shook her head: "I'm not in the mood."

"Sigh, fine then." Catherine gave up completely, and sighed, "I'm not going either."

Why don't you go?

“If you don’t go, I don’t want to go either,” Catherine said sternly. “We have to give the other ladies a little bit of room to shine.”

Suddenly, a series of footsteps came from the corridor.

The footsteps sounded unsteady, carrying with them immense sorrow and urgency.

Anna and Catherine exchanged a glance and quickly got out of bed.

Elizabeth burst through the door, clutching a stack of blood-stained letters, almost losing her balance.

Anna felt as if her heart was being constricted by vines.

"Don't say it..." She retreated in terror, waving her hands frantically, her voice trembling with tears, "No..."

Elizabeth held Anna tightly, sobbing uncontrollably, "My brother, he's gone..."

Anna's vision went black, she fainted, and fell heavily to the ground.

Similar scenes are playing out in various parts of Hailan.

The tragic news was relayed by Pegasus, Venetta's chief advisor in Kingsburg, and quickly spread through the channels of military families.

Everyone is eager to know how their own child is doing.

The cries of the unfortunate families were deafening, and even the fortunate families felt their sorrow.

Kosa collapsed into Mother Marita's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Antonio is still in the archipelago and is unaware of this devastating news.

Aunt Marita, who had cared for three generations of the Da Granah family, gently patted Kosa's back as if she were a baby.

"Poor young master," the old woman cried, tears streaming down her face. "Poor young lady."

……

The Fortress of Kings had just been ravaged by a bloodbath, and the stench of blood still lingered in the streets.

The massacre began with an accidental assassination.

It was an accident because no one expected to kill Arpad on the spot.

Initially, their goal was simply to capture Arpad and the Blue Blood faction leadership in one fell swoop—through arrest.

State organs have better means of killing people; why resort to assassination?

However, the situation spiraled out of control, resulting in the deaths of three people, including [Arpad Kleinheisler]. The true target, [Arpad Duyom], escaped.

Starting with this failed assassination attempt, the violence quickly escalated out of control.

The Blue Blood Faction's counterattack was exceptionally fierce. Before the Kings' Fortress Faction could arrest them, the Blue Blood Faction had already come knocking on their door with swords and their private soldiers.

Thirty years of pent-up resentment exploded in one fell swoop, unleashing a destructive force far exceeding even the most terrifying imagination of the instigator.

The Great Council Hall had become a slaughterhouse, with the two factions, blinded by rage, searching for each other throughout the city, looking for "traitors" from house to house.

Some people, who thrive on chaos, take advantage of the situation; local thugs and ruffians seize the opportunity to rob, commit arson, rape, and do all sorts of evil deeds.

The Fortress of Kings was shrouded in thick smoke, but the fire brigade dared not go out to fight the fire.

Innocent citizens huddled in their homes, trembling with fear, desperately praying that it would all end soon.

It was only thanks to Sackler's decisive action in leading the garrison to suppress the riots and imposing martial law and military control in Kingsburg that the situation gradually calmed down.

However, in this chaotic battle, Army Headquarters firmly stood on the side of the Blue Blood faction.

From the perspective of the officer corps, Sackler's actions were tantamount to betraying the army to the Grand Council.

Most of the officers at Army Headquarters, along with the remaining members of the Blue Blood faction, launched a counterattack out of the city to join General Alpad.

The remaining officers were a mixed bag, each with their own reasons.

Some were always at odds with the Blueblood faction, some were ambitious, some were loyal to Sackler, and some simply had their families in Kingsburg.

At the Shuangqiao camp, Alpad shouted "We have been betrayed!" and rode into the camp gate, instantly regaining command of the army.

The "Great Council Envoy" was immediately executed in public, and Arpad sent him the envoy's head and a letter.

That was a declaration of war.

……

In addition to the news of the young officer's death in Venetta, Venetta's chief advisor in the Fort of Kings, [Turaño], has just received even worse news.

Ignoring the guards' attempts to stop him, Turaño stormed into the Speaker's office and slammed a document on the table.

"What does this mean?" The chief advisor suppressed his anger. "Mr. Grove!"

The previous speaker, Arpad Kleinheisler, had already passed away. The new speaker, Grove Magnus, turned around and replied with a smile, "It means exactly what it says."

"I asked you exactly what you meant!" Turaño roared. "What do you mean by not paying it back? Do you want to provoke Veneta at this time?"

"The Grand Council has declared the Republic's finances bankrupt. Existing assets will be used to repay domestic debts first, and Veneta's debts will be restructured. This Grand Council will not recognize a single illegal loan signed by the previous council." Grove's smile gradually faded as he stared into the chief advisor's eyes, answering each word clearly: "No repayment, absolutely no repayment!"

Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone.

Catherine is an absolute realist, a compromiser who sees through half of things. But she genuinely cares for her sister, a concern stemming from familial love and a touch of jealousy.

When Catherine was attacking Mr. M so fiercely, how could we know that she wasn't harboring a bit of envy?
[Currently two chapters owed. If installments were allowed, today's chapter would be 6800+ words, meaning I'd still owe one and a half chapters. Orz]
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(End of this chapter)