Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 283

The dim moon hung obliquely in the sky, while countless stars twinkled.

The Teldun people carried their sheepskin rafts into the water and paddled slowly toward the east bank.

The dead of night is not a good time for a sneak attack, as all is quiet and even the slightest sounds during the day can be easily detected.

Therefore, the Teldenans chose to attack before dawn.

The stream murmured, birds circled and chirped, and wolves howled in the wilderness. The noisy hacking, banging, and neighing of men and horses continued at the Teldun camp.

In this way, the sound of oars blended into the background sounds of nature, becoming almost indistinguishable.

Before they knew it, the sheepskin raft had drifted past the center of the river, and the east bank of the Dajiao River was peaceful.

Apart from a few crows, the Teldun people did not find any living creatures disturbed by them.

However, on the top of the riverbank, two pairs of eyes were watching all of this.

"How many rafts?" Tamas, lying on the top of the riverbank, squinted to make out the number. "Did you see clearly?"

“Company Commander,” Peter Bunier, lying down next to the company commander, answered timidly, “I’m Blindfold.”

"Blindfolded? Eat more offal." Tamas said without thinking, "I used to have trouble seeing at night too, but I was cured after eating offal with Blood Wolves for a while."

While the Teldenans were still on the shore, the sentries in the riverbank watchtower had already noticed the unusual movements of the barbarians on the opposite bank.

The First Company, stationed along this section of the riverbank, quickly prepared and set off, currently hiding behind the river embankment.

In the time it took to say a few words, the raft got closer and closer to the riverbank, and little Peter's forehead was covered in more and more sweat.

"Company commander, the barbarians are coming up." Peter's mouth was dry and his palms were cold. He couldn't help but urge, "Why don't you hurry up and get everyone up here too!"

Tamas stopped staring at the river in front of him and looked upstream and downstream: "Don't rush, let's wait until they get ashore."

"It will be too late once the barbarians get ashore," Peter said anxiously, sweating profusely.

"What?" Tamas glanced at his subordinate. "You want to command the First Company?"

Short Peter suddenly lost his energy.

"We only have two grappling hooks, which are only used for signaling. If the barbarians don't come ashore, how can you reach them?"

Peter replied listlessly, "Oh."

After reprimanding his subordinates, Tamas turned his attention back to the enemy, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper: "Something's not right, something's not right, ten rafts?"

Ten... is that too many or too few?

“Too few, far too few.” Tamas scratched his beard, utterly bewildered. “Ten rafts to take over the riverbank? What are these barbarians up to?”

“You’re asking me,” short Peter said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know either…”

What happened next was completely unexpected by Tamas and Peter—the barbarians' sheepskin raft never reached the shore.

A dozen meters from the riverbank, the barbarians on the sheepskin raft worked together to lift something and throw it into the river.

"What are they doing?" Peter wondered anxiously, unable to see clearly.

Tamas could see it clearly, but he was equally clueless about it.

Tamas pondered deeply, then suddenly realized the sheepskin raft was no longer drifting downstream. A flash of inspiration struck him: "It's the anchor! The barbarians are anchoring!"

"An anchor?" Peter suddenly realized, then asked doubtfully, "Do sheepskin rafts have anchors?"

“Now we have it.” Tamas’s eyes gradually turned serious.

"Then what do we do, Company Commander?"

"Wait a bit longer and see what the barbarians are up to."

Nine sheepskin rafts were anchored in the river, while one sheepskin raft drifted toward the riverbank.

Tamas figured something out: the sheepskin raft heading towards the shore was probably the sentry, and the focus was clearly on the nine sheepskin rafts in the river.

They couldn't wait any longer. Seeing that the other party had no intention of coming ashore, Tamas decided to take the initiative.

"Bring all the horses here," Tamas whispered to Peter. "I'll lead the cavalry first. Once the barbarians spot me, the rest of you can move."

"No!" Short Peter exclaimed anxiously, "There are only six people in the cavalry, it's too dangerous! You can't die! You should go with the others, it'll be safer."

“No need,” Tamas scoffed. “The barbarians won’t fight us head-on. I’ll try to capture a prisoner and interrogate him before they escape.”

……

After a brief preparation, as the night sky began to peek out in a deep blue hue, Tamas led five riders off the riverbank and charged toward the landing point.

As soon as the thunderous sound of horses' hooves rang out, the barbarians on the shore immediately launched their sheepskin rafts and fled.

Tamas spurred his horse into the river in pursuit, but once the water reached above the horse's knees, his mount refused to go any further.

As the barbarian's sheepskin raft swung into the deep water, Tamas punched his thigh hard.

The Teldenans, riding on nine other sheepskin rafts, drew their bows and shot arrows at the riders on the shore.

In an instant, arrows flew toward Tamas and his companions with a whistling sound.

The sheepskin rafts were unstable, so the Teldun archers had to kneel while firing their arrows. Add to that the undulating water, and even the most skilled archers couldn't get the job done.

But Tamas wasn't going to test his luck. He whistled and quickly led his men away from the riverbank.

When the main force of the First Company arrived at the riverbank, the battle situation became somewhat strange.

The barbarians in the river couldn't get ashore, and the soldiers on the bank couldn't go down into the river either.

The two sides "fought" across a stretch of water more than ten meters wide, but the Tiefeng County side, which had a numerical advantage, seemed to be at a disadvantage.

Because the Tiefeng County Infantry Regiment was composed entirely of "pure units," and according to the organization, the [First Company] was a rifle company, the soldiers only had long spears and short spears at this moment.

On the other hand, although the Telden people's shooting platform was very unstable, everyone had a bow and arrow in hand.

Peter Bunir, holding his boar spear level, charged toward the riverbank, yelling wildly.

During the charge, Peter's hands and feet were ice-cold, and his mind was blank. He just mechanically stepped forward, landed, stepped forward again, and landed again...

When he came to his senses, he found himself standing in the icy river, with no comrades beside him, while barbarians a dozen meters away were shooting arrows at him.

Without the slightest hesitation, Peter turned and ran.

Running away was almost an instinct for him. He had lived his life like this for twenty-three years, enduring bullying, swallowing his anger, and escaping.

However, this time he couldn't escape because his comrades who were chasing him blocked his way.

"Sergeant Bunir, I'm begging you. Next time, please have mercy and slow down your charge." Someone grumbled, panting heavily, "I know you're a 600-acre soldier, you're brave, you're not afraid to die, but you still have to wait for us to catch up with you, right?"

Following the commendation ceremony a few days ago, the soldiers, filled with awe, envy, and jealousy, gave Sergeant Peter Bunier a new nickname—[Six Hundred Acres].

The new nickname spread like wildfire, not only to other companies but also among the civilians. In just a few days, "Six Hundred Mu" was already a household name in Niuti Valley.

Everyone says, "Don't let Sergeant Bunir's short stature and quiet demeanor fool you; when it comes to battle, he becomes as fierce as a wild beast."

"Shut up!" a sergeant shouted at the soldier who had spoken. "Show some respect!"

Another soldier asked Peter in a panic, "We can't get through! What do we do, sergeant?"

This was probably the first time since he could remember that someone had asked Peter Bunier, "What do we do?"

Peter tried to swallow, but no saliva came out. He opened and closed his lips several times, but in the end, no sound came out.

The terrified soldier asked again, "What do we do, sir?"

In terms of panic and fear, Peter was even more terrified than the soldier who asked him "What should we do?"

The Hed people were known for their whistling arrows, which emitted a terrifying whistling sound as they pierced the air, making them a truly frightening sight. This sound served as a warning to the listener: Death's scythe had only missed its mark by a hair's breadth, and you wouldn't be so lucky next time.

Peter ran at the front, wearing a helmet. The Teldenans recognized him as their leader and rained arrows upon him.

Arrows whistled through the air like hail, and Peter wanted to run. He wanted to run back to the riverbank, back to Cowhoof Valley, back to his little house.

"You make the decision, don't you?" the soldier asked for the third time.

He was on the verge of tears, and the others stared anxiously at Peter. Peter's lips trembled as he struggled to utter the syllable: "Run."

The sergeant and the soldiers around him immediately raised their arms and shouted to the others, "Retreat! Retreat!"

Without ranged weapons such as bows, crossbows, and muskets, standing on the shore would only mean being helpless and taking a beating; logically, they should have retreated.

However, the company commander, Tamas, was nowhere to be found, leaving no one to command the troops, and without orders, no one dared to retreat.

When faced with a dilemma, a shout of "Retreat!" was like a timely rain. The soldiers helped the wounded and followed Sergeant Peter Bunier back to the riverbank.

Seeing the people on the shore retreat, the Telden people on the sheepskin rafts were as if they had won a great victory. They beat their chests, roared and howled, and made all sorts of obscene gestures.

Upon seeing the barbarian pull down his pants and urinate on him, a hot-tempered squad leader flew into a rage and began to curse incessantly.

"What do we do, Sergeant Bunir?" the centurion asked Peter, his eyes red. "Are we just going to stand by and watch?"

Peter didn't speak; his attention was entirely focused on the arrow.

It was a trembling arrow, its sharp tip deeply embedded in a man's flesh. The man trembled with pain, and so the arrow trembled along with him.

Peter's "soul" trembled like that arrow.

He realized that there were many moments when, if he took one more step or one less step, an arrow would pierce his flesh... perhaps many arrows.

"What do we do, sergeant?" the furious squad leader roared.

“Arrow.” Peter’s mind was blank. “Take…take it down.”

"You mean to prioritize treating the wounded?" asked another, slightly older, quartermaster.

“Yes.” Peter repeated numbly, “Prioritize treating the wounded.”

The older quartermaster saluted and went to organize the stretcher team.

"And then what?" the former quartermaster asked angrily. "Aren't we just going to leave the barbarians alone?"

No one had ever asked Peter "What should we do?" before, but today that question has come up again and again.

'What to do? What to do? What to do? Why does everyone ask me what to do? How am I supposed to know what to do?' Peter Bunier was dizzy and confused. He suddenly realized, 'Who do I usually ask "What to do?"'

"That's right... Company Commander!" Peter, as if grasping at a straw, hurriedly asked the others, "Where is the Company Commander?"

"The company commander looks like he's been hit by an arrow!" someone replied. "I saw the cavalry run north."

“You’re the oldest now,” the other person replied.

“Now you’re the most important person.” Upon hearing this, Peter Bunier felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

Peter the Short was cowardly and timid, and because he admitted that he was a coward, he felt at ease being cowardly and timid.

Peter looked up and was met with nearly a hundred gazes—everyone was looking at him.

Pairs of eyes stared straight at him, with nowhere to hide or escape.

In just a moment, Peter trembled from his knees to his chest; it was a real, visceral tremor, not just a mental one.

He lowered his head deeply, not daring to look at the crowd.

"Wait...wait for the company commander." Peter stared at the tips of his shoes, tugging at the hem of his shirt, something invisible almost crushing him: "Wait for the company commander to come back..."

"What did you say? Could you speak louder?" someone asked tentatively. Sergeant Bunier spoke so softly that no one could hear what he was saying.

Peter was used to obeying orders, and the phrase "Can you speak louder?" was like a command. He subconsciously raised his voice and repeated, "Wait for the company commander to come back!"

"Yes," the company's sergeant and soldiers answered in unison.

Peter was startled.

For everyone, waiting for Company Commander Tamas to return is the safest option.

"So we're just going to stand by and watch?" The hot-tempered squad leader pointed at the river, his anger blazing. "You own six hundred acres! Are you just going to let those barbarians humiliate us? Humiliate you?"

The first company had already retreated to a place where arrows could not kill them, and the Teldens seemed to have no intention of wasting their arrows.

Some of the Telden men put away their bows and arrows, seemingly busy with something; others held their bows on guard, occasionally provoking the Iron Peak men on the riverbank in very crude manners.

“You’re angry, but we’re not? The problem is we don’t have any weapons, right?” Another round-faced squad leader couldn’t hold back and lectured the former: “Otherwise, are we going to run to the shore like stupid donkeys and become targets? If you ask me, we should quickly send someone back to Ox Hoof Valley and ask the People’s Protector for support.”

"Just a few dozen barbarians, and you're asking the militia chief for support? You're not ashamed, but I'm fucking ashamed!"

“We should at least get a few guns!” the round-faced sergeant asked Peter. “What do you say, sergeant?”

“Hmm.” Peter Bunier nodded subconsciously.

“Alright. I’ll send someone then… Hey, how about this?” The round-faced sergeant still felt uneasy, so he simply waved his hand: “Sergeant, if you agree, I’ll go myself.”

“Yes.” Peter nodded.

The round-faced quartermaster raised his hand in salute and hurried off toward the watchtower—he was probably going to borrow a horse.

"Even if we could get a musket, we wouldn't know how to use it," another gray-eyed centurion said with a sneer. "Do you even know how to use a musket?"

Everyone shook their heads.

All the musketeers in the regiment who knew how to use a musket were assigned to the musketeer company. Even so, the Montagne tribunal still couldn't muster enough musketeers, and he had to add some brighter-minded people to barely make up the number.

“Actually, we don’t need muskets.” The gray-eyed centurion weighed the spear in his hand and joked, “Why don’t we just throw this thing over there? It’ll kill the barbarians, and we can save some energy when we get back to camp.”

“Yes.” Peter nodded.

The gray-eyed sergeant was startled and quickly waved his hand, "Losing your weapon will get you whipped, I was just kidding."

“Hmm.” Peter nodded mechanically.

The gray-eyed clencher's eyes darted around, a sly glint in his smile: "Let's keep the spears."

……

The Telden men on the raft noticed that the two-legged people on the earthen embankment were approaching the riverbank again.

The leader, Red Feather Feather, hurriedly called for his disciples to be on guard.

Except for a few people who were busy with more important matters, the rest of the Teldun men were all holding bows and arrows, waiting for orders.

The sky was already beginning to lighten when Hong Lingyu took out a red-feathered arrow, carefully considered the angle, and shot it out.

The arrow traced an arc and landed on the riverbank, its red fletching sticking out.

This time, the two-legged people did not run or charge, but instead formed a loose horizontal line and slowly approached the riverbank.

The strangest thing is... they weren't carrying any weapons.

"Could they be here to negotiate?" Red Feather asked, puzzled. "Or to surrender?"

Regardless of what the other party was there for, the moment the two-legged man stepped over Red Feather, Red Feather let out a loud shout, drew his bow, and released an arrow.

As the Red Feathered Man launched his attack, the other Terdonians fired their bowstrings in unison, the clattering of arrows flying towards the loosely packed line of two-legged men.

The bow and arrow were like a starting gun, and the two-legged people also took off running.

A short, bipedal man wearing a bristly helmet led the charge.

Red Feather recognized the man and hurriedly ordered his men to fire at him. This man had led the last charge, clearly the leader of the two-legged men.

However, the short, two-legged man ran like a mad horse, and before he could release the third volley of arrows, he had already reached the water's edge.

The sheepskin raft of the Teldun tribe was only a dozen meters away from the riverbank when the short, two-legged man swung his arms and fiercely threw something at the sheepskin raft.

That thing streaked across the water like a gray meteor, and the kneeling red-feathered creature was unable to dodge in time and was hit squarely on the forehead.

First came excruciating pain, then blood blurred his vision, and Red Feather lost his balance and fell into the river.

Other two-legged people also rushed to the riverbank, swinging their arms and throwing things at the sheepskin raft. Some two-legged people were also swinging strips of cloth that looked like they were torn from their clothes, making a whooshing sound as they flew through the air.

"It's a stone, just a stone."

Hong Lingyu suddenly realized that this was his last consciousness before he sank to the bottom of the river.

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[I forgot to write the title again...]
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(End of this chapter)