Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 321 Tears
When some people come, others have to leave.

Less than ten days after the fall of the Teldun Khanate, and before the remaining enemy forces had been completely wiped out, many fleeing civilians were already eager to embark on their journey home.

Along the roads of Jungcheolbong and Hacheolbong counties, groups of men, women, the elderly, and children trudged homeward.

Their houses may have been burned to ashes, their stored grain may have been looted, and no one knows why they were in such a hurry to return home.

Perhaps everyone has a faint but clear voice in their heart: "As long as you go home, there will always be a way."

Besides those who returned to their hometowns, a significant number of people chose to stay in St. Clair.

Those who remained were mostly young and strong, and the vast majority were "militiamen," many of whom had participated in the previous major battles.

Although the war was over and the militia was officially disbanded, many militiamen remained in the barracks, unwilling to leave.

Because as long as you stay for one day, you can at least have two meals a day.

However, there is likely another reason why the militia stayed.

“Before the War of Sovereignty, the large and small commercial city-states of Veneta relied on mercenaries for their wars,” Antoni slowly recounted. “There was a common phenomenon in mercenary groups—many veterans cursed war, yet remained in the group their entire lives. Some veterans saved enough money to retire and return to their hometowns, only to eventually return to the battlefield. No one can explain why.”

António went on to explain: “The bond between comrades is something hard to describe. People who have faced death side by side will naturally have a certain connection. I have seen soldiers abandon their wounded comrades, and I have seen soldiers risk their lives to save their comrades. Whether this bond is strong or weak, it is real. Many veterans are reluctant to talk about the brutal battles they have experienced, but they cherish the days they spent with their brothers in arms.”

“That’s why I said that although your troops are poorly trained and equipped, their morale is excellent.” Antonio looked at Winters: “It’s not an army that hates each other, is at its wits’ end, and will crumble at the slightest push. Weapons can be bought, skills can be learned, but if an army has no soul, then it has none. It would be a shame to disband it like this.”

……

Not only did some people choose to stay, but even more hungry people were gathering in St. Clair from all directions.

Women, children, patients, the disabled... all sorts of people have one thing in common: they have all lost everything because of the destruction caused by war.

Saint-Kelvin Town served as the main base and supply depot for the Iron Peak County army, storing large quantities of food and materials.

Driven by hunger, these poor people pitched tents outside the town of Saint-Claude and wandered around the military camp and town every day, scavenging for food from the scraps left by the soldiers.

It was at this time that an unremarkable, short man approached Monkey and Doug in the military camp.

"Why haven't you two gone home yet?" The short man smiled shyly and handed over a greasy paper bag. "Want some flatbread?"

Doug took the paper bag but didn't open it; he just stared at the short man with a puzzled look.

"Who the hell are you?" The sleepy-eyed monkey poked his head out of the tent and asked with an unfriendly expression.

The short man quickly explained, "I just wanted to ask why you two aren't going home."

"It's none of your business!" The monkey snatched the paper package from Doug, opened it to find fried dough sticks, and immediately began to wolf them down. "What's it to you?"

The short man licked his lips and mustered his courage to ask, "Are you two homeless? Your parents are dead, you have no house or land, nowhere to go?"

When his sore spot was hit, the monkey's anger flared up.

He jumped out of the tent, grabbed the short man by the collar, and cursed viciously, "You fucking want a beating!"

"No, no, no." The short man shook his head frantically. "Everyone with a family has left, so I wanted to ask you two, do you have nowhere to go?"

The monkey was so angry that it yelled and raised its arm to swing at the other person's face.

The short man instinctively protected his head, hunched his neck, and tightly closed his eyes.

Doug grabbed his friend's arm, separating the two with his body, and asked the shorter man, "Is there something you need?"

The short man, still shaken, felt a surge of goodwill towards the thick-lipped, honest young man who had saved him. He stammered, "Luciron said you two were quite nice, so I came to see you."

Lu Xirong was previously a sergeant for Monkey and Doug.

Upon hearing this name, the monkey's attitude softened immediately, even becoming somewhat timid: "Sergeant Lu Xirong...who is he to you?"

The short man replied sheepishly, "He's kind of my subordinate."

The monkey's knees suddenly felt weak, and its head felt like it had been hit with an iron mace, making a buzzing sound.

Douglas pulled his friend aside and asked the shorter man in a low voice, "What brings you here?"

“I just wanted to ask you two.” The short man scratched the back of his head: “Since you have nowhere to go, would you like to join the army? Not the militia, but the Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment—the real land-grant soldiers.”

The monkey's body stiffened, its jaw trembled, and it involuntarily swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

Doug frowned and asked, "May I ask who you are?"

“Me?” the short man replied, “My name is Peter Bunier.”

He said with a hint of pride, "The name 'Bunir' was given to me personally by Lord Blood Wolf."

A chill ran down the monkey's spine, and he jolted upright: "A thousand acres?! You're a thousand acres?! The legendary Blood Wolf champion who won the thousand-acre bounty?!"

"No, no, no, there's no thousand acres—it's only a little over nine hundred acres!" Shorty Peter explained hastily, then sighed helplessly, "This nickname... it's getting more and more exaggerated as it's spread."

……

……

Kaman, dressed in a full-coverage black robe and wearing a mask shaped like a bird's beak, bent over and stepped out of the tent.

The others outside the tent also covered their mouths and noses with triangular scarves.

"How is it?" Winters asked seriously, "What is it?"

Kaman glanced at Winters, scanned the people around him, and said calmly, "The symptoms are somewhat similar to [(ancient) Aichen Plague], but I can't be sure... I need to go back and consult the books."

To avoid panic, Kaman deliberately used archaic vocabulary.

Most people present couldn't understand what Kaman was saying, and those who could understand didn't grasp the specific meaning of "Aishen Plague".

Winters couldn't immediately recall what "Aishen Plague" referred to, but he clearly heard the latter part of the phrase—plague.

This is enough.

"Let's get out of here first." Winters made a quick decision, leaving two guards to watch the tent, and then led the others back the way they came.

Winters is located in a shack outside the town of St. John.

Humans are naturally inclined to cluster together. A few branches supporting a cloth curtain make up a "shack." Many shacks gathered together form a "shack area."

If the army in Saint-Claude Town never disbands, the shacks will continue to exist.

In its final form, it became the "Slum Street" next to Shuangqiao Military Camp—a slum street that was filthy and all-encompassing.

The shacks in front of us were just campsites where starving people set up tents and huddled together for warmth.

Winters led Carman, Charles, and the others out along the narrow, winding, muddy path between the tents.

The refugees gathered there realized that the group was no ordinary people, and they hid in their shacks, seemingly both afraid and ashamed. Horse meat, stolen from the battlefield, was simmering in an iron pot. Through the wind-blown tent flap, Winters saw that someone was engaged in the flesh trade.

As they walked outside, Tamas led four companies from the First Battalion, who were waiting for them.

"Surround them!" Winters summoned Acting Battalion Commander Tamas and the company commanders, gritting his teeth as he ordered, "Keep the commotion low, but don't let a single person escape."

Tamas raised his hand in salute, then turned and left.

"[The Plague of Aichen], is there any treatment?" Winters asked Kaman.

“Fire.” Kaman pondered for a moment. “Historical records show that during the plague in Aychen, Hippocrates discovered that blacksmiths who spent their days with fire rarely fell ill, and ultimately used fire to dispel the plague in Aychen. The specific method was to burn spices and artemisia in the streets, and to burn the clothes and bedding of the sick…”

Winters listened intently, but his brow furrowed more and more tightly.

Despite all precautions, it still came. Since ancient times, people have observed that plagues always follow wars.

The logic is not hard to understand: if people eat well, dress warmly, and live in houses with roofs, they are less likely to get sick; and even if they do get sick, they have a higher chance of surviving.

If people are hungry, cold, and living in crowded and filthy shacks, even healthy people will eventually be tortured to death.

"Why didn't I notice the problem of the shacks sooner?" Winters couldn't help but ask himself. "Why didn't I prioritize arranging accommodation for refugees?"

But now is not the time for self-pity. The rotting, filthy, and overcrowded shacks are veritable crucibles of plague. Every second they exist increases the risk of a major outbreak.

“There are currently two large shack areas around Saint-King Town, and several smaller ones.” Winters made up his mind and drew a rough map on the ground: “They all need to be pulled out.”

"How do we pull it out?" Kaman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The old method.” Winters continued sketching the map: “Build a new camp near the shack area. It can’t be too big, or it won’t be effective in isolating the area. It can’t be too small either, or it won’t be completed quickly. Everything in the existing camp must be burned, all of it reduced to ashes.”

"They burned it all?" Bart Sharling astutely grasped the crux of the matter: "Then what did they eat? What did they wear?"

“Clothes and bedding can be boiled in hot water before use,” Father Kaman said. “Water should also be boiled before drinking, but that would require a lot of fuel.”

“Fuel is easy to solve.” Winters felt a sharp pain in his left leg and stood up, leaning on his cane. “We’ll provide the food for now.”

Bart Sharing didn't speak, but simply saluted silently.

Winters knew the answer to the question without his subordinates even needing to ask: "What shall we eat?"

“Don’t worry about the food situation.” Winters glanced at his men. “I’ll take care of it.”

Although no one knew what Winters could do, the tribunal's words reassured many.

One company commander worried that if the soldiers learned of the plague in the shantytown and had to face it directly, large-scale desertions would inevitably occur, potentially even leading to a riot or mutiny.

Therefore, the three company commanders, including Bart Sharling, tended to conceal the truth.

“It’s no use,” Winters said, ending the argument with a single sentence: “It can’t be hidden.”

Shortly afterward, the entire First Battalion assembled and lined up. They would be the first outside of Winters to receive the notification, followed by the entire army, and then the whole of Iron Peak County.

Looking at the soldiers who had just left the battlefield, their wounds still scabbed over, Winters was overwhelmed with emotion.

He struggled to organize his thoughts: "...In the refugee camps and in the city of Jevaddanann, although some people did fall ill due to the strict enforcement of epidemic prevention measures, the disease was eventually brought under control... I do not believe that the plague is a divine punishment. If the Father is merciful, He will only help us and will not spread the plague..."

In the end, even the usually eloquent speaker was at a loss for words.

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the faces. "I remember now. [The Plague of Aichen], two hundred thousand Aichen people, and the last quarter of them died. Iron Peak County has just gone through a fierce battle; it cannot withstand another plague. So... she is counting on the courage of each and every one of you, everyone is counting on the courage of each and every one of you... I need you to fight one more time..."

……

"Wear your triangular scarf properly." Short Peter, his face completely covered, repeatedly instructed, "Don't touch anything with your hands. If anyone resists, poke them with your spear. Don't take anything good you see; it's not worth getting the plague..."

The monkeys in the line felt their knees buckle and their bodies go weak, inwardly cursing themselves.

Without hesitation, the monkey accepted the recruitment offer from [Chief Sergeant] Peter Bunier on the spot.

In the previous battles against Teldun, the Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment suffered the most casualties and lost the most lives.

The infantry regiment urgently needs to replenish its ranks with fresh blood to replace the soldiers who died in battle or were disabled due to injuries.

Therefore, before receiving official approval from above, each company began recruiting new soldiers on its own—from this perspective, from the moment the Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment was born, it had the tendency to perpetuate itself, much like a living organism.

To the monkey's surprise, Doug, who originally planned to go home and settle down, also accepted Peter Bunier's recruitment after seeing his friend choose to join the army.

At that moment, the monkey was both touched and envious: "You've already acquired so much land, why are you still a soldier?"

However, now, the monkey felt only guilt and a sense of shared hardship. Because of his decision, Doug was also going to do this damned, unknown "epidemic prevention" work.

The monkey wanted to escape.

Peter the Short wanted to too.

He appeared calm, only because his face was completely covered.

In fact, the moment Peter the Short learned of the plague in the shacks, his knees trembled and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

But with dozens of eyes fixed on him, there was nowhere he could escape, even if he wanted to.

Peter the Short saw Acting Battalion Commander Tamas wave to him.

He turned around, and tears immediately streamed down his face.

However, the soldiers of the First Company could only see Sergeant Bonier's back, not his tearful face.

"Go!" Peter the Short shouted, his voice nearly cracking.

The shacks outside the town of Saint-Claude have been surrounded by wooden stakes and ropes by various companies, while some laborers are busy building new camps.

But we can't just ignore the shacks.

Armed with torches and short spears, the soldiers, led by Sergeant Peter Bunier, known as the "Blood Wolf Champion," marched resolutely into the shack area.

After being sealed off, the shack area initially descended into chaos, with chickens and dogs running amok. Seeing that they couldn't leave no matter what, people gradually became numb.

Hunger made the shacks an already cruel place. Upon learning of the plague, people became even more indifferent.

The mother's body lay across the shack, and the children cried loudly, but no one paid any attention.

Leaving this situation unchecked will only lead to the further spread of the plague.

Regardless of whether they died of illness or starvation, Peter the Short led his men to carry the bodies out of the shack and burn them, while the tents and belongings of the deceased were burned on the spot.

The monkey heard someone whispering, "See? Sergeant Bunir looks like he's crying."

"Bullshit!" the monkey, his eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears, cursed. "That's from the smoke! From the smoke!"

[Two chapters owed? I've been counting on my fingers for ages, but I'm still a bit confused.]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
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(End of this chapter)