Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 345 The Hunt (Part 1)

Imperial Calendar Year 537 [Note: The War of the Imperial Succession began 23 years ago in this year]
Castile Peninsula, Grayrock City, inside the Grand Arena.

A young man who looked to be in his twenties was inspecting armor and weapons. His two attendants beside him were sweating profusely but unable to help.

"Messages" have no wings or four legs, yet nothing flies farther or runs faster than them.

Richard the Madman III is dead.

Some say he died peacefully in his sleep; others say he died from a fall from a horse, enduring a long period of torment before his death… But the way the old emperor died is not important; people just use it as a topic of conversation.

The emperor is dead, a new emperor should be enthroned.

From the easternmost point of the Empire, at the Gulf of Cottan, to the westernmost point, at the Castilian Peninsula, from the southernmost point, at the Shaded Mountains, to the northernmost point, at the Frozen Sea, everyone held their breath awaiting the coronation of the new emperor… especially when there were three heirs at the same time.

The door was pushed open, and a man dressed in magnificent clothes, resembling a peacock, strode into the room.

The man looked to be in his early thirties. His appearance and height were three parts similar to those of younger men, but he was seven parts more handsome and four parts more dashing.

Upon seeing the man enter, the two servants, as if grasping at a straw, pleaded with tearful voices, "Duke Lothair! We really can't stop His Majesty, please! Please persuade His Majesty!"

The handsome man, referred to as [Duke Lothair], gestured for the servants to leave the room. The two servants, as if granted a pardon, bowed and backed away.

The handsome man closed the door, glanced at the lance leaning against the young man's side, then looked at the young man's properly fitted protective gear, and asked jokingly, "Are you going to go on stage yourself, Your Majesty?"

"I am not His Majesty." Only when speaking to the handsome man did the young man reveal a slight smile, deliberately drawing out his words: "Your Grace, Duke."

The handsome man shrugged and cheerfully retorted, "Am I not a duke either? Your grandfather is in very good health."

The young man's identity was self-evident—Henry of Sunburst, the eldest son of the deceased emperor and one of the rightful heirs to the throne.

The handsome man was Henry's uncle, Louis the Younger, Duke of Lothair, known as "Louis the Handsome." However, in private, people preferred to call him "Louis the Licentious."

After a pause, Louis Lothair put away his nonchalant attitude and asked, "Are you really going to go on stage yourself?"
Henry stood up silently and began a simple warm-up.

His physique was tall and well-proportioned, with powerful and flexible limbs. It was a body comparable to that of a top gladiator, the reward for years of training.

"Are you really sure?" Duke Lothair asked earnestly. "Once you step into the arena, there's no going back. I don't want to see your mother and my sister heartbroken."

Louis and Henry were less than ten years apart in age and grew up together. Although they were nominally uncle and nephew, their relationship was closer to that of friends and brothers.

For Henry, even his own brothers wouldn't be closer than his uncle. Therefore, only Louis could ask such outrageous questions, and only Louis could ask them without it being considered inappropriate.

“I don’t know,” Henry answered truthfully, “because I haven’t tried it either.”

"If that's the case, why take the risk? Just appoint a knight! There are plenty of people willing to act in your name."

Just as Henry was about to answer, a deafening cheer suddenly erupted from above them.

The thunderous roar even shook the walls, and fine dust drifted down from the stone dome.

Duke Lothair brushed the dust off his shoulders, sighing with a mixture of disdain and helplessness, "Hmph, Castilian barbarians..."

The magnificent structure above their heads is a legacy of an ancient empire. Its original name is lost to history, but today it is generally known as the Great Arena or the Limestone Arena.

Roughly speaking, the Great Arena has stood for over a thousand years. Because it has been used continuously, it has received excellent maintenance and repair.

As the only "amphitheater" capable of holding tens of thousands of people, this arena hosted almost all major public events in the Duchy of Tarlac and even the Castile Peninsula.

During festivals, masses, executions, competitions, duels, and so on, nobles and commoners from Grayrock City, the Duchy of Tarak, and even the entire Castilian Peninsula would flock here.

If the Sacred Heart Cathedral is the center of faith on the Castile Peninsula, and the Regent's Palace is the political center, then the Grand Arena is the center of glory on the Castile Peninsula.

Winning this place means winning the Castile Peninsula.

However, the deafening cheers that erupted in the arena at that moment were not for the royal family, nor for Henry—they were for the Duke of Tarlac.

To celebrate the birth of his eldest son, the Duke of Tarlac spared no expense in hosting this grand celebration.

Holding a grand funeral for the emperor was undoubtedly a serious offense. But the Castilian nobles were known throughout the empire for their unruly and defiant nature, and the face of the royal family was worthless to them.

One could even argue that Duke Tarak deliberately chose this time to celebrate his eldest son's birthday in order to demonstrate his contempt for the authority of the Sunburst royal family.

"How many people are in the arena now?" Henry asked thoughtfully.

“At least twenty thousand,” Duke Lothair replied. “Besides the lords of Castile, there are many, many commoners… Grayrock City is practically a ghost town; everyone is here.”

Upon hearing this, Henry looked up at the dome.

He had a strange feeling; although he could only see darkness, he was certain that thousands of Castilians were waiting on the other side of the heavy stone slab.

Henry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Duke Lothair gazed at his nephew, who was ten years younger than him, and involuntarily held his breath.

“Let’s go. Expecting others to fight in my place…” The future emperor opened his eyes, raised his lance: “We will never be able to conquer the Castilians.”

……

……

Early February, Imperial Year 560 [Note: present]
wilderness
Winters set out from Iron Peak with only a small detachment of fewer than forty men.

His initial plan was to visit White Lion and, incidentally, withdraw some savings to alleviate the financial crisis of Iron Peak County.

But things always change faster than planned, and Vahika brought news of Pierre, Berlione, and others.

Winters then entrusted his men to the lion cub and, along with Vahika, infiltrated the Jiangbei province under the military government.

By the time Winters left Jiangbei Province again, he had amassed a large caravan of over two hundred men.

Bringing back old subordinates is certainly a good thing, but Vasika's flattery that "the centurion's men always keep growing" backfired.

After a brief discussion, Winters decided to split the forces into two groups:
The main force, carrying wounded soldiers with physical disabilities—including soldiers injured during the bandit suppression campaign and veterans who were disabled in the battle of the Great Wilderness last year—returned to Tiefeng County along the same route.

The small group, accompanied by the little lion, proceeded to the Red River Tribe as originally planned.

Winters personally led the small unit, but he struggled with deciding who to appoint to command the main force.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lieutenant Colonel Moritz said matter-of-factly. "I don't know how to lead troops... Besides, I've always wanted to try what mare's milk wine tastes like."

"Trying to trick me again," Anna said, feigning anger. "I knew it."

After careful consideration, only one suitable candidate remained—Pierre Michel. Undoubtedly, Pierre was the best choice, possessing both the status and the ability to fulfill the role.

But the problem is: Pierre is unwilling.

“I want to go with you to the Red River region,” Pierre requested firmly.

Looking at Pierre's pale face, Winters couldn't bear to let Pierre suffer with him: "You've just recovered from a serious illness, you should go back to Iron Peak County to recuperate first."

“I won’t hold you back; I can ride a horse now.” Pierre straightened up, then suddenly changed the subject: “And I’ve already decided who will take my place in leading the homecoming team.”

"Who?" Winters asked curiously.

“My father,” Pierre said solemnly. After a brief moment of consideration, Winters shook his head: “I don’t doubt Mr. Mitchell’s ability and prestige. But he won’t feel at ease leaving you alone.”

“I’ll go and persuade him,” Pierre replied firmly.

Thus, the dialogue unfolded between the father and son.

In a face-to-face, equal conversation, with no other participants, Pierre finally revealed his true thoughts to his father.

“Father, I know that deep down you still regard Winters Montagne’s troops as rebels and bandits; I also know that you believe that one day Kings’ Castle will wipe out Winters Montagne; I also know that Winters Montagne has no money, no food, and no soldiers, and that Iron Peak County’s strength is like a puppy compared to a lion…”

Faced with his father's astonished gaze, Pierre rattled off a long list of reasons why the Montagne bandits were doomed to defeat. Listening only to this part, it seemed as if Winters Montagne was on the verge of death, and Pierre Michel had no doubt about it.

But in the end, Mr. Mitchell gave Mr. Mitchell an irrefutable conclusion: "But we have no way back."

Pierre stared into his father's eyes and repeated, word by word, "We have no way back."

"Do you still remember the story of Dussac from the Shield River? You told it to me when I was a child. More than a hundred years ago, the Dussacs, having broken their shackles, rowed their small boats up the upper reaches of the Shield River, appearing and disappearing mysteriously, and robbing the emperor's official ships. In the end, they angered the emperor so much that he sent troops to surround and suppress them."

"What became of those Dussacs back then? The Dussacs who defeated the emperor were granted the title of Ataman! And the Dussacs who couldn't defeat the emperor? They were all slaughtered!"

“If Brother Montagne can hold Iron Peak County, we will have a chance to surrender; if Brother Montagne can conquer the newly reclaimed lands, we will have a chance to be reinstated; but if Brother Montagne loses, we will not even have a chance to submit. All that awaits us is reckoning! All our heads will be chopped off and exchanged for war merits.”

“So, Father, whether you like it or not, whatever you think,” Pierre said with a bitter smile as he hammered in the last nail, “there’s no turning back for us.”

After listening to his son's words, Gerard Mitchell remained silent for a long time. When he spoke again, he looked ten years older.

Old Mitchell said hoarsely, "Even so, you should come back to Wolf Town with me first. Your mother must be waiting for us to return after we've been away from home for so long."

"No," Pierre said firmly, "I can't go back now!"

"Come home with me first and get well soon. We can discuss other things later."

“You don’t understand, Father!” Pierre’s cheeks flushed with emotion. “I can’t go back! So much has happened in Iron Peak County while I was away! I haven’t accomplished anything! I’ve missed out on so much! When I left Iron Peak County, I was Brother Montagne’s adjutant. If I go back now, I’ll be nothing! I can’t go back, at least not now.”

“Captain Montagne will not forget you,” Girard comforted his son. “He will take care of you.”

"You... still don't understand me..."

There was another moment of silence.

"So...what are you going to do?"

“I want to stay with Brother Montagne.” Pierre had already made up his mind: “Father, please take the others back to Iron Peak County.”

……

The personnel arrangements for the two teams gradually became clear.

Winters repeatedly streamlined his forces, finally deciding to retain only sixty capable men; the rest were all placed under Girard's command and returned to Iron Peak County along the original route.

Interestingly, upon learning that Mitchell was going to the Red River region, Father Kaman, who had never given Winters a friendly look, humbled himself and asked to go to the Red River region with him.

Vashika and Sergei the Elder also appeared in the group heading to the Chihe tribe.

Vasika was reluctant to part with his buddies, and old Sergei was reluctant to part with his son. Both father and son were top-notch Dusaks, and Winters was happy to take them along.

The taciturn Berian was the last person to approach Winters.

“Centurion,” Berion said calmly and steadily as always, “please take me with you.”

“I also want you to go to the Red River Tribe, but I’m worried that something might happen to you there,” Winters said, explaining his concerns. “Besides, I promised Carlos that I would bring you back to Iron Peak County safely.”

“In that case, you should take me with you. Carlos is safe in Gervodan, so I have nothing to worry about. To investigate the potential iron ore deposits in the Red River region, you need an expert.” Berion paused for a moment: “You have helped Carlos and me so much… let me do something for you too.”

Thus, the list of sixty people was finally finalized.

Upon learning that Berion had been included in the list of sixty, the group heading home was filled with disappointment, while the group heading to the Red River tribe was greatly encouraged.

"[An army fights by its stomach]." Winters thought to himself, "The old marshal was right after all."

……

……

Day 3 after leaving the Flying Feather Tribe winter pasture
wilderness
At dusk, the convoy set up camp at the foot of a leeward hillside.

As usual, the group used large carts linked end to end to form a circle as a temporary fortification, let the horses graze outside, and then went to fetch water, start a fire, and prepare food.

There were no lights on the grassland, only scattered campfires.

There is no moon tonight, and the stars are unusually bright.

Anna, dressed in men's clothing, looked up at the stars until her neck ached: "It's so strange, I've never seen so many stars when I was in Hailan."

For someone who has never seen the vast Milky Way, witnessing the sea of ​​stars for the first time is an absolutely indescribable and awe-inspiring experience.

However, since arriving in Paratú, Winters has had countless experiences stargazing.

He coughed a few times, but in the end, he couldn't suppress the urge to make inappropriate remarks: "If you see it every day, it won't seem so strange."

Although the campfire was dim, Winters was certain he saw Anna glance at him.

Anna turned her head away, ignoring the spoilsport.

A few steps away, the little lion stood guard beside Berleon's stew pot and began to enthusiastically recount his "hunting strategies."

"Hunting in the mountains and forests is one method, and hunting on the meadows is another. Eagle hunting has its own tricks, and dog hunting has its own techniques, but the most spectacular and challenging is 'encircling.' In Hetzi, encircling is called 'aba,' and it is the most, most, most important thing of the year."

As the little lion spoke, he took the first bowl of freshly cooked meat from Berion's hands and couldn't help but praise, "Blacksmith, your skills are so good that you'd be wasting your time as the Khan's cook!"

Berleon smiled in thanks and continued serving soup to the others.

“We hunt every year too,” Vahika interjected as he followed the scent back to camp. “In the fall, after the harvest, we hunt rabbits and foxes in the fields. Without straw and weeds, the rabbits and foxes have nowhere to hide, so we can catch them every time.”

Vahika looked at Winters curiously: "Centurion, do you Venetas hunt?"

This stumped Winters. He thought for a moment, then smiled and said, "I'm not too familiar with the customs of Veneta, but people in the United Province hunt waterfowl every year, and some even keep hunting dogs that are good at swimming."

Just as Winters couldn't suppress his urge to make inappropriate remarks, when it came to hunting, the little lion couldn't help but boast. He shook his head with feigned profundity: "Compared to the hunting I'm talking about, what you're talking about is just a child's game."

"That's quite a boast!" Vahika retorted, not to be outdone. "When will you actually show us what you've got?"

"Let's go for another ten days!" The little lion wiped his mouth and gestured for Berion to have another bowl.

He laughed heartily: "The final paddock was decided from the very beginning. All we have to do is get there—I guarantee you'll be in for a surprise!"

As it turns out, the little lion's estimate was too conservative.

In less than ten days, in just three days, Winters and his group reached the edge of the hunting grounds.

[This chapter wasn't finished... so the first half, "The Oathbreakers in the Arena" and "Winters in the Wasteland," feels a bit disjointed. But it's okay, just read it together with the next chapter.]
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(End of this chapter)