Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 352 The Hunt (Part 8)

[Outside the hunting circle]
Smoke signals, firelight, hoofbeats, and whistling arrows filled the hunting grounds, making them resemble a boiling volcano.

The raging beast rampaged wildly, even breaking through several felt walls. The hunters who couldn't escape in time were caught under its hooves and disappeared with screams.

Amidst the dust kicked up by horses' hooves, the Hud people were still fighting each other.

However, all the people of Tiefeng County could hear were screams and the sound of clashing blades; they couldn't see anything clearly.

Without any warning, Vahika's warhorse let out a sharp neigh, raised its forelegs high, and viciously kicked at old Sergei.

If Lieutenant Colonel Moritz hadn't reacted so quickly and tackled old Dusak, Sergei's head would have been smashed to pieces.

Vahika, on horseback, was also suffering. He gripped the reins tightly and squeezed the horse's ribs, trying his best to subdue the inexplicably out-of-control warhorse.

Those around him scattered, making way for Vahika. But the warhorse leaped and thrashed violently, quickly throwing Vahika off the saddle and fleeing.

Vasika fell heavily to the ground and instantly lost consciousness. Old Sergei cried out and rushed towards his son.

The delegation from Tiefeng County and the Evil Earth Tribe each gathered their forces, and the two sides subconsciously distanced themselves.

Koshhachi, accompanied by two hunters, rushed over and stopped twenty paces away to warn the Iron Peak County people: "Horses! Horses!" He then immediately returned to the Badlands tribe's ranks.

Even without Koshhatch's prompting, Pierre noticed the warhorse's unusual behavior.

Even the most docile horse on ordinary days became agitated and restless at this moment.

Pierre's mount was drooling and constantly pawing the ground with its hooves, trying to attack any of its kind that approached.

"Dismount!" Pierre declared decisively. "Tear down the felt wall!"

The members of the delegation chosen by Winters understood immediately, quickly dismounted, and re-secured the hitching posts outside the crowd.

Once the mission members had tied up their warhorses, they immediately began dismantling the felt wall and constructing temporary fortifications using stakes, ropes, and leather.

"Please rest here for a while." Lieutenant Colonel Moritz calmly placed Anna in the center of the line and apologized politely, "Excuse me for leaving for a short while."

Anna tried her best to appear calm, nodding with a smile.

With swords drawn and guns strapped to their hilts, the Tiefeng County delegation erected two layers of tripwires and stood guard against the makeshift felt wall.

Pierre proactively asked Lieutenant Colonel Moritz for instructions: "Please give the order, Lieutenant Colonel."

“The water has been deliberately muddied. We’ll wait until it clears up before we move.” Moritz took out an arrow, found its center of gravity, and casually shot it out: “Stand here. Kill anyone who dares to come near.”

……

[In the hunting circle]
Winters carefully placed the lion cub on the horse's back.

The lion cub was just two arrows' lengths away from him, and he hadn't seen what had injured it. He only heard a clap of thunder, and then the lion cub vanished into the smoke.

Upon arriving at the scene, the lingering smell of gunpowder confirmed Winters' suspicions—the assassins had used gunpowder weapons.

It could be heavy artillery, it could be grenades, whatever it is, it's far beyond what the little lion had told him.

How could the Chihe tribe allow outsiders to set up heavy artillery right under their noses?

"Who can hide the grenade on the lion cub?"

A host of questions arose in Winters' mind, but were immediately suppressed by more pressing matters. There was no time for questioning or assigning blame; the most crucial thing was to save the lion cub's life.

With the enemy's location, number, and identity unknown, there is only one safe place left in the hunting grounds—Qingqiu.

The lion cub gradually drifted into a semi-conscious state, unable to utter a complete sentence. He repeatedly groaned, "[Herd] Wolf... Wolf..."

More hoofbeats approached, and three white-armored cavalrymen charged into the smoke screen. Seeing the little lion covered in blood, its life hanging in the balance, the three cavalrymen tumbled off their horses and rushed forward in terror.

"Step back!" Winters held his spear level, pointing it directly at the newcomer.

The young white-armored cavalryman on the right was furious and drew his sword.

"[Herd] Stop! Don't be reckless!" The lead white-armored cavalryman suddenly grabbed the swordsman and shouted, "[Herd] Batu will protect the little lion! The little lion trusts Batu!"

After saying this, the lead white-armored cavalryman patted his chest forcefully and pointed in the direction of Qingqiu.

Although the two sides could not understand each other's words, their body language conveyed enough information.

Winters nodded, signaling the three of them to go first.

After taking only a few steps, a strange sound pierced through the noise and reached Winters' ears.

The strange sound resembled a whistle, a sob, or a cicada's chirp, but upon closer inspection, it was distinct from all of them.

The strange sound lasted only a short while, but Winters was certain it wasn't a hallucination. The youngest of the three white-armored cavalrymen who had drawn his sword was also searching for the source of the sound.

The other two older white-armored cavalrymen did not react at all.

The surrounding environment became increasingly eerie. The smoke not only failed to dissipate but grew thicker and wider, enveloping the group.

Winters stopped in his tracks—something else was coming!
The frightened herds fled blindly, and the hunters from different tribes fought each other. Chaos had broken out inside and outside the hunting grounds, with the sounds of hooves, roars, and fighting all mixed together.

Despite the usual cacophony, Winters detected an eerie silence.

All the sounds came from afar; he couldn't hear anything nearby. The charging herd of beasts had no purpose or direction, yet they coordinated to avoid Winters's location. It was as if some terrifying monster lurked nearby, scaring away all the wild animals.

Winters looked around. The smoke was thick, and he couldn't tell whether it was a person or a beast ten meters away. The smoke also seemed to be poisonous, and his eyes started to sting after only a short time.

A swift escape? The severely injured lion cub couldn't withstand the jolting. Besides, acting blindly could easily lead them into a trap.

Winters was unaware of the enemy's weapons or tactics, but he surmised that the enemy's forces were small; otherwise, they would have swarmed in long ago instead of acting so timidly.

He made a decision.

He pulled out the steel awl, closed his eyes, held his breath, and listened intently.

Upon noticing that Batu had suddenly stopped, the three white-armored cavalrymen also halted.

Out of respect, the three white-armored cavalrymen remained silent. However, after several breaths, Ba Du still did not make a move.

The situation was critical, and each breath seemed incredibly long. The youngest white-armored cavalryman finally could not hold back any longer.

The moment the young white-armored cavalryman spoke, Winters spotted the enemy's weakness: a low growl like a beast and a hissing sound like a snake flicking its tongue.

Without the slightest hesitation, Winters fired five steel cones in quick succession toward the source of the sound.

A mournful wail echoed from behind the smoke, followed by a series of footsteps.

There are people!
Suppressing the phantom pain, Winters once again entered a spellcasting state, hurling his spear at the fleeing man with all his might.

Two consecutive full-force spells nearly made Winters faint from the phantom pain. The spear, carrying immense kinetic energy, pierced through the smoke and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Winters did not hear the sound of a spear piercing a body, but the three white-armored cavalrymen, who were also top-notch fighters, had already charged in the direction he indicated.

Winters glanced at the unconscious lion cub, then stayed put and didn't follow. "Boom!"

"boom!"

Without any warning, two deafening roars erupted not far from Winters.

The shockwave, carrying hundreds of sharp weapons, instantly dispelled the smoke and swept across the land. Severed limbs and dirt were thrown into the air, then gently fell back down.

Dust and smoke enveloped the area once more, and the positions of the red-armored and white-armored riders could no longer be heard.

……

[Within the hunting circle, outside the smokescreen]
"[Herdit] is dead?" The white sturgeon, lurking in the withered grass, cautiously observed its prey: "[Herdit] is dead?"

As the best falconer among all tribes, disguise and concealment were Baigu's specialties. Unless one stood up close and looked closely, no one could tell that a person was hiding in the yellowish-brown withered grass.

The white sturgeon remained silently hidden, but another voice in his mind kept chattering: "[Herd's] dead? Dead?"

Talking to oneself is also one of the occupational hazards of falconers.

Trapping adult falcons typically requires traps. Falconers spend anywhere from four or five days to a month setting their traps. Being alone for so long, falconers unconsciously develop a habit of talking to themselves.

"[Herd] Shall we try again?" Baiji carefully weighed the pros and cons. Only the faint sound of burning dry grass could be heard from within the smoke screen; otherwise, there was no further movement. It seemed to be dead.

The white sturgeon made up its mind and picked up the bone flute hanging around its neck.

White Sturgeon wasn't surprised that the White Lion had a Chosen One protecting it. If he could be summoned to kill the White Lion, it wasn't unusual for the Red River Tribe to have another Chosen One protect it.

On the Great Plains, Chosen Ones are extremely rare. Unless absolutely necessary, a Chosen One will not attempt to kill another.

But if blood has already flowed onto the ground, then it will be a fight to the death, otherwise there will be endless troubles.

"Talent" is a matter of life and death, and every chosen one will try their best to hide their "talent," but Baigu already knows the other party's trump card.

"[Herd] A chosen one skilled in javelin throwing?" The javelin that had just streaked past him like a meteor still made Baijiu feel uneasy: "[Herd] How come I've never heard of him?"

But it doesn't matter anymore. Now that we know about the other party's "talent," we have a way to deal with it.

It's just a pity that another chosen one is about to pass away.

The strange sound of the bone flute rang out again. The sound of the bone flute was not loud, but it was extremely penetrating and could be easily distinguished from the noise.

The invisible ripples from the bone flute spread to the edge of the hunting circle. Upon hearing the sound of the bone flute, several fully armed hunters immediately went to the carriage behind them and removed their veils.

Under the veil were two iron cages, each containing a fierce wolfhound that resembled a wolf but was not quite one.

The hunter brought two carriages, each with four iron cages. The carriage with the cloth covering it had just been lifted still had four wolfhounds, while the iron cages on the other carriage were completely empty.

The wolfhound was already impatient because of the sound of the bone flute. As soon as the hunter opened the cage door, the wolfhound rushed out of the cage, leaped over the felt wall, and headed straight for its master's hiding place.

The white sturgeon silently lurked in the withered grass until the two wolfhounds arrived.

The ferocious wolfhounds that hunters dare not approach easily, but they behaved unusually docile and obediently beside the white sturgeon.

The wolfhounds were trained and rarely barked. So they just kept making soft whimpering noises, wagging their tails frantically, and licking the white sturgeon's cheeks with their wet tongues.

The white sturgeon gently stroked the two wolfhounds, silently humming a hymn. His touch made the two wolfhounds even more excited, joyful, and content.

That was about it. The white sturgeon took a sealed iron box from its bosom; inside were several dark yellow, greasy substances. It placed the box in front of the wolfhounds' noses, letting them sniff it.

Within the hunting grounds, only two people carried the scent of wolf mushroom. One was the white sturgeon itself, and the other was the white lion clad in red armor.

Gunpowder smoke and sulfur might confuse a person's sense of smell, but they can't fool the wolfhounds of the white sturgeon.

Finally, the white sturgeon took out a wooden tube.

He pulled off the lid, revealing smoldering sawdust, and expressionlessly lit the fuse of the "small barrel" hanging below the wolfhound's neck.

“[Hede] Go.” The white sturgeon silently gave the order and blew the bone flute again.

Just like in previous training sessions, the two wolfhounds faithfully carried out their commands, rushing into the smoke without hesitation and pouncing on the target that emitted the scent of wolf sesame.

The white sturgeon waited patiently.

Soon, muffled explosions echoed from behind the smoke screen. Another blast swept across the ground, sending shrapnel, blood, and mud raining down on the white sturgeon.

Then everything fell silent.

The white sturgeon waited a while longer, but then no more groans could be heard; it was probably really dead.

He cautiously threw a few stones into the smoke, but there was still no reaction.

“[Hett] token.” Whitebait murmured as he got up and carefully walked toward the explosion site.

As agreed, he needed to obtain some evidence that could prove the white lion's death... preferably the white lion's head.

The smoke, like a veil, shrouded the earth and has not yet dissipated.

"[Hett] cigarette case, it's gone again," Bai Bai thought with some regret.

Tobacco boxes belong to two-legged people; once they're used, they're gone. For tribal leaders, tobacco boxes might not be of much use. But to the white sturgeon, a tobacco box is more precious than a wolfhound.

The wind picked up, and the smoke trail moved slowly.

The white sturgeon keenly sensed that the wind direction was somewhat strange, but couldn't quite put its finger on what was so strange about it.

Looking up, the white sturgeon was surprised to find that the smoke screen was not "flowing," but "rotating."

The smoke screen spun faster and faster, and before the white sturgeon could react, it suddenly dispersed in all directions, as if the force that had been restraining it had vanished all at once.

In an instant, the ground was cleared, and the smoke wall that had enveloped the explosion site completely collapsed.

The battle between the chosen ones is decided by the slightest margin.

“[Herd’s] It’s over!” For the first time, a sound came from the white sturgeon’s throat, and his figure was exposed. He wanted to hide, but there was nowhere left to hide.

A man covered in blood and mud leaped out from beneath the warhorse's carcass. With a mere wave of his hand, the white sturgeon's consciousness was completely extinguished.

Winters spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, walked towards the assassin's corpse, and confirmed that the assassin was truly dead.

The assassin's clothes were covered with withered leaves and tattered brown linen, making him look like a clump of wormwood from a distance, which explains why he was so well hidden.

A strangely shaped bone flute hung conspicuously on the assassin's chest. He casually tore it off and put it in his pocket.

Only then did Winters feel the intense pain in his left shoulder.

He fumbled and pulled a lamellar armor plate from his shoulder.

“This thing.” Winters threw the bloodstained armor plate onto the assassin’s corpse, his expression complex. “I was the first person to use it.”

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(End of this chapter)