Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 353 The Hunt (Part 9)

[Outside the hunting circle]
"What is he shouting?" Pierre frowned.

"do not know."

Just an arrow's throw from the felt wall, an unidentified rider named Hed was still shouting at the top of his lungs.

However, no matter how important the message he wanted to convey was, Pierre and the others couldn't understand it.

Before the interpreter arrived, the enraged old Sergei snatched a matchlock musket from someone nearby and, without hesitation, pressed the firing lever at the noisy Hed rider.

The lead bullet grazed past Heard's rider, who paused for a moment, then turned and left.

Pierre clenched his fists and immediately looked towards the source of the gunfire. But when he saw who had fired without authorization, he suppressed his anger and refrained from unleashing his fury on old Sergei.

"Devil! Heretic! Die!" Old Sergei roared in fury, "They all deserve to die!"

Lieutenant Colonel Moritz's cool voice rang out: "Mr. Morozov."

Old Sergei was silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth and replied, "Yes!"

"How is Mr. Morozov's injury?"

"His head is cracked open." Old Sergei sniffed hard. "He's not dead!"

“Go and look after Mr. Morozov Jr.” Lieutenant Colonel Moritz calmly ordered, “You are not needed here.”

Old Sergei stood there like a puppet for a while, then slowly saluted and walked stiffly toward the inner circle of the formation.

Pierre doesn't have time to comfort Uncle Morozov right now; he has more important responsibilities.

According to Pierre's estimation, his location was about five kilometers away from Qingqiu.

Five kilometers, even a fast horse would take ten minutes to run.

If the hunting ground is roughly circular, then its perimeter must be over thirty kilometers.

Thirty kilometers, a horseback ride around it would take at least an hour.

In terms of form, the Chihe tribe's "Great Hunt" was nothing more than a simple and crude drawing of a circle on the ground, with hunters from various tribes sitting around it to watch the hunt.

However, the situation became complicated when the "circle" drawn by the Chihe tribe was large enough to accommodate an entire city.

Hundreds of tribes and tens of thousands of hunters were scattered around the giant ring. Apart from the Chihe tribe, which occupied the central highland of Qingqiu, the other tribes could not have a general view of the whole situation and found it difficult to coordinate and communicate with each other.

This arrangement undoubtedly gives those with ulterior motives an opportunity to fish in troubled waters.

“I can see it too,” Pierre thought. “Couldn’t the barbarian chieftain see it?”

On the one hand, Pierre believed that the barbarian chieftain must have made preparations in advance, and he had never forgotten the setback that the Palatine expeditionary force had suffered at the hands of the Red River tribe.
On the other hand, they didn't know where the Blood Wolves were, what the Red River Tribe was up to, or what the smoke of war behind the horizon was all about.

Surrounded by barbarians, bearing the lives of his family, friends, and comrades, one wrong step could mean hell—Pierre truly experienced the pressure of Winters Montagne for the first time.

He tried his best to stay calm and keep thinking, but the back of his clothes was still uncontrollably soaked with sweat.

Moritz glanced at Pierre and said in his usual nonchalant tone, "You did very well."

Pierre nodded expressionlessly, but deep down he was very grateful; he was grateful that there was still someone he could rely on by his side.

The sandstorm gradually intensified, and the air currents whipped up a blanket of dust. Before long, everyone's clothes were covered with a fine layer of dark reddish-gray dust.

Pierre clearly remembered that it was a clear day at sunrise, but now the sandstorm was so strong that it exceeded the dust raised by a herd of horses galloping by.

"Should we keep waiting?" Pierre asked.

“Wait a little longer,” Moritz replied, tilting his head back to sniff the air.

Amidst the sandstorm, everyone else covered their mouths and noses with scarves, but Lieutenant Colonel Moritz behaved unusually.

“What are you sniffing?” Pierre asked.

Lieutenant Colonel Moritz removed his cloak and calmly wrapped it around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. His gaze held a half-smile: "An abnormal smell."

Visibility was gradually limited by the sandstorm, and soon even Qingqiu could not be seen.

Pierre stood on a wooden stake and looked out. He saw the nearest members of the Badlands tribe, all armed with bows and swords, leading their horses on foot, seemingly trying to escape.

The hunters of the Badlands tribe fought desperately against their raging warhorses. Some horses broke their reins and galloped into the sun-blocking red sand. The hunters gave chase, but soon disappeared from sight.

Another group of hunters from nearby Hard, far fewer in number than the Badlands tribe, were also all dismounted and armed with bows. However, they remained on guard, clearly hesitant about whether to stay or leave.

A sense of unease was spreading within the delegation. Someone approached Pierre and whispered, "The camp has a wagon fortification; it's much safer than here. Shouldn't we return to the camp as soon as possible? If anything happens to the Queen Wolf while we're here, we'll all be in trouble..."

Pierre interrupted him, shouting at a volume loud enough for everyone to hear: "Without horses and in the sandstorm, we can't go anywhere! Moving around now is suicide. Unless the horses are rideable or the sandstorm stops, don't even think about going back to camp."

“But there are only Father Kaman and a few others at the camp right now.” The proposer raised his voice, “If we don’t go back, they can’t hold out!”

“It’s alright,” Lieutenant Colonel Moritz said casually, ending the argument. “Just leave it to Father Kaman.”

The proposer was not persuaded, but he dared not contradict Lieutenant Colonel Moritz. He could only salute indignantly and stride back to his firing position.

"The camp?" Pierre watched the other person walk away.

“Just leave it to Father Kaman,” Moritz repeated without changing his tone. “Besides, there’s still that lion.”

As they spoke, the sound of hooves, like hailstones, pierced through the sand and dust, reaching everyone's ears and growing ever clearer.

Cavalry are heading this way!
"Musketeers!" Pierre rushed towards the sound of hooves, spear in hand, and roared, "My position! All men, prepare!"

The mission members, equipped with muskets, moved methodically to the side facing the approaching riders, each finding a suitable firing position and carefully opening the gunpowder pool.

The sandstorm was so strong that the gunpowder in some of the gunpowder pools was instantly blown away.

"Don't panic! Reload the fuse!" Pierre suppressed the urge to yell, "Cover the fire door with your cloak!"

The others immediately took off their cloaks or even coats to help the musketeer shield himself from the sandstorm.

The Huds were not deaf; they too heard the rumbling hooves.

The smaller group of hunters was immediately gripped by panic. Some rushed toward their warhorses, while others stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

The poor leader tried hard to control his men, but the attacking cavalry gave him no chance.

The dark mass of cavalry broke through the sandstorm, their spear tips stained with dark red, dried blood, as they charged straight at the smaller group of Heard hunters.

Before any real contact had even occurred between the two sides, the smaller number of Hurd hunters had already completely collapsed.

Like a handful of blood spilled on the sand, the hunters from an unknown tribe scattered and fled. Some ran into the hunting grounds, some fled into the sandstorm, and some ran headlong towards the Iron Peak County delegation.

"Don't fire!" Pierre leaped over the felt wall and into the clearing between the first and second tripwires, hurling his spear at the oncoming hunter, Hed.

As the spear was thrown, Pierre drew his saber, rolled to block the tripwire, and roared, "Get out of here!!!"

Even without the language barrier, Pierre's message was perfectly clear. The hunters instantly snapped to their senses, and most of them, driven away by Pierre's shouts, scrambled to escape to other places.

Only one thin, short Hedman, whether terrified or utterly unafraid, continued running toward the temporary fortifications of the Iron Peak County delegation.

Pierre gritted his teeth and went to meet him.

The skinny, fleeing hunter saw Pierre and shouted something desperately. He wasn't paying attention and tripped over the tripwire in front of him.

The thin, short hunter was tripped and fell heavily, and the wooden stake securing the tripwire was also pulled askew.

Pierre, enraged, raised his knife to kill the skinny hunter, Hurd. Seeing Pierre's murderous intent, the skinny hunter crawled backward in terror.

In the next instant, Pierre roared in anger and resentment, turning and charging towards the stake securing the tripwire. Reason temporarily prevailed over rage; repairing the tripwire was more important than venting his anger. He righted the leaning stake; the soil in the hunting grounds was loose, and the original hole used to secure the stake had become deformed. Pierre could only use the hilt of his knife to continue hammering the stake deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, a stone landed on the stake right after the knife handle—the skinny hunter, who hadn't run away, had picked up a stone from somewhere and was helping Pierre while looking at him in horror.

Each time the skinny hunter struck the stake, he would jump up and tamp down the soil around it. During the brief lull in the cavalry's slaughter of the hunters, Pierre and the skinny hunter secured the stake again.

Seeing Pierre's gloomy face, the skinny hunter turned to run away, but Pierre grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down.

Ignoring the other's struggles and cries, Pierre dragged the skinny hunter back inside the felt wall.

The attacking cavalry did not pursue those who fled too far, nor did they collect spoils. After scattering the tribe of the skinny hunters, they quickly regrouped.

Pierre tossed the skinny hunter aside, panting, and asked, "How many barbarian riders?"

“Half a company, less than a hundred.” A musketeer stared wide-eyed. “What right do they have to ride their horses?”

Pierre sneered: "Because they were the ones who did it!"

There were two groups of Hart hunters near the Iron Peak County delegation. The smaller group was the first to be attacked and took the first blow.

The other group of hunters—the people of the Evil Earth tribe—reacted decisively. As soon as the attacking cavalry appeared, they immediately abandoned their unrideable warhorses, and several of them rode together on barely rideable horses, fleeing the area at breakneck speed.

The attacking cavalry had already discovered that some people were escaping, but instead of pursuing them, they turned their attention to the Iron Peak County delegation that was holding their ground.

They spurred their warhorses and rode around the circular formation of the Tiefeng County delegation at a distance that was neither too close nor too far.

New recruits seeing such a formation for the first time might be intimidated, but the warriors Winters had chosen were already very familiar with the Heds' tactics.

"Put away the musket." Pierre didn't want to reveal the truth: "Watch out for arrows."

The skinny hunter hid in fear behind the felt wall, repeatedly telling Pierre a single word.

Pierre was puzzled: "Translator! What is he saying?"

After listening to it several times, the interpreter hesitated before giving his answer: "He seems to be saying—east of the Aral Sea."

"Eastern Haidong?"

Just then, the attacking cavalry seemed to have made up their minds, and with a swift turn of their blades, they plunged straight into the circular formation.

Pierre had a limited number of muskets, but the cavalry could choose to launch an attack on any part of the circular formation.

"Fire freely!" Pierre's voice was hoarse: "Hold the line!"

The delegation from Tiefeng County was small in number, and even with their very limited position, they could barely maintain an empty formation. Furthermore, since they had not brought extra-long spears with them when they set out, they only had lances in their hands.

Therefore, in Pierre's view, the only way to win was to restrict the movement of the enemy cavalry through fortifications and then drag them into melee combat.

This is a perfectly normal thought, since Pierre had never witnessed Lieutenant Colonel Moritz committing murder.

“Mr. Little Cher,” Moritz nudged Pierre on the shoulder, “thank you for your hard work.”

After saying that, Moritz began calling out names.

Before they even hit the tripwire, the fierce, barbaric rider at the very front tumbled straight off his horse, followed by the second, the third…

The horse, now without its rider, continued its charge until it was tripped and brought down by a tripwire.

Discovering that horses without riders would still break the tripwires, Lieutenant Colonel Moritz changed his method to call out the horses' names first, then the riders' names.

There was no hatred, no anger, no fear, no pleasure... to be precise, there was no feeling at all.

The arrowheads vanished from Moritz's hand and reappeared in the enemy's body; Moritz van Nassou thus relentlessly robbed people of their lives.

It took Pierre a moment to process what was happening. He called out in a flustered manner, "Lieutenant Colonel, please wait."

The killing has paused.

"What?" Moritz looked at Pierre.

“Killing people is acceptable.” Pierre’s throat bobbed as he said with difficulty, “We can use the warhorses.”

"Ah."

The killing continued.

The attacking cavalry didn't even understand what was happening. This was probably just a probing attack; the plan was to first draw the enemy's attention from one side, and then send half of their men to attack from the rear.

If a pincer attack fails to defeat the enemy, then retreat. There will always be weaker prey, and the enemy won't be able to catch up anyway.

But... how could this be... how could a hundred-man squad be wiped out in just a probing charge? And why are the remaining men dying one after another?
The centurion, Haiwu'er, halted his horse, removed his helmet, and looked ahead in bewilderment. Between him and the low felt wall, there was no one left alive.

The next moment, Haiwu saw something move in the sand and dust, and then he was no longer in this world.

Witnessing the death of their centurion, the surviving Hedren were unsure whether to advance or retreat.

According to unwritten custom, they should take away as many bodies as possible. However, they could not take away so many bodies, nor did they dare to take another step.

Shouts rang out from behind, and the Evil Earth Tribe, who had just fled in disarray, turned back. Twenty-odd men of the Evil Earth Tribe rode on horseback, and another twenty-odd men charged forward, shouting and yelling.

The last of the Eastern Coast Guard cavalry charged forward without hesitation and with courage.

This is the kind of death they are familiar with.

……

[In the center of the hunting grounds, Qingqiu]
"[Herd] Stop! Who goes there?"

"[Herd] Red Armor?"

"[Heidegger] is a little lion?!"

"[Herd word] The little lion is injured! Quickly, find a healer!"

The Chihe tribe members stationed in Qingqiu hurriedly took the lion cub and carried it to their tents. For a moment, no one paid attention to the armored soldiers carrying the lion cub up Qingqiu.

Winters' shoulder was numb. "Thank goodness it's my left shoulder," he thought.

After handing the lion cub over to the Chihe tribe, he finally had the energy to feel annoyed.

The changes that have occurred are far beyond the worst possible scenario that the little lion had told him beforehand.

Whether the Red River Tribe intentionally deceived them or was caught off guard by them as well, Winters believed it meant danger.

“[Herd]...horse…” Winters stopped a female slave and struggled to explain what he needed in Herd: “[Herd]...water…”

He couldn't stay any longer; he had to go back quickly.

The palace maid of the Chihe tribe looked at the armored warrior who seemed to have crawled out of the pool of blood in horror, and staggered away.

Winters tried to call the other person back, but suddenly felt dizzy, and he knew nothing about what happened next.

When he regained consciousness, he was wrapped in warm, soft animal fur, and the air was filled with a pleasant milky scent. The wound on his left shoulder had been bandaged.

"You're awake?" a timid female voice said. "Thank you for bringing the little lion back."

Winters felt an empty, aching sensation inside his skull: "How long was I unconscious?"

"Not long. Not even the time it takes to drink a cup of tea."

Winters struggled to sit up, and Erlen was watching him.

[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, rewards, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
[The more you owe, the more you fall (into the ground)]
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(End of this chapter)