Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 85 Kurshitashi Ritual

It's already night.

A bonfire was lit in the open space in front of the Red Pine Manor's main house, and figures flickered around it. By the firelight, several goats could be seen hanging under the oak trees at the edge of the open space, waiting to be slaughtered.

In a room on the second floor of the main house, Winters sat by the window, fiddling with a steel awl while watching the busy people in the yard.

After a few knocks, Kalman walked in.

"Did you bring the sniffing bottle?" Winters asked casually. His gaze remained fixed on the campfire, avoiding eye contact with Kalman.

“I brought it.” Kalman stood awkwardly in front of Winters, swallowing hard. “But I don’t recommend waking the wounded man. Although the lead bullet has been removed, his condition is still very dangerous. Forcibly waking him from his coma is not…wise, and may even worsen his injuries.”

“That’s none of your business. Just wake him up. I have my reasons.” Winters’ gaze remained fixed on the campfire, avoiding eye contact with Kalman.

Kalman, having been rebuffed, murmured as if trying to console himself, "I have no right to interfere with how you deal with your people, but I have done my duty as a doctor."

Lieutenant Colonel Contel was lying unconscious on the small bed in this guest room.

Kalman went to the bedside and took out a small glass bottle. He uncorked it and held the bottle up to Lieutenant Colonel Contel's nostrils, waving it around.

A foul stench emanated from the bottle, and Lieutenant Colonel Contel, who had inhaled the irritating gas, reacted immediately. His nostrils flared, his chest heaved, and with an instinctive cough, Contel struggled to open his eyes.

Kalman looked at Winters, who turned his head slightly toward the door, signaling Kalman to leave.

Now only Contel and Winters remain in the room.

Contel, who had just recovered from his coma, was still not fully conscious, and a few painful, hoarse sounds came from his throat.

Winters picked up the water glass on the table and slowly fed Contel some water.

After his parched lips and throat were moistened with water, Lieutenant Colonel Contel regained some consciousness. He looked at the person in front of him and asked with difficulty, "Warrant...Mont...Tane?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Where...where am I?"

Chiliu Island.

"Are we...captured?"

"No, neither of us has been captured. It's safe here for now."

Lieutenant Colonel Contel was becoming increasingly lucid, and he groaned as he reached out to touch his abdomen.

Winters stopped Contel: "Don't touch it, that's the wound. Do you remember? You were shot, and the doctor here removed the lead pellet. He removed it very cleanly. Now it's up to you."

Because of the excruciating pain, Conteer was trembling uncontrollably.

"The doctor said that your coma was a form of self-protection, and I asked him to wake you up."

"Why...why?" It took a lot of effort for Contel to utter a single word.

“Because there are some things I must ask you.” Winters’ tone was devoid of any emotion: “I’m leaving here in a few hours, and if I don’t get to the bottom of this, I’m afraid I’ll never have the chance again.”

"What...what do you want to ask?"

Winters, standing beside the bed, leaned down and brought his voice close to Contair's ear. His voice was soft but clear, and devoid of any emotion: "Why did you (these people) assassinate the special envoy of the Secretary of State of the United Provinces?"

Contel was struck dumb, the shock even outweighing the pain from his wound. He gasped, his eyes widening involuntarily.

After a long silence, the lieutenant colonel closed his eyes and slowly replied, "I didn't kill him."

In Mainland Chinese, the second-person singular and second-person plural are the same word.
As if he had heard the most ridiculous thing, Winters burst into laughter, laughing so hard he pounded his chest. After laughing, he wiped away his tears and said, "Neither of us may live to see tomorrow, so what's the point of playing these word games? What difference does it make whether you do it or your accomplices do it?"

“No…I’ve always opposed assassination.” Contel looked at Winters and asked with difficulty, “And you…how did you know that?”

“Me?” Winters sighed. “You might as well ask me why it took me so long to figure this out.”

……

Kalman anxiously waited at the top of the stairs. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard the sound of a door closing upstairs, followed by footsteps approaching him.

“The wounded soldier has fallen asleep again.” Winters walked over to Kalman and said softly. He took a small oil paper packet from his pouch and placed it in Kalman’s hand. “If the wounded soldier wakes up again, dissolve this medicine in warm water and give it to him to drink. Just a little bit at a time.”

"what is this?"

“Sleeping pills can help people enter a deep sleep state,” Winters explained patiently, then added with a smile, “I might not need them after today, so I’ll just leave them all for you.”

Kalman opened the three layers of oil paper wrapping, carefully picked up a piece of processed herb and examined it closely: "That's interesting. I've never heard of any medicine that can help with sleep."

Kalman's eyes were practically glued to the herbs, as if he had discovered a whole new world.

“These aren’t plants from here. They’re native to the New World, from the Empire’s colonies.” Winters smiled as he looked at Dr. Kalman, and after the doctor put away the herbs, he said sincerely, “Mr. Kalman, I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

Kalman was startled by this and waved his hands repeatedly, saying, "It's alright, it's alright."

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to silence you.” Winters laughed heartily. “Since you’ve kept your promise, I will keep mine. This is my sincere apology.”

Kalman finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“However, from your perspective, I still don’t recommend that you report us immediately,” Winters added.

"No, no, no... How could I report you? I won't say anything." Kalman's face turned red, and he shook his head repeatedly.

“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Kalman. This isn’t a threat, but my sincere opinion. Even if you report us, I won’t retaliate, I won’t even feel a shred of anger towards you. We broke into your home, you can do whatever you want.” Winters looked into Kalman’s eyes and said sincerely, “But I suggest you wait and see, and prepare for both possibilities. If I fail, you should immediately hand over these seriously wounded men and sever ties with us. But if I succeed… keeping these seriously wounded men will earn you the Venetians’ gratitude.”

Ignoring Kalman's complicated expression, Winters left the main house and headed towards the campfire.

After a moment of hesitation, Kalman quickly followed.

The old servant, Poker, ran to Kalman with a mournful face to complain: "Master... our family is ruined... I couldn't stop them..."

“Don’t worry, Mr. Poker,” Winters said politely. “I will compensate you for what the Heds took.”

Hearing Winters speak, Poker instinctively shuddered. He didn't dare to reply, only muttering under his breath, "What about the slaves? A strong slave is worth more than ten sheep..."

“Hahaha,” Winters laughed loudly. “Mr. Poker, since ancient times, slaves have always paid for their freedom with the blood of their slave owners. So I think free freedom is better, isn’t it?”...

A Hart man, with a small knife, can peel off a whole sheepskin in less than ten minutes.

"Nothing is wasted" is the principle of the Hed people.

The sheep's blood was carefully stored in a wooden bucket, and the internal organs were not discarded. The Hede women washed the sheep's offal clean, boiled it to remove the blood, and then cut it into thin strips to make a thick, white sheep soup.

Not a single part of the other parts was wasted either; they were either boiled or grilled, each finding its own purpose.

The Hed people, now freed from their shackles, busied themselves, as if they had returned to their homeland thousands of miles away.

The low tables were joined together to form a long table around the campfire, which was filled with large and small dishes, and fresh dishes were constantly being brought out.

Winters saw his soldiers sitting on the ground like the Heds, eating heartily. It wasn't until Winters approached that the soldiers realized their centurion had arrived and immediately stood up to salute.

Winters called the sergeant to his side: "Make sure everyone eats plenty of meat, and no alcohol is allowed."

The sergeant nodded and returned to the table.

Not far away, at the end of the long table, Andrei waved to Winters.

Sitting with Andrei were Bader and the old man Hed.

Winters had barely sat down when a Heard woman immediately served him a bowl of white soup and a plate of gruesome sheep's head—or rather, a cooked sheep's head split in half and placed together.

"Eat up, we're waiting for you to take your seat." Andrei winked at Winters. "This is what the Heders offer to their most distinguished guests."

"what?"

The two holes in the sheep's head stared directly at Winters, increasing his pressure. He tasted the mutton soup; it was quite delicious. It seemed to have pepper in it, and after one sip, he felt warm all over.

“Centurion Montagne, I have another favor to ask.” The old man, who had been chatting with Bard, looked at Winters.

"What?" Winters buried his head in his soup, his tone indifferent. For some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to like this old man.

“Mustas wants to perform the ‘Kurshitashi’ ceremony with you,” Bader explained. “He explained it to me for a long time, and from what I heard, it was probably a kind of oath-taking ceremony.”

This ceremony was probably a kind of oath.

“It’s not just an oath, it’s more than just an oath.” Old man Hed said stiffly in the strangely accented Common Language, “'Kurshitashi' is a covenant witnessed by the gods, an unbreakable vow.”

“Isn’t that still an oath?” Winters said while sipping his soup.

“No…it’s not the same.” Old Man Hed wanted to continue explaining, but after thinking about it, he gave up on wasting words with the aliens: “If you think it’s an oath, then it’s an oath.”

“Do we have to cut our palms and bleed them or something? We don’t really need to go through all this formality.” Winters put down his soup bowl with a sigh. “I’m a spellcaster. I don’t believe in anything, and I’m disgusted by self-harm. No ritual can restrain a person’s will. What I’m mortgaging to you is my honor.”

“[Old saying] I think it’s still necessary.” Bard suddenly switched to the old saying and pondered, “[Old saying] The other Hud don’t trust us; they just obey Mustas’s orders. If a ritual can gain the trust of the other Hud, then it’s worthwhile.”

“I don’t want to draw my own blood with a knife,” Winters said irritably. “If you like it, go ahead.”

“[Old saying] But they’ve set their sights on you,” Bud said with a smile.

“[Old saying] That’s right, that’s right.” Andrei was also overjoyed.

Old man Hart watched quietly as the three warrant officers conversed in an old-fashioned language.

"Old man, I have something to ask you," Winters said, forcing himself to speak. "What kind of ritual are you talking about? Does it require your own blood?"

“Yes.” Old man Hart’s face was full of smiles. “But animal blood will do.”

……

The firelight illuminated Winters' face, and also the face of old man Hart.

The two stood facing each other.

Old man Mustas cut his left hand and grabbed Winters' left arm, and Winters grabbed the other's left arm in return.

A Hart man knelt and offered a bowl of sacrificial blood.

Old man Hurd dipped a little of the sacrificial blood and smeared it on his lips, and Winters did the same.

Old man Hart then applied the oil to both of their left arms.

As Winters wondered what the meaning of this ritual was, he heard old man Hurd chant some kind of song in a strange way. Suddenly, the oil smeared on their left arms spontaneously combusted, and in an instant, a flame rose between them.

Winters was shocked and tried to pull back, but Old Man Hurd's arm gripped his arm tightly like an iron clamp.

The next second, the flames went out, as if what had just happened was an illusion.

But the burning sensation on his left arm told Winters that the fire was real.

Old man Hart picked up some more ashes and sprinkled them on the heads of the two men before releasing his left hand.

The Hud people who had been surrounding the two throughout the ceremony suddenly picked up horns and began to blow them.

"Who exactly are you?" Winters grabbed old man Hurd's arm and asked in a deep voice.

“They are your soldiers now.” Old Man Hed did not answer, but said wearily, “They will trust you as much as they trust me, and they will follow you even to Hellfire. Please keep our promise and send the women and children back to our homeland when your soldiers set foot on this island.”

The old man, who looked exhausted, returned to the table with the help of the other Huds.

Badr and Andrei, who were outside the crowd, squeezed in.

"Was that fire just now? Where did the fire come from? Was it fire?" Andrei asked in shock.

Winters' eyelids twitched incessantly: "It's fire, it must be fire. Oil would never spontaneously combust for no reason, nor would it simply go out for no reason... Could there be spellcasters among the Hed people?"

The outcome of the Lakshir ceremony is already decided.jpg
Thank you to all the readers who voted for the book before, especially to Justice and Purity is Koala, Smoke and Clouds Disperse, Social Justice Old Wang, writersblock, Kekkkkk, Ami, Please Call Me Happy Sheep, and Yuan Hongjian for your votes. Thank you all, I am truly grateful.

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(End of this chapter)