Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 313: Chapter 13. The Hunt_2

“`

Searching the mountains was a hard task; every meter traversed drained a great deal of strength. Not to mention that the militiamen had abandoned their own farm work to search the mountains, and when they came up empty-handed, it was their wives, children, and elderly who toiled in the fields. Thus, the longer the delay, the more their wills wavered.

To stop searching the mountains, or to force the militiamen to continue?

The former Lieutenant Montaigne only needed to follow orders, but the current Garrison Officer Montaigne had to make his own decisions.

Winters gathered the village chiefs of five villages and said, “As long as the search continues, we can definitely find the man-eating bear. But the manpower from each of the villages is already exhausted and cannot continue the search. Now the only option is to wait for that giant bear to attack again.”

What he did not say outright was that there had been no attacks in a week; the bear was probably starving by now.

After hearing the news of halting the mountain search, the militiamen from East River Village and West River Village grumbled, and the villagers had many complaints about Winters; on the other hand, the young and able-bodied from the two Protestant villages obeyed the order without any complaints, as if they truly saw Winters as “one of their own.”

Ralph, the old hunter, after learning of Winters’ decision, left the main troop without saying a word and ventured deeper into the forest alone.

For the first time, Lieutenant Montaigne felt the pressure of decision-making.

…

Three days after the mountain search stopped, Wolf Town welcomed another Sunday. Despite the dark cloud of the wolf disaster overhead, villagers from all three villages rushed to the church in the town center to attend the Sunday service, as usual.

The church in Wolf Town was not large, but not particularly small either; its layout was similar to other single-nave churches. Two walls with windows formed the central hall of the church, and with a vaulted ceiling, the central hall required no pillars for support. One end of the hall was the narthex, and the other was the altar and ceremonial objects.

Because revealing the identity of spellcasters in the insular and conservative Wolf Town could potentially cause unnecessary trouble, Winters would also sit in the church with Gerard during Sunday services.

This time, it was the young Father Caman who was responsible for the sermon; he first led the congregation in prayer for several victims of the wolf disaster, and then used the sayings of saints to deliver an encouraging message to the believers.

Watching the followers pray earnestly to the deity to drive away the evil bear, Winters somewhat understood them. It was essentially a sense of helplessness—hoping for help from a higher existence when one feels powerless over something seemed to be the natural thing to do.

The weekly bow and arrow training had been canceled by Winters, so people hurried back to their villages after the ceremony.

Winters found Father Caman: “Although I don’t know why, I still need to thank you. East River and West River villages have quite the resentment toward me recently.”

“There’s nothing to be done about that,” Father Caman spoke softly to console him: “The beast is in the woods, but you are right in front of them.”

Winters chuckled bitterly, “I used to wish for a leisurely position until retirement, but now… now I’d rather go back to the army and be a lowly centurion.”

“Destiny has placed you in this position for a reason.”

“I thought you would use the word ‘Lord,'” Winters joked.

Father Caman also showed a hint of a smile, “Who told you to be an unbeliever? I changed it to something you can accept.”

“But I don’t believe in destiny either. If everything is predetermined, then what’s the point of human struggle? We might as well just lie down on the ground and wait for destiny to take its course.”

“Perhaps the human struggle is also part of destiny.”

“Sophistry,” Winters scoffed. “Don’t they teach logic in theology school? You are essentially saying that the future is both knowable and unknowable; you are describing a paradox.”

Caman wanted to say something, but an urgent knocking interrupted their metaphysical conversation.

Caman glanced at Winters and said aloud, “Come in!”

The church handyman pushed the door open: “Father! Something terrible has happened… Ah! The Garrison Officer is here too!”

“What’s happened?” Winters asked.

“Sir!” the handyman swallowed and said, “Beacons!”

…

“Which way did it run?” Winters, who had been sprinting the whole way, yanked the reins and the warhorse reared before the chief of West River Village.

The chief didn’t dare delay and pointed westward: “To the west!”

“`

Winters spoke rapidly, “When did it come? Are there any casualties?”

“It must have been when people were at mass, that thing came in and ate a lot of grain, and bit an old paralytic woman to death!”

Winters wheeled his warhorse, “Call up all the militia, follow me!”

“Yes, my lord, yes.” The village head remembered something and added, “The hunter has already taken the lead in pursuit.”@@novelbin@@

The militia of Dusa Village had also seen the beacon fires, and old Sergei immediately led the Dusans to join with the West River Village militia.

Unlike the previous three violent encounters, this time the beast had just fled, leaving a trail clear and distinct. Following the traces, Winters led the group directly to the southwestern forest.

Under the shadows of the tree canopy, Winters could see broken shrubs and underbrush. The bear’s enormous size had left a trail among the forest’s underbrush and saplings that resembled a small path.

Guided by the tracks on the ground, Winters relentlessly gave chase. At this moment, his mind was consumed by a single thought: to kill the man-eating bear. Unintentionally, he even left the militia far behind.

He spurred his horse fiercely, crashing through a thicket of hazels, crossing the chill stream, and surging over a mound before charging down, racing wildly through the forest.

On the galloping horseback, the pine needles scraped his skin like the sharpest arrows, each contact leaving a new bloodstain.

The forest’s complex terrain was even more perilous, but fortunately, his horse’s hooves seemed divinely assisted, for a mere rodent burrow could have caused him to break his neck.

After vaulting over several mounds, the broken branches and underbrush first led Winters to a hollow, turned sharply, and then suddenly began to ascend. Winters didn’t know how far he had chased but could tell the terrain was rising swiftly.

The steeper the slope became, the louder the warhorse neighed, exerting all of its strength to push and step, its hooves digging one deep hollow after another in the soft, dark earth.

The warhorse was at its limit. Seeing this, Winters dismounted. He took two heavy matchlock guns and a powder flask from his saddlebag and began to load them.

A strange silence pervaded the gloomy forest.

Suddenly, a rustling noise came from nearby.

Winters raised his matchlock, firmly bracing the butt against his shoulder.

“My lord, it’s me.” Hunter Ralph emerged from among the leaves and branches.

Without wasting words, Winters asked directly, “Is it ahead?”

“It should be ahead.”

“Lead the way.”

“We can’t take the horses; they make too much noise,” the old hunter explained. “That thing moves incredibly fast in the woods, we can’t catch up even on horseback, and we might startle it. If we scare it off, we can only hope it dies of exhaustion.”

Winters took two javelins out of his horse’s saddlebag, giving one to Ralph, keeping the other for himself.

Then he pointed his horse in the direction from which they’d come and lashed its hindquarters hard, “Go! Go home!”

Pained, the red-maned horse sprinted away back the way it came.

“Let’s go.” Winters slung the two guns over his shoulder, took the javelin in hand, and spoke to the hunter.

“My lord, just the two of us might not be able to kill that thing. It would be best if we leave markers along the way for the reinforcements to follow,” Ralph suggested, his weapons being nothing but a hunting knife, a single-shot bow, and the javelin Winters had given him.

It was then that Winters realized he had lost contact with the other militia.

“No matter what, let’s find that thing first,” Winters drew the Dusa military saber.

“Yes,” Ralph nodded and took the lead, but he couldn’t help reminding, “My lord, there is no matchcord on your gun.”

The answer to the hunter was a cold voice, “I don’t need a matchcord.”

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