Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 340: Chapter 23 Pursuit

The mounted officer, towering above, berated loudly, “Worthless! An entire smuggling caravan disappeared within your jurisdiction! Are you neglecting your duty or were you in on this all along? Speak!”

The lieutenant remained silent, flames nearly leaping from his eyes.

The guard beside the officer noticed the lieutenant’s gaze. He nudged his horse a step forward, subtly positioning himself between the lieutenant and the officer, his right hand gripped tightly around his sword hilt.

The officer thought he was dealing with an incompetent low-ranking military official; he did not realize that he was facing a spellcaster on the brink of losing control.

Winters Montagne was on the verge of losing control.

Since the moment he had been escorted to Paratu, Winters’s negative emotions had been accumulating, and even he had not realized it.

Even on the harshest days on the islands, he always had supportive people around him. But in Wolf Town, he was alone.

This was the moment his will was at its weakest. Any further hostility from the officer might completely evaporate the Venetian’s s remaining sanity, leaving only violent and cruel instincts.

The warhorse, sensing the searing rage, shuffled its front legs restlessly.

Lady Michel instinctively clutched Mr. Montagne’s arm.

The officer noticed the lieutenant’s clenched fists, and a nameless anger rose in him. He was about to continue chastising the insubordinate junior officer in front of him when a certain indescribable intuition stopped him from acting.

Many figures came running from the direction of the Michel estate.

Hearing the scream of Lady Michel, the Dusacks grabbed their tools and rushed out. Leading them was Sergei, the old man holding a sickle he’d picked up from who knows where.

Approaching closer, Sergei realized the gravity of the situation.

A Dusack, not recognizing his own mother, certainly would not mistake a military uniform. Old Sergei cursed under his breath: They were confronted with a military official, and a high-ranking one at that.

Sergei Morozov, a Dusack who feared neither heaven nor earth, turned to jelly only at the sight of a military uniform.

But now, he had no choice but to face the music.

Mustering his courage, the old man stood beside the lieutenant, swallowing his saliva nervously and shouted defensively yet apprehensively, “Hey! What are you doing?”

The officer snorted disdainfully and gestured to the guard beside him, not even sparing a glance at the peasant before him.

Unbeknownst to him, his attitude somewhat reassured Sergei.

The other Dusacks also arrived one after another, each startled by the sight of the officer’s uniform. Looking at each other, no one dared to speak.

The officer’s guard took the silver whistle hanging from his neck and blew it forcefully.

The cavalry outside the estate noticed that something was amiss. As the sharp whistle sounded, they quickly moved toward their commander.

While a few cavalrymen charged straight toward the scene along the path, the rest of the cavalry leaped over the fences to flank from both sides. They raced through the bean fields without a care, trampling and smashing the crops under their hooves.

The smaller group of cavalry somehow ended up surrounding the Dusacks.

This was a true cavalry unit, not mere horsemen or mounted infantry, but cavalry trained strictly for combat.

Their military swords were not loosely hanging at their sides but were instead tucked between the horse’s back and their thighs, ready to be drawn at any moment.

The cavalrymen edged closer bit by bit, narrowing the space around the Dusacks. Those holding farming tools became somewhat panicked, though not yet out of control.

Old Dusack Aleksei slowly moved closer to Sergei, whispering to his companion, “Vladimirovich, do you see? That’s at least half a squadron!”

“I’m counting them, it’s not half a squadron,” Sergei replied irritably. “Just over thirty horses; that’s just one platoon.”

“What do we do?”

“How the hell would I know!”

As the Dusacks murmured among themselves, several figures hurried over from the estate.

“I’m the mayor of this town.” A path formed in the crowd seemingly on its own, and Gerard approached the front of the officer’s horse: “May I ask what I can do for you in Wolf Town?”

Gerard was out of breath, obviously having run all the way after hearing the news. Seeing Captain Michel arrive, the Dusacks all breathed a sigh of relief, the heavy stone hanging over their hearts finally dropping to the ground.@@novelbin@@

“You’re the mayor?” The officer glanced at the sturdy man before him.

“Yes.”

“Do you not know that yesterday a large band of smugglers crossed the Big Horn River from Wolf Town?”

“That… I was not aware.”

“Wolf Town’s Garrison Officer has been neglecting his duty,” the officer stated coldly. “Have you made any accusations or reports?”

Gerard’s face faltered.

“Colonel, I must disagree with your statement,” another voice tinged with an accent emerged from the crowd. “Everyone here, as well as all the gentry of the town, can attest that Captain Michel and Officer Montagne have always been diligent and responsible in their duties, never negligent, and therefore there was no need for accusations or reports.”

Unknown to them, an old mendicant had come to stand beside Winters. He surreptitiously squeezed Winters’s arm and took the riding crop from his hand.

The old mendicant walked up beside the officer, handing over the riding crop with a clergyman’s amiable smile: “I’m Father Reed of this parish. How might I address you, Colonel?”

“I am not a Colonel, you may call me Lieutenant Colonel Castor,” he replied as he took the riding crop and flipped it a few times, sneering back, “Diligent and responsible? So responsible that they didn’t notice a large group of smugglers crossing the border? Or was it that they were all in on it together?”

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