Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 360: Chapter 30: Crossing the Field in Vain

In the following days, although bearing bruises and resentment, Pierre stayed true to his duties, riding his horse and standing guard without slacking off again.

The others—whether coachmen or Dusacks—also didn’t dare to shirk their responsibilities.

As they drew nearer to home, everyone was filled with an eagerness to return; the strength with which they cracked their whips unconsciously increased.

With the rain ceasing upstream, the Panto River had returned to its normal levels. Instead of taking a detour through Shizhen, the caravan stuck to the shortest route, crossing the river at the ford.

…

“One!” the veteran coachman shouted hoarsely, “Two!”

Surrounding the cart, the young men clutched at its frame, struggling to lift it: “Three!”

With the command, the large cart that was stuck on a rock was forcibly lifted.

Seizing the opportunity, the old coachman lashed his whip fiercely; the three mules, in pain, dragged the heavy cart rumbling towards the opposite shore.

Unlike crossing a bridge, wading through the ford was a troublesome and arduous task.

The riverbed wasn’t a compacted road, but rather smooth cobblestones. Not only did the wheels struggle for purchase, but the animals’ hooves also found it difficult to grip, making injuries especially likely.

When they reached the edge of the ford, the caravan personnel would unhitch the animals from the shafts and use several horses to pull each cart across the river.

In addition to the drivers, the younger Dusacks and hired hands also had to remove their shoes, roll up their trousers, and push or pull at the carts while shouting in unison.

This work was too exhausting for the older folk; only the young men could endure it.

Pierre had only pushed the carts back and forth in the ford a few times before he was soaked through with a mix of sweat and river water.

The river’s cold autumn water could instantly sap all warmth from a person’s body. Mr. Mitchell, his feet chilled, felt an unbearable swelling and ache in his lower abdomen.

The caravan built several fires on the shore, where some coachmen and Dusacks were drying their clothes and warming themselves.

Pierre longed to go rest, but recalling Mr. Michel’s harsh scolding, his stubbornness rose, and he gritted his teeth to endure the pain and continued to help push the cart.

After several hours, only half the caravan had crossed.

After consulting with each other, Gerard and Winters decided that Winters would take a few riders to gather the carts at the front and set up camp to prevent scattering.

Gerard would take another group to the rear to urge them on, asking them to hasten their pace.

After crossing the Panto River, it would be less than a day’s journey to Wolf Town. Both Winters and Gerard were concerned that some coachmen, in their rush to get home, might leave the caravan and head back to Wolf Town overnight.

Not only was it dangerous, but it could also disperse the entire caravan.

Troops of riders sped towards both the front and the back, and with half the carts already across the river and moving away, the ford became much quieter.

Fatigue and the cold left those lifting the carts in the river too exhausted to even chant in rhythm.

Pierre’s pain below his navel grew worse, as if thousands of tiny knives were slicing and stabbing at him, and he leaned on his knees in the river, panting.

“Lad, you alright?” Sergei waded over, putting an arm around Michel’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just stomach pain,” Pierre shook uncontrollably.

“Come, let’s go ashore and warm up by the fire, have some hot soup.”

As they walked towards the opposite shore, Pierre suddenly grabbed old Sergei’s arm, “Uncle, does something seem off on the shore?”

Even while they were busy working earlier, Pierre couldn’t help but glance repeatedly towards the fire, sensing that something was amiss.

There were a few unfamiliar faces among those warming by the fire.

Michel’s memory was like his mother’s, not quite photographic, but he generally retained some impression, an advantage he was well aware of.

Yet, he had no recollection of those new faces on the shore; he had never seen those few people in the caravan before.

However, considering that they were out on the roads and it wasn’t strange for passersby to come and ask for some hot soup. Those unfamiliar faces didn’t linger long, sitting by the fire for a while before leaving.

Thus, Pierre didn’t make a fuss, but he stayed alert.@@novelbin@@

But now, Pierre noticed that those “familiar” faces had not only returned to the fireside, but more unfamiliar faces appeared on the banks.

Pierre spoke swiftly into Sergei’s ear, quickly informing him of everything.

Sergei’s expression darkened. The old Dusack grabbed his saber and shouted towards the shore, “Hey! You guys there, what are you doing?”

At first, the unfamiliar faces on the shore pretended not to hear themselves being called out. After several shouts from the old Dusack, they could no longer hide.

“We are carters,” they replied.

The rest of the people also began to sense the strange atmosphere. A few quick-thinking Dusacks discreetly moved closer to their warhorses.

“How come I’ve never seen you before?!” Sergei demanded loudly.

No one responded.

A dead silence fell over the ford, broken only by the gentle babble of the river.

“Kill!” one of the unfamiliar faces threw off his cloak and spun around, plunging a knife into the stomach of a nearby coachman.

The coachman’s eyes widened in horror, and he made a gurgling noise in his throat; he was so stunned that he couldn’t even scream.

“Kill!!!” With no chance of feigning innocence, the other unfamiliar people also tore off their pretenses, drawing their weapons to strike at the people of Wolf Town around them.

The abrupt onset of slaughter, bloodshed, and death left most of the coachmen and Dusacks unprepared.

Shouts and cries of killing sounded like a charge, and from the woods on both sides of the Panto River, more figures swiftly approached the ford.

“They’re bandits!” Sergei cursed those still dazed from Wolf Town, “Damn it! Go for your weapons! Dusacks! Mount up!”

As Pierre tried to step forward, a searing pain in his lower abdomen left him immobilized.

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