Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 366: Chapter 32 Terror Theater

The town was rarely this bustling, with its usually desolate main thoroughfares now teeming with life.

Farmers’ wagons lined up one after another along the roadside, and the dirt road was packed with small stalls.

On the second Monday of each month, Wolfton’s market day attracted villagers from around, along with Protestants who rarely interacted with the Old Believers.

That’s why Lieutenant Winters Montagne decided to schedule the trial, execution, and militia drafting all on today.

…

Today, the remote town revealed its vibrant side.

Traveling merchants from nearby towns flocked here to do business, and the town’s farmers brought surplus agricultural products to sell at the market.

Honest farmers simply spread out a cloth on the ground and arrayed the fruits and vegetables they had picked from fields and gardens, waiting for people to inquire about the prices.

Meanwhile, the shrewd farmers already had their pretty daughters carrying wicker baskets along the streets, hawking eggs.

The shouts of vendors, haggling, and arguing were endless.

Because of the public trial and execution of bandits, which for the farmers was an extraordinary event that could become a talking point for twenty years.

So even families from neighboring towns dragged their relatives to join in the spectacle, and a troupe of traveling entertainers performing nearby seized the chance to put on their shows.

Everyone was eager to secure the best spot possible, and the atmosphere in the town center was anything but the solemnity expected for trials, executions, and the selection of militia. Instead, it was like a grand festivity.

The newly formed Wolfton town guard patrolled the streets, maintaining order. Seven guardsmen, clad in armor and shouldering long halberds, looked imposing.

The guards’ weapons and armors had just been purchased from Revodan—Winters and Gerard took the opportunity to stock up the town’s Arsenal.

A visit to the county seat wasn’t frequent, so it made sense to take care of all necessary business in one trip.

The Wolfton town guard now consisted of seven members, with two full-time guards being the young lads Anglu and Bell, and five part-time guards selected by Winters from the local militia.

Though not professional soldiers, these farm boys, with their gleaming iron helmets and brand-new leather armors, looked no less valiant.

They attracted the gazes and whispers of many young women and wives, and also the great envy of their village companions.

A Dusack lad clapped Vashka on the shoulder and laughed, “Looking good! You certainly look the part in that outfit.”

Out of respect for Sergei, the guard position from Dusa Village had been given to Vashka Morozov.

“Quit it, I’m on duty,” Vashka replied with a smile.

The Dusack lad sized him up and down: “Did you buy this set from Revodan?”

“Of course, brand new, the paint hasn’t even chipped off.”

“When we’re done today, let me borrow it to wear.”

“I can’t take it home; after the duty, I have to return it to the Arsenal.”

“Ah, what’s the harm? Just sneak it back home.”

A silver-grey steed parted the crowd and passed by the two men. Vashka, in the middle of his light-hearted conversation, caught sight of the silver pattern on the horse’s belly and immediately tensed up.

Since the convoy returned from Revodan, there was nobody in Wolfton who didn’t recognize Lieutenant Montagne’s “Fortune.”

Vashka quickly stood at attention and saluted.

The Lieutenant on horseback nodded and continued on his way forward.

“Hey, you’ve really done me in now,” Vashka lamented to his companion.

“What’s wrong with that?” his friend asked, puzzled.

“Forget it,” Vashka urged his friend to move on: “We’ll talk about it later.”

…

After patrolling the town center, Winters didn’t find anything suspicious.

But on the outskirts of the town, he saw Gerard arguing loudly with an unfamiliar young man.

Seeing Winters, Gerard waved happily: “Lieutenant Montagne!”

Winters nudged his horse and quickly moved closer.

“This is our Garrison Officer of the town, Lieutenant Montagne,” Gerard told the young man. “The business you wish to conduct must have his approval.”

“Good day, sir!” Before the lieutenant could speak, the young man interjected: “My business, though often unjustly treated and discriminated against, is entirely legitimate. Please look, this is a charter issued by the garrison headquarters of the county.”

The young man handed over a roll of parchment.

After reading the content on the parchment, Winters looked behind the man:

Several large tents were set up by the roadside, a sickly old woman sat by collecting money. Ragged men queued up to go in, then walked out adjusting their trousers.

“Are you… a pimp?” Winters asked, hand on his sword hilt.

“Sir, please don’t use such ugly words,” the pimp replied, with a fawning smile on his face: “I am merely a mediator, facilitating connections between ladies with certain skills and gentlemen in need.”

Winters couldn’t be bothered to converse further with this slick character; he checked the charter again. The wording didn’t seem fake, the seal didn’t appear to be fake, and the signature also didn’t seem to be fake.@@novelbin@@

While the lieutenant was re-examining the charter, the pimp’s smile grew even more intense.

“A piece of parchment, I can’t tell if it’s real or fake,” Winters stated flatly.

The pimp’s smile froze in an instant: “How could that be? This charter was personally signed by Major Ronald of Revodan, please take a closer look?”

“Then why don’t you go back to Revodan and bring me back a letter of authentication?” Winters suggested.

“Sir, there is a secret mark on this charter that can verify its authenticity,” the pimp wiped the sweat from his brow, pleading: “Please, allow me to show it to you.”

Winters handed back the charter.

As their hands met, the pimp covertly slipped a bag of silver coins into the lieutenant’s palm. “This should settle it,” he thought.

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