Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 480: Chapter 79: One and a Half Spells

The sky was still dark when the vanguard troops set out.

Two standing army battalions and another of militia led the way, with Jeska’s battalion doubling as the supply and rearguard units, and a company of Piaoqi cavalry providing support—such was the full strength of the vanguard.

Their responsibility was to confirm the route, construct camps, clear any potential enemies, and prepare in advance for the arrival of the main force.

The sun had not yet risen, so it was very cold, cold enough to make one’s chest tremble involuntarily.

Some soldiers with clever hands had sewn hats resembling helmets for themselves, leaving only a pair of eyes exposed.

Those without needlework skills could only endure the cold, their noses, mouths, and ears all red from freezing, the white mist of their breath frosting their eyelashes.

Other soldiers cut the Herders’ robes into pieces to improvise as scarves, or haphazardly found some scraps of cloth to use as bandanas.

Jeska’s camp was now eerily empty, everything that needed to be taken was packed onto carts, hoisted onto shoulders, leaving only mounds of charcoal-gray ashes on the ground.

The rearguards had yet to depart, the militiamen stood in formation, waiting, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet, whispering idle chatter.

Winters walked between the ranks, performing his final check before departure.

Seeing the Centurion approach, the militiamen all saluted promptly, and Winters returned their salute with equal seriousness.

Many of the militiamen were wrapped in Herders’ robes, for no other reason than that Herder robes were truly warm.

If it weren’t for fear of setting a poor example, Winters himself would have liked to acquire a robe to wear over his armor—after all, in this damned weather, one could never have too many layers.

[Samujin] of Wolf Town, shivering with hunched shoulders, quickly asked upon seeing the Centurion approach, “When can we set out, sir?”

Winters estimated the time for a moment and answered, “Don’t worry, it should be soon.”

“Good… that’s good,” Samujin sniffled, shivering, “It’ll be warmer once we get moving, freezing just standing here.”

Seeing that Samujin only wore the coat he’d brought from home, Winters was baffled, “Why haven’t you gotten yourself a robe to wear?”

Samujin’s voice was as small as a mosquito’s, “Wearing clothes of the deceased, it’s unlucky. I’m fine, sir, it’ll be warm once we move.”

“Then do you want the dead man’s gold?” Winters was exasperated, pointing to Samujin’s sheathed knife, he asked, “Was that knife given to you on a platter by a Herder? You’ll take a dead man’s saber, you’ll wear a dead man’s armor. Tell me, what’s the difference with a dead man’s robe?”

Samujin had no counter, muttering with a hung head, “But it’s still not the same.”

Winters was as amused as he was frustrated, “You ignorance! Do you have any idea how costly Herder robes are? If a Herder woman’s dowry contains three sets of robes, that’s no ordinary household. Traders specifically buy Herder fur robes, and you’re refusing even when it’s free?”

“Ah?” Samujin was dumbfounded, “I didn’t know that… but it’s too late now…”

“You’ve got five minutes. Go find Lieutenant Bard at the back and get yourself one,” Winters urged. “Go! Run!”

Samujin ran off like a shot.

“Be sparing with the robe, be careful of moths,” Winters advised the others around him, “It might be hard to wear it for a lifetime, but half a lifetime shouldn’t be a problem.”

After inspecting his two hundred-men squads, Winters entered the old shaman’s wagon.

As he opened the door, he found himself eye to eye with Little Lion.

Recognizing the visitor, Little Lion buried its head back into its embrace to continue sleeping.

“Move, move.” Winters gave Little Lion a smack, pushing it to the side.

Little Lion made a rumbling noise, grumbling as it made room for Winters to sit.

Brother Reed smiled faintly, “This little fellow has very good ears. It heard your footsteps from a distance.”

“Little fellow?” Winters looked at Little Lion and fretted, “It must be close to eighty pounds by now, right?”

“What’s wrong with eighty pounds?” Brother Reed was unfazed, “It’s still far from adulthood.”

Although still called Little Lion, that was only because Winters had forbidden Bell from naming it.

In reality, Little Lion was already bigger and heavier than any domestic dog Winters had ever seen, and it was growing larger and heavier every day, with an ever-increasing appetite.

Luckily, Winters no longer worried about where to find meat; dragging over a horse carcass kept Little Lion fed for a good while.

Winters, stroking the fur on Little Lion’s back and feeling helpless, said, “It is exactly for this reason that I am anxious. You have never seen its mother… Sigh, I’m considering whether to let it return to the wilds right here.”

“Ahem.” Reed warmed his feet on Little Lion and countered Winters, “How to release it? This little fellow can’t even catch a rabbit. If you set it loose in the wild, aren’t you sending it to starve to death?”

“The Herders will be chasing us soon, they ought to capture it.”

Releasing Little Lion to the Herders would be like sending a divine sign to Yasin, bolstering his authority.

Winters was despairing, “I never imagined Yasin’s father would name him that!”

“Herder names are all chosen by their own Shaman,” Brother Reed corrected with a smile.

“That doesn’t matter!”

Reed chuckled more heartily, “Don’t worry, take it with you to Paratu. If you can’t afford to keep it, I can arrange for the church to take over. ‘A call from the wilderness as a lion’, ha ha ha!”

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