Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 943: Chapter 30: The Hunt (Part 1)_3

“Captain Montaigne won’t forget you.” Gerard comforted his son, “He will take care of you.”

“You… still don’t understand me…”

Another bout of silence ensued.

“So… what do you plan to do?”

“I’ve decided to stay by Montaigne’s side.” Pierre had made up his mind, “Dad, please take the others back to Iron Peak County.”

…

The personnel arrangements for the two teams gradually became clear.

After repeated trims, Winters finally decided to keep only sixty competent subordinates; the rest of the troops were commanded by Gerard, following the original path back to Iron Peak County.

Interestingly, upon learning that Mitchell was heading to the Red River Tribe, Father Caman, who never showed Winters a pleasant face, also lowered his pride to request joining the journey to the Red River Tribe.

Vashka and the elder Sergei, father and son, also appeared in the team heading to the Red River Tribe.

Vashka couldn’t part with his mates, and old Sergei couldn’t part with his son. Both father and son were skilled hands among the Dusacks, and Winters was more than happy to bring them along.

The reserved Berlion was the last person to approach Winters.

“Centurion.” As always, Berlion was serene and composed, “Please take me with you as well.”

“I do want you to go to Red River, but I’m worried about accidents that might befall you there,” Winters voiced his concerns, “And I promised Carlos to bring you back to Iron Peak County safely.”

“If that’s the case, you should take me even more. Carlos is safe in Revodan, so I have nothing to worry about. To investigate the possible iron ore situation at the Red River Tribe, you need an expert.” Berlion paused, “You’ve helped me and Carlos so much… let me do something for you.”

Thus, the list of sixty was finalized.

The team returning home expressed their disappointment when they learned Berlion was included in the sixty-person list, while the morale of those heading to the Red River Tribe was boosted.

“A [military campaign is fueled by stomachs],” Winters thought, “The old marshal really didn’t lie.”

…

…

Three days after leaving the Flying Feather Tribe’s winter pasture

Wilderness

At dusk, the caravan camped under a wind-sheltered slope.

As usual, people connected the wagons end to end to form a temporary enclosure, let the horses graze outside, and then went about fetching water, starting fires, and preparing food.

The plains held no lights, only the glow of campfires scattered about.

There was no moon tonight, and the stars shone with unusual brilliance.

Anna, dressed as a man, gazed upward at the stars until her neck grew sore, “It’s so strange, I never saw so many stars when I was in Sea Blue.”

For someone who has never seen the vast Milky Way, witnessing the starry sky for the first time is an indescribable shock.

But since arriving in Paratu, stargazing was an experience Winters had had countless times.

He coughed a few times, but ultimately couldn’t suppress the desire to make inappropriate remarks, “If you saw them every day, you wouldn’t find them special anymore.”

Although the light from the campfires was dim, Winters was sure he saw Anna glance at him.

Anna turned her head away, ignoring the wet blanket.

A few steps away, Little Lion was enthusiastically recounting a “hunting story” beside Berlion’s stewpot.

“Hunting in the forest is one way, hunting on meadows is another. Falconry has its own tricks, and hound hunting its own skills, but the most spectacular and challenging is the ‘surround hunt.’ In Hurd language, ‘Aba’ is the term for a surround hunt, and it’s the most, most, most important event of the year.”

As Little Lion spoke, he took the first bowl of freshly served meat from Berlion’s hands, unable to resist praising, “Blacksmith, with your skills, you’d be underappreciated even as the Khan’s chef!”

Berlion smiled in gratitude and continued serving soup to others.

“We hunt every year too.” Vashka, drawn by the aroma, hurried back to the camp, interjecting, “In autumn, once the crops are harvested, we hunt for rabbits and foxes in the fields. With no straw or weeds, the rabbits and foxes have nowhere to hide; we hit our mark every time.”

Vashka curiously looked to Winters, “Centurion, do you Venetians hunt?”

This caught Winters off guard, he thought for a moment, then smiled, “I’m not too familiar with Venetian customs, but the United Provincials hunt waterfowl every year, and some even raise dogs skilled at swimming for hunting.”

Just as Winters couldn’t hold back his urge to make inappropriate remarks, when it came to hunting, Little Lion couldn’t contain his boasting either. He shook his head pretentiously, “What you’re talking about can only be considered child’s play compared to the surround hunt I’m talking about.”

“You talk a big game!” Vashka shot back, not to be outdone, “When can we see this hunt for ourselves?”

“Ten more days!” Little Lion wiped his mouth, gesturing for another bowl from Berlion.

He laughed heartily, “The final hunting ground has been set from the start, just head there— I guarantee you’ll be astounded!”

As it turned out, Little Lion’s estimate was conservative.

It took only three days, not ten, for Winters and his party to reach the edge of the hunting grounds.