Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 958 - 36: Hunt (Seven)_2
Chapter 958 -36: Hunt (Seven)_2
Moritz, who was sipping mare’s milk wine, coughed violently as if he had heard the most absurd joke.
Just then, twelve long horns sounded simultaneously in the green hills.
The penetrating sound of the horns spread outward from the green hills, continuously and clearly reaching everyone’s ears.
The attention of the people of Iron Peak County was instantly focused, because the information conveyed by the sound of the horns was unmistakable—the hunt was about to begin!
“Is it here?!” Vashka excitedly ran to the edge of the felt wall, stretching his neck to look: “Where is it?”
Others also gathered around, everyone leaning against the felt wall, anxiously waiting.
The Red River Tribe did not keep the “audience” waiting too long.
Suddenly, several plumes of white smoke burst out from the top of the green hill. The horn sound suddenly stopped, followed by a loud peal of thunder:
“Boom!!!”
Inside the hunting circle, groups of deer, sheep, donkeys, and other wild animals were frightened by the thunder and began to run blindly.
Old Sergei’s hair stood on end: “Cannons?”
“Of course.” Pierre replied expressionlessly: “We’ve experienced them before.”
Vashka clenched his fists, somewhat annoyed: “Weren’t they very well hidden before? Now they are not hiding anymore!”
“What used to be is what used to be, what is now is now.” Pierre clenched his fists too: “Just having cannons is not enough for Red River Tribe, they need others to know they have them.”
“Hey!” Vashka kicked the felt wall hard: “What grand hunt? It’s just a performance!”
Echoes of agreement arose from the crowd of Iron Peak County, also stirred by unpleasant memories.
Only Colonel Moritz mildly spoke in defense of the Red River Tribe: “Every ceremony is essentially a performance.”
Pierre was about to say something in rebuttal. But turning his head, all he saw in the eyes of the hunters from the hostile tribes were envy, admiration, and jealousy.
Pierre had to admit in his heart, the colonel was right—no matter how these outsiders viewed it, for the Red River Tribe, this opening performance was already a great success.
As they spoke, someone exclaimed: “What is that?”
Everyone looked in the direction of the sound, and a gap suddenly opened in the felt wall to the northwest.
More than ten riders leaped into the hunting grounds through the gap.
All the riders wore white armor and rode white horses, except for the one at the very front who wore bright red armor and rode a robust reddish horse, making him extremely conspicuous among the white armor and horses.
A large banner with nine horse tails in blue closely followed the rider in red armor.
“Is that the Barbarian Chief?” Old Sergei asked quietly.
The thunderous cheers answered Old Dusack’s question.
As far as the eyes of the delegation could reach, the Herder hunters from all tribes were shouting in unison: “Yasin! Yasin! Yasin…”
Pierre also noticed that the shock and fear shown by several Herder leaders nearby were no less than those of the people from Iron Peak County.
After the rider in red armor entered the hunting circle, he immediately started chasing the game. He saw him drawing his bow and riding fast, shooting the prey without stopping.
The riders in white armor that followed would pick up the carcasses with long poles, openly demonstrating them to the other tribal hunters.
At the same time, every time a game was hoisted onto a pole, the green hill would fire a round of salute, and the tribal hunters, having witnessed the agile figure of the White Lion, would cheer once again.
While others watched intently or with disdain the rider in red armor galloping and hunting, Anna took out her sketchpad, eagerly yet anxiously asking: “When will we see Mr. Montaigne?”
“Winters?” Colonel Moritz said nonchalantly: “Isn’t he with the brother of the White Lion?”
“When can we see the Little Lion?”
“Soon.” Koshach, knowing the relationship between the lady disguised as a man and Batu, explained eagerly: “First the Khan, then the Khan’s brother, then the tribal Nayen, then the tribal nobles, then the tribal hunters…”
“The White Lion has already shown up, why hasn’t the Little Lion appeared yet?”
“This…”
Colonel Moritz sighed and explained for Koshach, “Lady Navarre, have you ever seen a pack of wolves sharing meat?”
“Sorry, no.”
“How about dogs?”
“…No, neither.”
“Then listen well. The hierarchy within a wolf pack is strict. When the alpha wolf is eating, the others can only watch. Only after the alpha has eaten and drunk its fill can the others feed.” Colonel Moritz elaborated, “I believe it’s the same among the Herders, as long as the White Lion hasn’t finished hunting, it’s not the Little Lion’s turn to step in.”
Anna looked inquiringly at Koshach, who nodded emphatically.
“There’s no need to worry, you’ll see Winters soon,” Colonel Moritz seemed to be in a good mood, joking unusually, “But as far as I know, our respected Captain isn’t very skilled with a bow and arrow. You might want to pray that he doesn’t embarrass himself in public…”
Without any warning, Colonel Moritz’s voice abruptly stopped. In an instant, he seemed like a different person, and the faint smile on his lips had completely disappeared.
The onlookers sensed the change in the Colonel and exchanged glances.
“What’s wrong, Colonel?” Anna asked cautiously.
Colonel Moritz slightly narrowed his eyes: “Something’s not right.”
Everyone followed the Colonel’s gaze; the Red Armor riders were galloping in pursuit of their prey, yet nothing seemed amiss.
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“Give me your quiver,” Colonel Moritz said coldly to Koshach.
Koshach did not hesitate and immediately handed over his quiver with both hands.
“It’s not the Barbarian Chief chasing the prey now,” Colonel Moritz drew all the arrows from the quiver and, under the puzzled looks of the crowd, snapped off the arrowheads one by one, yet his tone was unnervingly calm, “It’s the prey chasing the Barbarian Chief.”
Before he finished speaking, another peal of thunder sounded.
This time, the roar of thunder was unlike the celebratory sound of cannons; it was closer, clearer, and more deafening.
“Look!” someone from Iron Peak County exclaimed.
The cries and shouts of the Herders merged into a tidal wave, striking at everyone’s hearts.
Limbs and soil flew into the sky, and the terrified herd frantically bolted in all directions. The area where the Red Armor riders had been had now vanished into dust and a blood mist.
Old Sergei’s eyes widened as large as cowbells, he bellowed, “Smoke signals!”
Beyond the horizon, columns of smoke were piercing straight into the sky.
In an instant, everyone realized what had happened.
The next moment, the clan leaders were screaming hoarsely for their men, and the Herders rushed to their Warhorses. Some mounted without hesitation and left, others recklessly dashed into the hunting ring.
“What do we do now?” Vashka asked in panic.
“Wait,” replied Colonel Moritz coldly.
Meanwhile, inside the hunting ground, a White Armor rider charged into the smoke and blood mist, dragging out a Red Armor rider from beneath the carcass of a Crimson steed.
“Still alive?” the White Armor rider asked.
“Not… not dead…” Little Lion pulled off his helmet, fresh blood was flowing from his left ear. Because he was wearing red armor, the mixture of blood and mud was indistinct, making it difficult to see where his torso was injured.
Little Lion coughed violently, each heave of his chest brought out a trace of blood, “What do we do now…”
Winters lifted Little Lion, “Qingqiu.”
