Chapter 342: Chapter 23 Assassination_3
The Dusacks stood aside, their eyes fixed on the ground, none daring to look up.
Castor swung his military sword and bellowed, “Chase him! Bring him back to me! For neglect of duty, desertion! I’ll execute him myself!”
The lieutenant colonel’s guard cautiously reminded, “Sir, we still need to chase ‘that thing’… That Venetian won’t get far. Send word to Revodan, let others catch him.”
Lieutenant Colonel Castor grew angrier the more he thought about it. “Who was the last to see Winters Montagne yesterday?”
The Dusacks exchanged glances, sharing information among themselves, before calling over the blacksmith Misha. The old blacksmith hadn’t joined the chase due to an injury to his leg.
“Were you the last to see the deserter Montagne?” the colonel asked.
The old blacksmith scratched his head. “I report to you, sir, I don’t know if I was the last to see the lieutenant.”
“What did he come to you for?”
“To pick up the sword he’d ordered.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
Castor realized he would get nothing from the blacksmith and, grinding his teeth, asked, “You’re all covering for him, aren’t you?”
“No, I wouldn’t dare,” the old blacksmith said, waving his hands repeatedly.
Castor let out a roar of fury and chopped a wooden ladder next to him in two.
“Just wait, once I catch him, not one person who shielded him will get away!” Castor glared at the Dusacks hatefully. He forcefully sheathed his military sword: “Let’s go!”
“Reporting to the sir,” the old blacksmith said, scratching his head again. “It seems the lieutenant also bought a bag of nails…”
At the Mitchell estate, young Mistress Michel held her mother and wept bitterly, “Mother, did Mr. Montagne really leave?” Thɪs chapter is updated by novelFirｅ.net
Mrs. Mitchell gently patted her little daughter’s back and said earnestly, “Lieutenant Montagne was never truly of this place. We shouldn’t be sad; we should pray for him. Pray that he may safely return to his father and mother.”
“Hey, why did he leave?” Sergei led the horse and sighed. “Don’t even know where he went.”
Gerard shot Sergei a look. “Stop talking.”
“Hey.” Sergei rarely talked back to his elder brother. “I just wanted to see the lieutenant off, to at least send him on his way.”
“Brother Reed, has Big Brother Winters truly left?”
The old mendicant monk stroked his beard and spoke indifferently, “You must understand, Pierre. For Winters, leaving might actually be a blessing. ‘What seems to be misfortune can be the ground for fortune, and what appears as fortune may hide impending misfortune.’
And many others: Father Caman, the young stable boy Anglu, the young Hunter Bell… were still unaware of this news.
Before departing, Castor chose three of his best riders. He said to the first one, “Take this note to Revodan, see to it that they dispatch their fastest horses to search along the way.”
The lieutenant colonel instructed the remaining two, “That Venetian is definitely heading back to Vineta. You two go directly to all the garrisons on the route to Vineta, have them set up checkpoints along the way… ”
While Lieutenant Colonel Castor was still giving instructions, he and his Cavalry heard an excited shout: “Lieutenant Montagne is back!”
“Where?” Castor erupted in anger.
“Over there!” a Dusack pointed excitedly toward a hill a hundred meters away: “Rejek!”
The colonel looked up to see a red horse leap from behind the hill and dash down like thunder. The rider became clearer in view, reaching Castor in a blink of an eye.
“Lieutenant Montagne!” Castor roared furiously. “You deserted your pos…”
Colonel Castor’s words were interrupted by two heavy impacts.
The lieutenant removed his saddlebag and threw it in front of the colonel.
A head rolled out of the blood-soaked saddlebag, stopping at Castor’s feet. The colonel looked down to meet a pair of lifeless eyes.
“The cart is on the west side of Fengping Ferry. Move it yourself.”
The lieutenant wiped his nose; riding all night, sweating and getting chilled, it seemed he’d caught a cold.
The peace agreement between the Herders and the Paratu People prescribed: The land west of Big Horn River shall not be cultivated by the Paratu People; the land east of the Red River shall not be grazed by the Herders.
Thus between them, a nearly hundred-kilometer ‘no-man’s land’ was preserved.
Big Horn River had thus become the natural boundary on the west side of Wolf Town.
Thirty kilometers west of Fengping Ferry’s ford, Castor found the smugglers’ caravan.
The goods were intact, their fully armed corpses scattered everywhere, just minus their heads.
From the traces at the scene, what Lieutenant Montagne did was simple: He charged into the caravan and killed half the people first, then he started to hunt down the other half.
The more Castor’s guard saw, the more terrified he became.
“Sir,” the guard said to Castor with dread. “I think that fellow might have really been intent on killing.”
“Dammit!” the colonel cursed, slapping his thigh. “That bastard didn’t leave me a single survivor!”
Before Castor’s cavalry left the Mitchell estate.
Castor found Winters, who was washing his hands.
“Get ready. Wolf Town is soon to levy troops, forming a hundred-man squad,” the colonel said.
The lieutenant paused, “Are you threatening me?”
“Kid, I’m repaying a favor to you. Now you know, better to be aware before being conscripted. Whether or not today’s events happened, Wolf Town was going to draft troops; that was decided long ago. The sooner you know, the more you can prepare,” Castor huffed coldly.
The colonel left, and the lieutenant continued to wash his hands vigorously, over and over again.
Winters felt a tinge of fear, not from the killing, but because after the killing, he felt… calm.