Chapter 374: Chapter 34 Departure_3
The horse and wagon were both purchased by Gerard using funds from the town. Gerard Mitchell was not only a good town mayor but also a good man; Winters had inexpressible gratitude towards him.
Winters additionally bought a double-hitched wagon, outwardly claiming it was for carrying the lieutenant’s baggage while in reality, the lion cub was hidden inside.
Bell had no more strength to care for the lion cub; Winters retrieved the Little Lion from the hunter’s cabin to the security office, feeding it a mixture of cooked minced meat and sheep’s milk.
Watching the little guy grow bigger by the day, he had reached seventeen pounds in no time, and holding him felt like cradling a large dog.
Winters couldn’t help but seriously consider Bell’s suggestion: to hand over the “White Lion” to a certain Hurd tribe on the grasslands. Afterwards, he wouldn’t need to worry anymore since they would surely be delighted to present the White Lion to their Khan.
It sounded ridiculous at first, but upon closer consideration, it was actually feasible.
Unable to bear the thought of it dying by his hand, the sight of the Little Lion affectionately licking him made it impossible for Winters to contemplate killing it.
At worst, releasing the lion into the wilderness far from Wolf Town seemed like a solution.
Hence, both Bell and the lion cub appeared in the caravan, with Bell serving in place of Ashley Wilkes.
What the young hunter didn’t know was that Winters had secretly returned the money paid by the Wilkes family.
As stated in the official paperwork, Bell was not a substitute but a volunteer, and this could also count towards fulfilling one term of active service required of the Dusans.
Ralph too probably hoped that his son would be accepted by the Dusans once again.
No one came to send off Bell, nor did anyone come for the young colt-handler Anglu. The two boys, who had both lost their parents, sat in the wagon, silently watching the militiamen tenderly interacting with their families in the town square.
Among those who came to see them off was someone who shouldn’t have been there: Franz “the Master Teacher” Schmitt.
Winters walked to the southeast corner of the town square, to an inconspicuous nook where the white-haired old executioner was saying something to his grandson.
The executioner and his grandson wore simple grey outerwear, a stark contrast to the flamboyant costumes they wore at the scaffold.
The old executioner was there to send off his grandson, Heinrich Schmitt.
Upon seeing the lieutenant approaching, Franz removed his cap and bowed deeply, “Thank you for giving Heinrich a chance, sir.”
No matter how one explains it, an executioner’s role involves killing. It is a cursed profession; “spawn of the executioner” is one of the vilest curses.
People need executioners yet despise, scorn, and shun them.
Because no other trade or community would accept them, the role of executioner often becomes a family craft.
Many executioner families were assigned this role due to tarnished reputations, and the Schmitt family was such.
The Master Teacher Franz dreamed of restoring his family’s honor and, if not, at least enabling his descendants to escape the executioner’s fate.
The military draft in Wolf Town was an opportunity. After serving as a soldier, Heinrich would be entitled to priority in purchasing new land from the Republic.
There, he might hide his name and bury his family’s past, leading the life of an ordinary farmer.
“Don’t fear hardship, don’t think of home…” Franz kept instructing in a nagging tone.
Heinrich nodded, but his grandfather’s next move took him by surprise.
The old executioner retrieved a beheading sword from the wagon and solemnly handed it to his grandson.
“Take this,” Franz said, word by word. “Remember the pain this sword has brought to the Schmitt family, and never forget it.”
“But Grandfather, what about you?” Heinrich awkwardly held the large sword.
Franz sighed, “It’s time for me to retire.”
“Winters brother! The wagons are all loaded!” Xial hurried to Winters’ side, panting, “When are we leaving?”
“Xial,” Winters patted Xial’s shoulder, “You must call me Centurion now.”
The Wolf Town century, now fully staffed with eighty soldiers, two constables, and one officer, had all assembled.
The two constable positions were conferred by Winters to Xial and Heinrich Schmitt.
The troops formed into two neat columns. Priest Caman presided over the blessing ceremony for their departure.
After the ceremony, Caman led out two horses from behind the churchyard, one saddled and the other loaded with bags.
“How can we go without an army chaplain?” the young priest asked with a smile.
Brother Reed approached from the crowd seeing them off: “Brother Caman, you’re following along?”
“I can’t rest at ease if I don’t go,” Caman said, his tone one of seeking forgiveness.
“Ah, there’s not much point for me staying here without you,” Reed sighed, then turned to the lieutenant, “Lad, are you still in need of a scribe?” This update is available on novel⦿fire.net
Winters didn’t waste words: “I’ll have Xial pack your bags.”
“What bags do I have?” The old mendicant monk laughed heartily, “I came with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I’ll leave with the same.”
The young colt-handler came running at the call.
“Get the chestnut with the mane ready to saddle, for Brother Reed to ride.”
“You little rascal, you just want to see me dead,” the old monk glared at the lieutenant, “You expect this old frame to ride a horse? And you’ve got some imagination. Don’t you have a big wagon? I’ll take the wagon.”
With that, the old monk walked off toward the wagon with a carefree stride.
Winters mounted Strongrunner, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the soldiers, the misty Wolf Town in the morning, the forest in the distance shrouded by thick fog, mountains and the eternally snow-capped peaks.
“Move out,” he nudged the horse’s flanks lightly, the first to exit the town square.
The Wolf Town Montaigne century was ordered to Maplestone City’s main camp.