Chapter 392: Chapter 42: Chance Encounter
On the day they crossed the Styx, the supply train camped at the Bridgehead Fortress.
Late at night, a panicked night-watch scout burst into Lieutenant Montaigne’s tent, “Sir! Wake up quickly!”
The lieutenant’s consciousness was hazy, “Ugh… What’s going on?”
“There’s been a big incident!”
Sleep instantly gone, Winters leaped from his campaign bed, “What happened?”
“Salt is falling from the sky!”
Without even bothering to put on his clothes, Winters dashed out of the tent.
As he scanned the surroundings, he didn’t see salt being sprinkled, but he was faced with an even more astonishing sight—thousands upon thousands of willow catkins spiraling down from the skies.
This land, which rarely saw snow, was experiencing snowfall.
West of the Kurvalya River, in unnamed territories.
Andre and Winters rode side by side, engaging in idle chatter. The sound of horse hooves “squelching” in mud and water could be heard.
To the Paratu People, snow existed in two forms: in written records and as the perennial snow on the summits of the Jinding Mountains.
Tangible, touchable snow was quite rare.
The younger Dusacks had never even experienced a snowfall; their entire concept of “snow” came from their parents’ descriptions.
Although the ground temperature hadn’t reached freezing point and the fallen snow soon melted into water, remnants of snow still clung to distant slopes.
While the meadow in front still displayed a tinge of green, the slopes at the horizon were covered with a thick layer of white snow—an unusual scene that seemed almost unreal even to those witnessing it firsthand.
But the people of the supply train weren’t in any position to appreciate the scenery; they had much more pressing problems.
The meadows, which were fairly firm during the winter, had now absorbed moisture from the unexpected snowfall.
Once pressed down by the wheels, the ground inevitably turned to sludge.
The heavy wagons left behind muddy trails, with mud clogging the wheel axles and making it even harder for the wheels to turn, often causing carts to get stuck in mud pits.
Normally, the tracks compressed by the leading carts would make it easier for those following, but now, instead, the situation was reversed—the leading carts had it relatively easy, while those at the back struggled more and more.
After a day’s travel, Colonel Jeska ordered a change to double column formation the next day, to shorten the length of the queue.
However, the double column formation didn’t seem to make much of a difference, and Winters guessed that they might have to try a triple or even quadruple column formation in the future.
“This goddamn rotten land!” Andre cursed, “To think we came all this way to fight the Herders, do the higher-ups have shit for brains?”
It’s often the absence of something that reveals its importance. Compared to Vineta with its well-developed road network and canals, the grasslands of the Herders truly deserved to be called rotten land.
The paths were terrible—there weren’t any to begin with—and human habitation was scarce. Apart from grass, there were trees, and it didn’t look like a place that produced much of anything.
Brother Reed on the wagon laughed, “You Venetians are like satiated men who don’t know the pangs of the hungry; even barren fields can be productive if used for grazing sheep. You think this land isn’t much, but every year the Herder clans fight each other fiercely over grazing grounds.”
“That’s because the Herders are poor as church mice.” Andre immediately retorted. “Surely the Paratu People aren’t poorer than the Herders, are they?” Read complete version only at Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
“A ripe apple is more tempting to pluck.” The old monk recited a Flemish proverb and asked in turn, “Does that mean no one would pick a green apple? Paratu’s desire for land is also your Venetians’ responsibility.”
“What responsibility?” Andre was quite unconvinced.
“The wool weaving industry in Forthland and Vineta needs more raw material, so Paratu needs more sheep. When the younger sons, youngest sons, and bastards of your noble families come here with money to buy land, Paratu ends up with a great many estates and estate owners. Don’t you understand?”
Andre was somewhat bewildered, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Ultimately, it’s the demand from your coastal regions that drives the Paratu People here,” the mendicant monk sighed, a hint of pity in his gaze, as if looking at a foolish child. “If one day Vineta’s textile industry no longer needs wool and shifts to producing cotton fabrics, the Paratu People would slaughter their sheep and use the land to grow cotton. Do you understand now?”
“We… don’t need cotton now?” Andre meekly asked.
“This kid here is even dumber than you!” the old monk directed at Winters with a point to Andre.
“Leave me out of it!” Winters shot back. “Vineta has responsibility, but don’t you have responsibility as well? Do you dare say that the wars between the Paratu and the Herders have nothing to do with religion? Isn’t it about fighting heretic believers?”
The old monk could only chuckle softly.
A rider galloped from the rear of the convoy all the way to where the two officers were before pulling at the reins.
It was Pierre, reporting anxiously to Andre, “Sir! I saw a figure on the northern slopes.”
“A figure? How many?”
“And then? Did they ?”
“No, it was just a fleeting glimpse. The person went back behind the slope, and I couldn’t see them anymore.”
After some thought, Andre frowned and asked, “It’s not another shepherd, is it?”
Regarding shepherds, they had already made a farce of themselves before.
On the first day they entered the buffer zone, the militia spotted what seemed like figures following along the ridges on both sides of the hills.
With tensions running high, Andre thought they were Herder scouts and immediately led his Cavalry to charge at them.
The Cavalry waved their sabers, shouting wildly, and charged straight to the figures, only to discover they were just some shepherds.
Having not caught any Herders but instead scared a few shepherds half to death, Andre was furious.
During the subsequent days of marching in the buffer zone, they encountered several groups of shepherds each day.
Tired of being fooled by false alarms, Andre no longer cared to deal with such reports, while Colonel Jeska insisted on sending Andre to make contact with the shepherds.