Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The wood in the stove crackled and popped.

"Is there still a chance?" Winters's pupils dilated.

"Two tons of gold, in the Great Wilderness, are just two tons of stones. But in Paratu, they're two tons of hard currency," Reed the monk sneered. "If you can bring materials worth two tons of gold, the White Lion will happily hand over the prisoners to you. Understand?"

"Isn't Paratu blockading the Herder tribes?" Winters frowned. "He wants me to smuggle?"

Reed the monk did not answer; instead, he changed the subject. "Remember I once said that regardless of the outcome of this battle, it wouldn't affect Paratu's absolute suppression of the Herder tribes?"

Winters nodded slightly.

"At that time I thought, although the nomadic tribes often have such nonsense like 'unbeatable when numbering less than ten thousand, invincible when they do.' But as long as settled nations stand firm, they'd surely beat the nomads till they howl," Reed the monk's eyes narrowed into slits with amusement. "But now... the situation has changed."

Winters waited for the old shaman to say the most important thing.

The old monk smirked, "The Paratu People have started fighting among themselves!"

When the Corpse Collecting Trio set out, the coup at Kingsfort had just ended.

Upon returning to Shuangqiao Main Camp, Alpad immediately led his troops eastward to attack Kingsfort. As to who won or lost, they did not know.

Winters listened expressionlessly to the turmoil in Paratu, seemingly unaffected.

"Father!" Xial asked the old shaman discontentedly, "Why does it seem like you're not worried at all about the civil strife in Paratu, but actually seem quite happy about it?"

"Of course, I'm not in a hurry. The soul is a guest of the body, the body is a guest of the world, and I am your guest," Reed the monk laughed heartily, clapping his hands. "Of course, the bigger the chaos, the better the spectacle."

Xial was left speechless, unable to find words to argue.

"Why did the fighting start?" Winters asked.

Reed the monk twirled his beard, smiling. "The matter is quite simple. It's like a marriage between a man and a woman with starkly different characters. One side is called the Aristocratic Republic, the other the Citizen Republic. In the honeymoon phase, they could respect each other, as thick as thieves, but as the days passed, and stumbles were had, they became less and less tolerant of each other. Then the endless quarrels turned into violence.

It was a child named 'Victory' that held this family together. Now that this child is dead, both claim ownership of the family assets. Can't talk it out? Then fight, right?"

"Oh, is that so?" Xial asked in surprise.

"Of course not!" Reed the monk knocked Xial on the forehead. "How can politics be so simple? History, buried hatred, deep-seated conflicts, the character of the doers, every facet influences the direction politics will take. To oversimplify political struggles, to boil it down to a metaphor like a divorce, is a grave mistake!"

"Just say it, don't hit people," Xial complained, covering his forehead.

Bell, standing to the side, smiled goofily and also received a knuckle rap.

"However, there is some good news for the Paratu People." Reed the monk sighed, his voice tinged with sorrow. "The White Lion... is a hero."

Xial and Hunter both froze.

The White Lion is a hero, how is that good news?

Winters's eyebrows rose slightly, and his lips pursed.

"If the White Lion were a cruel and hypocritical sovereign, he would be much more difficult for the Paratu People to deal with than he is now. It's a pity... he's a man with a heart of compassion," the old monk reflected, looking kindly at Winters.

Winters returned the gaze calmly, the two locking eyes for several silent seconds.

"Some people think that those with lower moral standards are more likely to achieve great deeds," the old monk suddenly laughed heartily, a rare trace of sadness in his laughter. "I don't wish to believe that's true. How wonderful it would be if someone could prove them wrong?"

...

Even though the brace had been removed, Winters still walked with a limp. And after only a few steps, he would be overwhelmed by aching soreness; his left leg muscles needed time.

So Xial, Bell, and the old monk settled in the camp, waiting for his full recovery.

Xial spent most of his time by Winters's side.

Bell quickly became familiar with Little Lion, the two of them nearly inseparable.

And Reed the monk?

He was often nowhere to be seen throughout the day, sometimes talking with the White Lion, sometimes engaging in theological discussions with the big Shaman, or just loafing around the camp.

The old fellow had a special ability to take good care of himself, no matter where he was.

The White Lion, on the other hand, held him in high esteem, and the Herders all respectfully called him Dexe Zen [the Wise One].

There was also the real "Little White Lion", which had grown as big as a calf, its mane also starting to fill in.

The "Little Fella" had no name yet—Bell remembered Winters's instructions not to name it, so it was still called the Little Fella.

The Little Fella still remembered Winters, the man who had replaced its scent.

However, when it approached Winters of its own accord that night, it was met with a slap, so it sulked for days.

The people of the Red River Tribe revered it as a deity, offering cattle and sheep to feed it. The Little Fella had no worries about food and drink, so the big cat's lazy nature prevailed.

It spent its days full and asleep, or asleep and full, and when bored, it lay at the entrance of the felt tent to bask in the sun.

Bear in mind, Reed the monk and the others had relied on the Little Fella to guard the wagon and chase off wolf packs as they traversed the uninhabited zone.

Back then, the Little Fella caught its own rabbits, marmots, and even antelopes, never once being fed by others.

Bell had hoped to take the opportunity to train the Little Fella in wilderness survival, but ever since arriving at the Red River Tribe, it had become even more sluggish.