Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 525 - 96: The End (Part 2) - 6

"Long live!" The Paratu soldiers cheered exultantly, "Long live!"

But the cheers died quickly, as even the bravest of the Paratu soldiers now wore a look of fear on their faces.

The rumbling sound of horse hooves approached from the northwest and the southwest, and everyone knew what that meant.

"The barbarians are here!" Anglu, riding Rejek, rushed into the fortress, warning everyone, "The barbarians are here."

A few Dusacks followed Anglu, but their numbers were far fewer than the Dusacks Winters had sent out.

"Block the gate." Colonel Bod roared hoarsely, "Seal the breach!"

Snapping back to reality, the Paratu soldiers moved everything at hand toward the wall breach—including corpses.

Anglu found Winters, and seeing the Centurion, tears swirled in his eyes.

"Why are you crying, I’m not dead yet." Winters glared weakly at the young stable boy and asked, "Where are the others?"

"We were scattered, they must have returned to the main camp. The barbarians attacking the camp were defeated and have been chased out of the trenches by General Alpad."

Suddenly, the sound of a warhorse’s neigh reached from the gap, a dun-colored warhorse leaped into the still-open breach, followed closely by three more riders entering one after another.

"It’s the barbarians!" A Paratu soldier cried out in terror. More Paratu soldiers picked up their weapons.

The four reckless barbarian riders were quickly surrounded and killed. The warhorses, too, were impaled and lifted to the breach to serve as a barricade.

Heinrich helped Winters to lean against the wall, sitting down. He then handed the latter a mouthful of strong liquor from the flask—a common method for pain relief.

Afterward, the two removed Winters’ breastplate, and Xial proceeded to extract the lead bullets. The lead had not penetrated deep, sparing the viscera, and was easily tweezed out with a pair of daggers.

"How is he?" Colonel Bod approached Winters, asking Heinrich and Xial.

"I’m fine." Winters tried to muster the faintest of smiles.

After a quick clean-up, Xial began to stitch the wound. He had never done this before, sewing in a crooked, clumsy fashion, tears streaming down as he worked the needle.

"Hang in there." Colonel Bod took a gulp from the flask and said to Winters, "Now it’s just you and me left."

Winters’s head was heavy and foggy, and for a moment, he did not understand what the other was saying.

Colonel Bod took another drink, passed the flask back to Winters, "And Robert, but he is barely breathing."

The rumble of horse hooves stopped outside the fortress.

A soldier came to report to Colonel Bod, "Sir, a barbarian who speaks our language has come outside. He wishes to talk to the ’commander.’

"He wants to talk, just like that?" Colonel Bod scoffed disdainfully.

"He says his name is Yasin." The soldier added, "Just mention this name to him."

...

The gate creaked open, and two riders, side by side holding torches, emerged from the fortress.

Almost every Paratu person knew they faced an enemy known as the "White Lion," but few knew of "Yasin."

But Colonel Bod knew, and so did Winters.

Winters insisted on being helped onto his horse; he had to see this enemy for himself.

Atop the hill, a rider in red armor on a black horse also held a torch, waiting for them.

In the minds of the Paratu people, "White Lion" had gradually become a symbol, representing a figure who was cruel, mighty strong, a barbarian among barbarians—if not so, how would the "White Lion" bring Paratu such misery?

Compared to that image, the rider in red armor on the black horse seemed somewhat... ordinary.

The red armor was somewhat familiar to Winters because part of it was discolored, clearly recently replaced.

"Are you the ’White Lion’?" Colonel Bod asked.

The rider in the red armor laughed lightly and responded in accented Common Tongue, "Yes."

"Then could you lift your helmet and let me see?" Winters asked earnestly, "I want to see what the famed White Lion really looks like."

The rider in red armor laughed again, apparently not offended. He undid the straps, loosened the neck guard, removed his helmet, and said genially, "Just like this."

The last time Winters met the White Lion in combat, the two were less than a hundred meters apart, with him commanding two cannons.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is freēwēbηovel.c૦m.

Of course, the White Lion probably wouldn’t agree with the term "combat," as he clearly did not even know who Winters Montagne was.

This was Winters’s first chance to observe the enemy face to face.

Under the helmet were a pair of brown eyes and a somewhat ordinary face.

"Disappointed?" the owner of the brown eyes asked.

"A little." Winters couldn’t hide his disappointment.

The White Lion laughed heartily.

Suddenly Winters realized that this distance fell within the effective range of his Arrow Flying Spell... and White Lion was now without his helmet.

But he made no move, for he was too exhausted. The recent battle had drained his "magic," and such an action would have been too mean-spirited.

Colonel Bod cleared his throat and spoke, "Did you come to persuade us to surrender? If so, please leave."

"No." The White Lion shook his head gently, "I just wanted to see what a Paratu warrior looks like."

He nodded his head in respect, turned his horse, and left.

At a distance of a hundred meters, one could see fires gathered up by the Herders, squatting, leaping up, stomping the ground, forcefully slapping their chests and thighs, as if performing an intense dance.

"Barbarians will be barbarians." Colonel Bod sneered contemptuously, "Beasts."

"That is..." Winters said quietly, recognizing the dance, "the Dance for the Styx."