Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 528 - 96: The End (Part 2) - 9

Having said that, he started coughing violently again, as if trying to cough out his lungs. His chest heaved, and each cough brought out blood.

No one knew what to say, as everyone stood by Winters’ side.

By the banks of The Styx, the final resistance in the camp had vanished into smoke. The barbarians stormed into the camp, beginning to burn, kill, and plunder.

Winters and the others were already encircled by the Herd Barbarians.

Suppressing his cough, Winters gripped Xial’s hand and asked, "Do you remember where we hid the rafts?"

Xial nodded desperately.

"While we were logging, I made several rafts and hid them in Bridge Woods," Winters informed the others. "We attack towards Bridge Woods, kill anyone who dares to block us! Once we cross the river, we will be safe. If I fall in battle, follow Xial to find them. If Xial also falls, search for them in Bridge Woods."

Winters stood up, leaning on the military banner: "Let’s go!"

Another Paratu person ran down the slope and, seeing the Paratu military banner in Winters’ hand from afar, desperately pled for rescue: "Colonel Bod has been cut off by the barbarians!"

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Winters reached out to grab the bridle of the Warhorse: "I will go rescue Colonel Bod."

"We’ll go together!" Xial and Anglu helped Winters onto the Warhorse.

"No! You go and secure the rafts! I will meet up with you. Xial, Anglu, take everyone back!" Winters gently patted the Warhorse’s neck: "Little fellow, take me to find Colonel Bod."

The Warhorse galloped off, carrying Winters Montaigne into the night.

...

It is said, "After a great battle, comes a great rain," but this statement doesn’t always come true.

This time, there was no great rain.

The clouds dispersed, revealing the azure sky. The sun shone on people’s bodies, bringing hints of warmth.

Only the corpses strewn across the wasteland, fragments of the Floating Bridge washed ashore, and the dark red traces of blood on the withered grass were evidence that a great battle had occurred the night before.

The fighting had ended, and various troops were now scouring the camp for spoils or stripping the dead.

Gold and silver were prized, as were armor, weapons, and horses. The Herders wasted nothing.

Little Lion rode across this battlefield, staring absentmindedly at the remnants of bridge piles in the river.

"Little Lion, hurry up!" a guard came running to report: "There’s an excellent young horse down the hill! The fire-tenders are trying to tame it!"

Little Lion smiled and countered, "If the fire-tenders are taming it, why are you calling me?"

The guard cunningly replied: "That young horse has a temper! If the fire-tenders can’t tame it, if we catch it, won’t it be ours?"

Little Lion laughed heartily: "Alright! Let’s go see."

Upon reaching the base of the hill, he saw the horse.

Little Lion had to admit, it indeed was a fine horse, and he felt some yearning for it.

The silver-gray steed was circling an area, emitting plaintive whinnies.

The fire-tender was attempting to lasso the horse; each time he threw the noose, the horse ducked its head to avoid it.

When the fire-tender tried to approach the horse to grab its bridle, the horse turned and kicked at him.

Alone, the fire-tender struggled with the horse and was reluctant to call others for help, leading to a stalemate.

"That is a fine horse!" Little Lion said to the fire-tender.

"Yes, I recognize this horse," the roaster answered. "Its original owner killed my Paratu Child. Given that this horse is here, that man must have also died in last night’s battle."

[Note: Paratu Child is a term used in the Herd language to honor warriors, similar to the meaning of "champion" in continental languages.]

The number of Herders around increased, and the silver-gray Warhorse grew more restless. It whinnied mournfully, circling a small area.

Little Lion listened quietly for a while before saying softly, "It seems very sad."

"Horses are sentient creatures, how could it not be sad if its owner has died?" the roaster said dismissively.

Little Lion asked again, "Why doesn’t it run away?"

"I don’t know."

Little Lion narrowed his brown eyes to observe and suddenly said, "It seems like it’s protecting something!"

After speaking, Little Lion walked forward.

"Be careful, don’t get kicked by it," the roaster reminded offhandedly.

The roaster didn’t think Little Lion could tame the horse by himself and was actually quite happy to see someone else getting frustrated.

Little Lion didn’t respond. He relaxed his body as much as possible, moving slowly while whispering to the horse, "Don’t worry, don’t worry, I mean no harm."

The horse eyed Little Lion warily but refused to leave.

It was only when he got close that Little Lion realized the horse was pacing around a military flag.

He also noticed two arrows lodged in the horse’s chest, their tails broken off—this made him very sad.

Little Lion had approached closer than the roaster ever had, which made the roaster somewhat embarrassed. He slowly lifted the flag, revealing a body.

A murmur of shock rose from the surrounding Herders.

There were two bullet holes in the body’s breastplate, one in the abdomen and one in the chest.

A shot to the abdomen might be survivable, but a shot to the chest was undoubtedly fatal.

"He’s dead, and you’re very sad, I know," Little Lion said as he approached the horse. "Let me pull out the arrows for you."

The eyes of the silver-gray Warhorse seemed to weep as it lowered its neck and slowly leaned against Little Lion’s shoulder.

Little Lion gently stroked the horse with his left hand, grasped the shaft of the arrow with his right, and pulled it out resolutely.

The horse let out its final cry, then collapsed to the ground with a thunderous fall. Its cry resonated across the battlefield, and every warhorse joined in with a collective mourning.

Looking at the body on the ground, Little Lion said softly, "Having such a companion, you haven’t lived in vain."

Suddenly, he wanted to see what the horse’s owner looked like, so he crouched down and began to remove the helmet from the body. He was stunned.

The surrounding Herders were clueless as to what Little Lion was doing.

Little Lion could hardly believe his eyes, becoming completely panicked, he exclaimed, "[In the common tongue] How could it be you! Hestas? How could you have died here!"

The others didn’t understand what Little Lion was saying, but they had never seen him so taken aback before.

"No, this isn’t right!" Little Lion muttered. "There’s still breath!"

He placed his hand by the "corpse’s" nostrils and confirmed there was a faint breath.

He quickly removed "Hestas’s" breastplate to find the gunshot wound on the abdomen was bleeding, but the "gunshot wound" at the chest had nothing—A flask had blocked the potentially fatal blow.

"Someone help!" Little Lion shouted with relief. "Quick, someone!"