Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 529 - 97 Ashes

Click, click.

The sound of a fire sickle striking flint.

Fireless ashes burned once more, and Winters awoke from his coma.

His body throbbed with a heavy dull pain, he struggled to open his eyes but his vision was nothing but a blur.

Blurred vision, blurred consciousness, he smelled a whiff of a pleasant milky fragrance.

Winters’ nostrils flared, and in his foggy state he thought, "Could heaven truly exist? And it smells like milk?"

His sight gradually returned, and a strange object came into clear view: it was a wheel made of dozens of fine spokes, covered with a cloth that faintly let light through.

Truly bizarre.

Soon, Winters’ cognitive ability gradually returned, and he began to think.

He concluded that this place was not heaven—unless God also lived in tents!

What seemed to be a wheel was clearly the dome of a tent, he was lying inside a felt tent.

Winters instantly became alert, he moved his body, trying to observe his surroundings.

Suddenly, a tearing pain came from his left calf, causing cold sweat to bead on his forehead.

Winters bit his lips tightly, not making a sound.

He was sure he had fallen into the hands of the Herders, and instinct made him want to hide.

But the pain was too much! So intense as if the lower part of his left leg was no longer attached to his body!

A filthy infirmary... mud mixed with blood and soil... arms and legs sawn off and piled into a small mound... "Don’t let them saw my arm!" Andre was crying and pleading, "Winters!"...

These scenes surged in his mind suddenly, and a tremendous fear clamped tightly around his heart: "Could it be I…"

Winters had never been so scared, he desperately reached for his left leg, his left foot.

Fortunately, they were both there. Winters let out a long sigh of relief, and couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

It seemed like someone outside heard the noise inside the tent, and the tent flap was lifted.

"Damn." Winters thought to himself.

A young girl donned in an embroidered Herde narrow robe entered.

Seeing Winters with his eyes open, the Herde girl revealed a smiling face, her eyes curving, "You’re awake?"

With her smile, the tent turned bright—truly bright, as someone had drawn back the skylight cover.

Winters had expected to be greeted by fully armed guards, never did he expect such a girl.

He remained frozen, unsure of how to react.

"Are you thirsty? Are you cold? Do you want something to eat?" The strange girl came close to Winters, grabbing another blanket to prop up his back, helping him to sit up.

Winters’ body tensed, his mind on high alert. He did not recognize her, and it seemed to him she was moving around on her own accord.

He kept his gaze intensely focused on the girl’s eyes, like an injured wild beast that had fallen into a trap.

Yet, concerning caring for Winters, the stranger seemed quite familiar, quite natural.

Taking the opportunity while she was turned away, Winters closely inspected the felt tent with his gaze.

Wooden framework covered with leather—a typical tent structure, just much smaller than the sacrificial tents he had seen.

The tent’s ground was covered with thick blankets, and he was lying on top of them; the Herders did not seem to sleep in beds.

A metal stove stood in the center of the tent, and Winters couldn’t believe his eyes,

In the center stood a metal stove, and Winters couldn’t believe his eyes— it was a "Soria stove" crafted by Berlion.

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Not new, but old, bearing marks from when Winters had used it.

He and his friends had once surrounded this stove, boiling noodles, passing around a bottle of strong liquor.

A copper pot sat atop the stove, "gurgling" with something inside, and the scent of milk wafted from there.

The Herde girl carried the copper pot, pouring a bowl of steaming hot milk, placing it on the small table beside Winters’ pillow, "Don’t drink it yet, it’s hot."

There was also a gold plate on the small table.

In the gold plate, there was a piece of cooked lamb spine meat, a small dish of salt, and a silver-handled, gem-inlaid small knife for cutting meat.

A knife!

The Herde girl turned back to the stove, placing a few pieces of dried cow dung into the stove chamber, stoking the fire to make it burn even more fiercely.

Winters wanted to grab the knife, but his limbs were too stiff.

Before he could reach out, the Herde girl suddenly turned back around.

The Herde girl brought over a stool, sitting next to Winters. She held the bowl of milk, gently blowing on it.

"Do you like the milk skin?" she asked with a warm smile.

"You... you can speak the common tongue?" Winters asked hoarsely.

The Herde girl spoke the common tongue, with barely any accent.

The Herde girl nodded slightly.

"Where did you learn it?" Winters asked again. His vocal cords felt as if they were glued together, he hadn’t spoken in so long.

Just as the Herde girl was about to speak, a hearty male voice from outside interrupted her.

"[Herde Language] Qing’er, has that boy died yet?"

A brawny man with a ruddy face barged into the tent, bringing in a gust of cold wind.

The ruddy-faced brawny man locked eyes with Winters, and the pupils of both men dilated sharply.

"A baboon’s butt face," Winters thought quickly, "Have I fallen into the hands of the Terdon Tribe?"

The face of the fire-maker turned even redder, as if dripping with blood.

Because he saw that the "Paratu Child" was not only alive but had also awoken from his coma.

Because he saw "Qing’er" sitting beside him with a bowl of hot milk.

The fire-maker moved his hand towards the hilt of the knife.

"[Herde Language] Mother! Mother! Go call the Little Lion!" the strange girl shouted outside the tent, she stretched out her arms protecting Winters, "[Herde Language] What kind of skill is it to bully him at a time like this?"