Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 535 - 99 Monsoon

For several days, the camp first migrated southwest, then turned north.

The Herders used a lunar calendar, and their method of reckoning years was different from that of the Republics.

Winters could only estimate the dates himself; he remembered that the supply train had set off from Shuangqiao Main Camp on January 12th.

Heading westward, crossing the Border River, traversing the unpopulated area, they should have reached the Styx Main Camp by January 30th.

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That evening, snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

Before that, he had simply been a Garrison Officer temporarily conscripted, leading a small group of militiamen doing laborious work of transferring supplies within Paratu territory.

Afterward, his world was like a cart dragged by a wild horse, hurtling towards a precipice at breakneck speed.

After setbacks, the supply train arrived at Bianli Main Camp on February 24th. Twelve days later, Bianli City fell.

The next day, as part of the vanguard, he set out on the retreat; he saw the Styx again on March 29th.

He recalled each day, estimating that he had woken up inside the Erhulan tent on April 16th.

Another seven days had passed since then, making it April 23rd.

"Have I really been away from home for so long?" Winters felt as if he were in a different lifetime.

In April, Sea Blue must have already been very hot.

Men and women on the road would have already changed into lovely, light single-layered clothes, with only the elderly still wrapped in winter attire.

The docks would be crowded with shirtless laborers; large and small merchant ships gathered in the bay, waiting for the seasonal monsoon to arrive on schedule.

The Ascension Day of the Lord was also approaching—it was Sea Blue’s most important festival.

On that day, everyone would dress up and follow the "Consular Gold Ship" to Saint Nicolas Island.

Waiting for them would be Priests holding Holy Water, salt, and olive branches.

The prayer was unfailing: "Oh, Lord! Please bless us, bless all the people of the sea, that the ocean may ever be calm and peaceful."

Next came grand celebrations and processions.

The Ascension Day of the Lord was important because it marked the beginning of the new sailing season.

After a brief revelry, the Sea Blue People would set sail into the vast ocean. They would either return with riches or disappear without a trace.

Winters’s thoughts had already drifted to the seaside.

He spoke absently: "Erhulan?"

"Hmm?" Erhulan was doing embroidery.

"Spring has arrived."

"Yes, it gets warmer every day, and the wind has started to blow from the west," Erhulan said, smiling and looking up, her almond-shaped eyes curved. "The elders say it’s time to take the spirit animals to the highlands."

"Get me a small knife," he requested.

"Sure." Erhulan continued to work with her needle. "What kind of knife would you like?"

"Just the most ordinary kind." Winters propped himself up to sit. "Please bring me some branches as well."

He now knew that for unmarried Herder women, carrying a knife was an important "token."

A man offers a dowry, and a woman reciprocates with a knife. Therefore, one should not carelessly take an unmarried girl’s knife.

Erhulan quickly brought Winters a small knife the size of a palm.

The blade was well-forged, and the knife was made in one piece; without a guard, the handle was wrapped in leather string, coiled round and round; its overall style was simple and unadorned, a reliable tool for pastoral life—Winters was very satisfied.

Woodcarvers used special chisels, but Winters wasn’t planning to carve statues or flowers.

He took a piece of branch and slowly peeled the bark, cut it, and sharpened it.

In this manner, he gradually exercised the stiff muscles of his arm.

"Are you making wooden spikes?" Erhulan asked, puzzled. "Are they for knitting a sweater?"

"Just moving my arm around."

Erhulan coaxingly addressed Winters, "You’ll get splinters all over the carpet if you whittle inside the tent. How about I help you outside to sit and bask in the sun for a while?"

Winters didn’t want to leave the tent or show his face around the camp, but he would not refuse Erhulan.

"Alright."

Winters’s leg injury had reduced its swelling, but he was still some way off from removing the splint.

Erhulan helped him out of the tent and brought over a wooden chest for him to sit on at the entrance; she also fetched a blanket to cover his legs.

Another day’s trek, and that day they camped in a sparse coniferous forest.

The setting sun filtered through the branches, casting a spotty glow.

Little Lion came over with a deer leg, teasing, "From the neck down, one might mistake you for an old man by a hearth."

Winters silently chipped away at the wood.

"Are you making skewers for the meat?" Little Lion was also quite curious.

He stared at the small knife in Winters’s hand, blinking.

Winters nodded and continued whittling the wood.

"You’d do better to keep your mouth shut sometimes," Erhulan emerged from the tent, draped a woolen knit blanket over Winters’s shoulders, and took the deer leg from Little Lion’s grasp. "Let Hestas enjoy some quiet time in the sun."

"Alright, alright," Little Lion mumbled.

He sat down beside Winters, watching the white core of the wood be sharpened little by little with the knife, asking, "They’ve distributed the spoils of war. Do you still want that set of armor of yours?"

Winters shook his head.

"When they found you, you had a pack of maps in your arms. Do you still want that?"

Winters set down the wooden spike, thought for a moment, and said, "That belongs to an elder of mine, please return it to me."

"No problem," Little Lion agreed without hesitation.

Both fell silent again, with only the sound of the knife shaving wood.

Little Lion decided to sit on the ground, looking into the distance, and casually remarked, "My brother’s also come back. He’s not joined the main forces yet, but I’ll bring him to meet you when he does."

Winters didn’t commit to a response.

"Go rest," Little Lion stood up. "I’m off now."