Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 536 - 99 Monsoon_2

These days, Little Lion often came to chat with Winters.

But Winters became increasingly silent, even less lively than when he’d just awakened, only showing some vitality when with Erhulan.

After leaving his sister and Winters, Little Lion did not return to his own felt tent. He led his horse out and rode eastward with his guard.

He crossed the hill slopes, galloped alongside the creek, and arrived at another camp several kilometers away.

The camp where Winters and Erhulan were was very small, not the real Red River Tribe’s "old camp"; it was mostly composed of the elderly, women, and children who had survived from Bianli, along with a few wounded.

The camp that Little Lion arrived at, however, was occupied only by adult males, with armored guards wielding swords visible everywhere.

There were also a few robust guards armed with bows and quivers, known as "quiver bearers".

People on the road saluted Little Lion as they saw him, some calling him "Little Lion", while others respectfully addressed him as "Hearth Master".

Beyond the members of the Red River Tribe, there were nearly a thousand men tied up in strings with ropes and iron chains behind the camp.

These men were not wearing Herder robes but blood-stained Paratu military uniforms!

They were prisoners... and slaves.

The surrounding Herders threw food at them like feeding pigs. The prisoners scrambled frantically for the food, even coming to blows over it.

A middle-aged prisoner had just grabbed a wheat cake mixed with dirt and dead grass when another emaciated prisoner snatched it away from him.

The emaciated prisoner, ignoring the punches and kicks from others, desperately stuffed the wheat cake into his mouth.

Elsewhere someone screamed, "My hand!"

Someone else, unable to distinguish between fingers and wheat cake, had bitten down, swallowing with blood.

The watching Herders laughed heartily, throwing out more wheat cakes.

Did the prisoners feel shame?

They did.

But they were so hungry, hunger-stricken to the point of desperation.

For more than ten days, they had trekked day after day, receiving very little food, fed just like pigs.

If you did not fight, you starved to death.

The gnawing feeling of hunger constantly questioned them: What’s the worth of dignity? What is shame?

The number of captured officers among the Herders was very small, and they were confined separately.

It was not just the officers but even the non-commissioned officers who had been segregated from the prisoners.

Deprived of their leaders and deliberately broken, their wills had completely collapsed.

The scent of something enticing wafted into the prisoners’ nostrils, making everyone involuntarily stop their actions.

The Herders brought the mouthwatering roast sheep in front of them.

The prisoners lunged for the roast sheep, only to be pulled down by the chains and ropes on their limbs and then forced back by the glinting spears.

The Herders then pushed several disheveled Paratu people forward.

A strapping Green Plumed Feathers approached, followed by a skinny Translator.

The shy Translator translated, "The Fire Starter chief says these few slaves tried to escape and must be punished."

The Translator was also a prisoner, but because he could speak two languages, his situation was far better than that of the others.

Green Plumed Feathers scolded coldly, and the skinny Translator repeated it loudly.

Still dissatisfied, Green Plumed Feathers prompted the Translator, who then yelled it out again, crying.

At a wave from Green Plumed Feathers, the quiver bearers brought out a brazier.

They used a red-hot iron spike to pierce under the escaping prisoners’ collarbones, threading an iron ring through them like putting a nose ring on a cow.

The prisoners’ screams were harrowing, and the air was filled with a burnt meat scent.

"The Fire Starter chief says that those who try to escape again won’t be this lucky; they’ll be killed outright," the Translator shouted hoarsely. "The Fire Starter chief also says that the wilderness is boundless, and no matter where you run, you will be caught and brought back."

The prisoners hung their heads, some staring at the Translator with eyes filled with hatred and rage.

"The Fire Starter chief wants to pick out those with skills among you. Those with skills get to eat the roasted meat, while those without will continue picking up food from the ground," the Translator’s voice was hoarse from shouting. "Who among you can blacksmith? Who can..."

Little Lion watched for a while, then silently headed towards the main tent.

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Because there were no enemies nearby, the Red River Tribe’s camp was no longer structured with tents encircling the horses.

The horses were taken out of the camp to forage, and the smaller tents of ten-man squads wrapped around the main tent at the center.

On the way, Green Plumed Feathers Stag [Bohan] stopped Little Lion and walked shoulder to shoulder with him towards the main tent.

"Swift Hawk is dead," Stag whispered, making a throat-cutting gesture.

"Ah, Swift Hawk was capable; his herds were always more prosperous than others," Little Lion said with some sadness. "But deserting his feathers in the face of battle, he deserved to die."

Stag sighed. The ’arrows’ of White Lion had suffered heavy casualties in this battle.

For a dishonorable death like Swift Hawk’s, he would be stripped of all his herds, dependents, and slaves.

However, it was precisely for this reason that many positions had become vacant, allowing Stag to be promoted from Haug Koda [Centurion] to an arrow.

[Note: "Arrow" in Herder language represents a leader with the rank of Green Plumed Feathers, further divided into "near arrows which shoot at close range, and far arrows which shoot at long range." They are both military and civil officials.]

As Little Lion and Stag entered the main tent, a quiver bearer was emerging with a bloodied Green Plumed Feather helmet.

That must have been Swift Hawk’s helmet, as the Herders abhorred decapitation. Unless driven by deep hatred, even in the case of execution, beheading was not practiced.

In the tent, people sat around the campfire. The Green Plumed Feathers were heatedly debating.

"The Paratu are severely weakened; now is the perfect time to strike down the Grass Valley!"

"Grey Eyes and Well-Feeders are convening their war bands, preparing for this autumn’s raid. We should also raise the great standard; otherwise, the small tribes that depend on us might be lured away!"