Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 775 - 62_3

Chapter 775: 62_3 Chapter 775: 62_3 It was just a moment, but from Peter’s knees to chest, he was trembling—not a tremble of the mind, but a physical shaking.

He bowed his head deeply, not daring to raise his eyes to look at everyone.

“Wait… wait for the Centurion.” Peter stared at the tips of his shoes, fiddling with the corner of his clothing, a certain invisible force almost crushing him: “Wait for the Centurion to return…”

“What did you say? Can you speak up?” someone asked tentatively. Sergeant Bunir’s voice was too low; no one could clearly hear what he was saying.

Accustomed to obedience, and “Can you speak up?” sounded like a command, Peter instinctively raised his voice and repeated, “Wait for the Centurion to return!”

“Yes,” the Centurion and soldiers of the company answered in unison.

Peter was startled.

...

For everyone, waiting for Centurion Tamas to return was the safest approach.

“So we just stand here and watch?” An irate Centurion pointed at the river, his anger boiling over as he asked, “You own six hundred acres! Are you going to let savages shame us for nothing? Shame you?”

The first company had already pulled back to a place beyond bowshot, and it seemed the Terdon people did not intend to waste arrows.

Some of the Terdon people put away their bows and arrows, apparently busy with something else; other Terdon people remained on guard with their bows, provocatively gesturing at the people of Iron Peak County atop the river embankment, their actions crudely offensive.

“You’re angry, but do you think we’re not? Isn’t the problem the lack of weapons?” another round-faced Centurion couldn’t suppress his irritation, schooling the former, “Or should we run to the shore like dumb donkeys and make targets of ourselves? In my opinion, we’d better send someone back to Niutigu Valley right away to request reinforcements from the Protectorate Official.”

“For just a few dozen savages, calling for reinforcements from the Protectorate Official? You might not think it’s shameful, but damn it, I find it shameful!”

“We should at least get some muskets sent over!” the round-faced Centurion asked Peter, “What do you think? Sergeant.”

“Hmm,” Peter Bunir nodded subconsciously.

“Alright, then I’ll have someone go… Ah, this way,” the round-faced Centurion felt uneasy and decided with a wave of his hand, “Sergeant if you agree, I’ll go myself.”

“Hmm,” Peter nodded.

The round-faced Centurion gave a salute and hurried off toward the direction of the watchtower—to presumably borrow a horse.

“Even if we managed to get muskets, we wouldn’t know how to use them,” another Centurion with grey eyes said with a sneer, “Do any of you know how to use a musket?”

Everyone shook their heads.

Those in the battalion who knew how to use a musket had been assigned to the musketeer company, and even then, Montaigne the Protectorate Official had not managed to muster a full company of musketeers, adding some more mentally agile folk to barely make the numbers.

“Actually, we don’t need muskets,” the grey-eyed Centurion weighed his spear, jokingly suggesting, “We might as well throw these things over there, might nail a savage or two, and it’d save us some effort on the way back to camp.”

“Hmm,” Peter nodded.

The grey-eyed Centurion was taken aback and quickly gestured, “Losing a weapon is cause for a whipping, just a joke.”

“Hmm,” Peter mechanically nodded.

The grey-eyed Centurion’s eyes darted around, his smile taking on a sly edge, “Better to keep the spears.”

…

The Terdon people on the rafts noticed the two-legged folk on the earthworks once again approaching the riverbank.

The leading Hong Lingyu hastily called his kin to arms.

Aside from a few busy with more pressing matters, all the Terdon people took up their bows and notched their arrows, waiting for the command.

The day had already grown dimly bright, and Hong Lingyu took out a red-fletched arrow, considering the angle as he shot it.

The arrow traced an arc and stuck in the riverbank, its red feathers visible.

Instead of running or charging, the two-legged folk formed a loose horizontal line and advanced slowly toward the riverbank.

The most peculiar thing was… they were not carrying weapons.

‘Could it be they’re coming to negotiate?’ Hong Lingyu puzzled, ‘Or to surrender?’

No matter what the two-legged folk were up to, the moment they crossed the red-fletched arrow, Hong Lingyu bellowed a command, drawing his bow and firing an arrow.

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The rest of the Terdon people followed Hong Lingyu’s lead, the “twang, twang” of bowstrings vibrating in chorus as sparse arrows flew towards the loosely formed line of two-legged folk.

The two-legged folk also started running, using their legs to their fullest.

A small individual wearing a helmet adorned with mane decoration was at the forefront of the charge.

Hong Lingyu recognized this person and urgently called his subordinates to target him. Last time, it was this person who had led the charge, clearly a leader among the two-legged folk.

But that small two-legged individual ran like a wild horse; he had reached the water’s edge before the third volley of arrows could be loosed.

The sheepskin rafts of the Terdon Tribe were only a dozen meters away from the shore, and that short individual flung his arms with all his might, hurling an object viciously at the sheepskin rafts.

The object, akin to a grey meteor, skimmed across the water, and Hong Lingyu, unable to dodge in time, was hit squarely on the forehead.

First there was intense pain, then blood blinded his eyes, Hong Lingyu lost his balance and fell into the river.

The other two-legged people also reached the riverbank, one after another, swinging their arms to hurl objects at the sheepskin rafts. There were also two-legged individuals waving what seemed to be fabric torn from their clothes, whistling in the air before being thrown.

“Stones, they’re stones.”

Hong Lingyu had a sudden realization, his last conscious thought before sinking to the bottom of the river.