Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 822 - 82 Enemy_3

Chapter 822: Chapter 82 Enemy_3 Chapter 822: Chapter 82 Enemy_3 Catherine hummed lightly.

Anna picked up the letter, her confusion resurfacing, “But there’s something strange about this letter, it’s not like the usual cipher sequences… Why are there only ten letters? I… Oh! I understand now…”

Mason and Catherine were both clueless.

Anna hurriedly explained, “It’s a different encryption method, one that I just mentioned in passing to Mr. Montaigne… It’s not merely ten letters, but one to ten. We also need a book. Did Mr. Montaigne mention which book?”

Mason quickly answered, “He said to look for A and B.”

“It must be a book that both he and I have, at least something that’s not hard to find. B? What is that?” Anna’s gaze swept over the shrine, and in an instant, she understood all the nuances.

With a smile, she pointed to the holy emblem, “It’s a scripture.”

...

After borrowing the “folio” from Revodan Cathedral, the contents of the letter were quickly decrypted.

It was a wholly military communication, in which Winters briefly and forcefully described the course and outcome of the Battle of Panto River, calmly analyzing the current predicament of the troops—shortage of supplies; no chance to rest after the bitter battle, the soldiers weary and old.

Then, Winters informed Senior Mason of his next battle plan, while Revodan would temporarily receive no reinforcement.

The austere emotions of an iceberg only cracked at the very end of his letter, as Winters painfully and restrainedly wrote two words, “Sorry, sorry.”

“What’s there to be sorry about?” Mason spread his hands helplessly, “In war, anything can happen…”

Mason’s voice became quieter and he stopped abruptly. He noticed Anna’s eyes, slightly reddened as she translated the letter.

Anna quickly composed herself, smiling with the same grace as Mrs. Mitchell, “Yes, in war, anything can happen.”

…

At the same time, on the Big Horn River.

Samujin, standing at the bow, could already faintly see the silhouette of the Floating Bridge.

The Floating Bridge that spanned both banks resembled a delicate ribbon on the water’s surface.

As a firsthand witness to the Battle of the Great Wilderness, Samujin had seen the Herders collide the Floating Bridge with logs and rafts, destroying half of it at the Styx.

Now the situation was reversed, and it was Samujin’s turn to lead the flotilla against the Floating Bridge of Terdun.

“The water is too low,” Samujin thought to himself.

In the winter low water season, the volume of Big Horn River was reduced, and the current slowed; not to mention Shovel Lake, the large reservoir behind the Floating Bridge.

Could the small boats loaded with stones destroy the Floating Bridge? Samujin wasn’t sure.

Would the Terdun people rebuild it after its destruction? Samujin dared not think about it.

If they could intercept the Terdun Barbarians as they were setting up the Floating Bridge, it would certainly not be completed.

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Now that the Terdun people occupied both banks, even if the Floating Bridge were destroyed, as long as they had craftsmen and materials, they could rebuild it.

Regret and self-reproach surged in Samujin’s heart. Centurion Montaigne had entrusted him with the flotilla and significant battlefield command rights, but he wrongly concentrated all boats in the Battle of Panto River, failing to allocate some for controlling the waterways.

Samujin had thought that the Terdun people had exhausted their tricks, but this idea had led to a major mistake.

Winters did not blame Samujin; he only blamed himself for not advising Samujin in advance. This made Samujin feel even more agonized and ashamed.

“The only way to wash away disgrace,” Samujin thought, looking at the ever-closer Floating Bridge and ordered the drums to be beaten, “is to destroy it.”

“Even if it costs us our lives,” he added to himself through gritted teeth.

The Terdun people defending the Floating Bridge noticed the downstream boats, shouting, running, grabbing long poles with iron hooks as they rushed onto the Floating Bridge—both sides had learned a lot in this war.

In the nearby camp on the riverbank, a captain ripped off his scarf like a hawk eyeing the river, and his thin body seemed to be injected with endless strength. “It’s the sound of drums!” the captain’s pupils dilated and he thumped his thigh forcefully, “The little military drums!”

The other captives were also startled, unable to resist raising a clamor.

“Little military drums?”

“Our people are coming?”

“Where?”

“Will they come to save us?”

“Quiet!” the captain shouted, and the captives instantly silenced.

Suddenly remembering something, the captain punched his thigh hard, “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?” another captive asked.

The captain had no time to explain, stretched out his legs, and commanded harshly, “Split it open!”

Iron shackles bound the captain’s legs. Although the captives had axes, none dared to move. Helping the captain would mean sharing his fate.

Furious, the captain ordered again, “Do it!”

Still, no one moved.

“Do it!”

Finally, another captive, after much struggle, stopped thinking. With a grotesque expression and hysteria, he cried out, “Damn it! Do you want to be slaves to the Herd Barbarians for the rest of your lives?!”

On the other side, Samujin beat the drum himself, the rowers pulling hard. The small boats laden with stones sped toward the Floating Bridge.

The preparations of the Terdun people seemed insufficient; they just kept firing arrows from the banks. Samujin’s flotilla, moving in mid-river, stayed as far from the banks as possible.

Suddenly, Samujin caught sight of a group of ragged people bursting out from the north bank, waving their hands, shouting, and jumping towards him.

With the drumbeat piercing through the air, Samujin couldn’t make out what they were yelling, only seeing them desperately waving their arms.