Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 827 - 83 Sightseeing_3

Chapter 827: Chapter 83 Sightseeing_3 Chapter 827: Chapter 83 Sightseeing_3 “Your Excellency,” the birthmarked man suddenly stood up, urgently dissuading, “An officer shouldn’t directly contact the enemy’s messenger, they might be assassins…”

Mason smiled and waved his hand, the birthmarked man pursed his lips and sat down, no longer speaking.

Visit ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

Footsteps sounded again, and the messenger passed on the word, bringing over the people from Terdun, and everyone’s gaze converged on the newcomers.

Two men arrived, both clad in Herders’ leather robes, but one could tell at a glance that the one in the lead was a Herder, while the one behind felt somewhat awkward in his robe.

The Herder messenger, seeing the tent filled with people, wasn’t intimidated at all and strode towards Mason, arrogantly stating, “In Herde Language… by order of…”

He didn’t finish his sentence because Mason had picked up a short gun from the table and aimed it at the messenger’s head, pulling the trigger without hesitation.

Click—a sound as the sear disengaged, the cylinder rotated.

...

The flash occurred twice, once from the pans, and then from the muzzle.

The lead ball poured into the forehead of the Herder messenger and bore out through the back of his head, splattering white and red.

The envoy died on the spot, and everyone was stunned.

The slave Translator who had come with the messenger wet himself from fright, collapsing to the ground begging frantically for mercy.

“Take him away,” Mason gestured towards the Translator, carefully placing the revolver back in its place, “See if we can interrogate him for any valuable information.”

The birthmarked man quickly stepped forward, propping up the Translator to leave the tent.

Ivan silently followed, dragging away the body of the messenger.

“Messengers? They come to waver our will and spy on our reality,” Mason said uncomfortably, wiping the blood from his hand—he still wasn’t accustomed to this sort of thing, and continued slowly:

“The Herders have a rule, if their messenger is killed, on the day the city falls, everyone must either be killed or enslaved.”

After a brief pause, Mason spoke again, “Let me tell one more thing to the gentlemen, the Herders have another rule, if their messenger is not killed, on the day the city falls, everyone will still either be killed or enslaved. Don’t be naive, there is no compromise between us and the people of Terdun, only life and death.”

Among the leaders of the militia, an estate owner who had just fantasized about negotiating with the Herders involuntarily swallowed his saliva.

He had just confirmed something—the Civil Guard Officer, who was kindly explaining siege tactics just a second before, would not hesitate to take a life.

Recalling the “military law” that the other party had mentioned earlier, the estate owner could not help but swallow again.

Another messenger ran to Mason at high speed, reporting another matter, to which Mason nodded slightly.

Once again, everyone was on edge.

“Good news,” Mason’s face broke into a smile, and for a moment, the gentle Civil Guard seemed to return, “Lady Montaigne has brought us hot food!”

…

On the banks of St. George River, small boats carried whole buckets of steaming, fragrant soup from the north bank to the south bank.

The soup was purposely put in buckets, so the militia coming to collect it could easily carry it away, distributing it among their units.

It was already winter, and it was freezing cold. The militiamen stationed on the south bank had nothing but hard, cold rations to eat; when they heard there was soup to drink, they all cheered.

Anna, wearing a veil and a small hat, dressed in a simple deep blue rider’s uniform, accompanied by the old mayor Priskin, came to the south bank.

[Note: Rider’s uniform refers to tight-fitting jackets with trousers for riding.]

Anna said somewhat embarrassingly to Mason, “Mr. Montaigne used to tell many stories about wanting a sip of hot soup during a battle… The bridge was dismantled hastily, I hope it didn’t cause you too much trouble…”

“The stomach is the foot of the army; how could it be troublesome?” Mason laughed heartily, “On such a cold day, having a cup of hot soup means more than anything I could say to keep spirits up!”

Anna became even more embarrassed, “I mean…”

“Rest assured, it won’t,” Mason reassured her with a smile and a slight shake of his head.

“How about we deliver soup to everyone daily?”

“Nothing could be better!”

Mr. Priskin bid farewell to Mason, then escorted Anna back to the north bank by boat. The old mayor initially wanted to stay with Mason on the south bank, but Mason persuaded him to leave, as the defense of the Old City could not do without him.

The tall and thin Ivan sauntered over to Mason, asking in a low voice with a bit of embarrassment, “Your Excellency, should we… burn the boats, too…”

Mason roared with laughter, “When that time comes, without a boat, we could swim back to the north bank. Are we also supposed to chop off everyone’s arms and legs? Dismantling the bridge is to show attitude and resolve. Keeping the boats could prove to be very useful.”

…

Meanwhile, on the Big Horn River, about seven kilometers upstream from the Floating Bridge.

Captain Moro with his face covered and Samujin were leading soldiers and laborers to drive stakes into the riverbed of the Big Horn River.

Both had only just escaped death to return to Niutigu Valley the day before and immediately threw themselves into another task—constructing a dam on the Big Horn River.

On the Huiqing River, with its lower water volume, it was possible to use a crude method of stacking cages filled with stones to build the dam.

But that wouldn’t work on the Big Horn River. Although not as vast as The Styx, it was still a large river that could exceed a hundred meters in width during the flood season.

To cut off the natural barrier of Iron Peak County, they had to employ another construction method.

With guidance from local fishermen, Moro and Samujin found a suitable spot, not too far from the Floating Bridge, where the river was narrowest.

They began by driving two parallel rows of wooden stakes into the riverbed, with each stake touching the next one, nestled tightly together, leaving as little space as possible.