stjorthotic Chapter 82: The "flat tent" after the ice melts and the murderous intent beneath the red m
Chapter 82: The "flat tent" after the ice melts and the murderous intent beneath the red m
The spring rain in the Blue Fork Valley is bitter.
Unlike the rain in the South, which carries the fragrance of earth, this rain is a mixture of melting ice, rotting fish carcasses, and the lingering, pungent smell of quicklime rising from the depths of the earth.
Supervisor Polliff stood beside the newly dug sewer, the soles of his boots already unrecognizable from the sticky red mud.
He shrank his neck, feeling the damp cold seeping into his bones, and then looked down and made a heavy stroke on the cracked walnut wood canopy.
"All twenty-four animals, including the four strong oxen we just extorted from Raymond, must be put to the ground today."
Pollifer didn't look up; his voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded.
"The seeds have already sprouted. If this land cannot be turned over within three days, you will be drinking the yellow soup from the river tonight."
His gaze inadvertently swept southward.
On the two-mile stretch of land forcibly allocated to the Blackwood family by the boundary officials, dozens of "dummies" made of tattered cowhides and dried old straw stood crookedly in the furrows.
These mannequins look ridiculous.
But Pollifer knew that inside each straw bag was a pile of lime powder and dried sawdust that the blacksmith Cole had accumulated over the entire winter.
This is a "bait" set up by the adults.
---
At that moment, less than two hundred paces from these mannequins, in the birch thicket, Gareth lay like a startled porcupine in a cold, wet mud pit.
Muddy water poured down his neck, making his jaw tremble involuntarily from the cold.
That coldness completely shut down his sense of touch.
但他不敢动.
To his left, Edric's jet-black fish-scale armor reflected no light in the dim sunlight.
The tip of the crescent-shaped hook-and-sickle spear was firmly pressed against the ground, as immovable as a stone.
Gareth could hear his own heartbeat, and also the soft, rhythmic sound of horses' hooves coming from the distant woods.
coming.
A group of about twenty Blackwood pikemen, dressed in striking black robes with red stripes, were slowly crossing the newly erected boundary marker.
The lead knight was a burly man with a fierce face, riding a brown warhorse that was panting heavily, and holding a torch dripping with oil in his right hand.
"I knew it! That little bastard was just bluffing!"
The lead knight looked at the "foolish farmers" in the furrows and let out a twisted roar.
"Burn that hay! Sprinkle salt on their land! I will show Hohenzollern that the land of the Old Gods is not to be desecrated!"
The torch pierced the rain, its sticky flames striking a dummy.
"boom!"
In the instant the flames shot into the sky, what exploded was not screams, but a thick cloud of white dust that was almost tangible.
The quicklime powder stuffed in the leather case was thrown into the air by the scorching blast wave as the kerosene exploded violently and the leather burst open.
Before the spring rain could suppress them, these white death apocalypses, carried by the south wind, slammed down on the faces of the Blackwood soldiers.
"Ah!! My eyes!!"
"Water! Give me water, quick!!"
The screams ripped through the deathly silence of the valley.
Quicklime ignites upon contact with water.
The soldiers instinctively wiped their eyes with their soaked sleeves, but this only made the burning sensation penetrate deeper into their eyeballs.
Gareth looked at the men in black rolling on the ground and swallowed hard.
This completely contradicted his dream of a knightly duel.
No honor, no flag.
Only this kind of insidious scheming, like rat poison.
"Beep—!"
A sharp bone whistle sounded from behind.
Gareth was forced to stand up.
He saw Edric move.
The fourteen veterans brought back from Dai Rui City were arranged in groups of three, their triangular formation appearing and disappearing in the white, gray mist.
Edric shoved the shieldbearer's shoulder hard with his right hand.
The hook-and-sickle spear slid out through the gap in the shield and precisely hooked a soldier who was covering his eyes and wailing.
Without any hesitation.
Taking advantage of the moment when the opponent lost their balance, the short sword in his left hand pierced directly into the unsuspecting abdomen.
There was no sword sound.
The only sounds were the ripping of leather and the muffled, nauseating vomiting as the internal organs were churned up.
A stray Blackwood soldier, in a panic, wildly swung his battle axe, about to strike the youngest militiaman.
Gareth raised his sword, instinctively trying to block the attack.
But he saw Otto's figure appear not far away.
---
Otto Hohenzollern stands at the top of the stone tower's battlements.
From this vantage point, the birch forest to the south looks like a festering sore covered with white pustules.
The lime mist disperses very slowly in the wind.
William Charlton stood behind him, clutching the roll of "East Tower Linen" he had extorted from Raymond.
That was the task he had to complete today.
After the battle, these looted items were used to wrap the captured weapons bearing enemy insignia.
"See that, William?"
Otto did not turn around; his voice was harder than the icicles on the city wall.
"The knights of Blackwood charged in the firelight, feeling brave and fearless. But against the lime dust, their courage lasted only three more breaths."
"Remember this: in this world, only dead enemies will not question your territory."
"I see, sir."
William's voice was dry.
His hands were trembling slightly, but his eyes were fixed on the twitching dead flesh below.
He recalled the days when he washed manure buckets at the side door of the adults' residence.
---
The fighting ceased after about fifteen minutes.
The spring rain finally came down hard.
The rain washed away the lime powder in the air, but allowed the bloodstains in the mud to seep even deeper.
The turned-up spring ridges were stained with an eerie dark purple.
Otto descended the stone steps, his boots making a rhythmic thud as they stepped on them.
He went into the study on the ground floor of the stone tower.
Pollifer had already prepared new ledgers, and Maester Elion was sorting through the marching route maps that had been taken from the prisoners.
"My lord, the battle is over."
Pollifer pushed open the door, bringing in a strong smell of blood and the dryness of quicklime.
"We seized eighteen sets of chainmail and twelve spears. Eleven were dead, and five were captured alive. They've already had their jaws removed and are locked up in the bottom cellar."
"Bury them all."
Otto sat back down in the hardwood chair.
"I've said it before, this land is a blood tax the Blackwood family owes me. Now that their people are rotting away here, this land belongs to Hohenzollern forever."
---
The lime mist gradually thinned in the drizzle, emitting a series of piercing hissing sounds.
That was the low hum of alkali powder burning moist flesh.
Gareth stood beside a still-twitching corpse.
The long sword in his hand hung in the muddy water, the blood on the tip of the sword stained with lime powder into a murky paste.
His chest heaved violently, each breath carrying a pungent, alkaline taste that made him want to gag.
Right at his feet, a young man from the Blackwood family was digging his fingers into the dirt.
Those hands that should have been holding a sword were now frantically scratching at their bloodied and mangled eye sockets.
The man did not beg for mercy.
It only emitted a broken, intermittent whimper from deep within its throat, like a dying young animal.
"Kill...kill me..."
The soldier rolled in the mud, his fingers digging deep into the red mud of the spring ridge due to the excruciating pain.
Gareth's hand holding the sword trembled violently.
According to the chivalric code taught by his teacher, he should have offered a merciful release at that moment.
But he looked up and gazed ahead.
Otto stood on the high place, holding the ledger that Pollifer had handed him, his eyes as cold and indifferent as if he were checking a pile of rotten oats.
Gareth slowly crouched down.
He wanted to help the soldier up.
But when his fingertips touched the other person's skin, which was burning hot and hardened by the alkali powder, he withdrew his hand as if he had been electrocuted.
He looked at his palm.
It was covered in mud, black blood, and a few specks of white lime splattered from the explosion.
The white color became scorching in the rain, and began to sting Gareth's skin.
He suddenly realized that his hands, which had once sworn to uphold justice, had now become something else entirely.
"Gareth, what are you waiting for?"
Torren's icy voice rang out above him.
Gareth did not look up.
He stared at the young man who was gradually stopping struggling in the mud and murmured softly.
"He didn't even have time to see who I was."
He doesn't need to see you clearly.
Torren rudely walked past Gareth, his longsword slashing down to cut off the soldier's last groan.
"He only needs to die outside our boundary marker."
Gareth knelt in the mud, feeling the chill rising from the depths of his heart.
For the first time, he felt that the old sword hanging at his waist was so heavy that he could hardly straighten his back.
---
He looked at William.
"Go. Tear apart those Twins City linens you have. Wrap all these captured armor plates tightly and throw them into cellar number three. If anyone asks, say they are newly forged 'Iron Salt Cans' attachments from our territory."
William bowed his head and accepted the order, then quickly walked out carrying the linen.
Otto picked up the black iron ring and slowly twirled it on his finger.
He looked out the window at the valley that was gradually darkening, knowing that the real storm had only just begun.
---
Meanwhile, in Crowtree City, 120 miles to the south.
A pair of aged yet sharp eyes were fixed on the flickering candlelight.
Lord Tytos Blackwood sat beneath the enormous white heartwood tree.
This heart tree is over a thousand years old, and it has witnessed every bloodshed and rise of the Blackwood family.
At this moment, a soldier whose back was burned and mangled by lime was lying paralyzed beside the tree roots.
He recounted everything that had happened at Blue Fork River in a voice so faint it was almost inaudible.
"Lime...My lord...it's a white demonic fire..."
Tethos showed no expression.
A deathly coldness flickered deep within his gray eyes.
He reached out, his withered fingers gently tracing the distorted lines of the Heart Tree's face.
Fifteen people have gone missing.
Now there are twenty people again.
That peasant baron of Bluefork not only seized his land, but also used the most insidious means to mock the Blackwood family.
"That little knight, he's bribing Brecken's red horses with white salt, and he's also feeding his muddy ground with my blood."
Tethos's voice was hoarse, like pebbles squeezed out from between his teeth.
"Since he doesn't follow the rules of the aristocracy, then we won't use judges to deal with him."
He turned his head and looked at his trusted confidant in the shadows.
"Send a letter to the Twins. Don't send it to that fool Raymond, send it to old Wald's eldest son."
"Tell him that his nephew Raymond is at Blue Fork, slowly moving the Frey family's warehouses into that dilapidated stone fortress."
"I want to burn the courtyard of Hohenzollern to ashes before spring is even over."
---
Meanwhile, at Blue Fork River Fortress, a new wave of smoke was rising from the longhouse.
Otto stood under the light in the study.
On the parchment representing the territory, he slowly crossed out two miles of land south of Blackwood and re-marked the new defensive perimeter.
He knew that Earl Jason Mellist was waiting for him to beg for mercy in Seafront City.
He also knew that the Brecken family was calculating his salt prices.
"Polliver."
"Yes, sir."
"Starting tomorrow, the term 'balancing account' is forbidden."
Otto's eyes were as deep and unfathomable as an abyss.
"Starting tomorrow, this will be called 'territorial reclaim'."
Spring thunder rumbled dully behind the clouds.
The ice on the Blue Fork River has completely melted.
That murky spring water was carrying several nameless corpses, flowing towards a deeper, darker whirlpool.