Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Kalman was startled and waved his hands repeatedly, "No, it's alright, it's alright."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to silence you," Winters laughed heartily, "Since you've kept your promise, I will fulfill mine. This is a sincere apology from the heart."

Only then did Kalman let out a sigh of relief.

"However, from the standpoint of your own interests, I still wouldn't advise you to report us immediately," Winters added.

"No, no, no... How could I possibly report you? I won't say a thing," Kalman, face reddening, shook his head vehemently. Find exclusive content at empire

"There's no need to be afraid, Mr. Kalman. This is not a threat, but my heartfelt words. Even if you were to denounce us, I would bear no grudge against you, let alone seek revenge. We invaded your home, so nothing you do would be excessive," Winters said, looking into Kalman's eyes with sincerity. "But I suggest you wait and see, be prepared for both outcomes. If I fail, you can immediately turn over the severely injured to dissociate yourself from us. But if I succeed... Keeping these injured men will earn you the gratitude of the Venetians."

Winters, not minding Kalman's complex expression, walked straight from the main house towards the bonfire.

After a moment of stupefaction, Kalman hurriedly followed.

The old servant Bok, with a mournful face, ran over to complain to Kalman, "Master... our home is ruined... I couldn't stop them..."

"Don't worry, Mr. Bok," Winters said politely, "I will compensate you for anything the Herders took, at fair value."

Hearing Winters speak, Bok shivered involuntarily, not daring to respond, just muttering under his breath, "And what about the slave? A strong slave is worth more than ten sheep..."

"Hahaha," Winters laughed, "Mr. Bok, throughout history, when slaves bought their freedom, it was always with the blood of their masters. So I think freedom given freely is much better, wouldn't you agree?"

...

A Herder, a small knife, and in less than ten minutes, they could strip off an entire sheepskin without a tear.

"Waste nothing" was the principle of the Herders.

The blood of the sheep was carefully collected in wooden barrels, and the entrails were not discarded. Herder women cleansed the sheep's offal, boiling it to remove the blood before slicing it finely to make a white, thick mutton broth.

Nothing else was wasted either, whether boiled or roasted, everything was put to use.

The freed Herders busied themselves, and in that moment, they seemed transported back to their faraway homes.

Low tables beside the bonfire were joined to form a long table, heaped with large and small plates, and still more food was being brought out freshly prepared.

Seeing his soldiers seated on the ground like the Herders, gorging themselves, they only realized Winters had approached when he was right beside them, and they hurriedly got up to salute.

Winters called the soldiers over, "Let everyone eat more meat, but no drinking alcohol."

The Centurion nodded and returned to the table.

Not far away, at the end of the long table, Andre beckoned eagerly to Winters.

Sitting with Andre were Bard and an elderly Herder.

As Winters sat down, a Herder woman immediately offered him a bowl of white soup and brought forward a platter with a sheep's head that, although split in two and put back together, had been cooked whole—the sight was quite grisly.

"Dig in, we've been waiting for you to join us," Andre said to Winters, making a playful wink, "This is what the Herders give to their most honored guests."

"Ah?"

The eye sockets of the sheep's head were gaping, staring straight at Winters, which considerably added to his pressure. He tried the mutton soup, which was actually delicious. It seemed to have pepper in it, and after one sip, his body felt warmly suffused.

"Centurion Montaigne, I have another impertinent request," the Herder elder, who had been talking with Bard, turned to Winters.

"What is it?" Winters asked, his tone neutral as he continued to sip his soup, unable to bring himself to like the old man.

"Mustas would like to conduct the 'Kulxit Ceremony' with you," Bard explained, "He enlisted my help to explain, and from what I gathered, it seems to be a kind of bonding ceremony."

"This ceremony is probably some kind of oath,"

"It's not just an oath, not only an oath," said the Herder elder, speaking in a strange accent with the common tongue. "'Kulxit Xi' is a covenant witnessed by the heavens, an unbreakable vow."

"Isn't that still an oath?" Winters said while sipping soup.

"No... it's different." The Herder elder initially wanted to continue explaining but after some thought, he gave up on the effort to elaborate with the foreigners, "If you think it's an oath, then it's an oath."

"Do we have to cut open our palms and bleed or something? Actually, we don't need to engage in such formalities." Winters reluctantly put down his soup bowl. "I'm a Spellcaster, I believe in nothing, and I detest self-harm. No ceremony can bind a person's will, what I pledge to you is my honor."

"[Old language] I think it's necessary," Bard suddenly switched to the old language, mused, "[Old language] The other Herders do not trust us, they simply obey Mustas' orders. If a ceremony can earn the trust of the other Herders, then it's worth it."

"[Old language] I certainly don't want to cut myself and bleed," Winters grumbled. "[Old language] If you like it, you go ahead."

"[Old language] But they have set their sights on you," Bard said with a smile.

"[Old language] Exactly, exactly," Andre chimed in happily.

The Herder elder quietly watched the three lieutenants converse in the old language.

"Elder, I have a question for you," Winters asked, plucking up the courage, "What about that ceremony you mentioned? Does it use one's own blood?"

"It does," the Herder elder's face was full of smile lines, "but the blood of a sacrifice will do as well."

...

The firelight reflected on Winters' face, as well as on the face of the Herder elder.

The two stood face to face.

The Herder elder Mustas cut open his own left hand and grabbed Winters' left arm, and Winters also seized the other's left arm.

A Herder man knelt and offered a bowl of sacrificial blood.

The Herder elder dabbed a bit of the sacrificial blood on his lips, and Winters followed suit.

The Herder elder then took oil and smeared it on both of their left arms.

As Winters wondered about the meaning of such a ceremony, the Herder elder began chanting some sort of song in an odd tone of voice. Suddenly, the oil smeared on both of their arms ignited, and in an instant, a flame rose between the two men.

Winters was shocked and tried to pull back abruptly, but the Herder elder's arm held onto his like a vice.

The next second, the flame extinguished, as if what had just happened was an illusion.

But the burning sensation on his left arm told Winters that the fire had been real.

The Herder elder took some hearth ash and sprinkled it over their heads, and then he finally released his hand.

Throughout the entire ceremony, the Herders surrounding the two men suddenly picked up horns and started to blow.

"Just who are you?" Winters demanded, grabbing the Herder elder's arm with a serious tone.

"They are your soldiers now," the Herder elder did not respond directly, only speaking wearily, "They will trust you as much as they trust me. As long as you lead them, even into the fires of hell, they will follow. Please uphold our promise; after your soldiers set foot on this island, send the women and children back to our homeland."

The elderly man, looking utterly exhausted, was helped back to his seat by other Herders.

From the outskirts of the crowd, Bard and Andre pushed their way in.

"Was that fire just now? Where did the fire come from? Was it fire?" Andre asked, shocked.

Winters' eyelids twitched incessantly, "It was fire, definitely fire, the oil would never burst into flame without reason, nor extinguish... Are there Spellcasters among the Herders, too?"