Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 122 The Unbeliever

"Where is that thing?" Winters stopped a villager at the village entrance and asked anxiously, "Who lit the beacon fire?"

Seeing a plume of smoke rising from the direction of the South Protestant village [hereinafter referred to as South/North Protestant Village], Winters immediately rushed over with the two muskets he had borrowed.

He hardened his heart and urged Red Mane onward, fearing he would be late. Red Mane galloped wildly, arriving at Nanxin Village in the blink of an eye.

The farm girl, who had been stopped, timidly led the way, taking Winters to a courtyard near the south side of the village. A group of villagers had already gathered inside and outside the courtyard, whispering amongst themselves.

Winters' heart skipped a beat: Had someone already been murdered?
He spurred his horse and galloped towards the courtyard, the villagers quickly making way for him. Winters went straight to the village chief and asked, "Were there any casualties? Where is that thing? Which way did it go?"

“No, sir.” The village chief of Nanxin Village pointed to the yard: “We’ve locked that thing up in the storeroom!”

what?
A warehouse?

Winters was initially puzzled, then became somewhat annoyed, a nameless anger rising within him.

That storage shed in the yard, barely two meters high? That dilapidated shack can hold a giant beast from the forest? Are you kidding me?!

“Mr. Balby,” Lieutenant Montagne, mounted on horseback, looked down at the village chief, his chilling voice making the air suddenly icy: “Are you kidding me?”

……

The air inside the warehouse was humid and stuffy.

Sunlight streamed through holes in the roof, casting streaks of light through the swirling dust, barely illuminating the low-lying prefab house.

Wheat husks, straw, and some farm tools were scattered haphazardly in the warehouse, and low, rumbling sounds came from the deepest part of the clutter.

A large, brown wolf with disheveled fur leaned against the corner of the wall, supporting itself on its two front legs. It bared its sharp teeth, its eyes gleaming fiercely, and growled a warning to its enemies not to approach.

The wolf had several bloodstains on its body, with the most serious injury to its left hind leg, where bone fragments could be seen piercing the skin. It had been beaten by the farmers with sticks.

The wild creature was now at its last gasp. Winters made one last look at it before throwing his javelin.

The short spear, carrying immense force, struck the wolf whose hind limbs were severely injured. The spearhead entered from the side, pierced through the ribs on the other side, and embedded itself in the soil.

The wolf, pinned to the ground, whimpered like a wounded puppy. Winters drew his dagger and relieved its pain.

Winters, dragging the brown wolf carcass out of the barn, asked the village chief, "Just this one? Are there any more?"

Around the courtyard, the villagers of Nanxin cheered upon seeing the dead wolf.

“That’s all, sir.” The still-shaken village chief Balby swallowed hard and said cautiously, “Only this one was trapped in the barn.”

One dog, three chickens and ducks, half a dozen eggs, and several villagers with bite marks on their legs—that's all the losses Nanxin Village suffered.

About five or six wolves broke into Nanxin Village in search of food, and one of them was killed on the spot by the gathered militia. Except for one wolf that fled into a farmer's barn in a panic, the rest of the wolves ran back to the forest.

The barn was too small for any villager to enter, so Winters ended up dealing with the brown wolf himself.

The villagers of Nanxin Village were very excited. In their view, although the wolf plague was real, they had not only driven away the wolves but also killed two of them, so the wolf plague was not a big deal.

With Winters' permission, the jubilant Protestants began preparing to divide the wolf meat.

Girard and Winters rode side by side on horseback, watching from afar as the villagers sharpened their knives and boiled water. The former remarked with satisfaction, "Lieutenant, it seems you've trained the militia of South New Village very well."

“We’ve only practiced javelin a few times, what kind of training is that? It’s just wolves, something a few farmers can handle with sticks.” Winters shook his head, his tone devoid of joy: “We need to guard against something much more complex than that.”

Hunter Ralph left the villagers who were dealing with the dead wolf and walked towards Winters and his companion.

“Is there anything special about it?” Winters asked the hunter.

"My lord, besides acidic water and a few squirrel remains, the wolf's stomach contained only grass roots," Ralph reported his findings. "Generally speaking, these wolves are still afraid of people; they probably only risked entering the village because they were starving."

Winters then asked the hunter, "The people of South New Village say the wolf ran west. Do you think we can catch it?"

“We can give chase. Although two of our companions have died, the wolf pack knows there’s food here, and they’ll probably come back if they get too hungry. But we’re late, so our chances of catching up with them are slim,” Ralph replied cautiously.

Winters nodded and instructed, "Go and gather Dusak. You lead the way, and we'll give it a try. The more we kill now, the less trouble we'll have later."

Ralph accepted the order and left to call Dussac, who was watching the commotion.

As the riders were regrouping, Sergei came over with two rolls of blood-stained material and excitedly showed them to Winters: "Sir! Look! I got the wolf pelts from the Protestant Church for you."

The hunter's skinning skills were superb; the wolf pelt was completely peeled off from claws to tail to head, with hardly any blood on it.

“What would I do with this?” Winters felt uneasy seeing the wolf skin that had been peeled off.

"You slaughtered the wolf, so the wolf pelt is definitely yours," the old man said matter-of-factly. "We can't let it go to a heretic. Tomorrow, we'll have Ralph tan it and sew some gloves and wristbands on it. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Girard chuckled and said, "Wolf skin is good; it's more breathable than cowhide or sheepskin."

"Yes! The best part of a wolf is its pelt, which is better than two layers of cowhide!" Old Sergei said with certainty.

The old man glanced at the lively scene of the villagers of Nanxin Village distributing meat and said disdainfully, "The heretics have no idea what good food is. What's so good about wolf meat? It's sour and smelly, I wouldn't eat it even if it were given to me for free."

"Alright. It's good enough to have meat to eat, what's there to complain about?" Girard jokingly tapped his old buddy lightly with his whip: "If it were thirty years earlier, you would be the one crowding at the front to grab the meat."

Sergei didn't continue the topic, but instead asked Winters excitedly, "Sir, I heard you almost scared the village chief of Nanxin Village so much that he wet his pants?"

Although the old man was furious at having made another wasted trip, he was clearly happier to see the Protestant village chief lose face.

Winters shook his head with a wry smile. He hadn't expected that a simple question would cause Chief Balby to lose his composure like this.

“Those who have apostates need to be given a nudge every now and then!” the old man said enthusiastically. “If you ask me, you’re just too kind to them; they’re not afraid of you at all…”

Winters felt increasingly uneasy as he listened, but since he didn't know what grudges and feuds existed between the villages in Wolf Town, he simply listened without saying a word.

"Alright!" Girard immediately interrupted, "You rascal, why do you keep your mouth shut as you get older?" Then, the riders from Dusa Village gathered together.

Led by hunter Ralph, more than twenty riders followed the wolf pack's tracks toward the woods west of South New Village.

……

……

Winters and Girard didn't return to Mitchell's house until sunset.

The two men led the riders from Dusa village in a chase for several hours, but to no avail.

Before the exhausted Lieutenant Montagne could catch his breath, an uninvited guest arrived at his door... or rather, the guest had been waiting at the Mitchell's house the whole time.

Looking at the other person's clothes and accessories, Winters tried hard to recall the face in front of him.

He asked uncertainly, "Uh, you are...you are the priest in the church who holds the cup, right?"

“That’s right, Your Excellency the garrison commander.” The young man before him answered with a smile, showing no anger. “I am Priest Carmen of this parish, the deputy of Brother Anthony.”

Two priests in a tiny church? Winters was quite surprised, but he simply asked indifferently, "What do you need me for?"

“Indeed, I have something I would like to ask for your help with.” The young priest’s smile contained a hint of embarrassment: “Excuse me, you haven’t hired a formal scribe yet, have you?”

Winters delegated all of the town magistrate's paperwork to Girard's scribe, Panvich.

Upon hearing the question, Winters was both surprised and amused: "No, but I wouldn't dare hire a proper priest to be my clerk. You... you wouldn't be here to apply for a job, would you?"

“Yes, I’m here to apply for a job.” Father Kaman’s smile grew increasingly awkward. “But not for myself, though, as a highly respected priest…”

"Wait a minute," Winters called out to Kaman, smiling as he asked, "You're not talking about that Anthony Sturgeon, are you? He's at least sixty, isn't he?"

Father Kaman quickly explained, "Of course not. Brother Anthony is the parish priest, so of course he wouldn't be a scribe. I was talking about another clergyman."

“Mr. Kaman.” Seeing that the other party seemed genuine, Winters' smile faded and he asked seriously, “You’re not joking with me, are you?”

"Of course not! Of course not, I'm here genuinely to help Brother Reed get a job!"

Winters was already tired, and now he was even more annoyed: "A full-fledged clergyman wants a scribe's position? Are you kidding me?"

“Absolutely not, please let me explain.” Father Kaman said sincerely, “Brother Red is a mendicant monk who travels around year-round, practicing asceticism and begging for alms. He only arrived in Wolf Town yesterday and plans to spend the winter here this year. That’s why I wanted to ask for a temporary place for him to stay.”

Mendicant monks emphasize abject poverty and purity. They do not sit in a temple but travel around preaching by begging for alms, and are a type of ascetic.

Winters was even more puzzled: "Does your church need a set of cutlery? Even a mendicant monk wouldn't need to be my scribe, would he?"

“Well, the Reid brothers’ theological views are rather…” Father Kaman’s face flushed red, and he stammered in an almost inaudible voice, “…somewhat unusual, which is why they had some disagreements with the Anthony brothers…”

The young priest asked with difficulty, "Your Excellency Montagne, I have no other choice but to ask for your help... You are not a Catholic, are you?"

Winters shook his head and replied with a cold laugh, "No."

"You're neither an Orthodox nor a Protestant, right?"

"neither."

"You are... a nonbeliever, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Having confirmed that the officer before him was not a believer, Father Kaman was not angry at all; on the contrary, his expression relaxed considerably: "That's why I've come to ask you for help, because in Wolf Town only you can tolerate the Red brothers' theological views."

Winters was astonished: "Are you going to send me another heretic?"

“Not exactly,” Father Kaman said with an awkward smile. “But since you are a nonbeliever, then the question of heresy doesn’t apply, does it?”

Trying to argue with a priest who had received seminary training was obviously asking for trouble. Winters was exhausted and just wanted to rest as soon as possible. He was too lazy to waste any more words with the charlatan in front of him.

He yawned and said helplessly, "Okay... could you bring the person to me first so I can meet them?"

“Great!” Father Kaman stood up happily. “Then it’s settled.”

After saying that, Kaman left without looking back, without even saying goodbye.

Winters tried to call out to the other person but failed. Lieutenant Montagne smiled wryly and muttered to himself, "How could this be settled so easily?"

……

The next day.

Langtun Town Government Office.

Girard and Winters were both dumbfounded.

“Mr. Kaman, are you sure you’re not joking with me?” Winters tried to control his emotions and asked in as calm a tone as possible, “This…this Brother Reid…is at least seventy years old, isn’t he?”

Gerard Mitchell couldn't help but nod in agreement.

Before the three, an old monk with a long, flowing beard stroked his beard and smiled without saying a word.

A character I really like has finally appeared—my "life mentor" has arrived! 23333
Thank you to all the readers who voted for the book before, and thank you to readers Tianjingtou and Baozitian for your votes. I am truly flattered.

Thank you to the following readers for their recommendation votes: writersblock, 1150110102920083, Tianjingtou, Your Life Has the Most, Justice and Purity Is a Koala, I Don't Know What's Your Name Is, 161120205936216, A Certain Uncle in His Ideal Thirties, Calm Gray, Shallow Fish Dragon, and Baozi Tian. Thank you all.



(End of this chapter)