Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 124 Beast Hunting Team

A heated debate is taking place at the Mitchell family's dining table.

To be precise, this was not a closely contested debate, but a one-sided defeat.

The old mendicant monk won a great victory, while Father Anthony was getting closer and closer to dying of anger.

Priest Anthony of Wolftown Church, his face flushed and his voice urgent, said: "...The essence of Catholicism is the worship of personality. The Lord was truly incarnated as a man, not as a Pharaoh, king, or emperor, but as a humble farmer from Galilee. This is an unprecedented concept, and it is this that has led more and more people to convert and accept the Gospel."

The old mendicant monk Reed scoffed and retorted, "Then go tell the believers that the Son of God was just a lowly farmer in Galilee and see if they are moved or if you are stoned to death. What does it matter if a god becomes a man? Ten thousand miles to the east of here, there are religions that can even become gods!"

"But doesn't our ability to replace the ancient cults prove the divine mandate of Catholicism?"

"The rise of Catholicism only proves one thing: it's easier to get things done when you have connections. The Western Church, supported by the Empire, eventually transformed from a church of the poor and oppressed into a church of the powerful. I'd like to ask you, in Saracen lands, another pagan religion has achieved the same status as Catholicism, while the Eastern Church there can only be second-class citizens. Do you also agree with the divine mandate of that pagan religion?"

Father Anthony gasped for breath and nearly fainted.

The old mendicant monk leisurely sipped his wine, and the smile on his face made Father Anthony suddenly want to punch him in the nose.

The two used archaic language, interspersed with many ancient words and phrases.

Aside from the two people arguing, the only people in the Mitchell household who could understand what was going on were Father Carman and Winters.

Pierre, the son of the Mitchells, went to see the young stable boy, Anglou. Only the Mitchells and their unmarried youngest daughter, Scarlett, were at the table.

Girard's youngest daughter was completely focused on the lieutenant, constantly glancing at him furtively. Girard, on the other hand, couldn't understand why the two priests were arguing, even though he couldn't comprehend what they were saying.

However, the Mitchell family should be thankful that they couldn't understand the two clergymen's "shocking" and heretical statements, which would be considered heresy by ordinary believers, so that they could continue to maintain their respect for the two priests.

Of the two who could understand, Father Kaman remained expressionless, while Winters seemed distracted.

The pursuit of the ferocious beast yielded no results; the bloodstains and scent vanished at a stream. The creature waded a distance, its tracks obscured by the current.

Winters led his men to search for several kilometers along the mountain stream, but even the best hunting dogs in Dusa Village couldn't sniff out where the thing had come ashore.

This primeval forest is so vast that throwing a hundred or so people into it is like pouring a cup of water into the desert. The search area is extremely limited, like looking for a needle in a haystack.

As the sun began to set, and humans found it difficult to move around at night while wild animals thrived, Winters, fearing that "human hunters" would become "beast hunters," had no choice but to order the militia to withdraw from the mountains.

What angered Winters even more than the failed hunt was the indifference of the two Protestant villages to the plague.

Before leading the Dussacs into the mountains, Winters sent riders to the other four villages to summon militia. The militia from the villages east and west of the river, led by their village chiefs, quickly arrived and joined the search operation.

Neither Nanxin nor Beixin villages sent any personnel throughout the entire process.

But when Winters questioned the two village chiefs, they both used the excuse that "they thought Dussac was playing a trick on us" and "it wouldn't matter whether we went or not."

More hateful than an enemy's attack is betrayal.

If the two Protestant village chiefs hadn't been non-soldiers, the enraged Lieutenant Montagne would have killed those two good-for-nothings on the spot.

If even an outsider is so indignant, one can only imagine how the Dussacs feel.

Sergei, the village elder of Dusa, almost drew his sword and killed the two Protestant village chiefs. The old man who was pulled back beat his chest and swore that even if all the apostates were dead, he would never lend them any help again.

In this small wolf town, the local customs and sentiments are so complex that they are as tangled as a knotted broth.

Winters had no intention of getting involved; he only hoped that the villages could work together to resolve the wolf problem as soon as possible. He knew he would have to return to Veneta sooner or later and didn't want to leave behind a mess.

But before they've even seen the ferocious beast, several villages are already on the verge of fighting each other.

Lieutenant Montagne even missed the tough battles he fought in Tanilia, where at least back then enemies were enemies and friends were friends, and there wasn't this kind of petty annoyance.

Winters had no appetite, and after thanking Mrs. Mitchell for her hospitality, he left the table.

A short while later, Father Kaman also got up to take his leave. After leaving the restaurant, he went straight to the back of the house.

There, Lieutenant Montagne was pacing back and forth, deep in thought.

Startled by Kaman's footsteps, Winters casually asked, "Your brother Reed certainly has the nerve to talk back, doesn't he? He's not afraid of being burned at the stake. Is that why you placed him with me?"

“Brother Reed was just deliberately provoking Father Anthony, playing a trick on him.” Father Carman made a gesture of respect and casually sat on a barrel. “It’s normal for theologians’ debates to sound like blasphemy to the faithful. The Catholic Church doesn’t have the custom of burning clergy. Besides, Brother Reed’s status is special, so he can speak freely.”

"What's so special about it?"

Father Kaman replied calmly, “The special thing is the ‘introducer.’ Twenty-nine years ago, the Saracens conquered Rhodes. Abbot Philip of the Knights of Rhodes Monastery was martyred and later canonized. The Reid brothers were originally Bodhi monks, but under the inspiration of Saint Philip, they converted to Catholicism and were personally consecrated by the saint to become clergy.”

"So even saints have nepotism."

"It is said that the reason for recognizing Brother Reed was to send him to the Far East to preach, but unexpectedly he stayed here and refused to leave, which greatly angered the previous pope." Kaman smiled and said, "Brother Reed has traveled the world and is very knowledgeable. He is very erudite in debates. Although his theological views are very dangerous, no one can refute him. Many famous debaters have been thoroughly defeated by him."

"Such a dangerous person, why doesn't your church put him under house arrest and instead lets him run around everywhere?"

"Who told him he was just a powerless mendicant monk? How many priests in the church can keep their vows of celibacy and poverty? Given the noble character of Brother Rhett, it would not be an exaggeration for him to be canonized after his death."

Winters shrugged: "Does that old man really have that kind of ability? I should ask him to go to South New Village and North New Village and see if he can handle the farmers there."

"Haha, if you send Brother Reed over there, it might relieve the bishops of a major worry."

"Heart disease?"

“A mental illness.” Father Kaman stretched and said lazily, “You can’t win the argument, and you can’t kill him. What else could it be but a mental illness?”

“Mr. Kaman, your followers would be heartbroken to see you like this.”

“But you don’t believe me.” Father Kaman yawned. “So there’s no need for us to have those ritualistic things between us, it’s meaningless.”

As he spoke, Father Kaman took a pipe filled with tobacco from his pocket and handed it to Winters.

Winters paused, then said, "I don't smoke."

“I’m not offering you a cigarette,” Kaman said with a smile. “I’m asking you to light it for me.”

"What do you mean?" Winters became wary.

"Stop pretending, Lieutenant Montagne," Kaman asked with a smile. "You're a magician, aren't you?"

Winters snorted coldly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Father Carmen continued, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings: “In the South, there are only two kinds of people who aren’t believers: magicians and devil worshippers. Are you a devil worshipper, Lieutenant Montagne?” Winters ignored him.

“Since he’s not a devil worshipper, he can only be a magician.” Father Kaman shook his pipe. “Lieutenant, I mean you no harm.”

Winters took the pipe and silently lit the tobacco with a fire spell.

Magic and evil wizards are often confused in the public eye, so Winters never revealed his identity as a spellcaster after arriving in Wolf Town. This was also the first time he had shown his magical abilities in front of others.

“Those who say they have no ill intentions are often the ones with the greatest malice.” Winters handed the pipe back.

Father Kaman took the pipe, but only held it in his hand without eating it: "I was just curious."

"What are you curious about?"

“I understand your concerns,” Father Kaman sighed and said earnestly, “but rest assured, as long as you do not harm the parishioners, I will not reveal your identity as a magician, nor will I use it to do anything detrimental to you.”

Winters sneered, "It seems that spellcasters are no different from devil cultists in your eyes."

Father Kaman laughed and retorted, "Aren't priests the same in your eyes?"

Winters suddenly looked into the distance, where he faintly heard the clatter of hooves. The sound grew closer and clearer until Father Carman could hear it clearly too. Indeed, a rider was galloping towards Mitchell's house.

Winters and Kaman exchanged a glance and immediately headed for the front door.

The rider brought another piece of bad news: the beast had reappeared.

Upon receiving the news, Winters and Girard immediately led out their warhorses, fully armed, and headed to the scene.

It was already late, and there was no time to gather the militia, but Father Kaman volunteered to go along.

……

This time, the ferocious beast did not wreak havoc in the five villages under the jurisdiction of Wolf Town, but in the forest farm.

A lumberjack went out of his shack to urinate, but encountered a ferocious beast. Other lumberjacks heard the cries for help coming from outside and rescued the unfortunate lumberjack by striking metal objects.

When Winters and his team arrived at the forest farm, they found a mangled, barely alive man lying on a plank bed. The man's left ankle and below were gone, leaving only a gruesome, bloody gash.

An elderly worker with some medical knowledge tried to stop the bleeding by using a rope to strangle the injured man's calf, but dark red liquid continued to seep from the wound, and the sheets at the injured man's feet were soaked with blood.

For this poor lumberjack, death was only a matter of time, and Father Kaman was already giving his final prayers.

"Did he see what it was?" Winters asked the foreman. "Did you see what it was?"

"It's a bear!" The foreman's body was still trembling uncontrollably: "A bear the size of a house!"

……

The unfortunate lumberjack died in the night.

The foreman assigned two workers to dig a shallow pit to bury the body, while the others divided up the deceased's broken belongings, and that was considered the funeral completed. The whole process was shockingly haphazard.

When Winters first learned that there was a forest farm in Wolf Town, he thought it was one of those small lumber mills with a dozen or so employees.

Upon arriving at the forest farm, Winters discovered that it was a large logging team of over a hundred people, almost the size of a small village.

The logging team's camp was deep in the forest, far from any human habitation, practically a sitting duck for wild beasts. The foreman, having heard of the wolf infestation, had already fled back to the county seat, leaving only a few foremen to maintain order.

Moreover, the living conditions of the loggers were unimaginably crowded and harsh; Winters had no idea where the foreman had hired workers willing to work in such a place.

“I suspect that bear will come back,” Winters said to Girard. “These lumberjacks are all able-bodied young men; could we incorporate them into the militia?”

“I’m afraid that won’t work. They’re not residents of Wolf Town; they’re just hired to cut down trees,” Girard said with a wry smile. “They’ll leave after they’ve cut down these few hundred acres of forest. The wolf plague has nothing to do with them, and we have no jurisdiction over them. If we make them into militia, the businessmen who bought the logging rights won’t agree, and even they themselves won’t agree.”

"Didn't I buy the logging rights from you?"

"No, it was bought from the county. This forest, this land, this river all belong to the county."

"I'll give it a try and see if I can convince them."

Negotiations with the logging team were a complete failure, and Girard was right. The foremen claimed they were not in charge and dared not make decisions, and no loggers responded to the suggestion of joining the bear-hunting team.

A foreman privately approached Winters and explained, “Sir, these workers already live a very hard life. Most of them are Protestants and they often face disdain from the villagers. A small number of Catholics go to town to worship on weekends, but the Dussians also cause them trouble. It’s impossible for them to risk their lives to hunt bears for the people of Wolf Town.”

“Those villages are all outside the forest, while your logging team is inside. Wouldn’t that bear come looking for you first when it’s hungry?” Winters said, somewhat displeased.

"I understand this principle, but the workers don't!" the foreman said helplessly. "In their eyes, there are more than a hundred people here, so it's safer than the villages outside."

The idea of ​​recruiting lumberjacks into the bear-hunting team failed, but at least Winters now knew that the beast was a bear, a very large bear.

Upon returning to town from the logging camp, Lieutenant Montagne immediately assembled a bear-hunting team and sent men to Blackwater to borrow more heavy muskets and hunting dogs.

The main members of the bear-hunting team were all Dusaks from Dusa Village. The people of Dusa had warhorses, weapons, and a deep-seated grudge against the bear. Neither South New Village nor North New Village sent a single person to join the bear-hunting team.

In response, the bear-hunting team from Dusa Village resolutely refused to patrol or search the forests near the Protestant village.

Lieutenant Montagne was helpless in this regard. The militiamen were not soldiers, and he had no authority to dispose of them. He was able to command them based on trust and respect.

Winters could only instruct the hunters to patrol the woodlands near the South and North New Villages as much as possible.

For the next three days, Winters led his bear-hunting team to search almost the entire forest near Wolf Town, but to no avail.

The giant bear was not found, but the old mendicant monk came knocking on their door on the third night.

"Speak quickly if you have something to say." Winters was tired and exhausted after a day exploring the deep mountains and forests, and didn't want to waste any more words with this old charlatan: "Otherwise, I need to rest."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, I'm here to help you." The old man said with a smile, "I've been observing you for a few days. In terms of fighting, ten of me combined can't match you. But there's one thing where a hundred of you combined can't compare to me."

"What is it?" Winters asked with a sneer as he took off his boots.

The mendicant pulled Winters' chair over, straightened his robes, sat up straight, and solemnly uttered a single word:

"politics."

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(End of this chapter)