Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 195 White Lion
Autumn of Imperial Year 540.

[Note: Winters was two years old, 18 years ago]
The vast wilderness, the Black Sheep tribe's pasture, an unnamed river valley.

Paratul's 1st Hussars Regiment is "recruiting".

Two sentries escorted a disheveled, half-grown boy to Lieutenant Colonel Alpad.

The boy's arms were twisted behind his back, and he was still struggling and yelling. Two adults could barely hold him down.

Arpad, annoyed, gave Lieutenant Haugwitz a look.

The lieutenant walked over and punched the boy hard in the stomach.

The latter was in so much pain that he curled up like a shrimp, finally giving the others some peace and quiet.

"What's going on?" Lieutenant Colonel Alpard asked.

“This kid has been acting suspiciously outside,” the sentry replied. “When he saw us, he called out ‘[Alpad]’ and said nothing else that we could understand, so we brought him to see you.”

“He called you Arpad, so you bring him to see me.” Lieutenant Colonel Arpad reprimanded him angrily, “He called you by your father’s name, and you still want to bring him to see your father?”

The sentry dared not speak.

"Bring the interpreter here!"

A moment later, the interpreter rushed over in a panic.

“Ask him,” Arpad ordered impatiently. “Which department is he from? What are he doing sneakily? How did he find out about me? Get the details!”

The interpreter bent down to communicate with the boy.
After a few words, the interpreter reported helplessly, "Sir, this boy is just repeating the same phrase over and over again."

"what?"

“He said that if you give him his mother, sister and brother, he would give his life for you and become your ‘hahe’.”

"Mother? Sister? What are you talking about?" Arpad was baffled. "And what does 'Hahar' mean?"

The translator racked his brains for a long time but couldn't find a suitable adjective: "It's probably like being a soldier, but more loyal than a soldier... much more loyal."

Arpad raised an eyebrow: "Which department is he from?"

He wouldn't say.

"Tell him or die. Tell him."

The interpreter leaned down and asked the boy, who replied, "Wenduoer means hill or mountain range. He said he is from Wenduoer."

“Wendor tribe? Wasn’t the Wendoer tribe already wiped out?” Alpad remembered something.

The interpreter listened to a sentence and translated it one by one: "He said that the Wenduoer tribe was wiped out like dust, his father died, and his mother, heavily pregnant, took him and his sister to pick fruit to eat by the Oran River, where she later gave birth to his younger brother..."

"Stop! What nonsense are you spouting! I didn't even ask him about his family tree!" Arpad, his temper flaring, roared, "Get to the point!"

The translator scratched his head and asked the boy a few more questions. The boy replied, "He said his family was robbed by the [Jarchiud] tribe, and his mother, sister, and brother were all taken away by the Jarchiud people. Hearing that you are going to attack the Jarchiud tribe, he came to seek refuge with you."

Arpad's expression was somewhat strange: "Trying to join me? I led the troops to pacify the Wenduo tribe, doesn't he know that? Doesn't he care?"

The translator paraphrased: "He said he only cares about his family."

Arpad burst into laughter, looking at the young boy and saying, "Wanting to risk your life to save your family... at least you have some backbone. Ask him if he has a warhorse."

“Yes, he was riding an old horse,” the sentry answered quickly. “Yellowish, very old.”

Arpad clapped his hands: "A horse is fine. We need men anyway, one more won't make a difference. Give him a knife and take him with you."

Lieutenant Haugwitz answered yes.

"Let him go!"

The sentry released his grip, and the boy regained his freedom.

He didn't run; he just stood there, his body tense, his brown eyes warily scanning his surroundings.

Arpad walked over and asked, "Hey kid, how old are you?"

The interpreter acts as a messenger: "Seventeen."

"Seventeen? Time to take up arms." Before leaving, Arpad casually asked, "What's your name?"

"Yasin." The interpreter replied, "White Lion."

……

Spring of Imperial Year 542.

[Note: One and a half years later]
In the pitch-black night, a warhorse carrying two people galloped eastward for their lives.

The sounds of pursuing horses' hooves and shouts of battle could be faintly heard, and flickering flames could be seen not far behind.

One side underestimated the enemy and acted rashly, while the other side was well prepared.

This outcome was not surprising.

"I haven't lost yet! I haven't lost yet! I'll regroup my defeated troops!" Arpad, sprawled on his horse, roared furiously, "Put me down! Yassin! Let me go!"

“No!” the brown-eyed rider replied in broken Common.

Arpad's left calf was in an unnatural twist, clearly broken, and hastily held in place by a few sticks and hemp rope.

His shirt was soaked in blood, and scabs stuck the cuts on his shoulder and back to his clothes.

Arpard himself was tied to a horse and looked utterly disheveled.

He screamed hysterically, "I'd rather die than suffer this humiliation!"

"No!" The brown-eyed rider whipped his horse even harder.

The warhorse was foaming at the mouth, its nostrils were emitting hot breaths, and its belly was almost touching the tips of the grass.

"You barbarian, you bastard! You scoundrel! Yes! I know! You're going to betray me! You're going to take me to your master to claim your reward! I'll kill you! Ah!!!"

Alpard was met with silence.

After running for an unknown distance, the warhorse suddenly stopped, its hind legs buckling as it collapsed to the ground.

The two men on horseback tumbled off the horse's head like sacks full of grain.

The brown-eyed rider quickly got up, hoisted Alpad onto his back, and continued eastward.

Alpad, who had lost too much blood, was already delirious. He murmured, "Give me a knife. I don't want to be a prisoner. I have no face to live..."

The moment he accepted the fact that he had lost the battle, he stopped denying reality and stopped being angry; all that remained was shame and despair.

"You can't carry me, Yassin. Go and save your own life."

With his last breath, Alpad said those words and then fell into a coma.

The brown-eyed Had man took a difficult step forward and said, word by word, "I am your Hah."

……

Summer of Imperial Year 548.

[Note: Ten years ago]
At Palatine Army Headquarters in Fortress of Kings, a dozen or so people sat in a small conference room. Brigadier General Alpad was among them.

“This is the Sulede tribe.” Arpad drew a circle on the map. “The Sulede tribe’s territory is very close to the buffer zone. A year ago, they defeated the Wagan tribe and began to expand rapidly. Now, everything from the Oran River to the Kurgan River belongs to them.”

Arpad concluded: "The Sulediebu region is dangerous, and it is becoming more dangerous."

General János took the file and flipped through it: "What do you mean?"

"The chief of the Yangwei tribe is old and senile, posing little threat. The leader of the Suledie tribe is the opposite; he is very popular, and many small tribes have even joined him en masse." Alpad explained his plan: "I suggest that we still make the appearance of attacking the Yangwei tribe, while the legion bypasses the Wolan River to attack the Suledie tribe."

“An old wolf and a cub.” General János put down the dossier and said with a smile, “Then we’ll deal with the cub first, then the old wolf.”

Brigadier General Seckler took the file and casually asked, "Sultan, what does that mean?"

“A red river.” Alpard said expressionlessly, “The leader’s name is White Lion.”

A month later, Plato's army swept across the wasteland, and the White Lion barely escaped with his life.

……

Let's return to the present: February, 559th year of the Imperial Calendar.

The Hart “alliance” did not unite; each part set up its own camp, which were several kilometers apart.

On the one hand, horses need space to forage; on the other hand, the tribes are also wary of each other.

On the north side of the Chihe tribe's camp, a dozen riders were galloping towards them, leaving a trail of brown dust in their wake.

The guard on the watchtower squinted as he carefully examined the area, then suddenly shouted excitedly, "The white lion is back! And there are cubs too!"

The people of the Red River tribe cheered with joy.

The guards moved the deer barricades aside, and the riders galloped into the camp, stopping only when they reached the main tent.

Each horse's flanks were drenched in sweat, as if they had been washed with water.

The little lion watched as his elder brother nimbly leaped off the saddle and headed straight for the main tent.

He hurriedly dismounted and followed closely behind his brother.

The guards stayed outside the tent, and only the two brothers entered the tent.

As soon as it was out of sight of its people, the white lion, whose steps were firm and powerful, suddenly lost its footing and fell straight to the ground.

"Brother!" the little lion called softly and pounced forward.

He helped his weak brother up and laid the white lion flat on the blanket.

"White Lion, what about Gray Eyes?" The curtain was lifted again, and the old chieftain of the Eagle Forest tribe, [Tie Feng], entered the tent.

[Note: "Tiefeng" was formerly translated as "Tieduo". The Hebrew pronunciation is "qitiya", meaning "lots and lots of iron," with both "ch" and "ya" indicating plural.]
Upon learning that Bai Shi had returned to camp, Tie Feng rushed to the main tent immediately.

He originally wanted to ask about the situation, but as soon as he entered the tent, he saw his nephew lying on the ground. Tie Feng quickly turned around and lowered the tent curtain.

The little lion frantically removed his brother's armor and robes so that the white lion could breathe more easily.

Tie Feng paced anxiously, pounding his thigh and blaming the little lion: "You two brothers! The Great Shaman said he could heal the bleeding wounds, but your brother will have to stay in bed for ten days. What are we going to do now? What are we going to do?"

The little lion remained silent, tears welling up in its eyes.

The little lion heard his older brother say weakly, "I'm fine, help me up."

Tie Feng helped, and the old man and the young boy carried the white lion to the bed.

The white lion had two light red marks on its left abdomen, which looked like birthmarks or newly grown, tender flesh that had just scabbed off.

The two "birthmarks" look insignificant at all, because the white lion's body is covered with scars that are a hundred times more terrible than them.

The audacious Paratus disguised themselves as Heds and pushed a cannon within a hundred meters of the White Lion.

At the critical moment, the owl risked its life to block most of the shot, but two lead bullets still hit the white lion.

If it weren't for the all-out assistance of the shamans from various tribes, the white lion would have perished long ago.

The little lion felt something touch his shoulder—it was his older brother's hand.

He looked up and saw his brother manage a forced smile.

"It's alright," the white lion said.

The little lion nodded and wiped away his tears.

The white lion struggled to sit up straight and slowly fastened its belt.

"What do you mean by 'gray eyes'?" Tie Feng asked anxiously. "What do the tribal leaders say?"

"The Paratites want to negotiate peace."

Tie Feng was taken aback: "What? The two-legged people want to negotiate peace? Could the Eastern Haidong and Suz tribes have been tricked?"

The white lion shook its head.

The peace agreement would mean a one-year truce, a fact the Hurd people were well aware of.

Seeing that the white lion was having difficulty speaking, the little lion spoke up: "My brother has brought back the families of the tribe."

Tie Feng slapped his thigh: "Good! The fact that we were able to get it back shows that the various tribes still regard us as a banner."

The wind swept through the tent, making a whistling sound.

The little lion sat on the tatami mat, indignantly saying, "The glutton's greed is greater than his appetite. When he heard that Gray Eyes and my brother didn't choose the war leader, he was like a vulture that had smelled the scent! Aren't we the ones who deserve the most credit?"

"The tribes have nominated a strong eater to be their war leader?" Tie Feng glared at the White Lion. "You didn't object? If he becomes the war leader, he'll practically be sitting on the Khan's throne!"

"They're tearing each other apart over who gets to eat the prey before they've even caught it. There's no such stupid dog in the world," the white lion said slowly. "If they're arguing over the spoils before the battle is even won, then it's better not to fight at all. Let's defeat the Parat people first, and everything else will be easier to resolve."

Tie Feng sighed: "We suffered too many losses, as did the Teldun tribe. Now, only if our two sides join forces can we be qualified to share the spoils. I'm just afraid that the Fire-Burning People won't be of one mind with us."

"Those who warm themselves by the fire may be irritable, but they are not stupid."

"What did the healthy eaters say?"

"He wants to fight."

Note: Hart's society was still in the clan and tribal stage, and the standard of living was very difficult, leaving no room for wordplay.

Therefore, Hed people tend to speak quite directly, rarely beating around the bush. However, they use a lot of metaphors, often comparing things to things common in daily life.

Moreover, the Heds prefer a contest of fist size to words. If the White Lion were to beg humbly, he would be looked down upon.

This setting is inspired by "The Secret History of the Mongols," for example, in the scene where Temujin discusses his successor, and his sons spit at each other:

Genghis Khan: "I haven't even faced death yet, and I've already forgotten about dying of old age. Of my sons, Jochi, you are the eldest. What do you say? Speak."

Before Jochi could speak, Cha'adai said, "Does Father Khan want Jochi to speak because he intends to pass the throne to him? How can we allow this bastard Merkit to rule us?"

As Cha'adai was speaking, Zhuochi stood up and grabbed Cha'adai by the collar, saying, "I have never heard Father Khan say anything special about me. How can you treat me like an outsider? What skill do you have that surpasses mine? You are just short-tempered. I will compete with you in long-range archery. If I lose to you, I will cut off my thumb and throw it away! I will compete with you in wrestling. If I lose to you, I will lie on the ground and never get up! I am willing to listen to Father Khan's judgment."

First, Chagatai made it clear that his elder brother might not be his father's son; second, the two directly pulled at each other's clothes; third, their competition for the Khan's throne, including wrestling and archery, was quite interesting.
In short, it is very straightforward and frank, without much beating around the bush.

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(End of this chapter)