abnabooks Chapter 42: Letters
Chapter 42: Letters
When the rain of arrows stopped, the tent was riddled with holes.
Ron lowered his hand, and the crossbowmen all snapped their bows shut.
No one rushed out of the four tents; they were either dead or lying on the ground, too afraid to move.
The campfire in the center of the camp was scattered by the rain of arrows, and sparks splashed onto the tent fabric, burning several small holes with charred edges, but it did not catch fire.
A night wind blew across the wasteland, and the flame flickered twice before going out.
"Green Squad, move out!"
Thun was the first to rush out of the bushes.
The camouflage on his face hadn't been wiped off yet, and his grayish-green skin gleamed coldly in the moonlight. He gripped his short knife in a reverse grip, and his steps were quick and light. Behind him, thirty Grimm scouts spread out in a fan shape, silently encircling the entire camp.
Doron led his scout team up from the other side, holding their bone bows horizontally with arrows aimed at each of the still-shaking tents.
The scout squads were all composed of knights, whose archery skills far surpassed those of the crossbowmen. While hitting a target from a hundred paces might be an exaggeration, within thirty paces, they could almost certainly shoot wherever they pointed.
Fanta's guards blocked the river mouth, sealing off the entire escape route.
Hilden stood next to Fenda, glanced at the distribution of corpses in the camp, and muttered, "The arrow rain was very evenly distributed; the crossbowmen trained by the lord are indeed different."
Fanta didn't reply; he was counting the corpses.
After counting, he frowned slightly, then strode towards the camp.
When Ron came down the hillside, the camp had been turned upside down.
All four tents were overturned, and Devon's men were dragged out and lined up.
Thun's Grimm squad is finishing off the corpses one by one with swift movements.
Duolong and Mad each led a team to inventory the supplies. There were three piles of things on the side of the camp: weapons, food, and miscellaneous items.
The captured standard weapons and short spears filled two carts, enough to equip two more militia squads.
After counting, Fanta frowned. There were only six corpses, plus the twenty-one prisoners they had captured, making a total of twenty-seven people.
The message said there were thirty people in the valley, but three were missing.
He made no sound and strode toward the camp.
"My lord," Fanta greeted him, his face grim. "We captured twenty-one prisoners, and six died. But Devon was not among them."
Ron kept walking: "They ran away?"
"He must have sneaked out from behind the tent during a lull in the arrow rain." Fanta pointed to a dry ditch behind the camp, with a fresh bloody handprint still visible on the ditch wall. Devon's men had shielded him from the arrows, and he himself was seriously injured.
Ron crouched down to look at the bloody handprint, then stood up and dusted off his hands.
"Chase him. Don't chase him too far, ten miles. If you can't catch him, come back. It's getting dark, and he's injured, so he can't go far."
Fanta nodded and, with a few lightly armed guards, chased after them along the gully.
The prisoners were led to one side and made to kneel in a row.
Their equipment was quite good: leather armor, standard short spears, and several well-preserved scimitars characteristic of the wilderness. Judging from their equipment, they did not seem like ordinary foot soldiers of a pioneering territory.
But their discipline wasn't great; they threw down their weapons as soon as they were surrounded.
The leader was a burly man with a thick beard, whose arm bandages were still bleeding.
He knelt on the ground, glanced at Ron's boots, then looked up, his eyes showing little fear, but rather resentment.
Ron knelt down in front of him. "Whose men are you? Who sent you?"
The burly man's Adam's apple bobbed, but he didn't answer.
His silence wasn't out of loyalty, but rather to assess whether the young man before him was worthy of his attention.
As the burly man was being led away, he glanced back at Ron.
That glance contained scrutiny, hesitation, and a hint of something indescribable... apprehension.
Ron didn't look at him.
But old Hall noticed that look.
"Young Master, that person is not simple."
"I know," Ron said, handing the oil lamp to the person next to him. "But he'll speak up. If not today, then tomorrow."
Thun's dagger was still dripping blood as he silently took half a step forward.
Ron nodded and stood up to look at the others in the group of prisoners.
The person kneeling on the side of the second row was a tall, thin man with an arrow in his thigh, pressing the wound with torn tent fabric.
He was younger than the burly man, and fear was still written all over his face; he dared not look Ron in the eye.
Ron stopped in front of him, looked down at the arrow wound on his leg, then squatted down and placed the oil lamp on the stone next to him.
"Your wound is still bleeding. I have herbs and people who can heal. But first you have to tell me, how long have you been hiding here? What do you want?"
The tall, thin man glanced at the burly man's back, his lips trembling.
Ron didn't rush him, but simply turned up the flame of the oil lamp a little.
The firelight reflected on their faces. The tall, thin man swallowed hard and said in a low voice, "It's been two weeks. We came after Ashwood Territory was established. When we first arrived, there were only a few of us. Later, Young Master Devon brought two hundred men, who were stationed here in several batches. They left again last month, leaving us here to keep an eye on you."
"What did you find out?"
"You're building every day." The tall, thin man's voice trailed off. "The city walls, the houses... Young Master Devon said we can't wait any longer, or we really won't be able to take them."
Ron stood up and took something out of his pocket.
A small piece of iron, with a blurry mark pressed on the front: a hand holding a sword, with a horizontal crack running across the wrist.
This was found among the captured supplies; it's the coat of arms of the Angus tribe.
He waved the sheet of metal in front of the tall, thin man: "Have you ever seen this before?"
The tall, thin man's expression changed. He glanced at the burly man's back, then at the row of prisoners on the ground, and lowered his head, his voice barely audible: "The people from the Angus territory came to see Young Master Devon last month. They talked all day, and Young Master Devon was very happy after they left."
Ron put the metal piece back into his pocket and didn't ask any more questions.
On top of the pile of captured supplies was a bundle of parchment. The rope binding the parchment had been untied, and Ron pulled it out and glanced at it by the light of the oil lamp.
The letter was brief: Angus Territory agreed to cooperate with De Gea Territory, with Angus Territory responsible for containing Ashwood Territory's western flank. Devon De Gea promised to cede the valley and surrounding area to Angus Territory as a hunting ground upon success.
The letter was stamped with two seals: one was the broken-wrist sword of the Angus territory, and the other was a German personal seal.
It wasn't Lord Ramon's seal, but Devon's personal seal.
This was a private transaction between Devon and the Angus territory, without the involvement of Lord De Gea himself.
Ron folded the parchment and put it in his pocket; he would need it when dealing with the De Gea territory later.
This victory was an unexpected bonus.
It seems that Devon is well aware that five thousand goblins cannot break through the territory, and he plans to wait until the goblins have exhausted the territory's strength before joining forces with the Angus army to launch a final attack.
"He's got a good plan."
Just then, a commotion arose at the rear of the camp.
Leonardo da Vinci ran over from the direction of the gully, carrying a bloodstained cloth bag. He knelt down on one knee in front of Ron: "My lord, I've found this."
The cloth bag was opened, revealing a dagger, a roll of parchment, and a small bag of gold coins.
The hilt of the dagger is engraved with the wheat ear pattern of the De Gea territory; it is Devon's personal weapon.
The parchment was a secret letter. The handwriting on the letter was messy but the wording was formal. The gist of it was that German had reached an agreement with the Angus territory, and the Angus territory agreed to send troops to contain the western side of Ashwood territory when the goblin army marched south.
The letter was unsigned, but the handwriting matched the German seal.
Ron read the letter once, then folded it and put it in his pocket.
With the reply from the Angus territory that he had just received, he now held a complete chain of evidence proving Devon's collusion with the Angus territory. He glanced at the row of prisoners on the ground, then turned to old Hall.
"Keep Devon's personal weapon and these two letters safe. When De Gea brings people to ask about the valley, show them these. No, perhaps that young master Novia will be very interested."
The fact that Devon joined forces with other lords without informing his father, who was also a lord, suggests that Devon might later join forces with other territories to force the emperor to abdicate.
I believe Novia will make good use of this opportunity.