Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 961 - 38: The Hunt (9)

Chapter 961 -38: The Hunt (9)

[Outside the Hunting Circle]

“What is he shouting?” Pierre’s brow furrowed tightly.

“I don’t know.”

Just beyond the felt tent walls, the identity of the shouting Hurd horseman remained unknown.

However, no matter how important the message he wanted to convey was, Pierre and the others could not understand it.

Without waiting for the Translator to arrive, an enraged old Sergei snatched a matchlock gun from someone else and fired at the clamorous Hurd horseman without hesitation.

The lead bullet whizzed past the Hurd horseman, who paused for a moment, then turned and left.

Pierre clenched his fists suddenly and immediately looked towards the source of the gunshot. But when he saw who had fired, he still forcibly suppressed his anger and refrained from lashing out at old Sergei.

“Devil! Heretic! Die!” Old Sergei could not contain his anger: “They all deserve to die!”

A cool voice from Colonel Moritz rose: “Mr. Morozov.”

Old Sergei fell silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth in response: “Yes!”

“Please tell me about young Mr. Morozov’s condition.”

“Busted open!” Old Sergei snorted heavily: “But not dead.”

“Go look after young Mr. Morov.” Colonel Moritz ordered calmly: “You are not needed here anymore.”

Old Sergei stood still like a puppet for a while, then slowly saluted and walked stiffly toward the inner circle of the hunting formation.

Pierre now had no time to console Uncle Morozov. He had more important responsibilities.

According to Pierre’s estimation, his position was about five kilometers away from Qingqiu.

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Five kilometers, even a fast horse would take about ten minutes to cover that distance.

If the hunting ground was roughly circular in shape, then its circumference would be over thirty kilometers.

Thirty kilometers, it would take at least an hour to ride around once.

From a formal point of view, the Red River Tribe’s “Grand Hunt” was nothing more than simply making a crude circle on the ground, with hunters from various tribes sitting around in rings, shooting game as spectators.

But when the “circle” drawn by the Red River Tribe was so large it could contain an entire city, the situation became complicated.

Hundreds of tribes and tens of thousands of hunters dispersed around the giant ring. Aside from the Red River Tribe occupying the central highland, Qingqiu, the other tribes could not oversee the whole area, and it was also difficult to coordinate communication with each other.

Such a setup undoubtedly provided an opportunity for those with ulterior motives to fish in troubled waters.

“I can see it.” Pierre thought to himself: “Can the Barbarian Chief not see it?”

On one hand, Pierre believed that with the Barbarian Chief’s cunning, there must have been preparations made in advance. Paratu’s Expeditionary Force’s stumble with the Red River Tribe was something he had never forgotten;

On the other hand, not knowing where Blood Wolf was, what the Red River Tribe was up to, or what the smoke signals represented beyond the horizon…

Surrounded by the Barbarian tribes, bearing the life and death of friends and family, one wrong step would not only lead to Hell but wouldn’t be enough to atone for the sins—Pierre truly felt the pressure of Winters Montagne for the first time.

He strenuously reminded himself to stay calm, to keep thinking, but the shirt on his back was still uncontrollably drenched in sweat.

Moritz glanced at Pierre and, with his usual nonchalant tone, said: “You are doing quite well.”

Pierre nodded expressionlessly, but deep down he was grateful. He appreciated having someone reliable by his side in this moment.

The sandstorm grew, and the airflow raised a layer of fine red dust that covered everyone’s clothing. Pierre remembered it being clear at sunrise, but now the sandstorm had intensified beyond the dust raised by a galloping horde of horses.

“Keep waiting?” Pierre asked.

“Wait a bit longer.” Moritz replied, looking up and sniffing the air.

As the dust filled the air, others covered their faces with scarves, but Colonel Moritz acted out of the ordinary.

“What are you smelling?” Pierre asked.

Colonel Moritz calmly wrapped his cloak around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. His gaze was almost smiling: “An abnormal scent.”

The visibility was gradually reduced by the sandstorm, and soon even Qingqiu was no longer visible.

Pierre climbed up a wooden post to look out. He saw the nearest malevolent Earth Tribe hunters all carrying bows and knives, leading horses on foot, seemingly trying to escape.

The hunters of the malevolent Earth Tribe struggled valiantly against the frenzied warhorses. Some horses broke their reins and galloped into the blinding red sand. The hunters chased breathlessly, disappearing from sight in the blink of an eye.

A nearby group of Hurd hunters, though fewer in number than the malevolent Earth Tribe, had also dismounted and armed with bows. However, they simply stood their ground on alert, evidently undecided about whether to stay or go.

Unease also spread within the Expeditionary Force. Someone approached Pierre and suggested in a low voice, “We’ve got the carriage fortification at the camp, much safer than here. Should we return to the camp soon? If something happens to the camp, we are all…”

Pierre interrupted the other person and answered loudly enough for everyone to hear: “Without horses, against the sandstorm, we can’t go anywhere! Acting rashly now is asking for death. Unless we can ride or the sandstorm stops, don’t even think about heading back to the camp.”

“But the camp now has only Father Kaman and a few people like Berlion,” the proposer raised his voice further: “If we don’t go back, they won’t be able to hold it!”

“No worries,” Colonel Moritz ended the argument lightly: “Leave it to Father Kaman.”

The proposer was not convinced, but he did not dare to contradict Colonel Moritz, and could only walk away angrily, saluting and returning to his shooting position.

“The camp?” Pierre watched as the person departed.