Chapter 823: Dark Clouds over Hermes
Light snow, but clear enough. That passed for a fair day in the Northern Region.
Nail worked the oil stick along the gun barrel, turning it slowly, not thinking about much. Occasionally he lifted the telescope and swept the Impassable Mountain Range — a habit that had softened since the autumn. Two or three times a day now, where once he’d checked every hour. The rest of his time went to maintenance and conversation.
Weapon maintenance required care and patience. Every half month or so, each soldier received a thumb-length oil stick wrapped in stiff paper — pressed from the waste fats of the soap factory, so he’d been told. You heated it, rubbed it onto a double-ended brush, worked it through the barrel and cartridge chamber. Every squad used to share one set of cleaning tools. Now, with the workshops multiplying in Neverwinter, brushes came standard with each rifle.
When there was no fire to heat the stick, body warmth or breath worked well enough. The First Army regulations prohibited eating the waste oil, but Nail had seen men rub a smear of it onto their dried rations anyway, for something like flavor. As squad leader, he had learned when to look elsewhere.
The men in his unit were mostly veterans. Some older than him by twenty years. Without the primary education classes, he would never have been chosen for squad leader at all — and with some of the older soldiers, the best he could do was return their nods.
He reassembled the rifle piece by piece until it caught the pale winter light. He pressed the trigger several times on the empty chamber and then raised the telescope again toward the north.
He still couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her. The woman in the red cope, there in this same blockhouse, in the autumn fighting. He knew she had been an enemy. He knew she had been a Pure Witch of the Church. But watching her die in the gunfire — her struggle, the way she fell — had left something in him that he couldn’t shift. Only Iron Axe’s orders and his loyalty to His Majesty had kept him at his post. He’d applied since to leave the machine gun team and become an observer instead — a spotter, someone who protected the gunners rather than fired. He knew it was a kind of self-deception. He had no other answer.
The battlefield had healed over. The barbed wire was long gone, leaving a dozen crooked stakes tilted in the snow. The trenches had filled. If not for the blockhouses, nothing would mark this field as different from any other stretch of white wilderness. Somewhere out there, beneath a few hundred meters of drifted snow, lay more than two thousand dead.
“Chief.” A young soldier, barely older than Nail himself, appeared at the stairwell. “We’re nearly out of firewood. I could pull up some of those old stakes—”
“It’s duty time.” Nail shook his head. “Someone would see.”
“They won’t say anything.” A veteran near the stove stretched his legs. “It’s bitterly cold and nothing has come down that mountain in months. The church tucked their tails after Coldwind Ridge. Think they’re coming today?”
The room murmured agreement.
Nail knew the man wasn’t wrong. Iron Axe had kept five hundred soldiers at the foot of Coldwind Ridge to guard against the church’s last effort or a demon-beast incursion. Nothing had come. Eventually command had pulled two hundred away and reorganized the rest into rotating patrol teams — cycle the blockhouses, watch the northwest, report anything unusual.
“Fine.” He looked at the young soldier. “Take a few of them with you. Alone you’ll take all afternoon.”
The soldier whistled. “Yes, Head!”
Nail turned back to the telescope. White field, white distance. Nothing.
He was reaching for the pistol when the dark spots caught his eye.
He stopped. He wiped the lens against his wool collar and looked again. More spots. Moving. He held his breath and watched until they resolved into something he could name — a group of figures, moving slowly through the snow, coming out of the northwest.
“Wait!” he shouted.
The men on the stairs froze. Those at the stove scrambled up. “What is it?”
“Blow the alarm — someone is approaching the front!”
The horn’s long note rolled across the camp, and the whole compound came alive.
Nail led his squad out of the blockhouse and positioned them around the sandbag walls, rifle barrels resting on snow-covered bags. With the trenches buried, they had shortened the line, anchoring the heavy machine gun at the center.
“Church?”
“Who else comes from that direction?” the veteran muttered. “Coldwind Ridge has been His Majesty’s in everything but name. Only Hermes is beyond it.” He spat into the snow. “I’ll say this for them — they’ve got nerve.”
“God, I hope they aren’t those armored ones. We don’t have the Artillery Battalion.”
“Armor would sink them in this snow. We have nothing to fear.”
“Head — distance?”
“At least a thousand meters.” Nail kept his eye to the telescope. Something about the way they moved was wrong. “This is strange.”
“Strange how?”
“They don’t look like the God’s Punishment Army.”
“Judgement Warriors, then?” The tension in the blockhouse eased a fraction. Ordinary Judgement Warriors charging into converging machine gun fire were simply men dying in formation.
“No—” Nail lowered the telescope. “Not armored. Their clothes are — they’re in rags.” He raised it again. “How did these people come down from the mountain?” He stared. “They look like… refugees.”
“Or God’s Punishment Warriors in disguise.” The veteran shrugged. Then: “Hey — where are you going?”
“To tell them to stop.” Nail was already moving toward the stairs. “Otherwise the other squads will shoot them.”
Chapter 823: Dark Clouds over Hermes
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
Although it was snowing slightly, it was a fair day in the Northern Region.
Nail was rubbing the oil stick on the gun barrel out of sheer boredom. He occasionally glanced at the Impassable Mountain Range with the telescope. Since they had been stationed here, he did not observe the mountain as frequently as he did before. He usually checked it two or three times a day and spent the rest of time on maintaining the flintlock and chatting with his companions.
Maintenance of weapons required a person to be detail-oriented. Every half a month or so, they would get a portion of a thumb-long “oil stick” wrapped in hard paper. It was heard that the oil stick was made of abandoned oil from the soap factory. When they used it, they needed to heat it up and then rub it onto the special double-ended brush, which had a large and a small brush on either end, to be inserted into the gun barrel and cartridge. In the past, every squad was equipped with only one set of cleaning tools. But nowadays as there were more and more factories and workshops in Neverwinter, the brushes became accessories to the guns and everyone had one.
Of course, when there was no bonfire, they could heat the oil stick by body or mouth temperature. Though the soldiers in the First Army was forbidden to eat the abandoned oil, some people still secretly rubbed it on their dried food as a seasoning.
As a squad leader, he usually chose to turn a blind eye.
After all, the teams responsible for guarding the Northern Region were basically veterans. Some of them were even over 20 years older than him. If he had not attended the primary education class, he would not be selected as
the squad leader. He could only smile to those who used to be his neighbors in the past.
After assembling the parts one by one, the rifle became shiny again. He pressed the trigger several times to ensure the empty gun could shoot normally before he once again checked the front.
He was still unable to forget the defense battle in autumn. Once he closed his eyes, the image of that young woman wearing a red cope would emerge in his mind. It was in this blockhouse that he witnessed her death. He knew that she was an enemy and a Pure Witch of the church, but her struggling in the gunshots still made him uncomfortable. If it were not Iron Axe’s command and his loyalty to His Majesty, he would have chosen to leave the army and return to his previous job as a steam engine operator in the mining area.
Although he still served in the First Army, Nail made up his mind to leave the machine gun team but become an observer who protected machine gunners. He knew that he was self-deceiving, but he had no way to overcome the obstacle in his heart.
The battlefield, which had been soaked with blood, was restored to the ordinary look as if nothing had happened. The barbed wires had long been removed, leaving only a dozen of crooked stakes. Trenches were also filled with snow. If there were no blockhouses, one could not distinguish this field from the wild field around. Except them, no one knew that over 2,000 people had once died here, just several hundred meters in front of the first line of stakes.
“Chief, we’re running out of firewood. Let me go to fetch some,” said a soldier who was nearly as young as Nail. The firewood he mentioned was the stakes once used to fix the barbed wires. He said, “Otherwise the other squad will blame us for not adding more firewood after using it.”
“But it’s duty time now…” Nail shook his head and said, “You may be seen by others.”
“They won’t say anything,” another veteran said, laughing. “It’s so cold today. No one will care if we go to get firewood to warm us up. It has been
several months since the cowards of the church retreated. Do you think they’ll come today?”
His words were agreed by everyone else.
Nail also knew the veteran was right. At first, Iron Axe required 500 soldiers in the camp keeping stationed at the foot of Coldwind Ridge to guard against the last struggle of the church or the invasion of the demonic beasts. However, to their surprise, no enemies appeared. Maybe the superiors believed that enemies would not come, so they transferred over 200 soldiers to other places and divided the rest of soldiers into patrol teams, whose mission was to stay in the blockhouses to monitor in the northwestern direction in turns.
Nail hesitated but finally agreed with that soldier. He said, “You alone will be too slow. Go there with more people.”
The soldier whistled and replied, “Yes, Head!”
Nail turned back and picked up the telescope to look toward the snowcovered field. What he could see was the white snow. Nothing changed.
Just when he was about to wipe his pistol, he suddenly saw two or three dark spots which were especially striking in a white background.
He was startled, and then shouted, “Wait!”
The soldiers who had reached the stairs stopped immediately, and the others around the stove hurriedly stood up and drew close. “What’s wrong?”
Nail wiped the lens with his wool neckline and looked back in the northwestern direction. He saw more dark spots. He held his breath and observed them for a moment, only to find that they were a group of people slowly walking in the snow.
“Blow the horn to alert the soldiers! Someone is approaching the front!”
“Woo—woo—woo—woo—” As the horn sounded, the entire camp was seething at once.
With a rifle in his hand, Nail led his squad members out of the blockhouse and stood in a line around the blockhouse, placing their gun barrels on the sandbags covered with snow. As the trench was filled with snow, they had to shorten the front line, assisting the heavy machine gun to defend.
“Are they from the church?” someone asked.
“Who else will come?” muttered the former veteran unhappily. “Coldwind Ridge has long been abandoned by His Majesty. Only people in Hermes will come from that direction. I underestimated their guts.”
“I hope they’re not the monster-like warriors. We don’t have the support of the Artillery Battalion this time.”
“We have nothing to be afraid of. I don’t believe they can run quickly in the heavy snow.” The veteran spat. “If they wear armors, they’ll sink in the snow and become our targets.”
“Head, their distance?”
“At least 1,000 meters away,” replied Nail, frowning at the suspicious group. “It’s so strange. Something is wrong…”
“What’s wrong?”
“They… aren’t like the God’s Punishment Army.”
“Does the church send the Judgement Army?” All soldiers were relieved. If they were just ordinary Judgement Warriors, it would be impossible for them to approach in the crossfire of machine guns on the blockhouse.
“No, not the Judgement Army… They’re not armored. Actually, they’re so ragged.” said Nail, holding the telescope and said in surprise, “Gosh, how did these people come down from the mountain? They’re like… a group of refugees! ”
“Or maybe the God’s Punishment Warriors disguised as refugees,” the veteran shrugged. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I’m going to tell them to stop!” Nail said without turning back, “Otherwise, the other squads will shoot them!”
Translator’s Thoughts
Transn Transn
Sorry for the late publishment~~ The next chapter will be published on time 🙂