Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 873 - 6 Tears

Chapter 873: Chapter 6 Tears Chapter 873: Chapter 6 Tears Some people come, others must go.

Less than ten days had passed since the collapse of Terdun’s Khan Court, and the remnant enemies had not yet been completely eradicated, but many civilians, eager to go home, already embarked on their journey.

On the various roads of both Upper and Lower Iron Peak County, groups of men, women, the elderly, and children trudged toward the direction of their homes.

Their houses might have been burnt to ashes, their stored grain pillaged, yet why they hastened to return was unclear to anyone.

Perhaps there was a faint yet distinct voice in everyone’s heart, “As long as we go home, there will always be a way”.

Apart from those returning home, a considerable number chose to stay in Saint Town.

Most of those who stayed were of a younger and stronger age, predominantly “militia”, among whom many had taken part in the recent war.

...

Although the war was over and the militia forces had officially been disbanded, many militiamen lingered in the camps, unwilling to leave.

Because as long as they stayed, they could at least have two meals a day.

But there might be another reason why the militiamen stayed.

“Before the Sovereignty Wars, Vineta’s major commercial city-states relied on mercenaries for fighting,” Antonio explained slowly. “One common situation among mercenary groups — many veterans curse war, yet spend their entire lives in the corps. Some veterans save enough money to retire back to their farms, only to return to the battlefield in the end. The reasons for this, no one can really say.”

Antonio went on to explain, “Camaraderie is an indescribable thing. People who have faced death shoulder to shoulder naturally form a certain bond. I’ve seen soldiers abandon their injured comrades, and I’ve seen soldiers risk their lives to save their brethren. Whether this bond is strong or weak, it truly exists. Many veterans don’t like to talk about the brutal battles they’ve experienced, but reminisce about the days endured with their tent brothers.”

“That’s why I say, although your troops were poorly trained and equipped, their morale was high,” Antonio looked at Winters. “It’s not an army that would disintegrate at the slightest push, full of mutual hatred and at their wits’ end. Weapons can be bought, skills can be trained, but if an army lacks a soul, it just doesn’t have one. Disbanding like this is really a shame.”

…

Not only did some choose to stay, but many more starving people from all directions gathered towards Saint Town.

Women, children, the sick, the disabled… all kinds of people had one thing in common — they had nothing due to the destruction wrought by the war.

Saint Town, being the main base of the Iron Peak County Military and accumulation point of supplies, stored a vast quantity of food and materials.

Driven by hunger, these poor souls set up tents outside Saint Town, wandering daily around the military camp and the town, scavenging for scraps the army left behind to fill their bellies.

It was at this time, that an unremarkable, short man approached Monkey and Doug in the camp.

“Why haven’t you two gone home?” The short man asked with a shy smile, handing over a greasy paper bag. “Want some roasted cakes?”

Doug took the paper bag but didn’t open it, just stared at the short man with curiosity.

“Who the fuck are you?” Monkey, groggy with sleep, poked his head out of the tent and asked with hostility.

The short man hurriedly explained, “I just wanted to ask why you two haven’t gone home.”

“Is it any of your business?” Monkey snatched the paper packet from Doug’s hand, opened it to see the oily cakes, and immediately wolfed them down. “What’s it to you?”

The short man licked his lips and gathered the courage to ask, “You two are homeless, aren’t you? Your parents died, no house, no land, nowhere to go?”

Struck where it hurt, Monkey’s anger surged.

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He jumped out of the tent, grabbed the short man by the collar, and cursed fiercely, “You looking for a beating!”

“No, no, no.” The short man shook his head vigorously. “Everyone who had a home has left, so I thought maybe you had nowhere to go.”

Monkey shouted loudly in fury, raising his arm to swing at the man’s face.

The shorter man instinctively protected his head, tucked in his neck, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Doug grabbed his friend’s arm, separating the two, and asked the short man, “You got something you need?”

The short man, still shaken, looked at his thick-lipped, honest savior and stuttered, “Lu Xirong said you two are pretty good, so I came to see you.”

Lu Xirong used to be Monkey and Doug’s sergeant.

Hearing this name, Monkey’s demeanor softened, even becoming somewhat timid, “Sergeant Lu Xirong… who are you to him?”

The short man bashfully replied, “Well, I suppose he’s one of my men.”

Monkey’s knees went weak as if his head had been clobbered by an iron cudgel, buzzing incessantly.

Doug held his friend back and asked the short man in a muffled voice, “You came to find us, you got something you need?”

“I just wanted to ask you two,” the short man scratched the back of his head. “Since you have nowhere to go, would you be willing to join the military? Not as militiamen, but the Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment — real land-grant soldiers.”

Monkey’s body stiffened, his jaw trembled, and he couldn’t help but swallow his saliva.

Doug furrowed his brow and asked, “May I ask who you are?”

“Me?” The short man replied, “My name is Peter Buniel.”

He spoke with a hint of pride, “This surname Bunir was personally given to me by Lord Blood Wolf himself.”