Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 874 - 6 Tears_2

Chapter 874: Chapter 6 Tears_2 Chapter 874: Chapter 6 Tears_2 A shiver ran up Monkey’s tailbone, and he snapped to attention, “A thousand acres?! Are you that one with a bounty of a thousand acres?! The legendary Blood Wolf champion?!!”

“No, no, no, not a thousand — actually just over nine hundred,” Dwarf Peter explained frantically, sighing helplessly, “This nickname… It’s getting more and more exaggerated.”

…

…

Dressed in a full-coverage black robe with a mask shaped like a bird’s beak, Father Kaman stooped as he walked out of the tent.

Outside, everyone else had their noses and mouths covered with triangular scarves.

“How is it?” Winters asked with a grave expression, the first to speak, “What is it?”

...

Kaman glanced at Winters and looked around at the others, saying calmly, “The symptoms are somewhat like ‘Aichen Plague’, but I can’t be certain… I need to go back and check the books.”

To avoid panic, Kaman deliberately used an ancient term.

Most of those present didn’t understand what Kaman was talking about, and those who did understand didn’t know the specific meaning of “Aichen Plague.”

Winters couldn’t immediately recall what “Aichen Plague” exactly referred to, but he clearly heard the second part of the phrase — plague.

That was enough.

“Let’s leave this place first,” Winters decided on the spot, leaving two guards to watch the tent and immediately leading the others back the way they came.

The location where Winters stood was in a shantytown on the outskirts of Saint Town.

People are naturally inclined to cluster together. A few sticks with a cloth curtain slung over them is what you call a “shantytown.” Many such hovels together make what is called a “shantytown area.”

If the Saint Town army never disbands, the shantytown will continue to exist.

The final form it takes is the “Shantytown Street” beside the Shuangqiao military encampment — a slum street that hides all filth and includes everything unsavory.

But the shantytown area in front of them was merely a camping ground where the starving people had erected tents and huddled together for warmth.

Walking on the narrow, winding muddy paths between the tents, Winters led Kaman, Xial and a few others out.

The refugees gathered there could tell that the group of people was not to be trifled with, a mix of fear and shame on their faces as they hid inside their hovels.

Iron pots bubbled with horse meat stolen from the battlefield, and through the tent flaps blown open by the wind, Winters saw some engaged in flesh trade.

All the way outside, Captain Thomas, leading the four companies of the first battalion, was waiting.

“Surround it!” Winters called over Captain Thomas and the company commanders, gritting his teeth as he ordered, “Don’t make too much noise, but let no one escape.”

Captain Thomas saluted and turned to leave.

“‘Aichen Plague,’ is there a cure?” Winters asked Kaman.

“Fire,” Kaman pondered for a moment, “Historical records show that during the Aichen plague, Hippocrates found that blacksmiths who spent their days by the fire rarely got sick, and ultimately, the plague was dispelled with fire. The specific method involved burning aromatic spices and artemisia plants in the streets, and incinerating the clothes and bedding of the infected…”

Winters listened carefully but his frown deepened more and more.

Despite all precautions, the plague had arrived. Since ancient times, people have noticed that epidemics invariably follow wars.

The logic behind it isn’t difficult to comprehend: eating well, dressing warmly, living under a roofed house reduces the risk of illness; and even if one gets sick, the chance of survival is higher.

But those who aren’t fed, aren’t warm, and reside in cramped, dirty shanties, even healthy people are eventually tortured to death.

“Why didn’t I address the shantytown issue earlier?” Winters couldn’t help asking himself, “Why didn’t I prioritize housing for the refugees?”

But now wasn’t the time for self-pity; the rotten, dirty, overcrowded shantytowns were veritable cauldrons of disease. Every second they existed, the risk of an epidemic outbreak increased.

“Currently, there are two large shantytown areas around Saint Town, and a few smaller ones,” Winters resolved, making a rough map on the ground, “They all need to be uprooted.”

“How do we uproot them?” asked Kaman, his eyebrows raised.

“The old way,” Winters continued sketching the map, “Build new camps near the shantytown areas. They can’t be too big, otherwise, they won’t isolate effectively. They can’t be too small either, otherwise, they won’t be built quickly. Everything in the existing camps must be burned, all of it turned to ash.”

“Burn everything?” Bart Xialing seized the crux of the matter, “Then what will they eat? What will they wear?”

“Clothing and bedding can be used after boiling in hot water,” Father Kaman spoke up, “Water also needs to be boiled before drinking, but doing so will require a lot of fuel.”

“Fuel is easy to handle,” Winters’ left leg throbbed, and he stood with the support of a cane, “As for food, we’ll provide that first.”

Bart Xialing didn’t speak, just silently saluted.

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“Then what will we eat?” Winters knew the question didn’t need to be asked by his subordinates.

“Don’t worry about the food,” Winters looked around at his subordinates, “I’ll take care of it.”

Though they didn’t know how Winters would manage, the assurance from the Civil Guard Officer put many at ease.

Some company commanders worried that once the soldiers learned of the epidemic in the shantytowns and that they would have to face the plague directly, there would be mass desertion, perhaps even leading to a barracks uproar or mutiny.

So, including Bart Xialing, the three company commanders favored keeping it a secret.

“It’s useless,” Winters ended the argument with a single sentence, “It won’t stay hidden.”