Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 878 - 7 The Old Man Wolf Sheep and

Chapter 878: Chapter 7 The Old Man, Wolf, Sheep, and Turnip_3 Chapter 878: Chapter 7 The Old Man, Wolf, Sheep, and Turnip_3 Upon seeing his junior, Ronald, still alive, Gessa felt a rush of emotions and immediately hugged him and planted a fierce kiss on him.

Yes, it was indeed a kiss.

One of the ways Paratu People express intense emotions such as excitement, joy, reunion after a long separation, and everlasting friendship, is through “kissing,” and men can also do it with each other.

Cheek to cheek, lip to lip, whether or not there was an exchange of saliva, nobody knew.

Probably not—right?

Andre looked disgustedly at the several enthusiastic Paratu kissers and asked Winters worriedly, “They’re not going to kiss us too, are they?”

Winters’s mind was already filled with all sorts of miscellaneous matters regarding the prevention of disease; he looked up briefly and replied dispassionately, “No, kissing is an intimate act, and they harbor hostility towards us.”

...

Andre looked around; the scene of Ronald and the other former Iron Peak County Military officers reuniting with Colonel Gessa was quite touching and heartwarming. A group of grown men were hugging, kissing, and some even crying.

In contrast, Winters and Andre were somehow isolated despite being in the crowd. No one spoke to them, and certainly, no one came to hug or kiss them.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

Andre humphed lightly and took a sip of his drink, “Now I see why Colonel Moritz and Bard didn’t want to come.”

“Colonel Moritz and Senior Juan’s identities are still under wraps; Senior Mason and Bard are just too busy to get away,” Winters replied mechanically, taking a sip from his cup as well. The slightly bitter taste brought him back from the world of epidemic prevention.

Winters then changed the topic and nudged Andre’s beer mug, “The key point is—For such a dreadful scene, who else could I rely on but you?”

Andre humphed again and clinked Winters’s beer mug.

After chugging down the golden liquid in his mug in one go, Andre belched quietly and complained under his breath, “Call this beer? It’s tasteless as heck.”

Winters suddenly had a strange sense of déjà vu; he felt as if he was back at the Sea Blue Navy Officers’ Club, sitting with Andre at a window on the second floor facing north towards the square, enjoying the breeze and beer.

Winters took a small sip, “Hmm.”

Andre raised an eyebrow, tilting his head at Winters, “What are you laughing at?”

“Was I laughing?” Winters touched his cheek.

“You don’t know?”

Winters thought for a moment, “Then I guess I wasn’t.”

Andre scoffed lightly and poured himself another cup of the pale yellow liquid.

Since it was a farewell for the Paratu People, how could there be no drink to offer?

But Iron Peak County was short even on food, let alone alcohol. Old Widow Airen’s cellar had been empty for a long time, and perhaps a few households still had some bottles of wine stashed away, but that was just wine and the like.

In the end, it was the short, plump representative from Niutigu Valley who came up with an idea: crush dry bread, soak it, heat it, add distiller’s yeast, ferment…

And ultimately filter to obtain a strange liquid that resembled beer, yet wasn’t beer.

According to the short, plump representative, when General Yanosh’s army had no alcohol, the soldiers would brew this “fermented water” from bread to satisfy their cravings.

Which was precisely what the people at the farewell gathering were drinking.

Winters didn’t particularly like the taste of beer; on the contrary, he preferred this strange liquid that hardly had any “beer flavor.”

The two Venetians stood among a bunch of ardently chatting Paratu People, silently drinking their fermented water, cup after cup.

A plump gentleman made his way through the crowd and came straight up to them.

The chubby man took off his hat, bowed slightly, and smiled warmly, “Captain Montaigne, Lieutenant Cherini.”

“Mr. Leo,” Winters nodded in greeting, poured a cup of fermented water and handed it over, discreetly asking, “How did it go?”

Mr. Leo—the representative with full authority from Navarre Commerce—took the cup and held it in his hand without drinking, “It’s been settled.”

“All settled?”

Mr. Leo’s smile faded, “Please be assured.”

Winters breathed a sigh of relief, feeling unburdened.

“What’s going on?” Andre, confused, looked at Winters and then at Mr. Leo, “Talking about what? With whom?”

Andre had returned to Revodan with Ronald and the others and had missed many meetings.

Hearing Andre’s question, Winters was overwhelmed and somewhat at a loss for how to explain.

“May I have the honor of explaining this to Lieutenant Cherini?” Mr. Leo offered.

“Please do, it would be a great help,” Winters was, of course, agreeable.

“Lieutenant Cherini, you must be aware of Venetian woolen textile production,” Mr. Leo said, shaking his cashmere garment. “On one hand, we have the Venetians; Navarre Commerce has a batch of wool that needs to be shipped back to Venetia, General Serviati has a batch of Warhorses that also need to be sent back, and Captain Montaigne needs to get grain into Iron Peak County. On the other hand, we have the Paratu People, who control the roads and the grain…”

“Alright, I get it,” Andre said, his head spinning with irritation, interrupting the other, “It’s just the old man, the wolf, the sheep, and the turnip!”