Chapter 29: Stettin
Lothai, a town in the northern part of the Western Empire.
Inside the town, the stone road was covered in shit and urine, making it impossible to get off. The smell of horse manure was even more welcoming. The mules and horses snorted and their hooves kicked against the stone road.
"Uncle, how many dinars did we make today?" Stantin asked the middle-aged man next to him.
"Dinars? No dinars, we made 1 silver coin today," the middle-aged man stretched out one finger and gestured.
"That much! That's 1,000 dinars," exulted Stantin as he led the pack horse.
The middle-aged man held the reins on the mule, which pulled the wagon behind it. On the frame of the wagon sat a woman of about thirty years of age, who, with her white veil covering her face, quietly listened to the conversation between the two men, now and then stealing a smile, and the veil could hardly conceal her smile.
The carriage was followed by another carriage, accompanied by six or seven people, all wearing short swords.
The group stopped by the inner city wall, they were prepared to spend the night here.
In the evening, the middle-aged man handed out black bread and jerky to his entourage. Normally they would not be able to eat jerky, and today they sold some of their goods to splurge like this for once.
The woman spread a blanket by the city wall and placed the black bread and jerky on it. Standin sat on the blanket, picked up the water bag, and tilted his head back to drink.
"Slow down, it's not like anyone is taking it from you" the woman smiled at the teenager whose chin was soaked with water.
The woman removed the facial veil, a clean white face, pointed chin, jaw line is clear; brows between the knitted brows and eyes, are like stained with the spring breeze, straight to people's heart. Long black hair draped over her shoulders, the linen clothes on her body are difficult to cover the concave and convex figure, she slowly sat sideways on the blanket, her hands clenched, her forehead slightly raised, her eyes slowly closed, and her rosy lips recited the words.
"Auntie, we've all followed our uncle through the merchants, what are you still praying for every day?" Stantin muttered from the side.
"You are still young and don't understand. Be grateful to God for letting us live another day," the woman said in a deep voice, then broke off a piece of black bread and brought it into her mouth. The middle-aged man looked at her and didn't say anything, chewing on his own jerky.
"We're Aseleans, why do we believe in God?" Stettin chattered away.
The woman and the middle-aged man just ate the food in their hands in silence.
The middle-aged man was tall and lanky, with a long scar taking up half of his face. Short black hair, dark eyes full of depth. A heavy longsword always hung on his waist, and on the hilt wrapped in cloth, golden light flashed through the slits.
"I wonder if Vahan and the others are still alive," Stantin sighed, taking another hard bite of his jerky.
"Let's hope they survive. Let's save up some more dinars and return the favor when we see them later. If it weren't for the silverware and dinars they gave us, we'd have a hard time getting this caravan," the middle-aged man returned.
"Wouldn't we be able to earn more dinars if we added another wagon."
"That would require additional manpower, and expenses would increase along with it. Let's wait for some time before adding a wagon," the middle-aged man said as he handed the woman the water bag in his hand.
"When will we get to Poros? Do all the people in our village live there? Do you know where they are? Let's go see them?" Stantin was asking questions from the sidelines.
The next day.
The middle-aged man and his entourage purchased cheese, dried dates, olives, beer in wooden barrels, and some farming tools in Lotte City, loading two wagons full.
With his short sword at his waist, Stettin led the pack horse, with the woman sitting on its back. The middle-aged man and a few of his entourage followed beside the two wagons, heading out of the city.
In the mountains and forests outside of Lottai City, tents were lined with soldiers drilling in their midst, shouting and killing.
Stettin looked at the many soldiers not far away and asked, "Why are there so many soldiers here? Is there going to be a war?"
"Perhaps," the middle-aged man responded.
"Why can't you teach me to fight with a sword? I'm old enough now that I can help you when I encounter bandits."
"It's no use begging me. If your aunt agrees, it's fine with me," the middle-aged man said with a wink to Stettin.
"Okay?" Stantin turned to look at the woman sitting on the horse again.
"No way. When you take up the sword, your life will not be long." The woman said firmly without twisting her head.
"Then how can uncle take the sword?"
"He can take no life, you can't take no life," the woman deadpanned as she stared at the boy leading the horse.
Stantin's body flinched at the look, and he turned away in a hurry, leading his horse and continuing to walk forward. Every time he talked about it, he was always firmly rejected by his aunt.
It was getting dark.
The group intended to prepare to stop and rest while walking to the village in front of them.
Looking at the slightly swaying weeds in front of them. The middle-aged man with a scarred face slowly approached the carriage, holding the hilt of the sword inside the carriage with his hand.
The entourage behind him hurriedly pressed their hands on the short swords at their waists when they saw this scene.
Standing brought the pack horse to a halt and helped the woman down. The woman clutched Stendin's arm in a death grip. The two of them followed closely behind the carriage, as it slowly moved forward.
Suddenly, eight or nine figures scurried out of the grass, holding farming tools made of crude iron.
The middle-aged man had stopped the carriage and stood in front of the carriage with his hands gripping his long sword. Several merchant guards stood to its left and right holding short swords. Stantin held the short sword in his right hand and quickly picked up the shield on the wagon with his left hand. The woman followed closely behind Stendin.
The varmints shouted and quickly rushed towards the few people in front of the carriage.
The scar-faced man waved the two-handed sword in his hand to slash at the vermin, and after a quick block of the iron fork with his sword, he quickly chopped off the wooden handle of his iron fork, and his large figure quickly crashed into the vermin, knocking them to the ground. The opponent was clearly outnumbered by a few.
The scar-faced man used his sword to slash at one of the vermin who was fighting with his teammates, the blade of the sword cut across the vermin's body, and the vermin was drenched in blood and roared loudly.
He then chopped across the body of the sword and sliced off the arm of another grub. The two-handed sword either chopped or slashed down on the body of the vermin.
Just then, two grubs rushed out from the bushes on both sides of the road, holding improvised lances, and rushed towards Staines, who was located at the back of the carriage. Seeing this scene, the scar-faced man couldn't care less about the grubs in front of him and quickly ran towards the back of the carriage.
Stantin was blocking one man's lance with his shield. The other man, however, was holding a sword and swinging it at the woman behind him, Stantin couldn't care less about the man in front of him, he swung his shield up and threw it at the knife wielding grubber, the knife wielding grubber's body fell backward when he was hit by the shield. Stantin quickly straightened his arm and stabbed his short sword, the short sword had not yet stabbed the knife-wielding vermin, but was stabbed in the back by the simple lance.
In an instant, the scar-faced man tackled the gun-wielding man to the ground, and the longsword penetrated the gun-wielding man's jaw, blood flowing slowly down his neck. Scar-faced man then got up and kicked the man with the knife to the ground, waving his fist to the man's face, the man with the knife was covered in blood, the tip of his nose drooped. Until the man did not have a trace of movement, the scar-faced man stopped.
The woman wrapped her arms around the teenager, mouthing Standing's name and covering the teenager's back with her hand as tears flowed silently down her face.
The scar-faced man quickly took out the medicinal powder in the carriage and poured it on the teenager's back wound. The woman hurriedly pulled out the belt from her waist and wrapped it around the teenager's chest.
The accompanying guards had already finished the fight, running away three or two of the vermin, and the bodies of the rest of the vermin were lying on the ground.
The guards bandaged their own wounds and looked sadly at the fallen teenager, along the way, they watched this teenager talk incessantly, full of childishness, adding a lot of fun to their boring and tedious rushing life.
One of the guards vacated an empty space on the carriage. The scar-faced man placed the teenager onto the carriage.
The group sped up their rush and stopped at a village ahead.
The following day at noon.
Outside an earthen house. The scar-faced man argued with the woman, who whimpered.
"Whether you agree or not, I must teach him to use the sword. Otherwise he'll only die faster," the scar-faced man finally said firmly, as if he had made up his mind somehow.
"You just know how to fight and kill, can't we live a peaceful life in a hidden mountain forest."
"This world where there is no owner of the land, where all have to be exploited by those lords."
The woman was silent, just keep crying.
Stettin slowly opened his eyes. The teenager lay stiffly on the bed, his back aching with pain at the slightest movement.
Outside the house, the sounds of the middle-aged man and the woman arguing continued to reach the teenager's ears.
After the teenager shouted in a trembling voice, the woman quickly wiped her tears and ran towards the house, slowly handing the water bag to the teenager's mouth.
The teenager's mother had passed away when he was very young, and the teenager had never met his father. The woman and the scar-faced man had taken care of the teenager since he was a child, and just after the Battle of Pendrake in 1077, the woman and the scar-faced man took the teenager with them as they traveled with the caravan to Asele and stopped at the edge of the Nasarha Desert to live in the village of Bait Khatif, and as he grew older each day, the teenager and a few other young men from the same village became companions who played together.