When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#760 - Sheep god?

Hands calloused from swords gripped the cool river water. The swift current nearly prevented Kahler from cupping enough to wash his face.

Late August marked the rainy season, and the rising water level was close to overflowing. Kahler simply plunged his face directly into the stream.

The icy chill instantly shot to his forehead, making him shudder as he abruptly lifted his head from the river.

Looking at his fragmented reflection in the ripples, Kahler couldn't decipher his own expression.

Was it a smile or a wry grimace? In the water, it was all distorted.

For some reason, Kahler felt homesick.

The battlefield was different from what he had imagined.

Not just different from what his father had told him, but also from what his brother-in-law had described.

His father's knights were bold and heroic, charging fearlessly and crushing all foes with their fervor.

His brother-in-law's soldiers were disciplined and possessed noble sentiments, resolutely and bravely leveling any demons in their path.

But the reality was that he neither charged heroically nor marched resolutely.

Every day was spent marching or drilling, and sometimes he was even pressed into service as a laborer to haul goods.

Sometimes, they had to run errands for officers or even guard their private belongings.

What Kahler found most unacceptable was the whipping of laborers and the plundering of innocent shepherds.

What difference was there between them and bandits?

According to his father, virtuous knights should avoid requisitioning supplies, just as they would be reluctant to hear a sheep bleat as it was slaughtered.

As far as knights were concerned, most lower-ranking officers considered only those at the rank of formation leader and above to be true knights.

So, these tasks fell to the centurions and other lower-ranking officers.

Every day began with a glimpse of the dreary sky or the tent ceiling, followed by the endless scolding and driving of the officers.

Under the dual pressures of death and exhaustion, most soldiers developed some form of addiction to alcohol and gambling, while the officers favored tobacco from the frontier.

If it weren't for the motivation provided by that medal, Kahler would probably have become one of them.

Feeling the remaining tobacco crumbs in his pocket, he stretched languidly with a self-deprecating smile, perhaps he already had become one of them.

Although it had only been half a year, it felt like three or five years had passed.

Perhaps that's what war was like.

"Kahler, what are you slacking off?" Old Rafer's voice came from outside the reeds, "Come help us load the ballista, the gears are really heavy."

Because they were out collecting food when the war started, they didn't have time to form ranks.

So, the task assigned to them was guarding the ballistae. They not only didn't earn military merits, but they didn't even get spoils of war.

No wonder the usually calm Old Rafer was full of resentment.

Kahler picked up his helmet, dusted off his knees, and was about to reply when he felt the reeds behind him swaying.

Almost instantly, Kahler raised his helmet to his chest, drew his military knife with his right hand, and stared menacingly at the reeds: "Who's there?"

"Don't, don't kill me..."

Behind the reeds was a tow-haired boy, about fifteen or sixteen years old, naked except for a sheepskin vest.

Tough muscles clung to his bones, covered by a layer of bronze skin, the typical look of a shepherd.

Huddled in the reeds, the shepherd, clearly a runaway laborer, drooped his eyes and looked at Kahler imploringly.

Kahler slowly lowered the hand holding the knife.

"What's going on?" Footsteps came from outside the reeds.

Kahler immediately turned his head and replied: "It's a water rat."

Seeing this, the shepherd visibly relaxed.

He went from crouching to kneeling, drew a symbol resembling '屮' on his forehead, and said in broken Leia language: "May the Holy Father bless you."

"When did you run away?"

"Just now, fighting."

"Do you know where to go?"

"No, don't know..."

Looking at the emaciated face of the shepherd, Kahler sighed softly and took out a granola bar from his pocket.

Looking at the sweet granola bar in his hand, the shepherd smelled it as if in a dream, and then looked blankly at Kahler.

"Run away quickly, run far away." Kahler squatted down, the smile on his face a mix of bitterness and comfort, "The war will be over soon, and when the monks of the Holy Father's Society arrive, everything will be fine."

The shepherd clearly didn't understand what the Holy Father's Society was. He just stared blankly at Kahler.

"Go, go, go as far as you can."

Kahler stood up to leave, but the rubbing of the fabric against his body reminded him that someone was grabbing his clothes.

"Shing—"

The gleaming military knife was drawn from its sheath, and Kahler narrowly suppressed his instinctive reaction to swing it.

In the shepherd's pupils, he could see his own reflection.

It was a face of shock, anger, twistedness, and violence.

Only at this moment did he realize that the battlefield had left more marks on him than he had imagined.

"Didn't I tell you to leave?"

The shepherd shook his head earnestly and drew a circular symbol resembling '屮' on Kahler's boots: "You, you also run, you, you cannot win."

"What are you talking about?" Kahler laughed in spite of himself, "The main force of Duke Winghive has been completely defeated. It would be difficult to reorganize the army in three weeks. Salt Strand is right in front of us. You say we will lose?"

"You, you are good person." The shepherd stammered in broken Leia language, "But your master Moriate is very bad, very bad person, the Sheep God is angry."

"You still worship pagan gods?"

"Sheep God not pagan god... is kind of special... Sheep God ride thrush..."

Seeing the shepherd getting more and more confused with his explanation, Kahler grabbed him from the ground: "What nonsense are you talking about? Don't go out for now, and walk south along the river tonight."

The shepherd opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. He just bowed deeply and walked into the deeper reeds.

Watching the shepherd's figure disappear from sight, Kahler shook his head, not knowing what he was thinking.

Hiding a runaway laborer, if this were discovered by the provost marshal, even his second-class medal would be taken away.

But what was done was done, and he had nothing to complain about.

"Kahler Hans!"

"Coming, coming." Kahler shouted towards the outside of the reeds, "I'm taking a shit."

"Why not earlier, why not later, but you have to shit when it's time to work?"

"Why do you talk like my sister..."

Walking out of the reeds, Kahler joined the team transporting the ballista.

Gritting his teeth, Kahler supported the heavy ballista parts, covered them with tarpaulins, and tied them with hemp ropes. Kahler and Old Rafer got into the carriage.

With the sharp crack of the driver's whip, two docile mares pulled the two-wheeled carriage forward.

The afternoon sun shone on their shoulders, and the chorus of cicadas and crickets echoed in their ears.

Unlike the wide slopes when they first entered the Gravel Plains, as they traveled along the Upper Nauan River, they could see rows of hills and villages.

This was the rare river valley farming area of the Gravel Plains—the Southbow River Valley.

The destination of Old Rafer and others, Salt Strand, was named as a market but was actually a city with a population of 20,000.

This was Duke Winghive's core economic stronghold in the southern Gravel Plains, mainly relying on the rock salt mining and refining in the Southbow River Valley.

In this Gravel Plains full of wasteland meadows, salt was a rare commodity and necessity.

At the same time, the Southbow River Valley was also the largest grain-producing center in the southern Gravel Plains.

Controlling this place meant controlling the economic lifeline of the southern Gravel Plains.

Moriate's camp was only 65 kilometers away from Salt Strand.

When Old Rafer and the others returned to the team with the supply train, the first thing they saw was the iris flag, and the second thing they saw was the runaway laborers hanging under the flag.

The carriage drove into the camp along the dirt road, but Kahler's gaze shifted from the flag to the fence beside the road.

In the cool summer breeze, a yellowed sheep skull was inserted into the sharp tip of the fence.

For some reason, the shepherd's whisper echoed in his mind again.

"Sheep God ride thrush, west wind comes from the north."