Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

It was a day in mid-May.

Dawn was just breaking when Pierre shouldered his hoe and went down to the fields.

He had been home for some time now, and he didn't let his mother and sister do the farm work, taking it all upon himself.

Wolf Town was remote and isolated, and the wars among the great personages were like phrases and fragments from a distant foreign land.

The Second Republic, the military government, the battle at Kingsfort...the people here could only hear broken bits of news, and it was difficult to discern truth from falsehood.

For farmers, whose lives were dull, a little bit of gossip was enough to get them talking for half a day, let alone the significant matter of war.

But Pierre didn't care about the lives or deaths of those great men; he just wanted to farm and eat.

"I won't manage to grow tobacco this year," Pierre thought as he weeded, "but thankfully Dad left a bit of winter wheat. If I plant a few other things, we should be able to get by this year. I'll go cut some more grass in the afternoon, so Scarlett doesn't have to herd the cattle and horses anymore."

Compared to horse riding and swordplay, hoeing was unfamiliar work for Pierre.

The callouses from holding the sword handle didn't protect his hands, but luckily new ones would slowly form.

Row by row, Pierre carefully and patiently removed the weeds.

When he first began doing farm work, he often hoed down the vegetable seedlings as well.

The former young master Mitchell might not have cared, but Mr. Mitchell now cherished them greatly.

Because every one of those plants had been sown, watered, and fertilized with sheep dung by his mother's hand, each one bore the sweat of Ellen Mitchell and the cuts on her hands.

The Mitchell estate no longer employed workers; the men had either fled or been conscripted.

Pierre's family was sparse, with only his mother, sister, and a few female servants too old or too young at home, including an old nanny who needed care herself.

Eileen then tied up her hair and rolled up her sleeves, taking on not just the housework but also the tasks in the big fields.

Nobility lay not in how elegantly one lived when rich but in how steadfast one remained during hard times.

The farmers from the nearby villages also lent a hand, occasionally bringing a bundle of hay or a bushel of wheat, and some quietly plowed several acres of land.

Gerard and Eileen had helped them without expecting anything in return, and they hadn't forgotten. It was just that the past Mitchell estate lacked nothing, so their gratitude stayed silent in their hearts.

Eileen started a vegetable garden, raised chickens, sheep, and cows; Gerard's prized thoroughbred mares she hid well, keeping them undiscovered by the foraging troops.

With her own hard work and the help of neighbors, Eileen managed the Mitchell estate very well.

The war property tax levied by Revodan had been paid with Scarlett's dowry a few days earlier.

While working, Pierre calculated: "Now we have a vegetable garden, a cow with her calf, four goats, and six hens at home.

The winter wheat planted last autumn can be harvested as early as the end of this month, so we won't have to worry about food for a while.

After we harvest the winter wheat, we can fatten the cattle and horses in the wheat field before rushing to plant barley."

"We still have four horses at home. One warhorse I brought back and three broodmares of Father's, one of which is a bay already pregnant with a foal.

Next year, we'll have five horses!"

Though the Mitchell estate had suffered greatly, it hadn't collapsed and remained a prosperous family.

Once circumstances improved, the estate would sprout anew with life.

"I need to buy a hand-cranked grinding mill to make flour. I also need to get two more piglets! Feed them grass every day, and by winter we'll have meat to eat," Pierre thought with great enthusiasm as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Two horses are enough to pull a heavy plough. Once our family's fieldwork is done, I'll help the fellow villagers too. Those who assisted Mother, I will repay you. I'll save up for Scarlett's dowry again. I'm going to survive, and I won't let Mother and Scarlett go hungry. When Father returns, I'll make sure to give him a big surprise."

Farm work is hard, but Pierre was young and strong, and there was nothing he feared.

The only trouble for Pierre was his father's four hunting dogs.

He had no time to hunt, nor spare food to feed the dogs.

Without the "Blood Wolf," the hunting dogs had to catch field mice and rabbits on their own, struggling to survive, almost becoming wild dogs.

"If only Big Brother Montaigne were here," thought Pierre, who no longer used military titles since becoming a deserter.

Remembering not being by Blood Wolf's side in the last moments of his life, a weight pressed on Pierre's chest like a heavy stone.

"Big Brother Montaigne! I will live well!" Pierre shouted into the wilderness, his nose tingling as he thought: "You would praise me, wouldn't you?"

Hoofbeats sounded across the plain.

Someone had heard his shout and came galloping toward him.

"Pierre!" the approaching figure cried out breathlessly.

A visitor at the Mitchell estate was a rare event.

Stepping out of the vegetable rows, Pierre saw two men riding saddleless on Rejek. Anglu was in front, and Mitchell was behind.

They ran up to Pierre before reining in their horse.

Anglu dismounted, hastily grabbing Pierre's arm: "This is bad!"

"Don't panic," Pierre handed a water flask to Anglu, "tell me slowly."

Anglu gulped down a big swig and exclaimed, "There are officers in town, along with soldiers! Mitchell saw them. They went into Bunting's house! "

...

Bunting was Old Mr. Bunting's eldest son.

Last year, when delivering goods to Revodan, the Bunting father and son left the caravan, hoping to return to Wolf Town ahead of the others.