Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

White Lion's body was almost destroyed into a sieve, without a single area larger than two palms intact.

Most were spots left by arrows, followed by the streaks left by swords, and a few shocking gunshot injuries.

But what about Winters himself? Like the White Lion, only with fewer scars.

White Lion noticed something off about the person before him, and while supporting his waist and panting, he laughed and asked, "[Herde Language] Why haven't I seen you before?"

Winters did not understand what the other was saying, and even if he did, he could not respond.

It was the first time White Lion had met him, but for Winters, it was the third encounter with White Lion.

Only that on the previous two occasions, they were sworn enemies, his face hidden beneath his helmet—it was their first time meeting "face to face."

Silence spread like invisible sound waves, rapidly diffusing in all directions.

One by one, the men playing in the water stopped their activities; everyone sensed a change in the atmosphere.

The riverside that had just been filled with laughter suddenly fell silent as death.

The air seemed to solidify, everyone's gaze fixed on White Lion, and the strange man beside him.

"[Herde Language] I caught a fish!" Little Lion's head emerged from the water, a slimy salmon struggling in his grasp, as he laughed joyously, "[Herde Language] Look what I caught!"

Nobody spoke.

Little Lion shook the water from his head, his smile growing rigid as he sensed something was amiss.

"[Herde Language] Bro! Shall we grill the fish?" Little Lion, grasping the fish's tail, flounced over to White Lion's side, explaining rapidly, "This is the person I told you about."

White Lion nodded gently toward the stranger, signaling the others, "[Herde Language] Don't worry, it's a small misunderstanding."

Only then did the people around relax and continue to play in the water. But the atmosphere had grown strange and couldn't return to its original state.

White Lion sighed and nodded to Winters again.

He slowly walked towards the riverbank and sat down on the sandy shore, letting the wind dry the droplets on his body.

Little Lion whispered to Winters, "It was thoughtless of me; my brother just got back, and I was eager for you to meet him."

Winters shook his head and continued cleaning himself.

The sky gradually darkened.

Someone brought a few sheep, which were slaughtered and butchered on the shore, and then a fire was kindled.

Some of the mutton was boiled in a pot, while other portions were skewered for roasting.

The people of the Red River Tribe, washed free from the dust of travel, ascended the riverbank laughing and joking, naturally engaging in the preparation of the food.

Some gathered wood, others cut the meat, some tended the bonfire—all bustling with activity, except for Winters, who sat silently on the riverbank.

The meat was cut into small chunks for roasting, cooking quickly.

But on the plains where trees were scarce, there were few branches to skewer the meat, so this method was uncommon.

Fortunately, in the areas where silt from the nearby river bends had accumulated, there were some pitiful shrubs.

Who knew how many years these shrubs had taken to grow to their present size—they were all used as fuel and skewers that day.

Little Lion pulled his brother over to talk with Winters.

The three sat by the shore, staring at the dark waters of the river under the night sky, all unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, Winters spoke, "Why don't you kill me?"

Little Lion was startled.

"It wasn't me who saved you," White Lion answered.

"Why don't you kill me?"

White Lion did not respond.

"Do you know that I am what you call 'the Chosen One'?" Winters asked intently, staring at White Lion.

"I've heard a bit about it."

"If I act now, none of the people here will survive."

"Hmm."

"Why don't you kill me?"

Panic appeared on Little Lion's face; he wanted to stop Winters, but didn't dare to interrupt.

"Aren't you still not acting?"

Winters asked, word by word, "Why don't you kill me?"

"I don't know. When a bird is chased into the bushes by a hawk, the bushes protect it," White Lion lay back, reclining on the slope, looking nothing like the Barbarian Chief who commanded thousands, but rather an ordinary herdsman, "Once we start to see each other as 'people,' it becomes very hard to wish to kill each other."

"But I've killed many of your people... so many."

"I've killed many of yours as well," White Lion's brown eyes lowered, "Of course, people will have hatred, and hatred makes one feel comfortable. Hatred doesn't cause pain, understanding the enemy is what's painful. If I stab you twice right now, you will feel much better. We would become enemies again, and we need only try our best to kill each other."

This time it was Winters's turn to fall silent.

After a long while, Winters spoke, "Can you understand the Paratu People? Understand why they want to kill you, kill your people?"

"I understand, but that does not mean I agree. I understand, so I am even more resolute."

"I know what you mean, and I know what you want to say," Winters's speech hastened, "You keep telling me that you are not barbarians, that you're also human beings who live and breathe. But this is pointless, do you know? It's meaningless!"

White Lion and Little Lion listened quietly.

Winters's emotions grew more agitated, "If I had not been brought to Paratu, we could've been friends; I would've invited you over to my place! But I came to Paratu, stood in that position, and all of it became meaningless. Whether you are barbarians or not, it's all meaningless! You..."

White Lion raised his hand, signaling Winters to stop; he sighed, saying, "You don't have to think so much. I want to ask you, if you encounter me on the battlefield, would you hold back?"