nyslfriends Chapter 37: The Crossbow and the Bloodstained Path in the Long River
Chapter 37: The Crossbow and the Bloodstained Path in the Long River
Three wide, flat-bottomed boats with very deep drafts, and nine smaller boats followed behind.
Pushing aside the dense green moss in the middle reaches of the Blue Fork River, we sailed north against the slightly turbid water.
On the lead boat, a large flag made of rough, thick linen fluttered in the sultry river wind.
It was a reddish-brown stallion with its forelegs raised.
This red horse has roamed the southern part of the river region for over a thousand years, harboring a deep-seated grudge.
Wherever it goes, the land will always be soaked with the blood of generations.
Twelve pairs of long wooden oars, coated with a thick layer of tung oil, creaked and groaned as the rowers' thick, purplish necks spun the iron oar frames.
About twenty mercenaries and their entourage stood on the deck, clad in old leather armor with iron rings.
They were not oarsmen; they were all carrying light, hardwood crossbows with fully cocked bows.
The knight leading the group, Erin, stood at the bow of the ship, his worn iron boots digging into the crash bar.
The two-inch-thick fir wood couldn't even cover the end of the newly driven nail.
Eling didn't care what private salt deals Count Jonos Brecken and the young Baron Hohenzollern had.
What he cared about was that the red horse flag was blatantly crossing Tytos Blackwood's blockade territory.
If Blackwood's arrows land on this ship, Stonehedge will have a legitimate pretext to launch a full-scale raid on Raventree.
The river channel gradually narrows.
The mudflats on both sides of the river were covered with withered thorns that were more than an arm's length thick.
At a crescent-shaped bend in the river, eroded inward by the current, several blackened logs lay across the bottom of the water.
Several sections of iron chains used to block the river, covered in the filth of water birds, were half-submerged in the foul-smelling mud.
On a mound on one side of the riverbank.
A dozen or so heavily armored soldiers, wearing cloaks with the Black Raven insignia, were standing guard there, leaning on short spears.
This is the outpost of the river patrol force in Crowtree City.
"Stop the ship!"
On the shore, Sergeant Blackwood, leading the team, pointed his broadsword at the water, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
"This is the inland river defense line of Raventree City! Lower Breckon's flag! Reverse the oars and retreat!"
At the edge of the mound, four longbowmen clad in chainmail had silently drawn heavy feathered arrows with armor-piercing barbs from their quivers and nocked them onto the bows of their yew wood bows.
The flat-bottomed, wide boat showed no sign of slowing down.
The ram at the bow of the boat roughly crushed a patch of withered yellow reeds, heading straight for the iron cable that stretched across the riverbed.
Knight Elin did not draw his sword.
He didn't even lower his head; with his steel breastplate on, he made a downward gesture to the archers behind him.
Twenty crossbows were raised half a foot in unison, their sharp steel tips gleaming white in the blinding sunlight.
"The bottom of this ship is coated with three layers of fir resin, and the cargo hold is filled with goods from Stone Fence City."
Erin's voice was muffled, like a rusty grinding wheel scraping against an iron plate.
"Get out of this damned ditch! If your moss-covered rag chain breaks even a single plank, I'll plant this red flag over all your corpses!"
The sergeant's eyes began to redden with anger and fear.
This is a blatant act of aggression and military provocation.
If the Count of Tethos were allowed to swagger across the border with his enemy's flag, he would immediately strip him of all his property as a free man and exile his entire family to the Wall.
"Ready—"
The sergeant took a step forward, his boot crushing a dry branch.
Knight Elin did not retreat.
He even deliberately straightened his body and took a deep breath of the river wind, which was mixed with stench and murderous intent.
He was waiting for that irreversible first drop of blood.
"Fire! Nail all those oarsmen's arms to the gunwale!"
The muffled thud of the longbow string piercing the air tore apart the static, oppressive standoff.
Four heavy, armor-piercing arrows, like black fingers of death, viciously pierced the ship below from above.
"Clang! Snap!"
An arrow struck Erin precisely in the breastplate on his left chest.
The immense kinetic energy caused the iron arrowhead to curl and explode on the spot, the shaft breaking off in the middle and bouncing into the water without resistance.
Erin's left shoulder was only pulled back half an inch by the impact.
But this is not a futile deterrent.
On the starboard side of the ship, a young rower, without any leather armor, was pierced through his coarse linen shirt by a stray arrow.
The arrow tore through the right shoulder blade and pierced deep into half of the chest.
The oarsman only let out a short, spasmodic sound.
Once the massive body lost its grip, the huge wooden oar flipped over.
The rower, his face filled with terror, tumbled over the gunwale and crashed heavily into the dark green-yellow river water.
Large swaths of dark red blood, like a blooming flower, churned and spread at the bottom of the water.
"Arrows can kill!"
Knight Erin stared intently at the churning red water, his eyes filled with barely suppressed fervor and bloodlust.
In the end, Blairwood broke the last thread of restraint called the law.
"With the gods as witnesses, the ravens have destroyed the king's trade routes! Fight back! Smash them!"
The twenty-one clicks of the mechanism, which had been trembling slightly from being suppressed for too long, exploded simultaneously in an instant.
More than twenty heavy, short, and thick crossbow bolts, with a terrifying rate of fire capable of penetrating two inches of oak wood, swept across the mound less than thirty paces away like a swarm of black locusts.
Caught off guard by a volley of crossbow bolts at close range, the Blackwood soldiers didn't even have time to raise their light wooden shields.
The three closest longbowmen had their chests and abdomens pierced through.
The blood mist and bone fragments that followed the crossbow bolts as they pierced flesh even grazed the cheeks of the comrades behind them, leaving bloody marks.
The squad leader who had roared the order felt a chill on his neck.
A crossbow bolt severed the throat guard strap across his neck, and most of his throat was torn apart by a huge iron bolt.
Like a deflated sack, he gushed out mouthfuls of blood and scum as he tumbled down the slope into a muddy, stagnant puddle.
"Cut that pile of rusty, broken chains! Full speed ahead!"
Erin wiped away the tiny wound on his face caused by the arrow, his voice hoarse like that of a wounded wild bear.
Three heavy infantrymen wielding heavy double-edged battle axes leaped from the foredeck onto the outer edge of the bow.
With a piercing, shattering sound of metal clashing, the rusty iron chain blocking the river was smashed into several pieces of broken iron.
Three fully loaded ships rolled over the broken wooden signs floating on the water and drove straight north into the Blue Fork River basin without stopping.
---
More than eighty miles away.
The setting sun of long summer is trying its last stand.
The newly joined stone walls in the Hohenzollern territory cast a massive gray-white shadow.
The top of the towering stone watchtower in the inner fortress was covered with dried river grass and wolf skin mats.
The twelve armored soldiers of Haijiang City, who were assigned to "defense and audit" the city, took off their helmets and gauntlets and leaned against the leeward side of the battlements.
On a wooden plank not far away, three cleanly cut lamb leg bones lay scattered on the ground.
Several empty rye barrels lay overturned on the stone platform.
The veteran from Haijiang City who was leading the group let out a muffled burp.
He stood up, unbuckled his belt, and walked to the sewage outlet on the stone wall. While urinating, he casually glanced at the dirt square directly below the defensive tower.
Below, a caravan of oxen transporting white salt is making its final preparations before setting off.
Dozens of shirtless farmers, their sweat leaving white streaks on the mud and ash, were working in pairs, laboriously loading large quantities of rough, black earthenware jars sealed with mud onto a flatbed oxcart.
The veteran's urge to urinate suddenly stopped.
He was a veteran who had served Haijiang City for thirty years and had escorted hundreds of grain transport convoys with the army.
His half-closed eyes, gleaming with the lingering smell of alcohol, were fixed on the two oxcarts at the very front that were about to set off.
The two robust oxen, which were used as the power source, had their necks abnormally compressed due to the weight. Under the pressure of the rough hemp ropes, the oxen even let out a low moan of pain when they started to move.
What alarmed him most were the two flatbed trucks loaded with "white salt".
The wooden wheels actually carved out a ditch deep enough to sink half a boot into the thick mud road that had been compacted for more than half a month!
"etc……"
The old scar between the veteran's eyebrows was clenched into a knot due to the tension in his muscles.
A cartload of white salt could not possibly create such ruts.
Only cast iron slag, or... unrefined ore, could slam a wheel heavily into hard mud.
"Does the lord conceal a deadly vein beneath this newly built inner fortress, one that we cannot see?"
The veteran's hands were slightly sweaty, and he instinctively gripped the hilt of the greatsword at his waist.
As long as one descends the stone steps, grabs a jar of salt mud from the bottom, and smells its sour stench, this grand conspiracy hidden in the salt pond will be exposed to the messenger from Haijiang City.
Just as he turned to leave, his palm had barely left the stone slab for half a second.
"Bang--!"
The deafening crash of a heavy wooden gate being violently slammed open, accompanied by a shrill, hoarse alarm, shattered the deathly silence of the twilight.
"Bleeding! Blood in the river!—Sir! Urgent dispatch from the south!"
The bleak warning was filled with despair and panic.
The veteran's steps, which were about to ascend the stairs, seemed to have taken root and frozen on the stone slab.
The other eleven slightly tipsy guards were also startled by the terrifying sound and sobered up completely. They all crouched down under the stone fortifications and looked out of the square.
They were intently focused on external combat situations that could endanger their own safety.
on the square.
The clerk, Pollifer, did not ride a horse.
The long, fitted robe that symbolized his respectable status was torn in half, and his lower body was covered in muddy soup.
Like a maddened, thin deer, he pushed aside the sentry who tried to help him and stumbled toward the deepest, sunless corner of the main camp.
Otto Hohenzollern stood quietly behind a puddle of lime mud, half a finger deep, with one arm crossed over his chest.
Underneath the unbound short linen shirt, his left arm remained straight and stiff, a result of suppressed, intense pain.
Pollifer fell into the puddle, his knees scraping and bleeding from the rough pebbles.
His chest felt like it was being pulled by a bellows from exhaustion, and he desperately swallowed the bitter, acidic liquid rising in his throat.
He trembled as he pulled from his bosom a sheepskin urgent document, its seal crumpled from his frantic run.
What fell out of the sheepskin scroll was half a broken arrow, its tip still covered in congealed black blood, and the conspicuous black raven-patterned feather tube at the end of the arrow.
"My lord... intelligence on the southern river bend."
Pollifer's breath trembled uncontrollably with panic.
"The archers from Blackwood struck first, shooting a rower through the side of his chest."
"The men of Stonehedge did not retreat. Sir Elin ordered his entire force to fire their crossbows, and with axes, they cleaved through the iron chains blocking the river set up by Blackwood. The crossbows of the Red Banner pierced the throat of the quartermaster guarding the outpost of Raventree!"
Otto did not reach out to take the half of the black raven feather arrow stained with blood.
On that resolute face, devoid of any color, not even the slightest muscle relaxation occurred.
It was as if this bloody conflict, which was enough to overthrow two large and ancient families, was just a routine expense that was checked in the daily accounts.
Otto coldly brushed the bloodstained parchment tattered with his right hand.
He casually tossed his finger into the small brazier used for lighting at his feet.
When the grease-soaked sheepskin came into contact with a spark, it shrank into a brittle mass of black charcoal amidst the white smoke.
"Go to the stables."
The eighteen-year-old lord's voice was calm and deep, like the frost of early winter, and he didn't even glance at the guards of the sea frontier city on the high tower.
"Bring two of your best horses. You don't need to change your shabby but fine clothes."
Otto turned his straight body around.
"Now, wrap this half-broken arrow, which has bled, in a clean cloth and take the hard, barren road to the south overnight. Make sure it is placed on Earl Jason Mellist's desk as it was before dawn tomorrow morning."
"Since they had the strength to shoot this broken arrow at a passing merchant ship, if my lord were to witness this spectacle, would he still tolerate these fully armored crossbowmen spending their days drinking and escaping the summer heat in my tower?"