Windfall

The joy of such a bountiful harvest within the Unnamed Valley did not spread to the world outside.

Since the fall of Bogdan last summer, the war in southern Provence had become increasingly unfavorable.

Soon after the severe winter, the Grand Duchy of Lombardy launched an even larger invasion into the southern borders of Provence. Although Count Olesny continuously sent troops from the north to reinforce various important cities and military forts along the southern front, southern Provence was still being devoured by Lombardy, one city and one fort at a time.

Troubles never come alone.

Soon after the autumn harvest, Duke Witold gathered an army of nearly three thousand men and personally led a northern expedition. He broke through the various fortresses in eastern Provence along the Lamel Mountains...

At this time, Marquis Korai, who had lost the strategic eastern fortress of Vilno, retreated with less than a thousand remnants of his army, fighting and falling back all the way to the central stronghold of Aosta...

The free citizens from the occupied areas of southern Provence and the cities in the east that were about to become war zones, as well as the small lords and gentry with some assets, had long since fled north with their families to escape the war. Bandits in the eastern mountainous regions of Provence, now unchecked, also became increasingly rampant.

After autumn, more and more refugees fleeing north poured into the southern borders of Burgundy County. They included free citizens from Vilno, farmers and gentry from Alfero, and even people from the Aosta region began to flee north. Duke Witold implemented the most greedy plunder and the most cruel slaughter in the occupied territories; the captured towns and villages turned into hell, and people in cities and villages about to become war zones feared for their lives.

At the end of September, Duke Vladis conscripted all able-bodied men between seventeen and thirty-five years old from the northern region. An army consisting of over five thousand Soldiers and three thousand auxiliary troops and laborers, personally led by Duke Vladis, rushed to reinforce Aosta...

...

Three days ago, on the trade route along the Lamel Mountains from north to south, a middle-aged fat man, dressed in a silk undershirt beneath a grey cotton long gown, with a black agate-inset dagger hanging from his waist, looking like a merchant, was slumped on the back of a donkey. The sun shone on his bald head, glaringly bright. Behind him was a caravan of covered wagons, consisting of ten four-wheeled carts each pulled by two horses with a coachman atop, and eight caravan guards wearing leather armor, carrying short spears, and with long swords at their waists. Behind the caravan trailed a large group of accompanying itinerant merchants, peddlers, and heavily made-up, low-cut, corseted women. They were either butchers carrying smoked meat and lamb legs, or farmers with apples and onions on their backs, or even homeless beggars traveling empty-handed. The group hurried day and night towards Aosta. They were as excited as vultures scenting carrion; perhaps war was not so bad for them.

The caravan ahead suddenly stopped, and all the covered wagons huddled together, forming a square wagon formation. The caravan guards all held their spears and drew their swords, on alert at the front.

The bald, pot-bellied caravan leader was currently standing in the middle of the guards, wiping sweat from his head while questioning the guard who had gone ahead to scout.

"Are you sure it’s four riders?" the bald man asked.

"Yes, Earl, I saw clearly, four riders plus one horse carrying goods," the young guard affirmed.

"What kind of flag are they flying?" the bald man pressed.

"No flag, and no armor," the young guard replied.

"That’s strange. No flag and no armor. Whose army is this?" the bald man muttered to himself.

"Regardless of whether there’s danger, everyone grab your weapons and prepare for battle! Rick, go put up the Dean Family and Count Olesny’s crests. Jon, go tell that tailing group behind us that there might be danger ahead. Those who are afraid of death should flee quickly, and those who aren’t afraid of death should come help us guard the wagons; there will be a reward afterward!" the bald man ordered those around him.

In a short while, a cloud of dust rose from the south of the trade route. Four riders, wearing hoods and plain clothes, with long swords at their waists, galloped forth. As soon as they saw the covered wagon caravan, the four riders reined in their horses and stopped.

After a moment of standoff, a man who looked like the leader quietly gave a few instructions to the others beside him, and then the four riders steered their horses off the trade route, rode around the caravan through the farmland by the road, and galloped wildly north... The bald man turned and stared blankly at the trail of dust rising behind him, feeling perplexed.

The alert had just been lifted, and the caravan drivers were about to drive forward when suddenly, a rumble of hooves came from nearby, and a large cloud of dust rose...

"We are the Dean Family caravan from Burgundy County, hired by Count Olesny of Provence, and we are transporting military provisions to Aosta! Please clear the trade route, or you will suffer the wrath of Earl Olesny!" the bald man roared, pointing at the flying eagle crest flag on the covered wagon, his voice trembling slightly.

Opposite them were a dozen masked riders on inferior horses, followed by thirty or so ragged, farmer-like henchmen armed with blunt knives and long sticks.

Wolves chasing a few wild rabbits, but encountering a flock of fat lambs... At this moment, the bandits were clearly not afraid of the Earl, who was already overwhelmed by the war.

At sunset, except for a patch of dark red bloodstains, the trade route returned to its usual tranquility.

...

Northeast of the Unnamed Valley, by a large rock on a slope near a canyon exit, Art was applying wolf dung to a blue mule wearing a muzzle.

Recently, Art often rode the blue mule across the wilderness outside the forest, tracking wilderness wolves.

The wolf attack last early winter left a deep impression on Art and made him firmly believe that a considerable number of wilderness wolves lived on this wilderness. The fur of wilderness wolves was much more valuable than that of forest wolves. After making full preparations, he decided to take a risk. If he could catch a few wilderness wolves with intact furs, he and Cooper would have a much better winter this year.

More than twenty days of hard work were not in vain. Along the edge of the forest north of the Valley Mouth cabin, riding northeast for half a day, there was a canyon leading deep into the mountains, and deep within the canyon was a den of wilderness wolves.

Art had figured out the wolf pack’s hunting patterns, so he spent three days setting up several deep pit traps, over fifteen feet deep, at the entrance of the canyon. This location was neither too close nor too far from the wolf den, and it was the only way for the wolves to return to their den. The wolves’ vigilance was weaker when returning from a hunt, making the chances of trapping them higher.

As expected, the wolf pack should return from their hunt before sunset today. Art, leading the blue mule, hid behind a large rock downwind of the Valley Mouth slope early in the morning.

As the sun began to set, Art sat on the ground with his back against the large rock, took out his water skin, poured a handful of clear water, and offered it to the blue mule’s mouth. Just as the blue mule was about to lower its head to drink, its eyes suddenly widened, and its head snapped back. Art immediately sensed danger, flipped over, drew his bow with his left hand and an arrow with his right, nocked the arrow, drew the string, and stealthily moved out from behind the large rock.

On the wilderness in front of the canyon, a hooded rider in plain clothes led the way, with two light-armored cavalrymen, carrying riding bows, chasing closely, one in front and one behind.

The hooded rider was an Internal Affairs Knight of a Earl from the Grand Duchy of Lombardy. Half a month ago, he and three of his subordinates were ordered to carry a secret letter for Marquis Ivrea, the ruler of Burgundy County, and twenty gold ingots worth over twenty-eight thousand fenny as a “greeting gift.” They departed from Vilno, crossed enemy territory, and headed for Besançon, the capital of Burgundy County’s Court.

After half a month of stealth travel, except for nearly being ambushed by a group of bandits at the foot of Lamel Mountain, the journey had been relatively smooth. They were now in the southern borders of Burgundy, and another day’s ride north would bring them to Tinietz, where they would proceed to the Marquis’s Court under the escort of the local garrison.

However, shortly after entering Burgundy territory, they were pursued by seven or eight light cavalrymen from northern Provence. From noon, when he and his three subordinates scattered to break through, until now, the two light cavalrymen behind him had been chasing him across this wilderness for an entire afternoon. The hooded rider’s warhorse was already frothing at the mouth.

The canyon was in sight, and the hope of escape grew. The hooded rider kicked the horse’s belly hard with his spur-equipped boots. The warhorse neighed, charged forward a few steps, and leaped over a pile of wolf dung. Just then, a tearing sound of a heavy arrow piercing the air came from behind. The hooded rider was struck in the back by an armor-piercing heavy arrow and immediately fell off his horse. His right foot, which had just kicked the horse, slipped into the stirrup, and the warhorse dragged the hooded rider for more than ten steps before stopping.

The leading light-armored cavalryman, seeing the hooded rider injured and unhorsed, spurred his horse and charged towards the canyon. Just as he galloped within ten steps of the hooded rider and his horse’s hooves stepped on a pile of wolf dung, the warhorse beneath him suddenly dropped, falling into the deep pit...

The light-armored cavalryman behind, seeing the situation was wrong, immediately reined in his horse, dismounted, held his bow, looked around, and cautiously moved forward. He glanced at his companion, who had fallen into the deep pit and broken his neck, then bypassed the deep pit and slowly moved to the hooded rider’s side.

Art had already quietly moved from the large rock on the mountainside to a clump of dry grass at the Valley Mouth before the hooded rider entered the canyon. At this moment, the light-armored cavalryman, who was about to bend down to check the hooded rider’s breath, would never have imagined that less than twenty steps behind him, a flat-headed light arrow had already twisted lightly as it flew from a fully drawn bowstring~

Whoosh~ Accompanied by the whistling sound of the arrow cutting through the air, a light arrow pierced the light-armored cavalryman’s throat.

After shooting down the light-armored cavalryman, Art quickly moved forward, mounted the hooded rider’s warhorse, and went to retrieve the light-armored cavalryman’s startled and fleeing horse. After chasing for a mile, the distance widened, and the horse beneath him ran slower and slower, so Art had no choice but to give up.

Before sunset, Art only had time to take the weapons and armor from the light-armored cavalryman’s body on the ground, then pushed the corpse into the deep pit, and finally carried the hooded rider, who was unconscious from the arrow in his back, back to the Valley Mouth wooden cabin on the warhorse.

...

The next morning, the Valley Mouth wooden cabin.

"Cooper, are you ready?" Art asked, turning towards the old man’s wooden cabin while tidying the ropes on the saddle.

"Earl, everything is packed. That fellow is too badly injured to wake up anytime soon. But to be safe, I still tied his hands and feet with rattan," Cooper said, walking out of the small wooden cabin and tucking the half-broken scythe with a new wooden handle into his waist.

"Don’t bring that broken scythe, use this instead," Art said, picking up a short sword and tossing it to the old man.

"Wait, Cooper." Saying this, Art turned and went inside, took down the oak longbow and bark quiver from the wall, and handed them to Old Cooper.

"Earl, I don’t know how to use this~" The old man held the longbow and quiver, looking a bit helpless.

Art took the longbow, pulled out a light arrow from the quiver, demonstrated the actions of nocking, drawing, aiming, and releasing, then patted the longbow into Cooper’s arms.

"Just these few movements, try them a few times. If there’s danger, just draw your bow and aim from afar, it doesn’t matter if you hit or not," Art said.

"So it’s just for show, I can do that," Old Cooper said, imitating Art’s movements.

Old Cooper hadn’t ridden a horse much and dared not gallop the mule, so it wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that the young and old man, riding one horse and one mule, arrived at a dense forest not far from the wolf canyon.

The two hid their mule and horse in a secluded spot, carrying their bows and swords, with a large bundle of hemp rope slung over their shoulders, and stealthily moved along the mid-slope of the canyon side.

After observing for a long time from the mountainside and confirming that there was no unusual movement at the Valley Mouth, Art, gripping his bow and arrow, bent low and moved towards the Valley Mouth. Old Cooper followed slowly, about twenty steps behind Art.

Upon reaching the Valley Mouth, the traces left from yesterday evening showed no change. Art motioned for Old Cooper to avoid the several deep pit traps, then approached the foremost deep pit at the Valley Mouth. He peered in, and at the bottom of the pit lay two bodies and a horse, head down. The people had been dead for a long time, but the horse was still neighing softly.

"Cooper, find a hidden spot in a moment and observe both sides of the Valley Mouth. If anything happens, immediately shoot an arrow to warn me," Art said, tying one end of the rope to a nearby tree trunk, gripping the hemp rope tightly with both hands, and then began to descend to the bottom of the pit along the rope after instructing Cooper.

...

"Earl, what should we do with that injured horse? It’s a pity to just let it rot in the pit," Old Cooper said, looking at the injured horse in the pit with a pained expression.

"There’s no way, we can’t pull it up, and even if we could, it wouldn’t heal," Art said, wiping sweat from his face and tightening the sheathing rope on the blue mule’s back.

"Alright, let’s go." With that, Art mounted his horse, and Old Cooper also climbed onto the mule’s back.

On a slightly flat clearing beside the deep pit, a low mound of earth had just been piled up; two foreign souls would forever wander in the canyon.

By the time they returned to the wooden cabin, it was completely dark.

After simply eating the meat broth and wheat porridge Old Cooper had cooked, Art sat on a wooden armchair, holding a parchment letter, scrutinizing it word by word by the firelight from the fireplace, his mind filled with thoughts...

"Earl, everything has been cleaned up, and there’s really a lot of stuff," Old Cooper walked into the wooden cabin from the yard and dumped a large pile of items onto the wooden table in the room.

Art looked at the table full of items, a wave of joy washing over him.

The two deceased light cavalrymen left behind a complete set of saddle gear, two semi-circular nose-guard iron helmets, two sets of standard dark gray padded linen long shirts and pants, two short cloaks, two sets of double-layered cowhide armor, two tanned leather belts, two pairs of cowhide long boots; one leather-covered round shield, one short spear, two pointed long swords and two wooden-handled short knives, one battle axe, two ox-horn riding bows, two parchment quivers containing over thirty flat-headed light arrows and over ten diamond-tipped armor-piercing heavy arrows; one wool felt blanket, one cowhide water skin, one deep copper pot, two sets of wooden cutlery, and two cloth money bags containing over ten small silver coins and copper coins, as well as some miscellaneous items.

The hooded rider’s belongings were even more valuable: a date-red warhorse with a complete set of saddle gear, a hooded long robe and cloak with a cowhide belt, one long and one broadsword, and one fine iron dagger. More importantly, there was also a money bag containing three gold ingots, several marks, and a large pile of various copper coins, in addition to the parchment letter Art held in his hand.

Art did not catch any wilderness wolves, but his harvest was something he couldn’t earn in ten years of hunting in the forest.

...

"Alright, Cooper, we should go talk to that guy who’s pretending to be dead," Art said, suppressing the excitement in his heart, taking a piece of firewood from the fireplace, and walking out of the large wooden cabin into Old Cooper’s small cabin.

Soon, heart-wrenching howls emanated from the small wooden cabin.

After a long time, Art finally emerged from the wooden cabin, wiping blood from his hands with a piece of rags as he walked.

"Earl, it really is a noble as that guy said. We shouldn’t have killed him like that," the old man said, feeling that Art had been inconsiderate and was somewhat worried.

"Cooper, I didn’t intend to kill him initially. If he were an ordinary Knight, I could have given him the honor and dignity of a Knight, and perhaps we would have received a large ransom for it. But he shouldn’t have been from Lombardy, and he certainly shouldn’t have been born into the Borey Family," Art said coldly.

"This must be God’s will, that unlucky fellow," Cooper said, hearing Art’s words, and said no more. He turned and went inside, dragged out the corpse, put it on the blue mule’s back, and carried it to a slightly more distant place for burial.

That night, Art lay restless on the bed in the wooden cabin, sleepless. From the parchment letter and the hooded Knight, Art learned that outside the Unnamed Valley, beacons were lit everywhere, and war was raging. Perhaps this would be his best opportunity to establish himself in this era.

"Earl, the wind is picking up outside~" Cooper walked in, wiping blood from his hands.

"Yes, the wind is about to pick up!" A faint smile appeared on Art’s face.