The Twist Came Like a Tornado

Summer in the wilderness wasn't nearly as harsh as in Pompeii. It only got hot around noon on sunny days; otherwise, it was quite cool.

The shadow of war had almost no impact on High Mountain Keep.

The guard soldiers spent their days sweating on the training grounds with Gunther and Hert, then in the evenings, they'd flock to the river for a bath. Barbarians used to be tribal hunters, and Centaurs were once prairie herdsmen. Although both were naturally powerful races, they still needed extensive training to become true professional warriors.

Richard didn't have to worry about any of that, which left him quite idle. He spent his days squatting by the river, watching the Hum-Ha Duo excitedly fish pebbles out of the water.

When he was in a good mood, he'd give them extra jerky. The two Ogres would then lie on the ground and gratefully lick his boots, becoming even more enthusiastic.

This unusual behavior caught Annie's attention, and she finally couldn't help but ask, "Lord Richard, what do you need so many pebbles for?"

"I plan to line the bottom of the creek on the hill. The water flowing over colorful pebbles will be beautiful, I think. Then I'll transplant some bitter thorn flowers along the banks, and I can sit there and have tea when I have nothing else to do."

This answer greatly surprised Annie. She never expected such a delicate side from the rough man before her. The Elven blood flowing in her veins made Half-Elves naturally appreciate refined and beautiful things, which made her look at Richard in a much more favorable light.

"My lord, among the Pioneering Nobles I've met, many are engrossed in military affairs or business, but you are the first to have the leisure to manage a garden."

Just as Richard was about to speak, a clatter of hooves, growing louder, broke the afternoon's tranquility.

The flat terrain offered an unobstructed view. Looking up, he could see two human riders galloping frantically towards High Mountain Keep.

Richard's eyesight was much better than average. He could clearly see that one rider's face and chest were covered in blood, while the other had a long spear sticking out of his back and was slumped over the saddle, his life hanging by a thread.

He put two fingers in his mouth and blew a sharp whistle. Hert, who was training, immediately led a few Centaurs to charge forward, pulling feathered arrows from their quivers and nocking them onto their bowstrings as they ran.

The distance between the two parties was now about five hundred yards, and they were rapidly approaching each other. In a few breaths, they would be within effective striking range. With the Centaurs' archery skills, the two riders would instantly become pincushions.

"Wait!" Annie's face suddenly turned very pale – Half-Elves also had excellent eyesight, and what Richard could see, she could see clearly too.

"Those are mercenary riders from our Voya Merchant Guild!"

Another whistle, and the Centaurs reined in their bows and arrows, making a sharp turn. They circled widely and returned to the foot of the hill with the two riders.

Before the horses had even stopped, Annie's mercenaries were already scrambling to carry the injured rider down for care. The other, clearly dead, was temporarily left unattended. Richard went over to take a look.

He must have been a scout or a ranger in life, equipped only with Chainmail and a Single-Barrel Repeating Crossbow.

There were several minor injuries on his body, but the fatal wound was the Javelin lodged in his back. Judging by his purplish face and lips, all the blood in his body had drained out through that wound.

Richard pulled up his Chainmail and examined it closely, unable to help but feel a little surprised by the rider's apparent wealth. The Chainmail wasn't the low-grade type with simple interlocking rings; instead, each ring had been hammered flat at both ends, drilled, and then riveted with fine rivets before being flattened on both sides.

Thousands of rings, each processed individually, made this an extremely time-consuming and expensive process. The benefit was that it effectively enhanced the Chainmail's resistance to piercing. Unfortunately, even so, the Javelin in his back had still managed to forcefully burst several rings, the spearhead piercing through his entire chest and protruding from the front, then pinning him to the saddle.

He grasped the wooden shaft and pulled the Javelin out, examining it carefully from top to bottom twice. His expression became somewhat grim.

He saw something not-so-optimistic in it, and a vague, unformed idea flickered in his mind.

When Richard looked up, his eyes accidentally met Annie's, and he was surprised to find that the Half-Elf girl's expression was equally terribly somber.

"Richard..."

"Annie..."

"Never mind, you go first." Richard handed the Javelin in his hand to a passing Barbarian.

"The merchant guild's reinforced escort team encountered a large group of Gnolls halfway here and were completely wiped out." Annie gave a desolate smile, her slender body trembling slightly, like a begonia battered by raindrops, falling and turning to mud.

"These Gnolls are quite well-equipped, aren't they, just like the ones we encountered last time?" Richard's tone and demeanor were clearly affirmative, even as he asked the question.

Before Annie could answer, he continued, "High Mountain Keep isn't safe right now either. My personal suggestion is for you to lead your mercenaries to return lightly, taking only basic rations and warhorses. Even if you encounter Gnolls, you'll be able to shake them off easily."

"No." Annie's voice was calm, calm yet firm, like a hard reef hidden beneath the surface of a lake. "I cannot abandon the injured mercenaries. They fought desperately to protect me."

"But you can temporarily foster them at High Mountain Keep," Richard said with a chuckle and a wink. "Of course, the fee won't be cheap."

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." Annie took a deep breath. "Lord Richard, I appreciate your kindness, but I don't want to be forever troubled by guilt and lose sleep every night for the rest of my life."

She understood that Richard's proposal was well-intentioned and, from a rational perspective, recognized it as the optimal solution currently. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to abandon her companions with a clear conscience. The stubborn, almost obsessive, morality of Elves was fully evident in her.

Richard nodded. Since they were unwilling to withdraw, then for military considerations, the temporary integration of the merchant caravan's mercenaries into High Mountain Keep was an inevitable choice.

The addition of a dozen Pompeii warriors wasn't much, but the abundant supplies that came with them quickly caused the previously arrogant and proud High Mountain Keep soldiers, who had looked down on them, to turn green with envy. With a major battle approaching, the atmosphere in the great dining hall was like a festival.

"They eat pretty well." Gunther and Hert sat together, digging out a large dollop of honey with their dining knives and spreading it thickly on bread. After a moment's thought, Gunther added a fifth sausage.

"They do eat well," Hert agreed, even more exaggeratedly. On his plate was a thick piece of beef larger than the plate itself.

"I found something very interesting." Richard kicked open the door and strode into the great dining hall. The Barbarians and Centaurs, who were gorging themselves, abruptly stood up to greet him, knocking over chairs and benches.

"Sit."

Before the mercenaries could react, the High Mountain Keep people resumed their boisterous feasting and laughter.

With a clang, the Javelin pulled from the dead rider's back was thrown onto the table by Richard. The dirt and blood adhering to it had been thoroughly washed away, revealing its original appearance.

Richard sat down opposite Annie. "There's honey! Gunther, you bear, aren't you going to get some for me, your lord, quickly!"