Return to High Mountain Keep

To welcome the new members, High Mountain Keep hosted a grand bonfire banquet after nightfall.

Of course, this was just a desolate, remote wilderness, with a lone moon overlooking the land and no sign of human habitation for dozens of miles around. But at least at this moment, there was enough company to make it lively.

Whole cattle and sheep were tied to spits, their fat dripping and sizzling as the orange flames licked them. Barrels and barrels of ale were uncorked and poured into the High Mountain Keep warriors' stomachs, which seemed to hold more than the barrels themselves.

Richard had used some soy sauce when roasting the meat, finally coaxing the stubborn Barbarians to grudgingly admit that it might actually be an edible seasoning.

Unexpectedly, the Centaur women gave it high praise. Women, after all, have more refined palates and enjoyed the savory flavor that could mask the gamey taste of beef and lamb.

They asked the lord of High Mountain Keep for some, and in return, a dozen Centaurs played horsehead fiddles, performing their tribe's most traditional tap dance in the open space.

The yearning for beauty is a universal language that needs no translation. Tap dancing was also popular in the Pompeii Opera House, and Richard had seen it before in the Southern Province.

But when the Centaurs danced, their four hooves alternately struck the ground, making even the loose stones on the ground tremble and jump. This was a natural, inimitable racial advantage. Compared to such a powerful and impactful sense of rhythm, human dancers' performances seemed like clumsy and unsuccessful imitations.

Richard led the way with thunderous applause.

"Back on the ice plains, we'd also have a good time together in the summer," Gunther said, grinning foolishly and guzzling ale as if pouring water down his throat.

"Boss, you know, the summer solstice is an important festival for us Highlanders."

There were only two seasons on the ice plains: winter and summer. In winter, ice and snow covered everything, and cold winds howled relentlessly. Summer, in contrast to the south, was shorter and more precious, so the Barbarians regarded the arrival of summer as the most celebrated day of the year.

Richard knew such common knowledge and nodded.

"Gunther, were you caught by slave traders and brought to Pompeii?" Richard was curious why the Barbarians had become slave gladiators.

Slave trade had never been truly prohibited in Pompeii. Some large slave merchants would form slave-catching teams to capture natives as slaves, but such third-rate armed organizations shouldn't, in theory, be a match for Barbarians.

"Slave traders? I did see them in the first few years I started hunting," Gunther said, chuckling as he recalled the past. "They weren't very strong, but to be honest, they often had plenty of supplies."

"Of course. No real expert would bother with that kind of business," Nehru whispered, sneaking over to interject.

He was supposed to be with the other slaves, but High Mountain Keep's slaves were slaves thanks to him, so he was heavily ostracized there and only got unwashed grilled intestines.

"So the High Elder quickly figured something out—there was no need to hunt dangerous mammoths and saber-toothed tigers; attacking slave traders was enough to live well. So for several years, the tribe didn't have anyone dying to fill their stomachs, and more children were born than in previous years. We even caught a lot of live ones to sell for money."

Gunther lay back on the ground, letting out a comfortable sigh. "Thinking about it now, those really were my most carefree teenage years."

Nehru felt sweat pouring down his forehead and suddenly found the slaves more amiable, scurrying back even faster.

"What happened after that?" Annie joined the conversation, slowly sipping a mug of spiced hot beer.

Hot beer, night, bonfire—a classic combination for listening to stories.

"After that… sigh, after that, the slave traders became fewer and fewer," Gunther said, sighing and shaking his head, his tone like an old farmer describing a poor potato harvest.

"Everyone couldn't understand why there were still as many elk, snow bears, and mammoths as in previous years, but only the slave traders were getting fewer? So the High Elder told me to take my brothers south to see if we could organize our own slave-catching team to go to the ice plains."

Gunther gulped down a large mouthful of beer. "Then, somehow, I ended up in the arena. They said I signed a gladiator contract."

"A bunch of Barbarians organizing a slave-catching team to catch Barbarians!" Richard held his stomach, laughing so hard he doubled over. It was truly rare for Barbarians, with their thick skulls, to come up with such a self-sufficient idea.

"You all treat each other like idiots," Annie concluded serenely.

The bonfire banquet continued until the moon was high in the sky before the excited residents gradually grew tired. Richard's face was a little flushed, but every warrior who tried to outdrink him had to be carried away by their companions.

As they were winding down, Annie suddenly said to him, "Lord Richard, thank you for your care during this time. I might be able to return soon."

"Hmm, remember to settle the food bill," Richard said, intently sucking marrow from a beef bone, completely preoccupied.

"…" Annie looked at his oily face and couldn't help but smile softly. "Is there anything Lord Richard needs? Perhaps I can bring it along next time I pass by."

"Hold on…" Richard hastily devoured two more bites of roasted meat, then waved for a servant to clear the mess.

He choked on the meat, his eyes rolling back, and quickly picked up his ale mug, taking two large gulps. "Get me two Half-Elf cooks. The Barbarians and these Centaurs make terrible food!"

"Also, a few pieces of white crystal, at least the size of a fist. The purer, the better."

Crystals had very limited use in the wilderness. Annie felt she had guessed his intention. "You want to use white crystals to impersonate expensive gems and trick the natives?"

Richard had never heard of such a disreputable trick and silently noted it down, but he said, "If I want something, I usually just take it. No need to bother with trickery."

He went to the storeroom and took out a box dug up from the Swiftwind Wolf tribe, handing it to Annie. It contained various forms of gold and silver, roughly estimated to be worth three to five hundred gold coins.

"If it's not enough, I can add more, but please remember to bring my cooks and crystals."

The Half-Elf didn't understand why an expanding frontier territory would request these things, but based on her understanding of Richard these past few days, asking would be pointless.

This guy had a terrible personality, completely unlike a noble, and enjoyed seeing people frustrated even more than a street ruffian.

Annie said, as if piqued, "They say women are more unpredictable than the ocean, but I find you even more unfathomable, my good lord."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Richard said, waving his hand and walking toward his room without looking back.

Annie stood watching his retreating figure, then suddenly made a funny face, squinting, pouting, and sticking out her tongue.

"I just thought about it again. High Mountain Keep has a lot of people, so at least five Half-Elf cooks will be enough, five," Richard suddenly turned around and emphasized, holding up his palm.

Annie, bathed in moonlight, smiled. Her dignified demeanor was impeccable, even to the most rigorous etiquette teacher. "Very well, my lord."