Chapter Forty-Six: After the Battle

According to what Carlos knew, by the end of the day, every household in Saltwell Town had come into a windfall. As long as they handed over the heads of bounty hunters and whatever they had seized, Baron Mori generously dispensed the full bounty, not skimming a single silver coin.

This made Carlos suddenly feel as if his family had become the ringleaders of bounty hunters, and that this peaceful, nameless, remote town had turned into a den of bandits overnight. The once honest residents, miners all, had been transformed into butchers.

Carlos received a smack on the back of his head.

Baron Mori, brimming with zest, warned his youngest son not to refer to Saltwell Town as a bandit den, nor himself as a bandit chief. He was the descendant of pioneers, a hereditary noble of the Radiant Empire in every sense.

Grandpa Flint and his granddaughter, High Priestess Geoffrey, had departed.

They left aboard a steam-powered carriage Carlos had never seen before, with a rear compartment from which hung the great engine, taking them away. The carriage was both long and wide; Carlos could even see, tucked away in the lengthy compartment, a group of soldiers clad in black armor and helms.

Baron Mori, earnest in his farewells, gave his youngest son a hard pinch on the thigh as they parted.

It was only when Carlos blinked his innocent wide eyes and let a few natural tears fall that his father relented.

Once the farewells were done, Baron Mori hurriedly took his eldest son, Drecht, to inventory the spoils.

Seeing the eager look on his father’s face, Carlos strongly suspected he was planning to use the gear to arm his own squad of bounty hunters.

As for the recruits—who better than the miners of Saltwell Town, now blooded and ready?

Rubbing his aching thigh, Carlos made his way back, intending to find a few friends who had been just as frightened by recent events. Charle’s dream of becoming a hunter was probably over, as she was currently being scolded by her aunt—Malt’s mother—who was yanking her by the ear. Malt’s little face was flushed with life and vitality, and with her freckles hidden, the girl had suddenly become quite pretty.

With Carlos vouching for her, Malt no longer needed to work as a barmaid. Perhaps her mother had never truly wanted her to go to the tavern; she simply hadn’t realized her daughter was so familiar with the baron’s precious son.

When Carlos went over to greet them, the woman, still holding Charle by her drooping ear, looked up at Carlos with an affection so intense it was almost unbearable, her eyes burning like fire.

Carlos was delighted—Charle finally had someone to keep her in line—and quickly made his escape.

Chubby Korman was also being disciplined.

Augusta, the steam guardian, looked down on his son with disdain.

“You didn’t even take a single bounty hunter’s head?”

Korman puffed out his cheeks, replying proudly, “I exchanged blows with a two-star swordsman, smashed a chair over his shoulder, and had him coughing up blood. Carlos can vouch for me.”

The towering man turned his gaze on Carlos, who nodded emphatically.

“It’s true. I saw Korman put all his strength into smashing that guy. I saw the scar-faced swordsman almost stagger back, just a little more and…”

“Useless! Go back and keep training—no leaving the steam valve house for a month!”

Augusta showed no mercy, slapping the chubby boy squarely on his raised cheek.

Korman’s cheeks, once puffed in pride, quickly deflated—then swelled again, turning a purplish blue.

Carlos drew a sharp breath, rubbing the bruise on his thigh out of habit, suddenly finding it didn’t hurt so much anymore.

After searching around, he didn’t spot near-sighted Sidis; most likely his father had sent him off to scavenge corpses for bounty money. It wasn’t easy raising enough to send him to the Black Magic Academy.

Grant arrived with the carriage, ready to take Carlos home.

Four or five armed horses followed behind, all strong and tall, clearly of fine pure stock.

Carlos was momentarily lost in thought.

Grant, too, seemed distracted. When Carlos looked at him, he assumed the air of a dutiful old coachman, face solemn and eyes fixed ahead, to hide the slight flush in his cheeks.

Carlos climbed into the carriage and, once seated, asked, “What do you need so many horses for? Can you really take care of all of them?”

“As long as the horses are good, I can manage,” Grant replied after a moment’s thought, driving the carriage slowly forward.

His words were sincere, though Carlos couldn’t understand why a killer with a bandit’s past was so passionate about horse breeding. He shook his head slightly.

Unable to make sense of it, he let the matter drop. Suddenly remembering something, Carlos asked Grant, “Uncle, why did you rush alone into the bounty hunters’ midst instead of staying in the tavern to protect me? I almost got caught by that Laurent.”

The old coachman hesitated a moment, then sighed, “With that old man there, no one could hurt you, young master. Besides, his granddaughter seems quite the expert herself.”

Carlos opened his eyes wide in surprise. “You know Grandpa Flint too?”

Grant drove on in silence for a long while before replying slowly, “It was he who introduced the lady to Baron Mori back in the day—and that’s how you came to be, young master.”

Carlos was left speechless.

The Stevensons’ Night Watch suffered heavy losses in this battle, forcing Baron Mori to temporarily shut down the salt business.

He recruited a new batch of night watchmen from among the miners, nearly a hundred strong, all equipped with bounty hunter-issue short pistols and sabers.

With Drecht training them for a while, they would become quite formidable.

Carlos knew the salt mine could no longer satisfy his father’s ambitions. With General Flint’s verbal guarantee, his father’s ambitions now encompassed all 7,700 square kilometers of East Cyprus.

The crude map of the town that once hung in the study had been replaced with a detailed administrative map of East Cyprus—a telling sign.

And his original target, Forest City, was only one of ten medium-sized cities in the eastern administrative district.

Everyone seemed to have found their purpose, and Carlos felt he couldn’t just idle about.

Early the next morning, Carlos took Grant and the carriage down to the mine’s dungeon to fetch some men.

He smiled as he looked at the three hunter brothers. Donning the bounty hunters’ outfits he’d retrieved from the spoils, the trio—who weren’t even novice hunters—now looked the part.

Fat Conrad, pleased with his appearance, slapped his rice bowl down on the straw and declared, “If we’d known the treatment was this good, young master, my brothers and I would have agreed the moment you asked.”

“As long as you handle this task well, I can get you three sets of squire’s armor as well,” Carlos replied, smiling with narrowed eyes.

The tall Solly and short Murray both looked expectant.

Carlos then turned to Anderson, who was stroking his patterned steel sword, and said, “This time, besides collecting alchemical herbs, you’ll have to escort two people into the mountains. No matter who’s in the carriage, you’re to deliver them to the designated spot and then return with the herbs as quickly as you can.

I can only wait for you in town for five months. If you miss the season and the mountain passes close with snow, I’ll assume you died up there.”

Anderson looked up at the plump black cat lounging atop the dungeon bars and said evenly, “Don’t forget your promise. Even if I’m late, as long as I finish the job and get out alive, you’ll see to it I can enter the central province openly, without being hunted by the Sword Pavilion.”

Carlos flashed a brilliant smile, showing his white teeth.

“No problem.”