Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic-Chapter 660 - Old Friends of Rising Wind Trail
Chapter 660: Chapter 660: Old Friends of Rising Wind Trail
Chapter 660: Chapter 660: Old Friends of Rising Wind Trail
Crossing the Sicarl Mountain and entering Carsonrick from Draleon, there were certainly more than one mountain road, but Rising Wind Trail was the most accessible by carriage and also the easiest route to travel.
Even in the era when the steam train had reached the mouth of Sicarl Mountain, this ancient mountain road remained the most important trade route in the surrounding area.
Rising Wind Trail wound up Sicarl Mountain and eventually, after crossing the border, led to a foreign city on the other side of the mountains. Red Water Camp was the largest outpost and military camp established by the Draleon Royal Army in the border area. It served both defensive and reconnaissance duties, and in conjunction, with the checkpoints and tax officers, managed the issues of goods entering and leaving the country.
Of course, there were other military camps in the Sicarl Mountain besides Red Water Camp, but those were not known by ordinary people.
Red Water Camp itself did not allow any unrelated personnel besides soldiers to enter, but places were still needed for resting and reorganizing goods in the mountains, as it took time to descend from Red Water Camp into the city.
Therefore, travelers spontaneously gathered outside the camp to form a small campsite, and taking advantage of the business opportunity, merchants somehow persuaded the officer in charge of Red Water Camp to agree to construct buildings, resulting in the Traveler’s Camp having small inns, warehouses, and pubs.
Although the buildings were simple, having them was better than having none.
When Shard was climbing the mountain, he happened to encounter a farmer from Midshire Fort who wanted to sell a donkey cart of grain in the Southern Nation via Rising Wind Trail. Thus, he spent two pennies to share the ride, sitting in the back of the grain cart and chatting with the elderly driver as they headed into the mountains.
Shard was curious about why someone who appeared to be in his fifties was still transporting grain. The old man smiled and told Shard,
“The kids have all gone to a Big City like Midshire Fort, but the land must not be neglected; it’s been passed down through generations.”
Even riding in a donkey cart, Shard only saw the towering watchtower of Red Water Camp around almost one in the afternoon. He had set out after ten in the morning, but he had started from the Ruined Tower in the mountains, not completely from the base of the mountain. This meant that unless one was riding a horse or in a vehicle, an ordinary person entering the mountains in the morning would not reach Red Water Camp until nearly evening.
Shard and the very talkative old man said their farewells at the edge of the camp. The latter had to go to the checkpoint ahead and could only obtain his transit documents after paying the taxes. Shard waved his hand and then stood by a road sign written in the languages of both countries, looking to his right.
To the right was a Little Peak, with wooden stairs and a gallery built at steep points, leading to a higher positioned military camp that was surrounded by rough stone fences and wooden wall fences. The top of Little Peak, whether man-made flat or naturally level, was where Red Water Camp sat. Just a few arrow towers and cannon mouths were enough to easily stop any enemy wishing to attack from here.
Standing by the road, one could see the patrol soldiers standing on the top of the high wooden walls, and faintly hear the echoing shouts.
“Traveler’s Camp,” written in two languages on the road sign, was situated around Little Peak, next to the checkpoint on Rising Wind Trail. Trees from the forest had been cut down to clear the land, with scattered two-story wooden buildings distributed within the camp, and a simple wooden fence haphazardly enclosed the perimeter of the Traveler’s Camp to protect against wild animals.
Despite being in the mountains, the place appeared very lively. Merchants driving carriages and travelers passing through the area bustled in the camp, people speaking different languages gathered together complaining about the inconvenience of water usage, fire prevention and theft prevention slogans were engraved everywhere, while off-duty soldiers laughed and walked arm in arm in and out of the pubs.
There were even innkeepers specially catering to travelers who were trying to nail up boards with advertisements on the wooden fence surrounding the camp, but as Shard neared the camp, he was chased away by a rude butcher, who was nearby that fence, wielding a cleaver:
“This is my turf, go hang your filthy sign somewhere else!”
The heavily accented butcher added a couple of words to his sentence that Shard didn’t know how to translate, to describe the innkeeper’s despicable behavior, which made the onlookers laugh out loud.
Although the camp had an entrance, there was no one there to collect fees like tolls.
The Outlander, who had never seen such a scene, entered the camp and looked around with great interest. However, the area of the Traveler’s Camp was at most three times the size of Saint Delan Square, and at least a quarter of it was storage, so although it looked novel, after a few glances, it felt like there really wasn’t much of interest.
After the incident at Midshire Fort Mechanical Academy last week, Captain Lades had arranged to meet Shard today at the Blue Rose Tavern in the Traveler’s Camp. It seemed to be one of the higher-end taverns in the camp, not because the name sounded slightly more elegant, but because those entering and exiting all looked decently dressed.
Pushing open the door of the tavern, a noisy clamor and the smell of alcohol mixed with fermented food hit him.
After a glance didn’t reveal Captain Lades, Shard guessed that the captain probably thought he wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon, so he went to the bar first and ordered a glass of apple cider.
The prices at the Traveler’s Camp seemed a bit higher than in the city, but that was understandable, since transporting anything from the city to the mountains incurred travel costs.
The Tavern was truly busy around noon. In addition to the apple cider, Shard also ordered a plate of fried carrots and pork as his lunch. He sat down at a corner table and signaled to the waiter to bring over a copy of this morning’s Sicarl Morning News to keep himself occupied while eating.
A newspaper that cost only 3 pence in the city was being sold for 4 pence at the Traveler’s Camp. Although it was only a penny more, it was indeed more expensive. Knowing that haggling was probably not practiced here, Shard didn’t say much, but as he counted out the small coins and handed the four little coins to the waiter, the tavern door was pushed open once again.
Shard instinctively looked in that direction, and the person entering also noticed Shard’s gaze, and looked back.
“Hmm?”
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Unfortunately, it wasn’t Captain Lades who entered, but it was still an acquaintance of Shard’s. The man had very short hair, only visible as a fuzzy stubble, and his skin was dark. His double eyelids were extremely pronounced. He appeared to be in his thirties, was thin, and was dressed in a brown, old-style, desert robe common in desert regions. He was holding a notebook in his right hand, had very short eyelashes, and his black eyes were extraordinarily bright.
“Mr. Sean Asmon?”
This was the “Demonologist” Shard had met in the Pink Rose Inn at Coldwater Port, the very gentleman who had lost a Roder Card from the Demon Series to Shard in that casual inn, and had told him a story about a man with no desires and a demon.
