Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 972 - 42 Trading (Part 1)

Chapter 972: Chapter 42 Trading (Part 1)

[Herd Wasteland, the location where the Gold is buried]

The tranquility of the valley was disturbed once again, with unwelcome guests returning after their previous visit.

But this time, it wasn’t like before, with only three riders sneaking in. This time, Winters brought his people and openly marched into the valley.

The Red River Tribe’s Golden Tent Guard spread out their cavalry patrols at the perimeter of the valley to intercept any herders or hunters that might appear.

The Iron Peak County Delegation set up camp within the valley. The side boards and tarps of the six horse-drawn carts were removed for the first time since leaving Iron Peak County, and Winters’ subordinates got their first look at the “mysterious cargo”:

Furnaces, crucibles, moulds, refractory bricks, bellows, and prefabricated pieces of hoisting machinery…

Seeing familiar tools, a goldsmith who had been repairing horse hooves along the way felt an inexplicable twinge in his nose.

…

Long before departing from Iron Peak County, Winters, Bard, and Mason had repeatedly discussed “how to securely recover the gold statue?”

All three agreed: Merely exposing the location of the Gold Celestial Statue posed a huge risk for the relatively weak delegation;

The Great Wilderness was always a land filled with hostility, and the best course of action to deal with the gold statue would be to strike a deal with the Red River Tribe, exchanging the gold statue for gold or equivalent goods;

If the aforementioned plan was not feasible, then they should proceed with the understanding and protection of the Red River Tribe to unearth the gold statue and… destroy it on the spot.

Yes, to destroy it.

The Gold Celestial Statue in Paratu could only be used as Gold; aside from boasting of military exploits, it held almost no additional value.

Better to destroy the eye-catching gold statue on the wasteland than to carry it across the Great Wilderness. It made more sense to simply melt it down and bring it back home as gold bars.

During negotiations with White Lion, Winters realized that the White Lion had no interest in the Gold Celestial Statue, but he also understood—White Lion wouldn’t mind providing some reasonable help in destroying the Gold Celestial Statue.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

Thus, the fate of the Herders’ most sacred object was decided.

…

When the tarps were removed from the last two carts, what was inside wasn’t tools, but a type of black-grey rock.

“Rocks?” someone asked, puzzled.

The mysterious cargo they had painstakingly transported were just a few carts of tools? And rocks?

The delegation’s blacksmith stepped forward, picked up a black rock, weighed it and then chuckled, turning around: “What rocks? These are clearly coal!”

“It’s coke,” Berlion said softly.

“It is coke,” Winters, leaning on his cane, walked into the crowd, nodded appreciatively at Berlion: “Processed coal.”

Winters, worrying that they could not find sufficient fuel in the Great Wilderness, had even brought two carts of coke all the way. He made such comprehensive preparations that he would definitely not leave the Herd Wasteland until two tons of Gold were in his hands.

Winters walked to the front of the crowd, sweeping his gaze over his subordinates: “Have you all had enough excitement?”

“[Monosyllabic words expressing submission and approval in fitful murmurs.]”

He smiled: “Then let’s get to work!”

“[An outburst of monosyllabic words full of eagerness to obey and approval]!”

And with that, they set to work.

Xial led people to find some log stakes and began digging; Pierre led people to unload the carts, getting to work on assembling the lifting machine; the delegation’s blacksmiths and goldsmiths busied themselves with setting up the furnaces.

Winters did not publicly explain what they were digging for, but those who had experienced the Great Wilderness Battle had their suspicions.

As for those who joined the military for the first time after its establishment, even if they knew nothing about the existence of the gold statue, just by observing the secretive demeanor of the Civil Guard Officer, they could tell that what lay underground was significant.

Although the sun was already leaning westward, everyone was eager to seize every minute and second.

Only Vashka, his head wrapped in layers of white bandages, approached Winters: “What is it that we’re digging for, Centurion?”

As an injured man, Vashka could quite straightforwardly slack off.

“You… don’t remember?” Winters responded with a wry smile.

Vashka sounded aggrieved: “I took a fall that day…”

…

On the day of the Greenhill Hunt, Vashka fell from his horse, striking the back of his head. Luckily, he suffered no more than a dozen stitches and a long sleep—upon waking, he was lively as ever.

But the fall did leave some sequelae; at least he could not recall anything about the day of the Greenhill Hunt.

Afterwards, Vashka learned about the Blood Wolf’s rampant and invincible presence on the Greenhill and how his companions shined following the Blood Wolf, turning green with regret.

Every time he thought of how his companions would boast about their feats at Greenhill in the future while he had no memory of it at all, Vashka’s heart ached.

So, these past few days, Vashka had been indirectly enquiring about the specifics of the Greenhill Hunt. However, Pierre was tight-lipped, his companions were reluctant to share details, and his father had given him a severe scolding.

After much thought, he concluded that the most reliable source would be first-hand information from those directly involved. Thus, whenever he had the chance, Vashka would sidle up to Winters in the hope of extracting some information.

…

Winters reflected carefully—Vashka had been present when they seized and buried the gold statue. Surely, a fall on the day of the Greenhill Hunt wouldn’t make him completely forget everything that had happened before, would it?

He looked at Vashka’s cheerful face and the white bandages wrapped around his head, suddenly feeling a pang of heartache. Because Vashka’s fall was severe, had his luck been just slightly worse, he might have lost his life.

But then another thought repeatedly surfaced: “The kid probably got knocked silly from the fall… No, even sillier than before.”

“When you see that thing, you’ll remember,” Winters said as gently as he could: “Vasya.”

Vashka nodded desperately, not really understanding what the Centurion was talking about, but the Centurion’s tone made him feel overwhelmingly flattered.

Berlion was installing a bellows, and Winters called him aside.

“The Red River Tribe has brought samples of ore,” Winters said. “Let’s go take a look.”

Both men took horses and rode leisurely out of the valley, heading for the camp of the Red River Tribe.

Winters was recovering much faster than Father Kaman had anticipated. He was already able to walk with a cane, but his limbs were still sore, weak, and felt stiff and uncoordinated when he moved.

Therefore, Father Kaman strictly prohibited Winters from riding fast horses; had it not been for Winters’s refusal to sit in a cart again, Father Kaman wouldn’t have allowed him to ride at all.

“The Red River Tribe seems to have no interest in mining iron ore,” Winters said, gripping the saddle tightly and struggling to maintain his balance. “It always feels a bit abnormal.”

“Iron ore requires many processes before it can enter the smelting furnace. If it’s just roughly mined ore, a hundred portions won’t yield one portion of pure iron. Steel can be sold far away, but iron ore isn’t worth transporting to distant places. That’s why well-known ironworking towns are all next to large mines; when the veins are exhausted, the towns also decline.”

Although Berlion was still reticent, when discussing ironworking with Winters, he was a veritable fountain of knowledge: “The chief of the Red River Tribe probably has determined that you wouldn’t set up a smelter in their territory, and the ore isn’t worth buying from a distance, hence their indifference.”

Winters asked, “What about transportation by water?”

“I don’t know,” Berlion honestly replied. “But I estimate it’s unfeasible. From what I know of mining towns, even when water transportation is convenient, there won’t be merchants coming from a hundred kilometers away to buy rough ore.”

Winters caught an unfamiliar term: “Rough ore?”

“It refers to the ore extracted from mines, mixed with rock.”

“Rough ore isn’t worth long-distance transportation.” Winters, in the presence of an expert, was never afraid to show his curiosity and asked, “Then, is there such a thing as fine ore?”

“In contrast to rough ore, blacksmiths generally call it ‘concentrate’,” Berlion explained carefully. “If we let the Red River Tribe handle selecting, roasting, crushing, screening, and even sintering, we could directly buy concentrate from them. If transported by water, concentrate might be worth the long haul.”

“When you were not in Iron Peak County, a Mr. Leo visited me—he’s a very astute merchant,” Winters mused. “He said, ‘Only goods with high enough profit margins are worth the long-distance trafficking, as the cost of transportation can exceed the price of the grain itself over two hundred kilometers away.'”

“That’s exactly the case, Your Excellency.”

“But you didn’t bring it up immediately,” Winters sighed. “There must be something wrong.”

“There is something indeed…”

“Out with it. If you think it’s not feasible, I’m not holding out much hope either.”

“Concentrate is just one step away from becoming worked iron. If we can obtain concentrate, then crude furnaces could be used to produce worked iron,” Berlion said seriously. “From what I’ve seen, the Herders are not inexperienced in ironmaking. On the contrary, their craftsmanship is very intricate.”

Winters recalled the weapons and armor confiscated from the various Herder tribes; although most were quite old, there were also some new ones among them. This led him to ponder the Red River Tribe’s iron usage rate, which far exceeded that of other tribes — while poor small tribes were still using stone and bone arrowheads, every member of the Red River Tribe was already using iron arrowheads.

“I think,” Winters said with a smile, “the Red River Tribe might have been secretly mining and smelting iron all along.”

Berlion thought for a moment: “The area around Qingqiu is all red soil, and the Red River Tribe does indeed have a ‘Red River,’ so there could very well be shallow iron ore deposits. It would be best to ask the local residents if there used to be iron mines? Or are there remnants of old iron smelting?”

“Where are there local residents when the Herder tribes roam everywhere?” Winters laughed heartily. After the laughter, he still adopted a serious attitude: “I have already asked people from the Wutu Tribe. At least in recent decades, there has been no talk of an ‘Iron Hill’ upstream of Red River. As for earlier than that, no one knows.”

“There’s a possibility that the ancient Herder people exhausted the shallow deposits and lacked the capability to mine the remaining ore, so over time the mines were abandoned and forgotten. Hence no one talks about them, and no one remembers them.”

Winters wound the reins around his fingers loop by loop: “Assuming that’s the case, where would the Red River Tribe get the technology to mine deep ore deposits from?”

Berlion did not answer, he had a vague feeling that this wasn’t the real issue.

“Let’s not worry about it!” Winters stretched on horseback, smiling as he spoke: “Even when you go to war with a map, you still need to see the terrain with your own eyes. It’s useless to think it over here without checking the place in person— the more the Red River Tribe refuses us to do the on-site exploration, the more I want to see what’s there.”

The two of them rode on for a while, and after exiting the valley, the world suddenly became open and bright.

Berlion took the initiative to speak: “Your Excellency, in fact, many places are known to have ore deposits that no one bothers to mine. Either because the veins are too poor, or because mining is too difficult, or because transportation is too inconvenient.”

“Like Iron Peak Mine?”

“Just like Iron Peak Mine. Unless the price of iron bars is too high or the ore deposits in other places are exhausted, Iron Peak Mine isn’t worth digging, because it’s not cost-effective.”

Winters let out a long sigh: “You mine when there’s profit, and you abandon it when there’s not. In the end, iron smelting is also a business.”

Berlion remained silent for a long time, then he retorted, “What isn’t, Your Excellency?”

Winters laughed out loud, gently nudging the horse’s ribs: “Still, there are some things that aren’t.”

…

Going against every single one of Father Kaman’s medical advices, Winters galloped to the encampment where the Red River Tribe’s palace guards were stationed as if in high spirits.

Although the Gold Tent Guard were following the White Lion’s orders to protect the Iron Peak County Delegation from disturbance, they did not camp in the valley nor did they have much contact with the Iron Peak County Delegation.

From beginning to end, no one from the Red River Tribe has set foot in the valley—this was another command from the White Lion.

Therefore, negotiations and exchanges were all conducted at the palace guard’s camp outside the valley.

Two Arrow Guards, one in front and the other behind, came to greet Winters as he delivered the ore.

The Arrow Guard standing in the front was a typical Herder, with his skin exposed to the elements over the long term, resulting in a unique texture due to keratinization.

The one standing behind, although dressed in wilderness garments, looked nothing like a Herder.

“Lord Batu.” The Arrow Guard who didn’t look like a Herder spoke up, his Common Tongue carrying a hint of a Monta accent: “What do you think about the conditions laid out by King White Lion?”