Bear School Astartes

The young man’s voice was efficient and concise, instantly bringing to mind a military demeanor.

As the ones who brought back these horses, Geralt and Lann walked towards that direction.

Sure enough, Lann spotted a Sintra Knight at first glance.

He was wearing a full suit of plate armor that was originally supposed to be bright and shiny, but now appeared very dull.

Undoubtedly, this armor had transitioned from a ’decorative piece’ to a ’tool of war.’

On the left chest where the heart would be, a small Sintra lion shield emblem still hung, which was the only part of the armor that remained bright.

A young man with mostly brown, partly golden hair was standing before the group of horses, stopping the butcher in the refugee group from starting his work.

From his features, one could vaguely see that he was indeed related by blood to the Royal Steward of Sintra that Lann had once met.

”This is Stuart Lynne, the son of Hacksaw Lynne. Just eighteen years old, he’s already been knighted by Queen Calanthe.”

Dandelion’s head quietly spoke beside Lann’s arm; his height only reached that far.

”It is said that such a young talent, so accomplished at a young age, has nothing to do with his father using his position’s convenience in the court.”

A sardonic smile graced the poet’s face.

He thought well of Hacksaw and his son, and in this era, it was common for a son to legitimately rise to power through his father’s influence.

But the poet was born with a love for satire, a flaw that would probably never change in his lifetime.

Lann glanced down at him, ”Aren’t you afraid this guy will give you some trouble?”

The poet chuckled dismissively, ”He hasn’t got time now to deal with the idle gossip flying around him, his mind is set on rushing out of Sintra. You’ll know once you meet him.”

Geralt, the one who handed over the horses to the butcher, naturally stepped forward now, frowning as he faced Stuart.

”Can’t you see how many people here are dying because they have no food to generate heat, Sir Knight?”

Ciri followed behind Geralt, but Lann noticed that the Sintra Knight, who had been knighted by Ciri’s grandmother, only briefly looked over the little girl’s face before looking away.

As if she were just an ordinary refugee girl.

”Honored Demon Hunter,”

The young man with intermingled black and gold hair responded to Geralt without any change in expression, appearing not to hear the sarcasm in Geralt’s address.

Calm and non-negotiable.

”We must prioritize enhancing the soldiers’ combat power. These warhorses are the most effective resources. It’s more efficient and forward-looking than letting refugees who can’t fight eat them.”

”Yes, and let the soldiers have the warhorses, allowing many here to starve and freeze to death. But that’s okay. These things are inevitable in the long run, right?”

When Geralt said such things with his deadpan face, it was rare for anyone not to get angry; it was a talent of his.

Yet, Stuart showed no change.

”So if we distribute these horses to the refugees, there will be a good outcome? The meat eaten tonight will provide them with heat to get through one relatively comfortable night, but... then what?”

The knight, younger than Lann, didn’t move, but his tone had already subdued Geralt.

”What if we encounter small units, scouts of Niflgaard? And then, the better outcome: we are lucky enough to win again as before. Then whose fault is it that the people we should have been able to care for have died because we lacked these cavalry?”

”And if the outcome is bad? What if we lose?”

”If we have used all our strength, me and my few cavalry, soldiers, and a few Demon Hunters. In your hearts, you know how many people we can handle. Just 200 Niflgaard soldiers and they can wipe us out! At that time, the Niflgaard people won’t care if they’re refugees or stragglers — they’ll execute them all in a day.”

The argument between the Demon Hunter and the Knight drew the attention of some in the refugee group nearby.

Some of them looked at Geralt and the horses exhaling white steam with hopeful eyes.

While others, after a struggle, chose to turn their heads away, no longer looking at that tempting ’flesh and blood.’

Gazes have power; many gazes carry even more weight.

Making a choice under the gaze of many requires not only logical judgment but also a big heart.

Geralt, outwardly cold but inwardly sensitive, undoubtedly felt uncomfortable now.

Until a large hand covered his entire shoulder.

It was Lann.

The tall figure behind him looked down at Geralt, his gaze conciliatory, ”Let it be.”

Knowing Geralt as he did, Lann understood that Geralt wasn’t someone who would intervene at this moment.

It was only the wariness in his heart towards Hacksaw and his son that prompted his unusual actions.

As a Demon Hunter who had roamed the continent for decades, Geralt had seen many wars.

So he should have been even clearer that in chaotic times, prioritizing resources for the battle-ready is absolutely the right choice.

It’s cruel but realistic.

Even if refugees in the group are continually starving to death, soldiers and horses need to be fed.

Because if the soldiers fail against the Niflgaard, the refugees won’t even have the chance to starve slowly, waiting for a change; they’d be executed cleanly in a day.

The brief commotion was slowly subsiding.

And at the tail end of the hubbub, an acquaintance of the Demon Hunters, the leader of the refugee group, and former Royal Steward of Sintra — Hacksaw Lynne, also emerged from behind Stuart.

He looked no different than when Lann first met him.

His hair and beard were so meticulously groomed that even his nasal hair was trimmed, his clothes, though worn and stained, were still tidily arranged.

The rigorous and self-important posture was as if he was still the steward in the Royal Palace.

Except for one thing.

He held a heavy steel scepter in his hand.

Lann had seen this thing before; it was in the Mayor’s office of Sintra City. It represented the authority of management bestowed by the Royal Family to the mayor.

”What’s going on, folks? The atmosphere seems a bit tense?”

Hacksaw walked jovially between Geralt and Stuart, greeting both sides.

”Nothing, father,” Stuart replied calmly, ”I just had a disagreement with the Demon Hunter, but it’s been settled now.”

”Is that so? That’s wonderful! Times are tough now, and we, as refugees struggling to survive in the cracks, can’t afford infighting.”

Hacksaw smiled like a mediator.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, then suddenly brightened.

”Ah! Isn’t this...”

Hacksaw’s enthusiastic call was interrupted by Ged stepping forward.

Ged made a gesture of introduction: ”This is Bordeaux, my fellow schoolmate. He heard the news and came to help me.”

Hacksaw’s smile stiffened for a moment but then returned to normal.

”In times of crisis like this, anyone who can lend a hand will be immensely appreciated by Sintra.”

As if he had never seen Lann, he warmly went up and shook hands, looking up as he did.

And Lann seemed to have re-acquainted this familiar person.

After a slight assessment up and down, he took Hacksaw’s extended hand in a handshake.