boyutpedia Chapter 71 A Short Story about the Deer-Headed Demon and the Dwarf
Chapter 71 A Short Story about the Deer-Headed Demon and the Dwarf
The forest near Lindenville.
The elder's son led the way, his palms sweating profusely. The young men following behind him were equally nervous, and some of them swallowed hard.
At this moment, the person walking at the front stopped. From the shadows of the trees ahead, a huge figure emerged from the open space.
The Deer-Headed Demon is seven feet tall, with a huge elk skull on its head, its body covered in moss and bones, and sharp claws at the ends of its long arms. Every step it takes on the fallen leaves produces a dull crushing sound.
The elder's son's pitchfork began to tremble, and several young villagers instinctively backed away. Some tripped and fell to the ground, scrambling backward.
Ron raised his hand and made a brief gesture. The soldiers behind him quickly divided into three rows of ten, each holding a shield in their left hand and a javelin in their right, ready to throw.
All the soldiers moved in unison, with precision and silence, like machines whose switches had been flipped.
The stag-headed demon roared, its form merging into the surrounding tree trunks and disappearing. It could move freely among the trees, a hunting method that had never failed it in this dense forest.
In the upper right corner of Ron's field of vision, the battlefield command interface was already open, clearly showing that it was moving rapidly inside the tree trunk on the right. Ron did not turn his head or need to speak; the second group of spear throwers had already adjusted their direction.
The stag-headed demon emerged from the tree trunk, but before it could pounce, the spear had already pierced its arm. It howled in pain, trying to merge back into the tree trunk, but its movement was slowed down by the wound.
The army completed its final concentrated attack, with dozens of spears piercing the torso of the deer-headed demon simultaneously, pinning its entire body to the tree trunk behind it. The massive deer head drooped heavily, no longer moving.
Several villagers stood frozen in place, having never witnessed such a battle before. The soldiers moved in perfect unison, like precisely meshed gears, without commands or shouts, only coldness, efficiency, and silence.
The elder's son's pitchfork was still trembling, but not from fear. He looked at the deer-headed demon pierced by the spear, his lips moved, but he didn't say anything.
The young villager who had just tripped got up from the ground, patted the mud off his pants, and stared blankly at Ron and the soldiers' backs.
When the troops brought out the corpse of the deer-headed demon, the elders waiting at the village entrance immediately spotted the enormous deer-headed skull.
He opened his mouth, turned around and shouted something towards the village. The villagers poured out of their houses and surrounded him. Some reached out and touched the broken bone armor, while others counted the javelins on the corpse.
The young villager who had led the way was squatting by the roadside, a pitchfork on his knees, gesturing wildly to his companions who had gathered around him about the battle they had just witnessed. He was so excited that the pitchfork almost poked the person next to him in the face.
Ron did not linger in Lindenville, but regrouped and headed toward Reardon Estate.
Workers have already started construction; the gap in the wall is being repaired, scaffolding is being erected on the roof of the main building, and the sound of sawing planks can be heard from the direction of the barn.
The manor had been abandoned for many years, but its overall structure was intact and its foundation was still in good condition. It only needed repairs rather than reconstruction. An old woman stood at the entrance of the main building, her posture still revealing the refinement of her aristocratic background. Her back was straight and her hands were folded in front of her.
"Dolores," she nodded slightly to Ron, "the last heir of the Reardon family, welcome, Your Lordship."
She led Ron through the main building's porch, pushed open the newly replaced oak door, and as they passed through the second-floor corridor, her hand gently traced the faded marks on the wall.
"The Reardon family's flour once supplied the entire Velen region, their barns were overflowing with grain, the estate was visited from morning till night, and their cellars were always stocked with Toussaint's red wine and mead."
She stood at the corner of the stairs, pushed open a wooden window, and sunlight fell on the dusty windowsill.
"I've wandered for most of my life, and when I came back, I found my brother was gone, and the manor had been taken over by monsters. I thought this was the end for the Reardon family."
She turned to Ron and said, "Thank you for taking me in. I will do everything I can to restore this manor to its former glory."
Ron simply nodded briefly, saying nothing more. Buying the estate and allowing her to continue living there was enough to show his attitude.
A few days later, in the manor hall, Erwin's lips curled into a slight smile as he flipped through the notes board to report to Ron.
"Elder Lyndenville's son and a few young men from the village secretly ran away to join the army, and the elder couldn't stop them. The boy said he didn't want to hold a pitchfork for the rest of his life; he wanted to be a soldier under the lord."
Ron picked up the list and glanced at it. "Assign them to the regular army training sequence according to recruit standards."
Outside the window, a new batch of weapons and armor was being transported out of the workshop, and the quartermaster was squatting beside the weapons rack, inspecting them one by one.
The skull of the stag-headed demon has been returned to the manor and is hanging on the fireplace in the main hall.
Carradine Estate.
A layer of iron dust floated in the hydraulic workshop, the air was humid and stuffy, and the sound of hammering and waterwheel turning mingled together, never stopping from morning to night.
Brom squatted down next to the workbench, with the blueprints of the hydraulic wire drawing machine spread out in front of him, and poked the paper back and forth with his finger a couple of times.
"The hardened steel billet of the wire drawing plate directly caused the drill bit to break down during the final process of drilling the tapered hole, rendering it unusable."
Yuna stood opposite him, lifting her gaze from the blueprints.
"Drill bits aren't a problem, I'll forge another batch. There's enough iron, but the work schedule is too tight. The farm's farm implement orders are already booked until next month. Hoes and plows alone take up half of the forging time."
Brom snorted, pushed the blueprints aside, pulled out an oak mug, took a swig, smacked his lips, and said, "This ale is still no good."
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "What was that brewing elf's name again, Erin? Her ale is nothing like that."
Let me tell you, to brew real ale, you need dwarves or halflings. Elven fruit wine is for girls; men should drink strong liquor.
Just as she finished speaking, a voice came from the workshop entrance, and Eileen, who was passing by, stopped.
"Do you know why dwarves are only good at brewing ale, and not fruit wine?"
She set the mead she was holding aside, turned around, and smiled, "Because dwarves can't reach the fruit on the trees."
Brom's beard bristled as if blown by the wind. "Can't reach it?! Say it again!"
He slammed his oak glass down on the worktable. "You elves' sour brew doesn't even deserve to be called beer! Real ale needs to be aged in oak barrels for at least a year! Do you even know what an oak barrel is?"
Eileen leaned against the doorframe and said slowly, "A year of aging in oak barrels? Your customers would have died of thirst on the roadside long ago."
She pointed at Brom: "Besides, you drank half of that last batch of ale yourself. Cellaring? I bet you just kept it in your stomach."
"That batch of wine has reached its optimal drinking period!"
"Best time to drink? You don't mean secretly drinking it at 2 AM while crouching next to an anvil, do you?"
Gretka was squatting at the workshop entrance, drawing on the ground with a twig. The drawing depicted two figures, one big and one small, holding hands. Hearing the noise, she stood up, walked to the door, put her hands behind her back, and looked up at the arguing adults.
"I know, I know! Aunt Erin told me a story about dwarves, elves, and humans!"
The argument abruptly stopped, and Eileen turned her head to look at Gretka, her eyebrows slightly raised.
Yuna looked up from the drawing, while Gretka, with her hands behind her back, cleared her throat and raised her chin slightly, mimicking Aina's manner of teaching.
"Once upon a time, there was a human, an elf, and a dwarf. The three of them were traveling together. One day, they passed by a patch of grass."
"A band of Nilfgaardian bandits jumped out of the bushes! The bandit leader claimed to have elven blood, so he didn't harm the elf and let her go. Then they surrounded the human and robbed her of everything."
She blinked, her gaze shifting to Brom and then back to Eileen.
"What about the dwarves?" Yuna asked curiously.
Gretka spread her small hands and shrugged: "The bushes were too tall, the bandits didn't see the dwarf."
There was a moment of silence in the workshop, then Yuna quickly turned around and lowered her head, trying to suppress her trembling shoulders.
Brom turned to Eileen, his finger almost poking her. "You taught her that! You...you..." He clearly couldn't find the right words to express his anger without being too offensive.
Eileen didn't back down an inch. She looked down at Bloom, a slight smirk playing on her lips. "Was she wrong?"
Brom turned to Gretka: "The stories she told you were all like this... like this..."
Gretka blinked, her expression innocent as if she had been praised.
"Aunt Erin also told me a story about elves and dwarves building a ship together. Would you like to hear it?"
"Need not!"
Ron raised his hand to press his temples, then turned and walked out of the workshop, behind him Brom's roar and Erin's sarcastic remarks.