Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters Chapter 1362: 86: Reforging Home and Country (14)

Chapter 1362: Chapter 86: Reforging Ho and Country (14)

Gerard Mitchell has been in Maplestone City for almost half a month.

In the beginning, Mr. Old Mitchell could still experience so novelty.

He accompanied his wife to visit the church, watch plays at the theater, and tour the scenery along the Anya River, making up for many regrets of his youth.

However, as the days went by, this way of life made Gerard Mitchell increasingly uncomfortable.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong, but he just felt uneasy all over.

He even hoped that the Free n’s Assembly could be convened earlier, so he could go ho sooner.

In contrast, other mbers of the Mitchell’s were more adapted to life in the provincial capital than he was:

Scarlett, stepping into a “big city” for the first ti, was curious about everything and wandered around the city every day;

Alie Mitchell was also a bit unaccustod, but the company of her newlywed husband clearly made her happier;

Ellen Mitchell was the least of their worries.

Mrs. Mitchell’s deanor and conversation made the visiting “Maplestone City ladies” jealous, which in turn elevated Pierre Mitchell’s status in their eyes and made them regret why “Adjutant Mitchell” married so early.

However, Ellen never said anything to her husband like “Maplestone City is better than Wolf Town.”

In fact, she was the only one who could understand Gerard’s troubles.

“It’s okay.” Every night before sleep, Ellen would hold her husband’s hand in the dark and softly comfort him: “We’ll be ho soon.”

Faced with his wife’s thoughtfulness, Gerard felt ashad.

The question from his youngest son echoed in his mind repeatedly: “Don’t you think mom prefers living in the city?”

Gerard felt guilty for his selfishness, but he also didn’t understand why being in Maplestone City made him so irritable.

Was it because he had nothing to do?

Yet, he didn’t have much to do in Wolf Town either.

In the years leading up to the turmoil, Gerard would either nap at the town office or pronade at his manor every day.

Besides hosting barbecues during harvest and festive seasons, Gerard Mitchell literally had nothing to do.

The overly leisurely days had turned a brave Dusack into a contented country squire.

So much so that Pierre’s image of his father was always one of a carefree, rotund man.

Gerard’s gallant deanor in the battlefield was sothing young Mitchell learned through others, and even then he doubted it.

When the manor lands were allocated to the refugee farms, Gerard Mitchell stubbornly opened up half a plot of land in his backyard.

But ultimately, he was old and couldn’t work tirelessly as before, so the newly reclaid land was half sown with crops and the other half with so vegetables and fruits, primarily maintained with help from his daughter, daughter-in-law, old workers, and old comrades.

Gerard asked himself sincerely — the reason of “having nothing to do” wasn’t enough.

Then, was it loneliness since his old friends weren’t around?

Not entirely so.

Although Gerard’s old friends and comrades were in Wolf Town, many of their sons and even grandsons were now in Maplestone City.

The Blood Wolf brought out a large group of young n from Wolf Town, and those still alive had grown into key officers of the Iron Peak County Military.

Upon hearing that Mr. Old Mitchell had also co to Maplestone City, they visited in droves, almost wearing out Pierre’s doorstep.

It’s no exaggeration to say that in the past half month, Gerard had seen more guests than he had in a year in the past.

Therefore, the reason of “not knowing anyone” wasn’t solid either.

What truly made Gerard Mitchell uncomfortable in Maplestone City might be a reality deep within him that he was unwilling to face:

In Wolf Town, he was a respected town mayor, a renowned Dusack, and everyone who saw Pierre would say “That’s the son of Mayor Mitchell.”

However, in Maplestone City, he was just a “rural landlord” from a border town, and whoever he t would be introduced as “the father of Adjutant Mitchell.”

Once, his youngest son was so mischievous that he ended up with no school to attend and had to serve lifelong military service, which kept old Gerard awake at night.

Now, the son has succeeded, stepping into a tier the father couldn’t reach, with a promising future, yet old Gerard felt sowhat lost.

Joy mixed with sadness, relief mixed with loss, pride mixed with self-doubt — the emotions were all tangled, and Mr. Old Mitchell couldn’t unravel them.

The only consolation for Gerard was that his daughter and son-in-law had finally also arrived in Maplestone City.

The couple even specially brought along their babbling little daughter just for Gerard to have a glimpse of his granddaughter.

Family joys subtly eased the gloom in Gerard’s heart, and while playing with his granddaughter, Gerard even unconsciously thought — if he were to pass away this instant, he would die content.

But the stubbornness inherent in him ultimately made it impossible for him to surrender easily.

The oppressive feeling that Maplestone City brought to Gerard never truly dissipated.

So when Mr. Old Mitchell once again took down his hat from the hook and tiptoed toward the door, Ellen used her eyes to stop the eldest daughter from speaking out to call her father back.

Only after her husband thought he had stealthily disappeared beyond the door did Ellen speak: “Let him go out for a walk.”

“But…” Fanny hesitated, subtly reminding her mother, “Dad will definitely co back very late again.”

Of course, Ellen understood her daughter’s underlying aning, and she held her eldest daughter’s hand: “Don’t worry, I trust that Mr. Mitchell can take care of himself.”

…

As soon as he stepped out of the house, Gerard felt he could breathe much more freely.

He went to the stable first as usual.

From afar, the horse nad Longevity, locked inside the stable, saw Gerard and imdiately neighed joyfully.

Thanks to the New Reclamation Legion’s generous investnt, the facilities in the Maplestone City officers’ residential area were truly luxurious.

Not only was there a large public stable built within the community, but there was also a small racecourse opened along the precious riverside land, and service soldiers were specially assigned.

This way, officers didn’t have to keep their horses in their personal backyards, ensuring quiet and hygiene.

However, according to Gerard, although the “sirs” did a good job building the stable, the service soldiers sent to take care of the horses were all lazy — at least by his standards.

Yet Gerard couldn’t ddle with the “sirs”‘ arrangents.

So, he didn’t complain to anyone, instead quietly spending ti each day personally taking care of his horses and Longevity.

“Eat, eat.” Gerard took a washed carrot out of his pocket and fed it to Longevity.

While stroking Longevity’s neck, he murmured to himself, “Why did I have to bring you here? Wouldn’t it be good to let you run free in the countryside? But now you’re locked in a stable without anyone to keep you company.”

Longevity, munching on the carrot, nodded continuously, seemingly in agreent.

As the beloved horse of the Blood Wolf, Longevity was brought to the provincial capital when the Iron Peak County’s “Logistics Departnt” moved from Vernge County to Maplestone City.

However, during this recent period, Winters was really busy, traveling mainly by carriage and rarely riding Longwind.

Thus, the colt Longevity also suffered “neglect,” losing the privilege of having the Blood Wolf personally clean its stall.

Fortunately, Gerard Mitchell was still around.

After feeding all the carrots to Longevity, Gerard wiped his hands clean, lightly nudged Longevity’s forehead: “Greedy, one is enough! I have work to do!”

With that, Gerard rolled up his sleeves and began his daily “work.”

As usual, he first checked the horses’ condition to make sure there was nothing unusual; then inspected the feed trough to confirm that the “lazy ones” hadn’t fed the horses whole bundles of hay; finally, he fetched clean and fresh water to replace the stale water in the bucket.

Ensuring the horses were well-fed and hydrated, Gerard took a shovel into the stable to remove the manure that the “lazy ones” hadn’t cleared in ti.

The tasks in the stable weren’t easy, but Gerard did them joyfully.

While working the shovel, he unconsciously humd a lewd little tune from Dusack, efficiently cleaning each stable and laying down fresh hay.

By the ti the stable was spotlessly clean, Gerard’s clothes were completely soaked in sweat.

He unbuttoned his shirt, sluggishly sat on an overturned bucket, supporting himself on his knees, breathing heavily.

The service soldier sergeant responsible for managing the stable attentively brought “the father of Second Lieutenant Mitchell” a beer, then tactfully vanished quickly, leaving the stable to this eccentric old man.

Gerard rested for a while, regained his energy.

He fetched a rope from the tool room, then led Longevity out of the stable to the racecourse.

Longevity was excited once at the racecourse. Gerard tied the rope with Longevity’s bridle, stood in the center of the racecourse, letting Longevity run around freely.

Watching Longevity’s nimble gait, Gerard couldn’t help but feel a bit reproachful of the Blood Wolf and a bit of pride.

“Truly a foal I raised myself, excellent! Unfortunately, being locked in the stable every day will ruin it sooner or later.” Gerard thought: “Luckily there’s still .”

Longevity, now just stepping into the tenth month of life, was already taller than many adult horses, but its proportions were still those of a foal — long legs, a small body, looking slightly amusing.

Gerard estimated that after waiting for a while, it might be ti to try putting a saddle on Longevity for so basic training.

“But for now,” Gerard thought, watching Longevity frolicking in the field, “let it run freely.”

…

When Gerard Mitchell comfortably walked out of the stable, the sun had already dipped westward.

Mr. Old Mitchell glanced at the sunset, turned his steps, did not head toward Pierre’s residence, but instead took a detour, leaving the officers’ residential area through the side gate.

Right outside the side gate was the Anya River, and Gerard walked along the riverbank downstream, crossed a bridge, walked further downstream, eventually arriving at a bustling market street.

Feeling slightly guilty, Gerard slowly headed towards the tavern on the street corner, hesitated for a mont, but still reached for the door handle.

As he pushed open the door, familiar noises, the sll of spirits, and the scent of sweat all greeted him.

The tavern owner saw the old Dusack entering and imdiately greeted him, “You’re here? The usual?”

Gerard put down two small silver coins on the counter, “The usual.”

“Right away.” The tavern owner smiled while taking the silver coins, gestured toward the west hall, “There’s a harpist here today; you might want to sit over there.”

Gerard shook his head, heading towards the typically occupied east hall.

But the east hall was unusually quiet today, so Gerard still took the tavern owner’s advice, turned towards the west hall, and casually found a spot near the wall.

The tavern staff soon brought him food and drinks, nothing special, just so rough fare: a plate of bean stew, a big piece of hard crust, soft inside black bread, and a bottle of poor quality wine.

Logically, Gerard Mitchell shouldn’t appreciate what the staff served him.

But for so reason, old Dusack had been nostalgically craving these things he used to eat in his youth recently, coming daily for a bottle.

In the center of the west hall, the harpist wearing an exaggerated hat finally tuned his harp, cleared his throat, and as he plucked the strings, his resonant voice startled the listeners: “Muses, please tell ! The story of the blazing sun and icy cold, a tale from the edge of the sea, the lands of the Northern Territory…”

anwhile, at Gerard’s table, a handso blond man dressed as a rcenary, ard with a sword, asked politely, “Sir, may I sit here?”