Chapter 861: Chapter 1 The Economic Principle of Human Heads Chapter 861: Chapter 1 The Economic Principle of Human Heads The Hunter of Fallen Warriors
In the dark, primordial forest, two people from Terdun fled together.
They dared not light a fire or rest. The canopy that blocked out the sun made it impossible for them to tell direction—not that direction mattered anymore; finding a way to survive was what mattered most.
Still, they were caught up to; hounds followed their scent, and a dozen farrs surrounded them.
At dusk, the farrs returned to the village with two heads and other items stripped from the barbarians, carried on branches.
They did not go straight ho but headed first to the village hall.
Wood crackled in the hearth, and outside the walls, winter was freezing cold, yet it was warm inside the village hall.
A middle-aged man, clearly not a farr, inspected the two heads, furrowed his brow, and asked, “No helts, armor, or anything else?”
...
The leading farr, his cheeks reddened from the cold, replied awkwardly, “No, would hats work? And earrings?”
The middle-aged man smacked his lips, turned back to warming himself by the fire, and gave the farrs only a profile view: “That won’t do. Without evidence, who’s to say whether these are indeed barbarian heads, or if you’ve stolen them from sowhere else?”
Another taller farr imdiately flared up, “What are you saying? How could these possibly be stolen by us? None of our people have heads like these!”
The middle-aged man scoffed but did not engage in conversation, not even deigning to look directly at the other man.
Two fully ard n sitting in a corner of the room stood up, their hands already on the hilts of their swords.
The taller farr fell silent.
The leading farr remained silent for a long while before speaking with difficulty, “So what do you suggest?”
“These heads, whose authenticity is unknown…” The middle-aged man paused for a mont before stating a price.
“How much?” The taller farr asked eagerly, “A barbarian’s head is worth a large piece of land! How much are you offering?”
“Listen carefully, I don’t need to repeat myself.” The middle-aged man spread his hands, his attitude clear—it was take it or leave it.
The farrs were furious, unwilling to agree, yet unable to leave.
Until a sturdy farr who rarely spoke suddenly said, “Let’s just accept it, my family back ho is waiting for to bring back flour.”
The sturdy farr calmly retorted, “What more can we hope for?”
The deal was struck, and the paynt was made in the form of flour.
The middle-aged man couldn’t suppress a touch of smugness. As he watched the farrs take the flour, he couldn’t help but laugh, “Hey, don’t think that a [head] is the sa as [land]. Who knows how long the Rebels will hold out in Iron Peak County? If the Rebels fall tomorrow, won’t these heads beco a burden in your hands? Right?”
His words seed comforting, but in reality, they were a boastful salt in their wounds.
The farrs silently took the flour and left the town hall without a word.
Outside the door, they divided the flour along with the barbarians’ clothes and boots. The items went to families who still had mouths to feed, and the farr with the hounds received an extra share.
“sa got hurt.” The sturdy farr whispered, “Give him an extra share too.”
No one objected, and the taller farr asked, “What do you want, dad?”
The sturdy farr took half a bag of flour and a curved blade.
(Note: Here, “dad” is a term of endearnt used for older n.)
Thus, everyone headed ho—and all of this was incidentally witnessed by a few passing riders.
Pushing open his house door, a smile finally appeared on the sturdy farr’s face.
He rubbed his son and daughter’s soft hair, handed the flour to his wife, then found a whetstone and started sharpening knives in the backyard.
“No matter what you plan to do.” A young man stood outside the courtyard gate, “Please don’t go.”
The sturdy farr first startled, then surreptitiously gripped the curved blade, and replied, “And how would you know what I am planning?”
The young man did not answer directly but patiently explained, “The two of them are skilled fighters; you alone won’t stand a chance.”
“Who are you?”
This ti, it was the young man’s turn to fall silent.
The daughter ran out of the house and threw herself into the sturdy farr’s arms. Hugging his daughter, he was montarily distracted, and by the ti he looked up, the young man had vanished.
“What’s wrong?” the sturdy farr asked his daughter.
“Mummy said soone left two bags outside the door,” the girl answered sweetly. “Mummy asked daddy to go and check.”
…
The middle-aged man was obliging and respectful in his responses, not even requiring Winters to reveal his identity.
The matter was simple; the middle-aged man was from Revodan here to purchase heads.
In Iron Peak County, barbarian heads had beco a tradable commodity.
Unable to compete with his peers in town, the middle-aged man had hastened to this still unnoticed rural area—clearly, he wasn’t the only opportunist slling Gold Coins.
Small players bought heads from the militia and farrs but didn’t hold onto them to cash them in later; instead, they quickly sold them to more significant players.
The big players were gambling, betting that Montaigne’s Civil Guard Officer would keep his promises, betting on the future fate of Iron Peak County.
Winters and his companions passed through the small village to rest their horses, accidentally stumbling upon this scene.
Xial, gritting his teeth in anger, exclaid, “The battle isn’t even over yet! How could such people exist? In the end, are they the ones who benefit?”
The others accompanying them were similarly incensed, except Winters, who was lost in thought.
Thinking that his brother hesitated to speak, Xial unbuckled his horse saber and said bitterly, “I’ll teach that guy a lesson!”
“Teach them a lesson—for what reason?” Winters stopped Xial, “The county governnt has never forbidden trading in heads.”
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