The scribe’s biggest worry was when his young master zoned out in deep thought. At those times, his master ignored everything around him, lost in his own mental wanderings.
The scribe felt his young master would eventually stumble because of this.
Jiang Huoer hadn’t believed it back then—but now he did. Just moments ago, he’d been lost in thought and hadn’t noticed the sentry outside the cave returning.
Jiang Huoer had tumbled in, and the way he did it was almost comical.
“Chief, this person was eavesdropping outside just now,” the sentry reported.
Suryehok sized up the boy lying on the ground. He looked like a child, covered in dust and dirt, wearing ragged clothes—nothing remarkable about him.
“I see. You may go,” Suryehok nodded.
“Yes, sir!”
Arslan drew his side sword, ready to kill Jiang Huoer, but Suryehok stopped him.
“We need to ask questions first. After that, we’ll see,” Suryehok waved, calming Arslan down.
“Where are you from?” Duermu, understanding Suryehok’s intent, began questioning immediately.
The boy didn’t respond. He pointed to his mouth and shook his head.
“A mute?” Suryehok wasn’t easily convinced. He stood and walked toward the boy. “Open your mouth.”
The boy obediently opened his mouth, revealing a tongue inside.
“How can you be mute with a tongue?”
“Chief, some become mute from childhood fevers or congenital conditions,” Duermu explained. “Since he showed you his mouth, he’s not lying about this.”
“Hmm.” Suryehok pointed to the bamboo basket behind Jiang Huoer. “Is this yours too?”
Jiang Huoer nodded again.
“Open it.”
Jiang Huoer obediently took the basket off his back and lifted the lid.
“!!!” Suryehok’s expression turned to shock. Duermu and the others wore equally vivid looks of astonishment.
“Where did you get this?” Suryehok asked. He’d seen similar weapons before—devices that crushed them in every battle. Whenever they appeared, the Mongol Troops fled in defeat. They called them demon weapons.
Jiang Huoer gestured: pointing to the basket, then to himself, miming actions with his hands.
“You can’t mean… you made this yourself?!” Duermu knew the Mongol Troops desperately craved such weapons. Without them, they were always on the defensive. When the Ming Army set up their cannons, retreat was the only option.
Jiang Huoer nodded.
That single nod sent shockwaves through the four men.
“Are you from the Celestial Mechanism Camp?!” Suryehok pressed, though he knew the boy wouldn’t admit it even if true.
Jiang Huoer shook his head.
“No?!” Suryehok reached into the basket and pulled out the item—Jiang Huoer’s secret weapon, the ‘Huoer High Altitude Cannon’.
Compared to standard cannons, it had shorter range and slower reload speed but greater power. Ideal for special forces in mountain gorges, its slow reload could be fixed by attaching Jiang Huoer’s linkage device.
Jiang Huoer silently thanked his luck—he’d left his Triple Barrel Fire Gun, Single Barrel Fire Gun, and Divine Mechanism Arrows in the woods earlier because they were heavy. Otherwise, they’d be in enemy hands now.
“I think he’s from the Celestial Mechanism Camp. Look at this craftsmanship—who but a Divine Mechanism Workshop engineer could make it?” Arslan reached for his sword again. “Let’s just finish him!”
“No.” Suryehok shook his head. He’d probed the boy’s body—no War God Mark energy flowed within. His meridians were damaged and blocked, making cultivation impossible. A place like the Imperial Capital, where strength ruled, would never accept him. Suryehok was starting to believe the boy’s truthfulness since he’d been kicked in.
Duermu shared Suryehok’s view. Shao Bu avoided such decisions—it was troublesome. Usually, if Duermu and Suryehok agreed, it was settled.
“Run your energy through his body,” Duermu told Arslan. “You’ll see why we trust him.”
Arslan complied, circulating his energy through the boy.
“How…?” It wasn’t that it flowed—it couldn’t move at all.
“This child’s muteness likely stems from congenital meridian blockages. It’s incurable, so he can’t cultivate,” Duermu sighed. “Though he’s Luminous, if he could cultivate and paired it with his cannon skills, he’d have a place among the Celestial Mechanism Camp’s Commanders.”
As a Strategist, Duermu spoke only truth. His high praise meant he recognized the boy’s talent.
“But he eavesdropped on us.” Suryehok’s face darkened, his gaze sharp as a sword. “He can’t be kept alive.”
Genuine killing intent radiated from Suryehok. Jiang Huoer felt a chill run down his spine.
“Chief, may I speak?” Duermu stepped forward.
“Speak.” Suryehok retracted his killing intent.
“This boy can be useful,” Duermu said. “You’ve seen his cannon skills. If he provides blueprints and gunpowder formulas, we gain leverage against the Despised Emperor. Our cavalry can’t keep wielding sabers—the Imperial Capital’s Three Thousand Camp uses firearms. With him, we could upgrade ours.”
“You mean… have this Han join us?” Suryehok wavered. Their cavalry’s equipment was outdated, unable to match the Ming Army. If the boy truly served them, the war’s landscape would shift. But he needed a reason—why would a Han join them?
“Our tribe has descendants of Hans who followed our ancestors north. All Hans are Luminous subjects now. Chief, it’s not who we use—but how. How to make him serve us willingly.”
Duermu’s reasoning resonated with Suryehok.
“Hmm, sensible. We’ll decide this and Princess Taikang’s fate after tomorrow’s battle. For now, lock him in the stable near the narrow path. Many soldiers there will prevent escape.”
“Understood, sir.”
