Chapter 736 — The People Who Rebuild Their Homes
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 4
A sudden gust of wind swept across the open wilderness, lifting a great expanse of sand, gravel, and fallen leaves, and flipping up one corner of the thick tarpaulin covering a heavy truck. A transport guard stepped forward, caught the somewhat loosened rope, hauled the lifted canvas back and lashed it firmly to the side of the truck, and at the same time raised his head to glance at the clear, vast sky.
The sky was washed clean, and apart from a few sparse clouds there was nothing to be seen.
"Strange wind..." the guard muttered, puzzled by that inexplicable flutter of unease he had felt for a moment.
From the distance came the transport captain's booming voice: "Truck Three!"
The guard shook his head, flinging from his mind all those tales of winter spirits and plains monsters, and answered at the same volume: "Truck Three ready! Chief!"
"Truck Four!" "Truck Four ready!" "Truck Five..."
The machinists responsible for driving climbed into the high cabs of their vehicles, and the attendants and co-drivers boarded one after another. The humming of the power spine charging brought a reassuring feeling, while the convoy commander's voice came from outside: "Check your vehicle states, all of you — this stretch is no short haul, and the Holy Spirit Plain is frozen through and through!
"Shipping on the Gorgon River has already stopped. We are the only transport line this winter.
"Move out! Our brothers and sisters on the plain are still waiting for this grain and medicine!"
The magic-energy engines gave a low hum, gears and levers spinning and grinding under mechanical power, and one heavy magical vehicle after another gradually picked up speed. Across the vast winter wilderness, the man-made steel beasts let out a roar, laden with the supplies the reconstruction zone of the Holy Spirit Plain desperately needed, smearing black trails across the boundless land — trails pointing far, far to the north...
In the plains region, the dry season of the Gorgon River arrived as scheduled. The falling water level made navigation for large vessels difficult and dangerous, and as the managers of the various river sections issued warnings, the shipping that had bustled on the Gorgon for most of the year finally gradually fell silent.
In years past, this meant that everyone who made a living on the river had to enter "hibernation" like the farmers of the plain. Apart from a few reckless souls, all would obediently return to their riverside shacks, nestle close to their families, light a warm stove, and live off their stored food, quietly waiting for winter to end — ordinary sailors alike, and so too the boat owners who commanded the vessels.
But this year the situation was a little different from years past.
A body that called itself the "Joint Reconstruction Corps" had come to the plains region from Boulderhold Fortress. This corps had built camps large and small across the scorched earth of the Eastern Holy Spirit Plain and begun a roaring reconstruction effort. Chanting the slogan "Wrest the land back from the jackals and the winter," and bearing some enthusiasm difficult to understand, they were trying to bring life back to this land once more.
The winter that had once held nothing to do had suddenly grown lively.
The boatman Durin jumped down from his wooden raft with his two sons. The workers waiting on the bank came forward at once, deftly working together to catch the raft with hooks and ropes and haul it shoreward, while more people surged up to untie the lashings, drag the logs that made up the raft onto land, and ready them for transport to the camp not far off.