Chapter 375: The Country Tigerfolk Enter the City (Part 2)

More things that astonished the tigerfolk and left them feeling out of place followed one after another. As before, Sertans’ focus quickly diverged from that of the others.

While the tigerfolk curiously observed the igloos on the open ground, Sertans noticed a road leading toward the lake. Even in such cold weather, many beastfolk were working diligently along the lakeshore.

Large, almost absurdly oversized vehicles—closer to boats than carts—were moving across the frozen lake toward Nagrand. On the lake’s shore, thick wooden beams stood tall, with tools that Sertans couldn’t comprehend attached to them, seemingly designed for unloading cargo.

Following this road from the lake to the city, numerous workshops were billowing smoke into the cold air. Judging by the rhythmic clanging sounds coming from within, these were all blacksmith forges—and their sheer number was somewhat astonishing.

He instinctively wanted to walk over for a closer look but was immediately blocked by several mousefolk soldiers clad in what appeared to be comically flimsy leather armor. Their movements were exceptionally agile. Sertans hadn’t even noticed where they had come from.

“Apologies, but this area is off-limits for tours,” they said, standing tall without the slightest fear of the towering tigerfolk. “Please turn back.”

This struck Sertans as odd. In any city, blacksmith shops were never restricted areas. On the contrary, a smith would typically be pleased to see someone as strong as him approach. He could clearly be a potential customer.

Was Nagrand secretly producing something?

But if that were the case, such a large-scale operation would be completely counterproductive in keeping things concealed.

The growing number of questions without answers frustrated him. However, he knew that newcomers always needed time to integrate into any place. He only hoped that Nagrand’s existing officers wouldn’t be too exclusionary toward outsiders.

After leading them to a wooden house and giving them a few instructions, Liuli left. Sertans and the older tigerfolk moved around inside, carefully inspecting their surroundings.

The house was far more refined than they had imagined and much better than they had expected. Though the wood used was not of particularly high quality, the design of the house was remarkably well thought out, utilizing space efficiently in ways that left them impressed. It was far superior to the crude wooden huts of their old village.

The furniture inside shared the same practical aesthetic—simple yet functional. However, for them, everything felt slightly undersized.

“There are four bedrooms upstairs!” The children came running down excitedly. “And a big attic too!”

“The kitchen is fully equipped,” one of the surviving tigresses noted. “But some of these tools… they look strange. I’m not sure how to use them.”

Sertans thoroughly inspected the entire house, even checking the backyard. In one corner stood a small shed, filled with neatly stacked cylindrical coal briquettes. Each piece was precisely uniform in size, clearly shaped using some specialized tool—just the right fit for the kitchen stove.

In the kitchen’s corner sat a large water vat, though it was empty. The various cabinets, too, were bare, with a thin layer of dust, indicating that no one had lived here before.

To be given such a house in a town where land was undoubtedly valuable—Sertans felt deeply grateful.

“The children can sleep in the attic,” he told the remaining adult tigerfolk. “We’ll divide the other rooms among ourselves. It should be enough.”

“But we don’t know…” One of the older tigerfolk hesitated, concern evident in his voice.

They had already seen much of Nagrand and were left with an excellent first impression—peaceful, prosperous. Yet, for those who had just narrowly escaped death, the stark contrast only deepened their unease.

They had received so much from Wu Qingsong—what could they possibly give in return?

“If it comes down to it, we repay with our lives. There’s nothing more to say,” Sertans said, pushing open a window to let in some light. Snow had started falling again at some point, and a cold wind swept in, snapping them out of their thoughts.

He recalled Wu Qingsong’s words. If he were to die protecting a place like this, it would be worth it.

A knock came from the door. One of the tigerfolk opened it to find a cart parked outside. A mousefolk, holding a parchment scroll, stood at the entrance, shaking snow from his coat.

“This is your first month’s supply,” the mousefolk announced in the quick, sharp voice typical of his kind. “Here’s the inventory list. Who’s Sertans? Please sign for it.”

Sertans quickly stepped forward, but just as he was about to sign without looking, the mousefolk seemed startled.

“You’re not going to check?”

“No need,” Sertans replied.

He was well aware of the corruption in military supply chains. In his old frontline unit, soldiers were lucky to receive seventy percent of their allocated rations and pay. For local garrison troops, some were said to receive as little as forty percent. The missing portions were, of course, never accounted for. As a veteran, Sertans knew all too well where they went—perhaps into the fine cigars of a legion commander, the lavish estates of quartermasters, or even the furs of some prostitute.

When he briefly held the rank of squad leader, he, too, received his share of missing supplies. But because he never learned how to skim extra for himself and bribe his superiors, he was quickly demoted.

Even if it was a mousefolk handling this, he wasn’t going to make a fuss over the quantity—because whoever was truly in charge of these goods might one day be his superior. He was already more than satisfied with what he had received here; he wouldn’t foolishly challenge or offend them over this.

“That won’t do!” The mousefolk seemed genuinely alarmed. “If you don’t verify the goods, I can’t hand them over.”

This was yet another baffling thing that unsettled Sertans.

Left with no choice, he called the other tigerfolk over, and together they unloaded the cart, checking everything piece by piece.

Most of the supplies were food, but there were also daily necessities, bedding, and warm clothing—enough to fill the entire cart to the brim.

Once everything was laid out, they were stunned to realize just how much the cart had held.

Only after double-checking everything did the mousefolk sign the receipt alongside Sertans—twice. He then tore off the bottom half and handed it over.

“This is your copy. If there are any quality issues, you can bring this to the city hall within five days to file a complaint.”

“No, no! That won’t be necessary.” An elder tigerfolk, who had previously visited towns to sell mountain goods, quickly reassured him. He then instinctively grabbed a package of dried fish and tried to give it to the mousefolk.

“Hey! Don’t get me fired,” the mousefolk yelped, hastily backing away. “I only deliver the goods. If anything’s wrong, just report it properly, don’t let the real culprits off easy.”

“My apologies,” Sertans said quickly.

“This ox is so well-behaved,” Laura remarked.

“This is a bison that Lord Sidre modified with magic!” The mousefolk suddenly seemed rather excited. “It’s obedient, incredibly strong, and doesn’t even need to eat.”

“That amazing?” Laura curiously reached out to touch the bison, but it didn’t react at all—not even flinching or turning its head.

Even in the cold wind, Sertans caught a faint, unpleasant odor. His expression darkened.

That was no longer a bison. It had become something else.