Chapter 610: The Bridge Keeper

Commander Hans stood beside the northern toll barrier, his single right hand resting lightly upon the ash haft of his spear.

Hans tested the timber trestle with the butt of his spear and marked the boards nearest the churning river for immediate repair.

His empty left sleeve was pinned neatly across his chest with a simple brass clasp, fluttering in the stiff river breeze.

Across the dirt turnpike, three supply wagons loaded with flour sacks and dried salt pork waited in an orderly queue.

The old veteran knew every timber on this span, having guarded the crossing through seasonal floods and bandit raids for fifteen years.

Hans watched the newly appointed toll keeper wave the lead wagon forward with an overly hurried, careless gesture.

"Hold that lead team where they stand!" the old commander barked, lifting his spear to block the draft horses.

The wagon driver pulled back on the leather reins, bringing the draft team to an abrupt halt ten paces from the first abutment.

"What is the problem, Commander?" the replacement keeper asked, stepping forward with an irritated scowl on his stubbled face.

"These wagons have official clearance from the capital, and we are already forty minutes behind our dispatch schedule!"

"The problem is your steps," Hans replied in a quiet, gravelly voice, stepping forward to tap a specific transverse plank with his spear tip.

"Anyone who has worked this crossing for more than three days knows that the sixth plank shifts half an inch whenever a loaded wheel rolls across it."

"Old Tomas always plants his left heel against that seam to check the clearance before waving a wagon onto the span."

"You walked right over the loose joint without even looking down at the timber!"

The false keeper’s eyes widened in sudden alarm, his hand dropping toward the short sword hidden beneath his wool tunic.

"Kill the old cripple and drop the spans!" the infiltrator shrieked, pulling a brass signal whistle and blowing a piercing blast.

Six armed mercenaries leaped from the concealed cellar beneath the tollhouse, drawing jagged scimitars and notched cleavers.

Two infiltrators sprinted toward the winches with crowbars, attempting to shear the counterweight cables and drop the bridge into the gorge.

"Guard squad, secure the far abutment and protect those supply wagons—move, move, move!" Hans roared, pivoting on his heels with blinding veteran speed.

He did not call for personal protection, lunging directly toward the lead attacker who charged him with raised blades.

The mercenary swung a vicious downward chop aimed at the commander’s unprotected left shoulder, expecting the one-armed veteran to retreat.

Hans did not give an inch of ground, sliding his right hand down the spear haft to thrust the iron butt into the man’s solar plexus.

The concussive blow drove the wind from the attacker’s lungs, doubling him over with a strangled, agonized gasp.

Without breaking his forward momentum, Hans hooked his spear shaft around a coiled hemp mooring rope resting upon the railing.

He kicked the coiled rope with his right heel, snapping the thick cord outward like an enormous whip.

The hemp loop caught the second infiltrator around the ankles, yanking his legs out from under him with violent force.

The man crashed face-first onto the rough timber planking, dropping his crowbar with a clattering thud before he could strike the winch cable.

The false keeper lunged in from the flank, stabbing his poisoned short sword straight toward the commander’s ribs.

"Die, you meddling old fossil—!" the infiltrator snarled, his blade whistling through the air.

Hans spun smoothly on his right foot, letting the blade slice through his empty linen sleeve without touching his flesh.

He brought the ash spear haft down in a crushing backhand strike, shattering the infiltrator’s jaw and dropping him unconscious onto the flags.

Behind him, the provincial guards swarmed the remaining mercenaries, disarming the saboteurs and pinning them flat against the road.

"Winch cables inspected and intact, Commander!" the guard sergeant reported, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Every single load of grain and salt pork is safe!"

"Check the prisoner’s pockets," Hans ordered, leaning on his spear while his chest heaved with exertion.

"Someone paid these dogs to sever our supply line, and I want to see whose seal is stamped on their purse."

A few minutes later, the clatter of galloping hooves announced an arrival as Hajin rode up to the bridgehead accompanied by Loccy and Vella.

The young summoner dismounted in a smooth blur, his split-colored eyes taking in the defeated saboteurs and the secured winch assemblies.

"Excellent work holding the crossing, Hans," the young lord praised, offering a respectful nod to the one-armed commander.

"They tried to drop the center span," Hans grunted, handing over a stolen brass route seal recovered from the leader’s tunic.

"This emblem carries the mark of a secondary relay station hidden along the upper river canyon."

"Ferra will want to examine this seal... it matches the counterfeit diagrams we pulled from the foundry," the summoner observed.

Hajin turned toward the supply wagons and the relieved bridge guards, opening his spatial storage interface to execute the scheduled lot.

[ Stream purchase: 20 staple-food packs (500 credits) ]

[ Stream purchase: 10 sterile field dressings (200 credits) ]

[ Stream purchase: 10 wash & comfort kits (300 credits) ]

[ Total transaction: 1,000 credits ]

[ Wallet balance: 73,435 -> 72,435 credits ]

Crates of fresh staple rations, rolled sterile bandages, and herbal cleansing kits materialized beside the tollhouse depot.

"Distribute these supplies to the bridge garrison and the wagon drivers," the summoner instructed, handing several crates to the sergeant.

"Nobody marches on an empty stomach, and I want those guards properly bandaged before nightfall."

Loccy trotted over from her mount, pulling a sweet glazed roll from her pouch and pressing it into the commander’s weathered hand.

"Tessa baked these this morning... spear masters need plenty of sugar to keep their balance sharp!" the rabbit maiden proclaimed happily.

"Thank you, little warrior," Hans laughed with a deep chuckle, taking a hearty bite of the cinnamon pastry.

"Old Tomas has been located in the lower cellar, gagged but alive and whole," a guard scout called out, escorting the genuine keeper into the sunlight.

The veteran keeper bowed deeply to Hans, taking up his position beside the sixth plank with tears of gratitude glistening in his weathered eyes.

"Thank you, Commander," the old keeper choked out, wiping his face with a trembling hand, "I thought they were going to throw me into the gorge!"

"Get back to your post, Tomas," Hans told him with a gruff, fond chuckle, "you have three wagons to inspect before noon!"

The stream followed the grain wagon over the repaired sixth plank, and viewers sent credits for the bridge crew’s meals.

[ Seoul_Tactician: "Commander Hans taking down three armed mercenaries with one arm and a rope, absolute living legend!" ]

[ StarlightScholar: "The attention to detail with the shifting bridge plank shows how true veterans fight with their brains!" ]

[ IronVanguard: "Scheduled supply drop executed perfectly, Lord Hajin always keeps his troops fed and healthy!" ]

Hans leaned against the tollhouse wall, watching the first grain wagon rumble safely across the bridge toward the forward depots.

"The road stays open, young lord," the one-armed veteran smiled with quiet pride.

Tomas knelt at the repaired sixth plank and tested its pins before allowing the first loaded grain wagon onto the span.

"One axle at a time," Hans called to the drivers. "If the timber shifts, we stop and find out why."

"Now go into that river canyon and tear down their second relay!"