Weapon  

"Sofia, where's our luggage? It hasn't gone missing, has it?" I asked her urgently.

"All our bags are here," Sofia explained. "Major Robert took everything off the big cart when he arrived, but I told him some of the items were ours. He was quite the gentleman and returned them to us."

Thieves! I cursed silently. These things never belonged to them in the first place.

But that's just how things work in civilized society—only, this wasn't civilization; this was the frontier.

"Well done, honey," I praised Sofia. "Give me my bag. I need to find something."

Sofia got up and walked over to the wagon, rummaging through my belongings.

Soon, she returned with a large black bag. "Here you go, honey. What are you looking for?"

"The whisky. I remember we bought a bottle of strong Scotch before we left, right?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Yes, do you want a drink?"

"No, I need it to clean the wound."

I wasn't sure if whisky would actually disinfect the wound, but it's what tough guys in the movies always did.

Alright, I knew I wasn't exactly a tough guy, not in my previous life and not now. But there wasn't any other option at the moment. I could only hope the movies weren't lying.

I asked Sofia to open the bottle. A strong, sharp smell of alcohol hit me immediately. Perfect—just what I needed.

"Sofia, I need you to pour the whisky directly on the wound," I said, lifting the cloth covering my ribs to reveal the injury.

The wound between my ribs didn't look too deep—maybe one inch. The arrow had already been removed, so as long as there wasn't an infection, it should heal in a few days.

Sofia held the bottle, looking at me with concern. "Tom, are you sure this will work?"

I touched her face gently. "Yes, trust me, Sofia."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Alright, I'll start pouring now."

I braced myself, clenching my teeth. "Do it."

I had imagined I'd be like the tough guys in the movies, keeping cool under the pain. But the moment the alcohol hit the wound, I knew I was dead wrong.

Ahhhhhhh!!!

Holy motherf—! Oh, sorry, I mean, holy mother Mary, help me!

This is really fucking hurt!

The burn from the alcohol was unbearable. It felt like my wound had caught fire, and tears stung my eyes from the pain.

Seeing my contorted expression, Sofia hesitated, ready to stop.

But how could a man let himself look weak in front of her woman?

Swallowing my pride, I forced a calm face and motioned for her to continue.

By the time we'd finished cleaning the wound and I had wrapped it with a clean handkerchief, I was drenched in sweat, completely exhausted.

Sofia brought the bottle to my lips. "Tom, take a sip of whisky to ease the pain."

I took a small sip. The strong spirit burned its way down my throat, shooting straight to my head, making me cough.

But at least I felt more alert.

Seeing that I looked a bit better, Sofia gently helped me lean against a tree and pulled out some bread and cheese for dinner.

My wound was still burning, so I barely managed to eat anything.

After that, I continued searching through my bag, looking for other items.

As I moved aside a piece of clothing, my hand suddenly brushed against something cold—a dagger.

The sheath was beautifully crafted, with a gemstone set in it. I unsheathed the blade and admired the intricate patterns carved into it.

It was a gorgeous, deadly weapon.

Holding the dagger, I felt a flicker of security.

In my previous life, I was obsessed with knife fights, especially close combat with daggers.

I even participated in some knife-fighting events. I never imagined that one day those skills would actually come in handy here.

Even though I was injured, I knew that if the enemy wasn't expecting it, I could still use this dagger to slit his throat in a surprise attack.

Oh, and I was also an archery enthusiast in my past life. I loved playing with all sorts of bows—compound, recurve, you name it.

If only I had a compound bow right now...

"Boss, we're heading back tomorrow, right? We've been out here long enough, and we've already confirmed that those damn French frog and Indians monkeys have moved south," one of Major Robert's men said, catching my attention as I fiddled with the dagger.

"Yeah, boss, this scouting trip was a disaster. We had no idea we'd run straight into a large group of Indians. Old Bill and Jack are dead; the losses were huge. If it wasn't for what we scavenged here, we'd be in the red," another man chimed in.

Major Robert, puffing on his pipe, spat on the ground. "This trip was a complete waste. The bounty isn't even enough to cover the death payments for Old Bill and Jack. Luckily, we got these two scalps and some loot."

"Looks like those damn French frogs and Indian monkeys are heading to the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers to build a fort. Not our problem. Let Pennsylvania and Virginia deal with it," he said merrily, tossing two scalps from his belt to a scar-faced man.

"Scar, clean up these scalps. Be careful. Last time, you tore one, and that fucking Governor of New York used it as an excuse to dock half the pay. Those sons-of-bitches bureaucrats are even greedier than the Indian monkeys."He said angrily.