Hello!
Here is a new chapter! Enjoy!
Thank you very much for the support, Ranger_Red, Mium, Porthos10, AlexZero12, Dekol347, Shingle_Top, George_Bush_2910 and TheHumble_Dogge!
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Adam and the men accompanying him arrived at the Mohawk village in the early evening, under a still brilliant sun.
At this time of year, the sun didn't set until around half past eight.
The days had been slowly growing shorter since mid-June, almost imperceptibly.
For now, it was of little consequence, but in winter, daylight dwindled to six or seven hours. That was one of the reasons—though not the first—why summer remained the most favorable season for war.
In six or seven hours, an army could cover a long distance or fight a major battle.
The English silence worried Adam.
Optimistically, one could see it as a sign that their repeated defeats had finally worn them down, that their resources were now too limited to support large-scale operations without a guaranteed outcome.
All along the way, he silently pondered the intentions of his enemies.
As the last golden rays of the sun faded behind the treetops, the palisade of the Mohawk village came into view in the distance.
Adam turned to his men. Two of them, La Coquette and Beau-Regard, had never been here before.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I'm repeating myself, but once inside the village, I expect impeccable behavior. No wandering eyes—especially not toward the women—unless you're ready to lose your scalp. If you've got grievances against the Mohawks or the Iroquois in general, keep them to yourselves. Not a single disrespectful word, not a single gesture that could be taken as provocation. I will not tolerate any misstep, understood?"
"Yes, Captain," they all replied in unison, stiff and mechanical.
"Good. This village may not be involved in the attack on Captain Briscard and Rossignol's company. Without proof, we must treat it as neutral. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Captain," they echoed again.
Adam nodded and resumed walking, closely followed by his escort.
As they approached, figures gathered in front of the village gates. Behind the Mohawk warriors, a few women and curious children could be seen.
It was rare for strangers to visit them—especially the French.
The last time had been when Adam had been sent by the Marquis de Montcalm to discreetly question Chief Akwiratheka about Iroquois warriors spotted alongside redcoats during the siege of Fort Bourbon, just before it fell.
No Frenchman had come since.
However, Chief Akwiratheka's second son, Tayohseron, had visited Fort Bourbon several times. Most often it was for trade, but once he had been sent by his father to announce that his older brother and others had guided the redcoats—and that they had been severely punished by the Iroquois Confederacy's Council.
The fact that the matter had been handled by the Council was a clear sign of its seriousness.
Representatives of each Iroquois nation had convened and strongly condemned the action, which defied their decision to remain neutral in this conflict.
The blame had been laid on Thayendanegea, also known as Joseph Brant, for rallying warriors to support the British in their war against the French.
His adoptive father, Canagaraduncka, apparently knew nothing of his son's intentions.
His disappointment had been immense. Though personally innocent, his name had been sullied, and his position as royaner, or clan chief, weakened.
Even Akwiratheka had been criticized for failing to control his own son, Kahionhes.
Like Thayendanegea, Kahionhes had been expelled from the village council and sent to a remote hamlet, nearly cut off from the world.
To appease the French, the Haudenosaunee had offered many gifts: food, high-quality furs, and symbolic items.
As on previous occasions, their arrival hadn't taken anyone by surprise—they had been spotted more than an hour earlier.
Tayohseron, taller and stronger than the other warriors in the village—and more so than during Adam's last visit nearly a year earlier—was waiting for him. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest like a guardian, but wore a wide smile.
"French brother! You've come back! Ahah! Someone here was starting to think you'd never return! She even wanted to—"
Thump!
Before he could say more, a heavy punch landed square in the middle of his back.
Caught off guard, Tayohseron doubled over in pain.
"Ouch! Th-that hurts!"
Bent like an old man, the young man—broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with a striking hairstyle—groaned like a child while clutching the spot where he'd been hit.
Behind him stood Onatah, her fist clenched and still raised, ready to land another blow if her big brother dared say another word.
If her skin hadn't been the color of milky coffee, it would've been as red as a tomato.
"Onatah! Are you insane?!" Tayohseron bellowed, furious, a thick vein pulsing on his forehead.
He shot a glare at his younger sister, who looked small and delicate like a flower next to him, with the build of a top-level athlete.
But this flower had thorns.
"Shut up, brother Tayohseron," she hissed between her teeth. "One more word, and I'll make you pay. That's not a threat—it's a promise."
The chief's second son wanted to retort, but fear of reprisal held him back.
Despite the age difference, he knew his sister didn't need strength to make him regret his words or jokes.
She knew his weaknesses.
And he knew hers.
To avoid a quarrel where everyone would lose, he chose the path of reason and de-escalation.
"Tss! Witch. You're lucky you're my sister. Humph!"
Tayohseron turned back to his pale-skinned, light-eyed brother, hiding his embarrassment behind a friendly smile.
"Sorry. Uh, anyway, you're welcome here. Come in!"
Adam warmly greeted Tayohseron and shyly nodded to the beautiful Onatah, who, from his modern perspective, had only just become an adult.
Blushing, he hesitated to look at her for too long. Simply being near her filled his heart with joy.
This time, her long black hair wasn't braided but left loose, cascading down her back like a stream of ink. They walked side by side, which made it harder for him to truly admire her.
Tayohseron, walking on Adam's right, immediately noticed the awkwardness between the two young people and decided to give them a little push.
He discreetly stepped closer to Adam and gave him a gentle nudge to the left with his shoulder before stepping away.
"H-huh?!"
Adam and Onatah blushed even more when they felt their hands brush. For a fraction of a second—an eternity—they felt the warmth of each other's skin.
A foolish smile formed on Adam's lips, but he didn't say a word. He pretended nothing had happened.
In his head, though…
W-we touched hands! We really touched hands! My God! W-what… what do I do?! What do I say?! Should I apologize?! Ah! But… but that would mean I did something wrong! But why isn't she saying anything?! Did… did she not notice?!
Adam risked a discreet sideways glance at Onatah's profile.
She walked with a steady pace, her long arms relaxed, swinging in rhythm with her graceful body.
She stared straight ahead.
Because of her skin tone, he couldn't tell if she was blushing or not. To him, she was like an impassive wall.
I-if I touch her hand again… by accident… w-will she say something?
Adam understood his feelings. During his last visit to the village, he had realized he had fallen for the captivating Onatah. And yet, he didn't understand why he was reacting so intensely over something so small.
Before his transmigration, he had flirted with countless girls. It was an easy game, thanks to his good looks. Joanna had only been the last on the list.
To him, that was all she was. The girl from the summer camp.
For her, like for the others, he had never felt anything remotely comparable.
It was like comparing the world's biggest roller coasters to a kiddie train ride at a petting zoo.
As for François's memories, which he had now fully absorbed, they held nothing similar either.
Tayohseron glanced at his French brother and his little sister—frozen like statues—and rolled his eyes. They looked like children too scared to take their first step, despite his help.
Should he do more?
They passed by the stele of the Great Peacemaker and arrived at the chief's longhouse.
There stood Akwiratheka, shirtless and glistening with sweat, accompanied by his adoptive sister, the old matriarch.
She looked like she had aged several years since Adam's last visit. Leaning on her decorated staff with both hands, she walked slowly, supported by her apprentice.
"So, you've come back, little Frenchman," Akwiratheka said in a distant tone, not stepping forward to greet the newcomer.
"Indeed. Sorry for always showing up unannounced, chief."
"Hmm, your pronunciation is improving," the great warrior remarked, his face still stone-like.
"I had the chance to practice with your warriors when they came to the fort to sell us food. Hmm, you look more muscular than last time, no?"
"Your flattery won't get you anywhere, little Frenchman," growled Akwiratheka, though he proudly puffed out his powerful chest and iron biceps. "What brings you here this time? I hope you're not here to try to sway us to your side in this war. We already have enough to deal with brother Warraghiyagey (William Johnson)."
"Oh, no, that's not the case. We French are well aware of your position and fully respect your decision to remain neutral."
The chief nodded silently, without showing the slightest emotion, as if Adam's words held no weight. Then, with a broad gesture, he invited him into the longhouse.
Inside, Adam immediately noticed it was cooler than outside, despite the lack of modern technology and the soft fire burning in the center of the main room. He was surprised but didn't ask—this wasn't the time or place.
He sat across from the chief on a thick, comfortable deerskin—or that of some other animal belonging to this family—and waited for the chief or the matriarch to speak first.
"Young man," said the old woman at last, her eyes closed, "what is the reason for your visit today? Has something serious happened?"
Adam raised an eyebrow at the matriarch's insight.
"How do you know that?"
"Well, when you visit us, it's because something serious has happened. So, what is it?"
Adam gave a small, sheepish smile.
"Hmm, that's true. So, given the circumstances, I'll be direct. One of our patrols crossed into enemy territory near Albany. They were attacked by redcoats… but also by Iro—uh, Haudenosaunee."
The expressions in the room immediately darkened. The matriarch, her apprentice, the chief, Onatah, and Tayohseron all took on a grave demeanor—more so when they saw Adam take out a long black-feathered arrow.
Akwiratheka gestured to inspect it more closely, and Adam handed it over.
He glanced at it briefly before passing it to the matriarch.
A long silence followed, until the old woman finally spoke:
"When did this happen?"
"Two days ago. The survivors only returned this morning, exhausted and covered in wounds."
He paused for a moment.
"This arrow was found after one of their attacks, on the road leading to the fort."
The matriarch nodded slowly, then turned to the clan chief.
"Chief, it would seem Thayendanegea has not learned his lesson."
"Tahyendanegaa?" Adam repeated, mispronouncing the name. "Is he… one of yours?"
"No," replied the matriarch softly, adjusting her seated position. "He is not of our clan. But he is Mohawk."
Akwiratheka clenched his fists.
"That foolish boy! His father will be humiliated once again when this is brought before the Council! Can he not see the harm he's doing to his own clan? To his nation?"
"Chief Canagaraduncka will indeed have to answer for this," sighed the matriarch, shaking her head. "How sad."
"He's been too lenient with him to avoid upsetting his wife," Akwiratheka grumbled. "He should have given him a proper beating to teach him obedience. What a failure. Tch!"
He clicked his tongue in frustration.
He himself had not been weak. He had not held back when it came time to punish his son—his own blood.
Adam frowned.
"Uh, pardon me, but… I didn't quite follow. Who's who, exactly? I'm lost."
It was the matriarch's apprentice who explained the situation.
"Chief Canagaraduncka is a prominent Mohawk clan leader, very influential and often supportive of the English. However, he remains loyal to the Confederacy. His son, Thayendanegea… is not his by blood, but he raised him as his own. He married his mother. Thayendanegea's real father died long ago, when he was still a child. He grew up under strong English influence, especially from Brother Warraghiyagey—William Johnson, to you."
"He's more English than Mohawk now," Akwiratheka spat with disgust. "What a disgrace!"
The apprentice ignored the remark.
"Brother Warraghiyagey is a wise, educated, and very eloquent man. He has many friends across all the great clans. He was very close to Chief Canagaraduncka and his family. He even married Thayendanegea's sister, Molly, if I'm not mistaken. So it's hardly surprising, I suppose, that the young man would defy his father and the Council to side with the English. Brother Warraghiyagey has surely persuaded him to take up arms against their enemies."
Adam understood the situation better now. He nodded.
"I see," he said thoughtfully. "But then… what should we do? He's taken up arms against us. That makes him our enemy."
"He is Mohawk," Akwiratheka declared, though it clearly pained him. "He must be judged by our nation's representatives."
"No," the matriarch suddenly interjected. "His actions are too grave. Thayendanegea is endangering the peace between us and the French. He must be judged and condemned by the Grand Council."
Adam hesitated.
"And our role?"
"What role?" Akwiratheka replied with a cold scoff. "This does not concern you. We will handle it according to our laws."
Adam fell silent, and the atmosphere soured noticeably. The crackling of the fire seemed oddly loud in the heavy silence that followed.
Onatah and Tayohseron glanced nervously between their father and their French brother. Adam drew a deep breath and spoke in a calm voice that nonetheless weighed heavily on everyone present.
"Do you know where he is?"
Akwiratheka narrowed his eyes and stared at Adam with a dangerous intensity. Despite the silent threat, Adam didn't flinch. He held the chief's gaze firmly, sensing that if he faltered now, there would be no turning back.
Tayohseron slowly parted his lips.
"He'd be a fool to return to his father," he said in a falsely casual tone. "He'll probably stay with the English, in Albany or New York."
Adam folded his arms across his chest, mimicking both the chief and his son, and nodded twice.
"Then," he said, taking care to articulate each word, "here's how this will likely go. If you manage to capture him, then you may judge him by your traditions and your laws. If we catch him… we will try and sentence him for his crimes. However, if he attacks us again, there's a good chance he'll never stand trial."
He bowed respectfully to the chief.
"Do not hold it against us, please, if he dies by our bullets. The same goes for the fools who chose to follow him."
Akwiratheka and the others stared at Adam as if seeing him in a new light.
The chief remained still for a moment, then finally nodded, his expression solemn.
"For him, that might be preferable, because what awaits him if he's captured is worse than death. One does not take up arms without the Council's consent."
He said no more, leaving Adam to his own guesses.
As evening fell, Akwiratheka offered the Frenchmen hospitality for the night.
The soldiers Adam had chosen to accompany him, waiting at the center of the village, were treated with respect. As though they were full members of the clan, they were each offered a bowl of corn mush and rabbit stew.
Adam, meanwhile, was granted special treatment: he was invited to dine with the chief and his family.
The two youngest sons, Rawenniyo and Tehonwaskaron, joined them for the meal.
Despite his significant progress in mastering their language, Adam struggled to follow the conversation. Tehonwaskaron, Akwiratheka's youngest son, spoke far too quickly.
Still, he contributed greatly to the warm mood around the table. His energy had swept away the tension from the hours before.
The meal lingered on and ended with a ceremony. Adam watched as the matriarch prepared a long pipe and handed it solemnly to the chief, who took a deep draw.
The young captain observed the gesture. There was an elegance to the way the man smoked.
A thick, white-gray cloud escaped slowly from his mouth and nose, without his expression changing. Then he passed the pipe to Tayohseron, who followed suit with the same gravity.
Then it was Adam's turn.
He hesitated, but accepted nonetheless—he didn't want to disrespect his hosts. He took the pipe with both hands and bowed silently.
He had no idea what to expect.
All eyes turned to him, each filled with unspoken thoughts.
At last, he brought the stem to his lips and inhaled the smoke. At once, he felt it sink into his lungs.
A strange warmth spread through his body, like he'd been plunged into a hot bath. Then came other sensations—like drawers being opened one by one in a chest.
I… I feel like… like my brain is melting.
His entire body seemed to be wrapped in smoke. Even his blood felt like it had turned to vapor.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
But nothing strange or supernatural happened.
He simply coughed, spitting out the smoke clumsily. The smell was powerful—far more pungent than the bitter tang of burnt gunpowder.
Adam returned the long pipe to the matriarch, his eyes red and teary. She accepted it with reverence, as though it were sacred. Perhaps it was.
Oh… oh… my head hurts…
The initial pain gradually gave way to a kind of numbness. He felt as if his soul had left his body and was now watching him from the outside.
His eyelids grew strangely heavy, as if he'd taken a powerful sedative.
The thick, warm hides beneath him seemed to call out, inviting him to lie down and rest.
Fighting it became a literal act of will.
Adam rubbed his face and eyes, but it was no use.
Akwiratheka and his family seemed amused. The chief asked his second son to take—or rather guide—Adam to the longhouse where he would sleep.
Outside, the sky had gone pitch black. The stars were clearly visible, unobstructed by clouds or light pollution—but Adam couldn't see any of it.
Supported by Tayohseron, who now resembled a shadow moving through thick winter fog, he walked past the tall stele of the Great Peacemaker without realizing it. His unsteady step struck a stone sticking out from the dusty ground, and he nearly collapsed.
He heard a murmur and a movement beside him but paid it no attention—his mind was too clouded.
He continued on toward an ordinary longhouse.
It was already occupied by two families, but space was quickly made for him. His men had been taken to another house nearby.
With his head spinning, he collapsed onto a bed made of layered hides—soft and warm. Adam was completely unaware of what was happening around him.
It was so dark he could see nothing at all.
In fact, he wasn't even sure his eyes were still open. He hadn't noticed Tayohseron had left his side.
As soon as he lay down, every muscle in his body relaxed. The bedding felt like a comforting cloud.
A faint smile of relief crossed his lips.
Ah… it feels so good to lie down. I… I don't know what was in that pipe, but it was strong. Ah… I… can't… think anymore…
Just before drifting off, he felt a gentle pressure on his left hand—tender, affectionate. It moved slowly upward, like a caress, along his arm… then came to rest on his cheek.
A touch brushed against his lips, and then he sank into a deep sleep.