Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 180: Take it!

The murderous aura forms battle clouds at three times of the day, and the chilling sound of the bugle echoes throughout the day.

The west wind howled, as if murderous intent had materialized. Iron-like dark clouds pressed down on the earth, and the sky seemed to grow lower and lower.

Teldun's forces deployed a mile away, while Palatul's forces watched from the ramparts. Everyone held their breath, awaiting the arrival of both sides for the Magora ceremony.

Only the crows circling in the sky emitted ominous and mournful hoarse cries.

Suddenly, a deep horn sounded in the distance, followed by more horns echoing from all sides of the fortress.

The sound of horns seemed to announce the arrival of the end of the world; a third of the sun, moon, and stars were struck, and the sky darkened.

Twelve burly Herd drummers swung their arms and slammed their short mallets hard against the round, table-like drumhead.

As the war drums thundered, a warrior slowly emerged from the main camp of the Teldon tribe.

The warrior was so imposing that he seemed like a giant from the edge of the world arriving on the battlefield.

The other Hed people around him looked like dwarfs and children, a comical sight.

Some Paratians couldn't help but exclaim in surprise, for the giant was not wearing lamellar armor.

The warrior was dressed in a full suit of plate armor, with steel plates for his breastplate, leg armor, and arm armor, making him look like a giant cast from molten iron.

Only the helmet remained in the Hed style, adorned with three large blue feathers, revealing a pair of eyes.

Such a set of plate armor, not to mention the amount of materials and labor required, cannot be bought as a finished product just because of its size.

It must be custom-made to fit specific body dimensions; there is absolutely no possibility of it being crudely made wrought iron armor.

Another groom brought a warhorse for the iron giant, and that horse was no ordinary horse either.

Hedmar was tough and tenacious, but his small stature made him unable to carry such a giant and plate armor.

The giant's mount was a heavy warhorse called the Destrier, a horse that could only be seen beyond the wasteland, its armor even taller than the head of the groom.

Grass cannot sustain such a giant beast; it must be fed fine grains, drunk beer, and carefully tended in a stable with walls on all sides.

The Iron Giant mounted his black warhorse, raised his long spear, and walked past each of the Hed's ranks in turn.

Wherever they went, thunderous cheers erupted. The Hed people pounded their weapons and shouted themselves hoarse in support.

Upon seeing the steel giant riding a large horse, the Paratians felt as if an invisible hand had gripped their throats, a sense of suffocation and powerlessness washing over them.

Father Kaman on the fortress wall couldn't help but mutter to himself:

[I saw the horses and their riders; the riders had armor on their breastplates that was like fire, like agate, and like sulfur. The horses' heads were like lion's heads, and fire, smoke, and sulfur came out of their mouths. These three calamities—fire, smoke, and sulfur—that came out of their mouths killed a third of the people.]
Mason, standing next to Kaman, slammed his fist on the wall and cursed, "Barbarians are the most cunning! No wonder we agreed not to use firearms!"

It was agreed beforehand that the battle in the Magorac arena would be fought on horseback, with armor permitted, weapons unlimited, and a fight to the death, except that bows, crossbows, and firearms would not be allowed.

As a result, the Heds sent out such an invulnerable iron giant.

The fortress gates burst open, eight buglers puffed out their cheeks and blew a march, and a Parathu drummer struck his snare drum.

However, compared to the desolate and mournful sound of the Hed's large drum and long horn, the small military drum seemed weak and powerless.

A silver-gray steed galloped out of the fortress and headed towards the open space between the two armies.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica agreed to the Magora ceremony, but at the same time believed that it was unsportsmanlike for the two commanders to duel in front of each other.

He suggested that each side select their champion warrior to fight one-on-one on behalf of their captain.

Clearly, that iron giant was the champion of the Teldun tribe. The fire-gatherer came prepared; no wonder he agreed so readily.

The champion of Palatour can only be Winters "Blood Wolf" Montagne.

When the Blood Wolves went into battle, the Parat people also banged their weapons and shouted at the top of their lungs to bolster their morale.

However, the oppressive feeling brought by that steel giant was too strong, and the Paratians' momentum was ultimately overwhelmed.

Mason watched his junior's retreating figure with worry. He knew Winters was a spellcaster, but he also knew that Winters's arrow spell was not powerful enough to penetrate plate armor.

He felt an urge to halt the ceremony and bring Wentesla back.

The thunderous sound of drums filled the air as two riders, one in black and one in silver, faced each other two hundred meters apart. Champion Herd held a spear, while Winters carried a lance.

The giant Hed was completely encased in steel plates.

For the sake of agility, Winters even removed his arm armor, shoulder armor, and skirt armor, fighting in only a breastplate.

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Champion Palatour dismounted, calmly nailed the hitching post, and tied up the silver-gray steed.

Then, Champion Palatine stood still with his spear, beckoned to the steel giant with his finger, indicating that he intended to fight the cavalry on foot.

Champion Herder had never suffered such an insult before. His blood boiled, and he screamed incessantly.

The drumming stopped abruptly, and the makgola officially began.

With a roar, the steel giant's boot spikes pierced the horse's ribs.

The heavy, jet-black warhorse, roused by the sudden movement, slammed its hooves into the ground, carrying its rider toward the small, upright ape that stood motionless ahead.

On the fortress walls, the hearts of all the Parat people clenched in an instant, and many even forgot to breathe.

The Hed people, too, held their breath, their pupils constricted, awaiting the inevitable, devastating collision.

The warhorse accelerated wildly, and Champion Hed tucked his spear under his arm. The power of the horse and the man converged on the tip of the spear, which, with unstoppable momentum, was aimed straight at Champion Palatine's chest.

Such power is enough to kill even someone wearing plate armor.

Winters' hands were sweating. A colossal machine weighing a ton was charging towards him; no one could resist fear.
He estimated the distance, and when the iron giant horse charged in fifty meters, he took a deep breath.

In the time it takes to breathe, the black warhorse closed in by more than ten meters.

It's now!

Winters entered a spellcasting state, holding the spear in reverse, taking a short run-up, and pouring all his magic into the spear without reservation, hurling it straight at the steel giant.

[Weighted Arrow Technique]!

As soon as the spear was thrown, Winters rolled to his left.

Throwing a javelin? Champion Herd sneered inwardly.

Although javelins are powerful, they are not as fast as arrows and their trajectory is not obvious, making them easy to dodge.

However, this javelin throw was extraordinary; it was too fast, so fast that it seemed impossible for a human to throw it with such power that Champion Herd didn't even have time to react.

A flash of cold light, and in the blink of an eye, the javelin had already reached his brow.

"clang!!!"

The lights went out.

The spear struck the steel giant squarely in the face, causing the giant to lean back, weakly raise his hands, and slowly fall from the saddle.

Few people saw the earth-shattering throw clearly, but everyone heard the crisp sound of metal colliding with great force.

Winters, rolling to the left and forward, narrowly avoided the charging warhorse.

The horse, now without its rider, did not stop, but instinctively fled towards the riverbank.

Winters, who had just gotten up from the ground, did not hesitate to draw his dagger and lunge at the fallen giant.

Champion Heard's vitality was terrifyingly tenacious; even with the spear tip piercing his helmet more than an inch deep, he was still breathing. Only his head had been violently struck, causing his consciousness to become blurred.

The Makgorah ritual... a fight to the death.

Winters ripped off the giant's helmet and neck guard, revealing his face covered in blood.

Unwilling to look at the other's face, he used his iron-like left arm to clamp the giant's head against his chest.

Heard, the champion, instinctively struggled desperately.

Winters gritted his teeth and slit the giant's throat.

First came the skin, tissue, and the arteries and veins on the left side, which the sharp dagger easily sliced open. Then came the trachea, protected by cartilage, which he cut with great difficulty.

Blood splattered into Winters' helmet, and the giant's struggles gradually weakened until they ceased. Winters collapsed backward, panting heavily, leaving a truly horrible ear-to-ear wound on Champion Heard's neck.

But the giant need not worry about these things; he is already dead.

There was dead silence on the battlefield.

Winters suddenly realized what was going on: neither side could see who would win or lose.

"This must be done," Winters thought, getting up and stepping on the giant's back. He then gripped the knife with both hands and slashed open the giant's nape.

Soon, only the spine and a little flesh remained connecting the giant's head and body.

Blood Wolf stepped on the giant's body, grabbed the giant's hair with both hands, and with a roar, tore the champion's head off his torso.

He raised the giant's head high, his roar amplified by magic, piercing through clouds and splitting rocks, echoing across the wilderness:

"The enemy general has been defeated!"

His response was first a deathly silence, then a deafening cheer erupted from the fortress.

The soldiers of Palatine were shouting, yelling, and banging their weapons like madmen. Amidst the deafening roar, an extremely excited gunner inserted a red-hot iron rod into the ignition hole.

Every cannon on the fortress roared in response, and the fanatical musketeers fired their guns into the air in celebration.

The Hed's formation remained completely silent.

In the Hed people's worldview, if one's head is cut off, it means that one cannot return to Tengri's embrace, and it means eternal and complete death—a fact that Winters was unaware of.

The outcome of the Magora ceremony was already decided, and to continue to desecrate the corpse was an absolute taboo and an insult beyond measure—a fact Winters was unaware of.

The Heds were thoroughly enraged. Two Heds centurions, who had lost their minds, rode out into the fray, their eyes red and lances in hand, charging towards Champion Palatour in the center of the battlefield from the left and right.

A one-on-one duel was agreed upon—Winters was furious—what was this all about?
The Heds were not known for their martial virtues, so Winters was equally unkind.

He walked back to Qiangyun's side, pulled the spring-loaded gun from the holster on the saddle, stood firmly, and aimed.

The two riders rushed in within twenty meters.

"boom!"

Two centurions, one shot each, were taken down.

The war drums sounded once more, and the enraged bonfire-wielders waved their banners as the entire Hed army pressed forward to attack the city again.

Before the Heds could get close, Winters pulled out the hitching post and rode the Strongman safely back to the fortress.

The Parat people also beat drums in preparation for battle.

A chilling wind howls, signaling the start of another bloody battle.

The Palatine soldiers watched with a mixture of awe and reverence as the rider on the silver-gray horse entered the bridgehead.

Bard and Charles were guarding the entrance to the fortress. When they saw Winters return, they hurriedly approached.

Winters dismounted and gestured for the two to stay away: "Don't talk to me, I feel nauseous right now."

After taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Winters solemnly handed the head, which he had been holding under his arm, to Charles: "This was a warrior. Don't let him feed the fish; find a good place to bury him."

Charles swallowed hard and asked cautiously, "You...aren't you going to keep it?"

"Why would I keep this?" Winters asked, puzzled.

"Oh...okay, okay." Charles nodded like a chick pecking at rice, then disdainfully carried the severed head away quickly.

Bud looked closely at the bloodstains on Winters' body and said helplessly, "We don't need to provoke them like this."

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do—provoke them.” Winters blinked. “Wasn’t this planned?”

Bud sighed: "But there's no need to provoke them to this extent."

"Really? I still feel it's not enough."

The most difficult part of the war with the Hed tribes was never the fighting itself, but rather finding the Hed people to fight.

The Hed cavalry moved swiftly across the wasteland, rarely engaging in direct combat with the Parat people.

They fight when they can win, and run away when they can't, then continue searching for the Paratists' weaknesses.

The Paratites could not catch up with them, nor dared to, and could only rely on their cavalry to fight pursuit battles with limited results.

Now that we have a rare opportunity to kill or wound the Hed people's manpower, how could we possibly let it go?

Sackler's anger upon seeing the pontoon bridge stemmed from the same reason.

In this battle, running away is useless; we must kill or wound Hart.

Those who defend and hold fast must defend what they must attack.

As long as the Teldun tribe firmly believed that the sacrificial golden man was inside this bridgehead, then this small fortress would become a place they had to attack.

Winters took off his helmet, took a deep breath of fresh air, and asked Budd, "Is what I asked for ready?"

“Belion managed to pull one off, but it’ll be exposed soon enough.” Bard also smiled slightly: “You have too many crooked ideas.”

On the ramparts, Mason held up something that looked like a golden head and showed it to the Hurds outside the city.

Fearing that the Hed people might not see clearly, he also arranged for three people to accompany him with torches, so that the gold would shine brightly in the firelight.

Several other men followed behind, carrying gold and silver sacrificial objects looted from the Teldun camp on their spears.

"[Herd] Fire-warmers! Look there!" A Herd centurion pointed to the golden head on the wall: "[Herd] They've cut off the head of our golden statue!"

The red-faced man by the fire, his eyes blazing with fury and his teeth clenched, cleaved the cart shaft in two with a single blow, and roared hysterically, "[Herd] If we do not conquer this city today! If we do not slaughter its inhabitants! I am not a descendant of Tengri! Anyone who dares to retreat will be punished like this cart!"

The Paratians nearby could see clearly that what Lieutenant Mason was holding was not a golden head at all, but clearly an iron pot that had been roughly hammered into the shape of a golden head.

Only the outer layer is gold; that's because the gold sacrificial vessels of the Hed people were melted down and poured onto the surface.

It truly is a case of "gold and jade on the outside, but rust inside."

It might fool people from a distance, but it'll be exposed as soon as you get up close.

"Alright, alright!" Mason, seeing that the time was right, signaled everyone to stop: "Now even if we say the Golden Man isn't here, they won't believe us."

“My [Weighted Arrow Spell]! How is it?” Under the wall, Winters grabbed Bard and chattered incessantly, his excitement barely concealed. “This is the first spell developed through calculation and experimentation! I think… I finally understand why General Antoine Laurent promoted the standard metric system. Mathematicalization! Mathematicalizing the invisible and intangible magic! This is the path he truly wanted to take…”

While fighting the giant lion, Winters realized that the limited power of the steel nails made him understand that some enemies required more powerful arrows to inflict effective damage.

After hundreds and thousands of practice sessions to accelerate heavy objects, he gradually discovered that, under the premise that the "force" remains unchanged, the later the casting material leaves the casting range, the greater the power of kinetic energy spells—that is, the more kinetic energy is injected.

The heavier the spellcasting material, the slower the acceleration, and the later it takes to leave the spellcasting range.

In other words, the heavier the casting material, the stronger the arrow spell.

After experimentation, analysis, and calculation, Winters roughly summarized a formula: W = K·F·S·M^2
K is a constant, and he doesn't yet know what it represents. F is magical burst power, S is casting range, and M is the weight of the casting materials.

This means that, regardless of the throwing force or the limits of spellcasting ability, the power of the Arrow Spell is directly proportional to [magical burst power] and [spellcasting range], and increases exponentially with the increase of [spellcasting material quality].

The spear he threw was no random weapon; its weight was the balance he had found between "power" and "accuracy" after numerous practices.

“The conditions here are too rudimentary.” Winters swallowed hard. “There’s no way to conduct more sophisticated experiments. All I want to do now is go back to Veneta and tell General Serbiati everything.”

"You want to go home? I see you're clearly having a great time fighting here!" Bard's eyes were serious: "Have you ever thought... that you don't actually know what you want? Or even who you are?"

Outside the fortress, the Hud people had once again rushed to the barricades.

With the sound of a gong, the musketeers unleashed a volley of shots, signaling the start of the second round of the siege.

[This chapter contains images, I'll upload them gradually. Please refresh later if you don't see them.]
[I actually finished writing the second chapter around midnight! I wrote two chapters today! Human potential is truly limitless!]
[Regarding duels on the battlefield, in my memory, during the Spanish Reconquest and the Ottoman conquest of Hungary, there were formal mounted duels during some sieges. Those outside were waiting to starve to death inside, and those inside were waiting for reinforcements and those outside were also starving. Everyone was sitting still, which was boring, so the two armies would engage in duels. It sounds far-fetched, but it's definitely not a joke; it really happened.]
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(End of this chapter)