Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 191 Review and Recap

Amidst the rapid beat of war drums, two battalions of Palatine soldiers formed an impenetrable wall, ruthlessly driving Hed's wounded soldiers toward the confluence river.

In his relatively short professional career, Winters had already witnessed many horrific scenes, but what he saw before him was still too much for him to bear:
People are like livestock in a cage waiting to be slaughtered, crammed together in dense crowds.

Thousands of wounded soldiers of Hart were trapped on a tiny, dry bank, with blood-stained spearheads in front of them and the cold, swift-flowing river behind them.

Too many people, too small a place.

Your shoulder is pressed against my chest, and my back is pressed against his back. Everyone is immobilized, their bodies almost out of control.

The outermost Hud people stood in knee-deep water, while the Hud people inside were still pushing them out.

They screamed and begged in despair, desperately trying to squeeze onto the shore, only to be swept away by the crowd into deeper waters.

The cries of women and children in the distance were deafening, and even the seasoned veteran Plato, who was used to seeing life and death, could not look the Hed in the eye.

But the war drums never stopped, urging the Platu soldiers to continue forward.

The space for the wounded Hed soldiers on the shore was further compressed. Those Hed soldiers who refused to move were stabbed to death, and those who tried to break through the wall of spears died even faster.

A few lucky ones managed to slip through the wall of spears, but they were cut down from behind by Plato's cavalry after only a few steps.

Finally, the Hed people were completely driven off the dry bank, and the Platul soldiers also entered the river, pressing closer and closer.

One, two... one after another, wounded soldiers of Hart were swept away by the rushing water with screams, while the war drums continued to beat.

Winters finally met with the highest-ranking commanders on site, Colonel Haugwitz and Colonel Laszlo.

[Note: Haugowitz was the second-in-command of the "Alpad faction," while László was the second-in-command of the "Sackler faction." The former was a cavalry officer, and the latter was an infantry officer.]
"Sirs, if I may be so blunt," Winters said, getting straight to the point without even introducing himself. "By dealing with these Hed people, you are essentially helping the barbarian chieftain Yasin."

Colonel László looked at Winters blankly, then turned away without saying a word.

"Who are you?" Haugwitz frowned and looked Winters up and down. The colonel obviously did not recognize the junior officer in front of him.

But Haugwitz then looked at Strong Luck and suddenly let out a cold laugh, as if he recognized the horse.

“Oh, it’s you.” Haugwitz also turned his head, not looking directly at Winters. “Isn’t this the Veneta kid that General Alpad particularly likes? Your horses are quite nice, Lucia breed?”

Seeing that the two colonels were indifferent to him, Winters was both anxious and angry.

Winters, suppressing his anger, spoke rapidly: "There are nearly ten thousand prisoners here, mostly wounded, elderly, women, and children. They need food, water, and shelter! And they can't go to the battlefield. Killing them all will free White Lion from tens of thousands of burdens!"

Winters was practically shouting at the last minute: "My lords! Don't you understand the principle that [an army filled with grief and indignation will surely be victorious]?"

He emphasized the word "commander" with particular force, his tone unusually disrespectful.

Haugwitz flew into a rage, glaring at Winters and shouting, "[Old saying] What do you know?"

Winters stiffened his neck, met the colonel's gaze, and gave him a defiant look.

The smell of gunpowder in the air was almost suffocating, and nearby soldiers instinctively turned their backs, not daring to get involved in the conflict between the officers.

A rapid sound of hooves came from behind, slightly dispelling the smell of gunpowder, and Andrei finally caught up.

He reined in his horse, saluted the two officers, and shouted to Winters, "Lieutenant Montagne! What are you doing here? Lieutenant Colonel Jessica is looking for you!"

"Let's go! The lieutenant colonel is getting impatient." Andrei turned his horse and rode to Winters' side, pulling on the latter's sleeve: "Sirs, please allow us to take our leave first."

Haugwitz snorted, shook his head in apparent disinterest, and waved his hand, saying, "Get lost."

Winters shook off Andrei and continued to press, "Is there something wrong with what I said?"

Haugwitz laughed in anger, but before he could make a move, Lieutenant Colonel László, who had been silent until now, spoke up before him.

Laszlo looked at Winters expressionlessly: "No, you have a point... Drummer, stop drumming!"

The deadly drumbeats finally stopped.

The Plato soldiers stopped in bewilderment at first, then retreated to the riverbank and re-formed under the guidance of the centurion.

Haugwitz paused, touched his chin, and ultimately said nothing.

The Hed people, who escaped the disaster, embraced each other and wept bitterly. They stood in the shallow water, supporting each other, but were still unable to reach the shore.

László summoned a messenger cavalryman, gave him a few instructions, and the messenger galloped off towards the main camp.

“Do you think I don’t understand what you’re saying?” Haugwitz looked at Winters and said in a lecturing tone, “The wounded will heal, the children will grow up, and the women will give birth to more soldiers. These are all Yassin’s men, which is why we must not leave them alive!”

Winters, not to be outdone, retorted: "Wounded soldiers won't recover for at least a month; children won't be able to go back to battle for at least five years; and women won't be able to give birth to more men for at least fifteen years. But if I'm not mistaken, Yassin is right behind us! Which is more urgent? Which is slower?"

"We have our own plans! How the Legion deals with the Yasin tribe is none of your business!" Haugwitz paused heavily, then concluded, "The victor takes everything from the loser—that's the rule of the wasteland, something you Venetas simply don't understand! If we had lost the battle on the North Shore, would the Heds have been merciful to us? Your heads would have been on the horses long ago!"

Laszlo stared at Winters, his expression still as blank as a puppet: "I have already sent someone back to consult. The two generals have their own arrangements for this matter. You may leave."

Winters was still somewhat unconvinced, but he didn't really have the final say on the matter. The colonel used the corps commander's authority to pressure him, and he had nothing to say in return.

He saluted and rode away.

As Winters walked back in a huff, he suddenly remembered his days in Wolftown.

Although he encountered danger twice in Wolf Town, looking back now, he was actually quite happy during that time.

The villagers of Wolf Town respected him. He was a man of his word, and no one dared to criticize him.

Even the days of leading the Wolf Town's hundred-man team as laborers were more comfortable than now.

He finally understood why the old charlatan had said, "A local tyrant like a garrison commander wouldn't be worth a thousand households."

Being controlled by others is truly the most frustrating thing in the world, especially in a rigidly hierarchical military.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, and the angrier he became, the more he thought about it. Winters gripped the whip handle and scanned his surroundings, finally lashing out at the air with a fierce lash: "[A vulgar word]!"

This was his last act of composure—he didn't use the lucky draw, because he couldn't bear to.

“When have we ever been treated like this? If you ask me, you should have put on your Grand Cross and shown it to him!” Andrei wasn’t good at comforting people, and he sighed, which was unusual for him. “Just bear with it, hold on until we get home, and then we won’t have to work for that idiot sheep anymore!”

"Don't mention going home."

"why?"

“Every time you mention going home, I have a bad feeling.” Winters held the locket in his hand, his longing to go home stronger than ever before.

He didn't open the locket; he simply couldn't face Anna at that moment.

“Fine, I won’t mention going home until I get back.” Andrei spat on the ground, somewhat annoyed, and said, “Damn it! They even kill the old and children! Border residents! They’re so damn barbaric!”

For some reason, the word "savage" naturally carries a touch of dark humor when spoken by Andrei.

After a moment of silence, Winters asked thoughtfully, "That infantry colonel, the one named Laszlo? Something about him seems a bit off."

"Laszlo?" Andrei thought for a moment, then slapped his forehead: "I heard that a high-ranking official's son died in battle, and his surname was something like Laszlo?"

Winters couldn't help but let out a long sigh.

the other side.

Watching the two centurions ride away, Colonel Haugwitz casually remarked to Colonel László, "Hmph, who would have thought that the Venetians' waiters would be as straightforward as the Highlanders?"

If you were to say this to your subordinates, it might elicit a burst of laughter.

But László ignored him, as if he hadn't heard anything at all.

Haugowitz carefully examined his colleague's face; László's features now resembled those of a puppet, having lost their former radiance.

Although the two usually don't get along, Haugowitz also has a son and a daughter, and he can't even imagine the pain of losing his children.

But Haugowitz was not good at comforting people; he could only let out a barely audible sigh.

……

Time was of the essence; there was no time to wait for the entire army to be assembled.

Early the next morning, the four battalions that had already assembled set off as the vanguard.

Because the JASKA squadron had completed its preparations early, it was also among the vanguard.

There was no ceremony, no mobilization, no speeches. Once the order was given, regardless of whether they were regular troops or auxiliary soldiers, all units simply led out their horse-drawn carts and set off.

The Jesca tribe had one advantage: because they had previously been a supply corps and had forcibly requisitioned many merchants' vehicles and mules, their wagon ownership rate was much higher than that of other troops.

Of the more than 4,000 Herd horses captured in the night raid on Teldun's camp, a small portion was cooked, while the majority was taken by the legion.

There are still over five hundred horses left in Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's hands. Although they are not very usable, they are better than nothing.

Including the original mules, warhorses, and a small number of donkeys, there were nearly a thousand large livestock, so the Jeska tribe did not lack horses to pull carts.

Bud was deeply worried: to get the horses to do heavy work, you need not only hay but also feed. The daily feed consumption of nearly a thousand large animals is a terrifying figure.

We must carry as much as possible when we set off, but we are afraid that the livestock will not be able to keep up.

Therefore, Bader selected more than forty militiamen who had experience raising horses, and put Anglu in charge of supervising the use of the brigade's mules and horses.

“Mr. Anglu not only understands horses, but he also knows how to care for livestock.” Bud reported to the lieutenant colonel, commenting on the young horse herder: “He cares for animals that aren’t his own.”

“Then let’s go with him.” Jessica nodded in agreement: “Make him a temporary sergeant, and deal with a few troublemakers. Otherwise, he’s too young to keep others in check.”

After the appointment was announced, the militiamen of Wolf Town were all saying, "Little Hook, the horse groom, has now really become a horse official."

[Note: Anglu is Hook; a formal tone uses his full name, while an ambiguous tone uses his nickname.]
At dawn, the advance troops crossed a temporary bridge and arrived at the south bank of the confluence of rivers, before heading east.

The current situation is as follows:

Plato was to the east; the retreat should proceed eastward.

The confluence river flows from west to east and eventually joins the River Styx. One can walk on the south bank or the north bank.

On the north bank, Hart's cavalry were seen.

The south bank is currently safe.

The problem is: [If they went along the south bank, the Platonic people could not cross the River Styx].

The closer you are to the north, the fewer tributaries flow into the River Styx, and the narrower the river channel becomes, making it easier to cross.

The engineering battalion and two infantry battalions that were previously dispatched were sent north to find a suitable location to build a pontoon bridge.

So in the end, we still have to go to the north bank.

However, Sackler used a deception: the vanguard went to the south bank first, then traveled 35 kilometers downstream, and circled back to the north bank from a shallow area.

That shallow area was the outflanking position for Alpad's cavalry.

……

Rewind to the previous night, Winters, who was so sleepy he was in a daze, was called into the tent by Lieutenant Colonel Jessica. Bud, Andre and Mason were also in the tent.

The lieutenant colonel announced that he would conduct a post-mortem analysis for his centurions.

Five people sat around a small table, while the other four watched expectantly as Lieutenant Colonel Jessica pulled out a palm-sized wooden board, which unfolded into a chessboard the size of two palms.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica then took out chess pieces from a faded wooden box as symbols for the enemy and our units.

Winters casually picked up a chess piece and played with it.

He couldn't recognize the material of the chess pieces; they looked like stones and felt cool and comfortable to the touch.

As for the carving—Winters carefully placed the chess piece back on the board—the carving was exquisite.

The lines must be continuous and even, the corners must be smooth and rounded, and the surface must be finely polished. Winters wouldn't dare to touch it casually.

“Learn something,” Jessica said to the yawning Winters as he set up the chess pieces. “You won’t be centurions forever.”

Based on the available information:
Hart's allied forces besieged the stronghold and attacked reinforcements.

Upon learning that Beizhai had encountered the enemy, Sackler led his troops to provide support, but they were ambushed halfway there.

On the day of the ambush, Sackler sent someone to inform Alpad to act ahead of schedule.

To ensure a surprise attack and to evade the Hed's intelligence, Arpad left his military flags at the main camp as a diversion.

He led the main force of his cavalry to the south bank first, then marched 35 kilometers east, crossed the river at the shallows, and circled around to the rear of the Hed people.

Such a wide-ranging detour led to the final, thunderous strike.

Sackler's plan was a vicious right hook, a simple and effective anvil-hammer tactic.

If Alpad's forces successfully outflank the enemy, Hood's forces facing Sackler will undoubtedly be defeated.

For Sackler, the biggest challenge was how to avoid alerting or scaring away the enemy.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica analyzed for the centurions: Sackler's initial plan was to use the North Village as the target; after the ambush, the plan was changed to use the temporary camp as the target; in the end, the main battlefield returned to the North Village.

Sackler's deployment also changed three times in response to changes in the enemy's arrangement.

There was only this one main course; as for the actions of the Jessica division, it could only be considered an appetizer.

“That’s how it is.” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica pushed over the chess pieces, ending his debriefing: “You can’t blame the old man for getting angry at us.”

Winters, Bud, Andre, and Mason sat around the table, staring at each other.

Without Lieutenant Colonel Jaska's debriefing, Winters wouldn't even know what was happening elsewhere.

The centurion had very little information, and it was almost no different from what the soldiers saw.

For Winters, the entire war was confined to a hundred meters around him.

It was thanks to Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's debriefing that Winters understood why General Sackler was so furious with Jessica's unit.

Sackler went to great lengths and planned meticulously, first using Beizhai as bait, and then using himself as bait.

If he were to "smash the Chihe and Teldun tribes with a single blow,"

The Jessica troops burned Teldun's old camp, which severely damaged the Teldun people, but also caused the Herd's allied forces to be dispersed.

After the golden statue used for sacrificial rites by the Terdun tribe was seized, they launched a frenzied attack on the bridgehead.

So in the end, only the Chihe tribe was smashed to pieces by the anvil and the hammer.

On the other side, Teldun's forces were repelled.

However, the JSKA battalion was too small and failed to achieve a decisive victory.

The core members of the Fire-Roaster were still alive. He gathered the routed soldiers and approached the main battlefield, while the remnants of the Red River escaped with the help of the Fire-Roaster.

Misfortune may be a blessing in disguise; a blessing may be a misfortune in disguise.

Upon learning that their desperate fighting had disrupted General Sackler's plans, the four centurions were at a loss for words.

"Making the right decision in the absence of information is the mark of a great general," Lieutenant Colonel Jessica said casually, fiddling with the chess pieces. "It seems we are not great generals."

"The fighter jets are right in front of us." Winters was both annoyed and amused. He looked at Bard and Andrei: "We can't possibly let them go, can we?"

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica yawned and began tidying up the chessboard: "I only said we're not great generals. As a centurion, you played very well."

"Anyway, we're just tiny centurions," Andrei concluded. "If the enemy sticks their necks out, we'll chop them down. Blame General Selek for not informing us."

"Stop talking." Lieutenant Mason readily took the blame: "It's all my fault."

Winters was exhausted; he curled up in his chair, not wanting to speak. He just wanted to get home as soon as possible, even if it was just back to Wolftown.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica put away the chessboard and pieces, then took out several maps and distributed them to everyone, asking, "How's your work on the maps?" "A+," Winters replied, taking the map without looking up.

“A.” That was Bard’s answer.

“B,” Andrei said, somewhat embarrassed.

Mason scratched his head and said awkwardly, "I also had A+ when I graduated, but I don't know how many I have now."

The map is a vertical projection map—one of the results of military reforms thirty years ago.

Compared to a 45-degree overhead view, a vertically projected map is more difficult to understand, but it is more accurate and can carry more information.

[Note: Contour lines are not yet available]
Winters immediately recognized it as a map of the area around Bianli. He asked the lieutenant colonel curiously, "Drawn with graphite sticks? Did you draw them yourself? Did you draw every single one?"

The lieutenant colonel nodded three times.

Winters' respect for the lieutenant colonel suddenly increased: "You can even do surveying?"

"It was taken from a large-scale map of the Legion."

"Oh……"

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica asked the centurions, "Do you see the shallows marked downstream of the confluence river?"

The four of them nodded in unison.

"That's where the Alpad troops cross the river, and we'll cross from there too," Lieutenant Colonel Jessica announced. "We're the advance force; we'll set off first thing tomorrow morning."

The four centurions reacted indifferently; they were going to leave sooner or later anyway, so it was actually a good thing they left first.

Mason suddenly perked up and hurriedly asked, "Then... what about that golden statue? Should we keep it buried?"

Winters perked up, straightening his back and perking up his ears.

"What else can we do?" Lieutenant Colonel Jessica replied indifferently, "Keep burying it."

"What if someone finds out?" Mason asked hesitantly.

“Then bring them out.” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica frowned. “Cannons are already too cumbersome, why bring the golden man? We’ll find another opportunity to bring him out next time we fight the Red River tribe.”

"next time?"

"Hmph, Bian Li has been defeated, but the White Lion is not dead. Just watch, this battle is not over yet."

"Next time, many militia members may not serve."

"Register them and keep a record; as long as they're not lost, they won't be shortchanged."

After measuring with a tape measure, Bard said with slight surprise, "General Alpad's raid in one day and two nights covered nearly ninety kilometers in a straight line?"

Winters took the measuring tape and measured it himself.

If the scale is correct, the straight-line distance really is seventy kilometers.

They marched for two days and two nights without rest, covering a straight-line distance of over seventy kilometers. Upon arriving at the battlefield, they unleashed a tsunami-like charge that shattered the Chihe tribe... and still had the strength to continue pursuing the remaining enemy.

Winters quoted the old marshal's praise: "Truly a torrent of galloping horses."

Jessica smiled slightly but didn't say anything more.

"Don't neglect your map-making skills." Lieutenant Colonel Jessica took out several small wooden tubes to store maps for the centurions: "They'll come in handy sooner or later. It's said that the old marshal liked to carry a blank notebook with him and record any terrain he liked."

"Hmph, my aunt also said that the old marshal liked to do housework, do homework, and eat lettuce." Winters yawned and carefully put away the map: "I found that each republic has its own unique version of anecdotes about the old marshal. Once I've collected enough, I'll compile them into a book called 'The Footprints of a Great Man.' I'll make sure every elementary school student in the country buys a copy. Hehe, I'll be rich."

Everyone shook their heads, revealing helpless smiles.

A voice suddenly came from outside the tent: "Excuse me, is Lieutenant Montagne here?"

The people inside the tent exchanged glances.

“Please come in!” Winters called out.

A tall, thin, stern-looking infantry officer pushed aside the tent flap and entered the tent: "Hmm...Jeska? You're here too?"

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica stood up: "Robert? What brings you here...you've come to see Montagne?"

The others also stood up.

Jessica introduced him to the others: "This is Lieutenant Colonel Robert of the Sixth Army Corps, an old acquaintance of mine, and a very distinguished man."

The officers quickly saluted.

"Oh, you're nothing special! Let's get down to business." Robert waved his hand and asked anxiously, "Which one of you is Lieutenant Montagne?"

“Yes, that’s me,” Winters replied. “What do you need me to do, sir?”

Robert squinted and examined the lieutenant in front of him from head to toe, but he couldn't see anything special about him.

He only saw a tired young man, slightly thin, with a gentle and quiet demeanor, not at all as exaggerated as the rumors suggested.

The young man had a faint white scar on his forehead; if that scar were two inches lower, there would be another one-eyed man in the tent.

"I don't see anything special about you spellcasters," Lieutenant Colonel Robert said with a hint of regret. He then asked, "I heard you're the only spellcaster in the army who can use magic?"

……

Later, at Robert's battalion's camp, Winters met Lieutenant Roy, who was also a spellcaster.

Lieutenant Roy, his mouth stuffed with a towel, his face pale, his jaw clenched, curled up under the blanket, his body trembling uncontrollably.

“We don’t know why this is happening. Roy has no external injuries, and there’s no sign of internal bleeding.” Lieutenant Colonel Robert’s eyes were slightly red. “But he’s like this now… in unbearable pain. He’s suffering so much. I’ve even thought about giving him a quick death, which would be better than this endless torture…”

Winters covered Roy with a blanket and asked, "Are all spellcasters in the army like this?"

Lieutenant Colonel Robert sat on a bench, rubbing his forehead as he replied, "Some people aren't in such serious condition, but they still can't use magic anymore. Roy is doing relatively well; there are others who are even more conscious than Roy, constantly shouting 'Kill me! Kill me!' They faint from the pain, then regain consciousness, then faint again, then regain consciousness again."

Lieutenant Varga, standing nearby, said softly, "It's as if their bodies are still in the mortal world, but their souls have already been dragged into purgatory to suffer."

“Can I speak with people who have milder symptoms?” Winters asked again.

“Okay, I’ll take you to see them.” Lieutenant Colonel Robert said, and then set off.

“Lieutenant Colonel, wait a minute.” Winters hurriedly called out to the other man, “I don’t know what to do either, but the most important thing right now is to reduce Lieutenant Roy’s suffering.”

……

What was Roy going through? Winters knew it all too well, because he had also experienced it – the muscle strain he suffered after accidentally using the Fire Tornado.

Winters has a theory: Roy's stage is still "strained," while those dead Hed shamans were "severed."

However, Winters is unsure whether the "muscle" metaphor is appropriate.

Winters is unsure whether the third hand truly operates like a flesh-and-blood arm; it's the only "self-consistent" logic he can find at the moment.

Therefore, in theory, as long as one uses Moritz's secret formula sedative and remains asleep while waiting for the third hand to repair itself, it will be fine.

Even after recovery, there may be benefits.

Through long-term "Moritz-style" overload training, Winters' magical abilities have improved much faster than before.

He therefore speculated that the process of "tearing and healing" could make "muscles" and even "bones" stronger.

The problem was that Winters didn't have those calming herbs on hand.

When those bastards from the United Provinces pushed him into the carriage, the herbs he carried with him were still in his luggage.

The luggage wasn't delivered to Palatour either.

Therefore, Winters' training over the past six months has mainly focused on [precision control]. He relied entirely on willpower to endure the overload training, which led to his sleep quality deteriorating.

Moreover, even if such calming herbs were available, Winters would not bring them out.

The spellcasters of Paratul have no intellectual problems, and sooner or later they will find that their spellcasting abilities have been slightly enhanced once they return to normal.

The improvement was actually very subtle; according to Winters's intuitive feeling, it was less than one percent.

But the Venetians have a saying: "Small amounts add up in the long run."

Assuming a 1% improvement per day, the improvement would be 37 times in a year; a 200% improvement per day would be 6 times in a year.

[Note: The exponent is the most terrifying function in the world.]
[Note: The exponential improvement is just Winter's guess, but he has indeed improved a lot.]
According to Winters, this sedative herb should be classified as a strategic resource, its secret should remain a secret forever, and the export of any finished product, seedlings, or seeds should be strictly prohibited. Smugglers should be punished with the death penalty, their entire families should be held accountable, and they should be expelled from the church.

The problem is, the Alliance doesn't produce this stuff, and neither does the entire continent...

It can only be obtained from the ends of the known world, the very edge of civilization, in places that are unimaginably far away—the empire's overseas colonies.

The local natives use this stuff as a sleeping aid, chewing tablet, and hookah leaf.

Therefore, it was even less likely that Winters would leak this secret, especially to the Paratians.

Without calming herbs, we can only resort to traditional methods.

……

"Do you know how to alleviate Roy's suffering?" Lieutenant Colonel Robert asked expectantly.

“How about…” Winters tentatively asked, “We’ll try pouring you some alcohol? The stronger the better.”

Alcohol intoxication was also a treatment, one that Winters had used on the ship. He hadn't even wanted to mention it, but seeing Lieutenant Roy suffering terribly beside him, he couldn't bear it.

Apart from Lieutenant Roy, who was tormented by phantom pain, everyone else in the tent stood frozen in place.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert and Lieutenant Varga locked eyes. The colonel shook his head slightly and turned away.

Lieutenant Varga said helplessly, "Winters, do you think we didn't consider using alcohol? We tried, but it didn't work. He clenched his teeth, and forcing it down his throat would only make him choke."

“If he’s clenching his teeth, then pry them open. If he chokes, just pry it out and force-feed him more.” Winters’ rationality prevailed, and he spread his hands: “Either force-feed him alcohol or knock him unconscious. These are the only two methods I can think of to alleviate his pain. If the force of knocking him unconscious isn’t controlled properly, he could be killed instantly. In comparison, force-feeding him alcohol is safer.”

Lieutenant Colonel Robert clenched his fist, turned around, stared at Winters, and asked, "Are you sure there's no other way?"

Winters hesitated for a moment, then stammered, "Perhaps... there's another way..."

"What?" Lieutenant Colonel Robert pressed, "What method?"

“Well… I’ve heard that suffocation can also make someone faint. How about we try suffocation?” Winters said helplessly. “I always feel that it’s better to make him faint than to make him wake up and suffer.”

Lieutenant Colonel Robert slapped his thigh, his eyes red, and gritted his teeth, saying, "Force-feed! I'll force-feed him myself! We have to try everything! If there's really no other way, I'll personally relieve Roy; he shouldn't have to suffer like this..."

Winters also felt that using strong liquor was the most credible method; there are no teeth that cannot be pried open, only people who are not resolute enough.

As long as Roy can still swallow, he should be able to get it down.

Varga ran to get the wine, then rushed back a moment later in a panic: "Lieutenant Colonel, there's no more wine!"

"What?!" Robert roared. "Weren't there quite a lot served? Did you manage to drink it all?!"

Varga said with a mournful face, "They were all thrown into the river..."

Don't you have any wine stored?

“I don’t drink…” Lieutenant Varga—Winters’s actual squad leader—was almost in tears.

"[A vulgar word!]!" Lieutenant Colonel Robert cursed. "I don't drink either."

Suddenly, Robert and Varga both looked at Winters.

Winters waved his hands repeatedly: "I won't drink either. I'm a spellcaster, I can't drink alcohol."

The west wind howled through the tent, and the three men looked at each other in silence.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert calmly instructed Varga: "Go ask someone else for it, and say you want it. There's always someone who has a few bottles of wine hidden away."

Winters had a sudden inspiration, reached into his pocket, and groped around... He found it!

"Wine!" he exclaimed excitedly, pulling out a silver wine jug. "That fellow Alpad gave it to me!"

……

After being forced to ingest a large amount of strong liquor, Lieutenant Roy's consciousness gradually became blurred.

The good thing about spellcasters is that they don't drink alcohol normally, so they generally have a very low alcohol tolerance.

Seeing that Roy had fallen into a deep sleep and was no longer like before—clearly enduring great torment—the others in the tent were finally relieved.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert called over three strong soldiers for help. The six of them worked together, and with great effort, they managed to pry open Roy's mouth, pour the liquor down his throat, and still manage to keep him from choking.

Despite the freezing weather, Winters was drenched in sweat, panting as he said, "It seems some poisons can also paralyze people, like snake venom and scorpion venom... It's much easier than what we're doing now..."

Lieutenant Colonel Robert, who was wiping his sweat, kicked Winters and burst into laughter.

Lieutenant Colonel Robert said with great enthusiasm, "This method works. We need to tell the others. Lieutenant Montagne, I owe you one."

“I want to meet with the spellcasters who have milder symptoms,” Winters quickly requested.

“No problem.” Lieutenant Colonel Robert waved his hand. “I’ll take you there.”

At the medical facility, Winters met his fellow spellcasters who had milder symptoms and whose phantom pain was still tolerable.

Some people experience almost no phantom pain, only an inability to use magic—somewhat like a symptom of impending recovery, indicating that their tearing is not severe.

After a long, private discussion among the spellcasters, Winters gleaned a key word: [vortex].

According to other spellcasters, the only word they could think of to describe the feeling was "whirlpool".

Bound in the vortex, spinning round and round, falling deeper and deeper, yet unable to escape.

Only when the limits of endurance are exceeded and consciousness is lost can one find relief.

"Will I never be able to use magic again?" Lieutenant Mitch asked worriedly.

"Probably not," Winters reassured him, "though I'm not sure either."

Another spellcaster, Lieutenant Matt, asked curiously, "Why weren't you hurt? Do you have any ideas?"

Winters noticed that the spellcasters who were unharmed were all second lieutenants who had recently graduated from school.

So he speculated, "In my opinion, the stronger the caster's ability, the more severe the damage. I was almost knocked unconscious immediately. Although I still had phantom pain when I woke up, I could barely endure it and still use spells."

“I think,” Winters concluded, “it’s probably because I’m the weakest.”

Lieutenant Matt tried to interject, but Mitch calmly stopped him, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

Mitch looked at Winters and smiled, saying, "Perhaps so."

[Chang'e 5 has successfully returned! Isn't that great?]
[8923 words... Actually, I originally thought 7,000 words was the limit, but human potential is truly limitless! I'm done being human! Jojo!]
[I originally wanted to make a battle map to illustrate the situation of the Battle of Bianli, but I went to Night City last weekend, so I can only do it this weekend. Please check it out then, although I'll have already left Bianli by then...]
Thank you to the book lovers Mage Tower Designer, Kwindk VII, Tower Mountain Cheese, Crazy Thirst, Pear Blossom Alley, and Zhang Haoran for their generous donations. Thank you all.

Thank you to all the readers for reading, subscribing, recommending, voting, donating, and commenting. Thank you everyone!
As usual, the list of monthly pass recipients will be posted as an image at the end of the chapter.

[A reader asked, so I'll explain the word count issue.]

I remember it was 500 words per jump, with the middle part free, for example, the part between 1000 and 1500 words was free.

Therefore, this book has many chapters with a word count of 39XX.

If I were to stop writing at around 400X, I would cut it down to 399X.
Because I will be using a lot of markers like "[Herdès]" in the text, to avoid people accusing me of padding the word count.

And I find it interesting to label the different languages.
ρ(ω)
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(End of this chapter)