Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 192 One and a Half Spells
Before dawn, the advance team had already set off.

Two regular army battalions and another militia battalion led the way, with the JSK battalion serving as both the supply train and the rearguard, and a company of hussars providing support – this was the entire force of the vanguard.

Their duties were to confirm routes, build camps, clear out any potential enemies, and prepare for the arrival of the main force.

The sun hadn't risen yet, so it was very cold, so cold that people's chests were trembling involuntarily.

Some skillful soldiers sewed helmet-like hats for themselves, leaving only their eyes exposed.

Soldiers who couldn't sew could only endure the cold; their noses, mouths, and ears would turn red from the cold, and the white mist from their breath would coat their eyelashes with frost.

Some soldiers even cut the Hed's robes into pieces to make do with scarves, or haphazardly found scraps of fabric to use as triangular scarves.

The Jessica Battalion's camp was now unusually deserted. Everything that could be taken had been loaded onto wagons and carried on shoulders, leaving only piles of charcoal-black ash on the ground.

Before the rearguards could set off, the militiamen lined up and waited, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet, and whispering among themselves.

Winters walked through the ranks, making a final check before departure.

As the centurion approached, the militiamen saluted him, and Winters returned the salute earnestly.

Many militiamen were wrapped in Hard robes, for no other reason than that Hard robes were very warm.

If it weren't for concerns about the negative impact, Winters would have liked to wear a robe over it—after all, in this awful weather, you can never have too many clothes on.

Samukin from Wolf Town was shivering from the cold. When he saw the centurion approaching, he quickly asked, "When can we leave, sir?"

Winters estimated the time briefly and replied, "Don't worry, it should be soon."

"Okay...that's good." Samukin sniffled and said shiveringly, "It's good to walk around, it'll warm me up, standing still is too cold."

Seeing that Samukin was only wearing the jacket he had brought with him when he left home, Winters was very surprised: "Why didn't you get a robe to wear?"

Samukin's voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz: "Wearing the clothes of a dead man is unlucky. Sir, I'm fine, I'll warm up as I walk around."

"Do you want that dead man's gold?" Winters was utterly exasperated. He pointed at Samukin's scabbard and asked, "Did the Heds present this sword to you on a plate? You want a dead man's saber, you wear a dead man's armor. Tell me, what's the difference between a dead man's robe and a dead man's?"

Samukin was unable to refute, and he muttered with his head down, "That's still different."

Winters was both amused and annoyed: "You ignorant fool, do you know how expensive Hart's robes are? If a Hart woman's dowry includes three robes, she's no ordinary family. There are merchants who specialize in buying Hart's fur robes, and you wouldn't even take them for free?"

"Huh?" Samukin was dumbfounded: "I didn't know about this... It's too late now..."

"You have five minutes. Go to the back and get Lieutenant Buddy something," Winters urged. "Hurry up! Run!"

Samukin ran away in a flash.

“Wear the robe sparingly, be careful not to let it get moth-eaten,” Winters said to the others around him. “Wearing it for a lifetime is a bit difficult, but wearing it for half a lifetime is no problem.”

After inspecting his two hundred-man squads, Winters stepped into the old charlatan's carriage.

When he opened the car door, he made eye contact with the little lion.

Upon seeing who it was, the little lion buried its head in its chest again and continued sleeping.

"Get out of the way, get out of the way." Winters slapped the little lion and pushed it aside.

The little lion made a purring sound and whimpered, making room for Rong Winters to sit down.

Brother Reid smiled slightly: "This little fellow has excellent hearing. He could hear your footsteps from far away."

"This is still a little guy?" Winters looked at the lion cub and frowned. "It must weigh almost eighty pounds by now."

"So what if it weighs eighty pounds?" Brother Reid said dismissively, "He's still a long way from adulthood."

Although the cub is still called the cub, this is only because Winters did not allow Bell to name the cub.

In fact, the lion cub was already bigger and heavier than any domestic dog Winters had ever seen, and it was getting bigger and heavier every day, with its appetite increasing daily.

Fortunately, Winters doesn't have to worry about finding meat lately; a horse carcass is enough for the little lion to eat for a long time.

Winters stroked the lion cub's fur on its back and said helplessly, "That's why I'm anxious. You haven't seen its mother... Sigh, I'm considering whether to let it return to the wilderness here."

"Cough." Reed warmed his feet on the lion cub's body and asked Winters, "How can I put him there? This little guy can't even catch a rabbit. If you release him into the wild, won't he just starve to death?"

"The Heds will be here soon; they should be able to capture it."

"The leader of the Hed people is called White Lion. If you give White Lion to Yasin, isn't that the same as giving Yasin auspiciousness? Enhancing his authority?"

Winters was also devastated: "I never imagined that Yassin's father would give him this name!"

“The names of the Hed people are all given by their tribal shamans,” Brother Reid corrected with a smile.

"It does not matter!"

Reid coughed lightly, his smile widening: "Don't be afraid, take Palatul back with you. If you can't afford to raise him, I can arrange for the Catholic Church to take him in. [From the wilderness, like the call of a lion], hahahaha!"

Winters' head throbbed even more.

The image of the lion holds special significance in both the Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church.

First, the lion is the symbol of King David and one of the twelve family emblems of the descendants of the one who wrestled with God. There are many metaphors and images of lions in the scriptures.

The winged lion is the symbol of Saint Mark, the patron saint of the sea, and this image is depicted on the Vineta Banner.

Another saint, Jerome, had an even closer connection with lions. Legend has it that he removed a thorn from a lion's claw, and from then on, that lion stayed by his side, a miracle considered miraculous.

Two other saints are said to have been accompanied by lions.

It was precisely because of the precedent set by St. Jerome that the fact that the mendicant monk Reed had a lion by his side was accepted by the vast majority of believers without any difficulty.

“The little lion is…is…” Winters was at a loss for words, and after thinking for a long time, he couldn’t find a single word to explain what the little lion was.

He simply gave up: "Since it's not a miracle, I'd rather raise it myself than hand it over to the Catholic Church."

"Actually, you already have the answer," the old cultivator said unhurriedly. "Can you bear to separate the two little ones? Can you bear to part with this little one yourself? You get attached to even a potted plant, let alone a spirit beast like this. Keep it for now, no one's stopping you. Don't rush, you can wait until it's grown up before training it to return to the forest."

Winters thought and thought, but couldn't come up with a better solution.

Release them back into the wild?

Not safe.

Sold to the church or other important figures?
To act against one's conscience.

The main problem is, will Belle and the little lion be separated?

He couldn't bear it.

The young hunter and the lion cub were inseparable. Although the lion cub was far from adulthood, its occasional display of wildness and power still kept Winters on edge.

Only with Bear Grylls, no matter how much they played and joked, the two of them never had any accidents.

Winters vaguely sensed that in the little lion's eyes, he and the old charlatan were still "humans," while Belle had already been regarded as "one of their kind" by the little lion.

Perhaps the only solution left is the old charlatan's approach: first ensure the lion cub can stand on its own, then let it return to the forest.

"A lion raised by humans?" Winters hesitated. "Can it still learn to hunt?"

"Of course," the old charlatan said confidently. "Don't you understand? Look at the cats kept by princes and nobles; they never have to worry about food or drink. But they'll still catch mice when they see them. That's called instinct. Tsk tsk tsk... Young man, you're short-sighted and need to learn more."

Winters was speechless. Based on his life experience, the general would ignore mice, but the young general would occasionally bring mice home, which would always elicit screams.

The little lion's question was put aside for the time being. Winters casually told the old charlatan about the incident earlier, in which "Samukin would rather freeze than wear the clothes of a dead man," as an amusing anecdote.

Unexpectedly, Brother Reid became interested.

He stroked his beard, feigning seriousness, and said, "I imagine I'm not the only one with this concern; it might affect the army's fighting capacity. After all, if a soldier's fingers are frostbitten, he can't fight." Winters, upon hearing this, also became worried: "Then what should we do?"

"I have a way to solve this very well."

"any solution?"

“Simple.” Reed chuckled. “Next time at Mass, I’ll use some holy water to bless Herd’s robes, and there won’t be any problem.”

Winters remained silent for a long time, then asked the old man with a mixture of praise and sarcasm, "If... I mean, if you and your group of fanatics said cow dung was delicious, would they eat it?"

……

The old charlatan Reed has gradually evolved from [a saint of the Jaska Squadron] to [a saint of the entire Paratul army].

Even senior officers like Sackler and Alpard dared not neglect the old charlatan, repeatedly inviting him to live in the better-equipped central army quarters, but he refused time and again.

Winters thus witnessed the generals and officers' attitudes change from "not daring to be negligent" to "respect and admiration".

The old charlatan preached, and people from other brigades, regardless of whether they were Protestants, Catholics, officers, or soldiers, all came to listen to his sermons.

The old charlatan handed out small cookies, and the line of people receiving communion stretched from the west wall of the camp all the way to the east wall.

The presence of the lion cub did not diminish the old charlatan's sense of holiness; on the contrary, it was regarded as a miracle by the believers.

Seeing a real lion lying obediently at the old charlatan's feet like a puppy, many believers shed tears and regarded the old man as a living saint.

Upon hearing that someone had "canonized themselves," another devout believer, Lieutenant Varga, flew into a rage.

Blinded by religious fervor, Lieutenant Varga stormed into the Jessica camp with his sword, vowing to exterminate the heretics.

Upon hearing the news, Winters didn't even have time to put on his shirt and boots; he grabbed a steel nail and ran to save the old man.

By the time he arrived at the scene, shirtless and barefoot, it was too late... Varga was kissing the hem of the old charlatan's clothes.

Lieutenant Varga, who had just left the Jessica camp, had been "reincarnated" and become the old charlatan's most fervent supporter.

……

Brother Reed wasn't angry at all after hearing Winters's "cow dung" question.

Brother Reed looked directly into Winters' eyes.

His gaze was intense, his expression serious, as he earnestly told Winters, “They are simply devout, not intellectually deficient. Even if the Pope said cow dung was delicious, no one would eat it. Around you, apart from you ascetics, everyone else is a believer. You should maintain a modicum of respect, at least not show contempt. If you continue like this, one day your contempt will be impossible to hide. Then, how will you coexist with this religious society?”

Winters gave a soft hum.

His words were too presumptuous, and he knew he was in the wrong.

Moreover, the old charlatan's sudden righteous indignation left him at a loss, like a naughty child caught red-handed.

To be honest, Winters was startled: Brother Reid's eyes seemed to stare right into him.

The carriage became quiet, with only the sound of the little lion snoring.

"Well, but," the old man smiled slyly, "if I told them that cow dung could cure diseases, they would probably try it."

"Boom!"

The car door was kicked open.

Winters stormed off in a rage.

The sleeping lion cub was startled by the sound of the door being kicked. He sprang up from his seat, his mane bristling and his four claws bared, as he warily surveyed his surroundings.

"It's alright, it's alright." Reed gently reassured the little lion, "You got all flustered too?"

……

The first three battalions had already left the camp, and it was Jessica's battalion's turn to depart.

Horse-drawn carriages drove through the camp, their creaking sounds echoing throughout the camp.

Many people came out of their tents to watch the convoy leave the camp.

The Vinnetta officer and several Parattu seniors also came to see Winters and his companions off.

Lieutenant Mitch bumped fists with Winters: "See you at the next camp, Winters."

“See you at the next camp, squad leader,” Winters replied.

When Winters entered the Military Academy, he was a third-year student at Mitch. He had indeed been Winters' class monitor and was also a senior in the field of spellcasting.

Winters glanced at Bian Li one last time, then put everything else behind him and spurred his horse forward.

He came without taking anything, but left with one and a half spells.

[Disintegration], and the prototype of another spell.

According to Winters's speculation, the large-scale spell that triggered the rainstorm was probably powered not only by the shaman Hed, but also by the spellcaster of Palatul.

The spells cast by the Shaman Hed resonated with Alliance spellcasters, whose "magic" was being drawn away like a sailboat caught in a whirlpool—if such a thing as "magic" even exists.

Based on this principle, the first [Anti-Spell] in the history of Alliance spellcasters is about to be released, which Winters temporarily calls [Mana Vortex].

But thinking alone is not enough; Winters needs more resources for experimentation and practice.

“The Antoine Laurent Prize is mine,” Winters thought. “The youngest winner ever.”

As Winters' figure gradually disappeared into the distance, Lieutenant Mitch asked Lieutenant Matt, who was still waving frantically beside him, "Do you think Winters Montagne is not entirely a truthful person?"

"Huh?" Lieutenant Matt, wiping away his tears, was slightly taken aback by Mitch's words: "Winters...this kid's been fine, hasn't he? What's wrong?"

"Yes or no."

"……no."

“I don’t think so either. I’ve been with him for a year. He’s a good kid, I know that very well.” Lieutenant Mitch said thoughtfully, “But he was deliberately hiding something from us yesterday.”

"What?" Matt was still immersed in the sadness of parting.

"Someone told me that Winters killed Teldon's number one warrior with a single javelin throw. Do you think he had that kind of strength?"

"It sounds like a rumor to me..."

“No, it’s true.” Mitch stroked his stubble and said, “If I’m not mistaken, it was a specialized version of the Flying Arrow Technique.”

Matt asked, puzzled, "So what? Spellcasters all have body-suppressing spells."

“I’ve tried, but I can’t do it,” Mitch said seriously. “Neither the precision nor the force can be reproduced.”

"what do you mean……"

“If someone who isn’t entirely dishonest does dishonest things, then the information they’re trying to hide must be very important.” Mitch straightened up and looked at Winters’s back—which was almost invisible—and shook his head with a wry smile: “What do you mean, the weakest? He’s the strongest one.”

Regarding the records of high-ranking officials and nobles keeping wild animals, I remember one rather interesting one:

A certain Austrian archduke [of the Habsburg family]—I can't recall which one—owned a lion that "appeared and disappeared mysteriously within the palace, roaming freely, and occasionally devouring an unfortunate eunuch."

[Explaining the story of the white lion and the old charlatan slowed down the plot...]

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(End of this chapter)