Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 304 Sightseeing
The southern part of the city of Revodan.

“They learn so quickly.” Mason stared at the dust kicked up by the Teldens and thought with a heavy heart, “Winters was right. The intangible spread of technology is more harmful than the tangible loss of lives.”

That's what the artillery captain was thinking, but he didn't show it on his face.

He turned his head and sternly reprimanded his ashen-faced subordinates: "Where are the cannons? Why aren't they in position yet?"

The Teldenans chose to approach from the west, while Mason's cannons were previously positioned at the south gate.

To prevent barrel explosion, the third-generation "wooden cannon" adopted a three-layer structure of iron, leather, and wood, which directly resulted in the cannon being heavy and difficult to transport.

The temporary sergeant being questioned looked left and right, and hesitated for a moment before realizing that the tribunal was speaking to him.

Cold sweat instantly beaded on the sergeant's forehead: "I...I don't know..."

"Then what are you still doing standing here?!" Mason suddenly raised his voice and roared.

Not only the sergeant being questioned, but also the surrounding militiamen were terrified.

The sergeant was about to leave when he felt he should salute before doing so. But he wasn't a soldier; he was just a temporarily appointed citizen of Zhevodan, and he didn't know if he was qualified to salute.

The sergeant's mind went blank. He gave a half-hearted curtsy and then ran away.

The dozen or so militiamen under the sergeant looked at each other and hurriedly followed.

Mason, his face stern, continued his inspection of the city walls. He berated the panicked laborers, whipped the cowards hiding behind the walls, and occasionally offered a few words of praise to the brave.

Although no one likes to be insulted or scolded, for some reason, a strange sense of security spread among the militia.

It's too quiet, the battlefield is too quiet.

Apart from the sound of the St. George River flowing, there was only the sound of the Telden people digging.

Most of the militiamen standing behind the city wall had dry mouths, cold palms, and could even hear their carotid arteries throbbing.

In this situation, one could hear the militia officer shouting loudly, and some militiamen were even moved to tears.

The mild-mannered and quiet tribune turned into a walking swearing machine, partly because Mason did it intentionally, and partly because Mason was genuinely in a bad mood.

The last time he clashed with Teldun, their siege tactics were still at the level of thirty years prior:

Shield wagons, siege ladders, catapults; earthen sacks, digging up the city walls, even attempting to level the fortress with human lives.

The final result was, of course, bloodshed; tens of thousands of Teldun cavalrymen had four of their front teeth knocked out by a small fortress guarded by a thousand men.

In this attack and defense, the walls of Ghevordan were much weaker than those of the former bridgehead, but the Teldun people demonstrated a significant leap in technological capabilities.

They started using specialized earthmoving tools—which alone made Mason feel more dangerous than carrying soil in sheepskin bags.

What was even more surprising was that wagons kept arriving, and the Teldun people had to do a lot of work to unload four cannons.

To load and unload the four cannons, the Tertuns assembled a small crane.

From a distance, Mason could roughly determine that the enemy was using six-pounder cannons. He wouldn't be mistaken, because the six-pounder was the model he had used in the Battle of Bianli.

During the retreat from Bianli, all captured light and heavy artillery pieces were secretly nailed to the ground and sunk into the river.

Where did these cannons come from? Were they pulled from the riverbed by the Teldenans after interrogating prisoners, or were they newly acquired? Mason had no idea.

But one thing is certain—the Teldun had cannons.

As for whether the Teldenans were capable of using artillery?
"We'll find out soon enough," Mason thought.

Mason convened a meeting of the temporarily appointed militia captains.

The militia captains included former village chiefs and town mayors, municipal councilors from Thevadant, plantation owners, and ordinary farmers—all of whom were respected figures nominated by the militia members themselves.

From this perspective, the militia in Zhevodan naturally possessed a certain degree of cohesion, because commanders at all levels were elected from the bottom up.

"Officers" do not need to gain authority through actions; they are appointed as "officers" only after they have authority.

The bottom-up structure also has its drawbacks—the highest commander lacks the ability to control the officer corps, since the tribunes are not elected.

To enhance the cohesion of the troops, the prerequisite is that commanders at all levels must set an example, which is also the most troublesome thing for Mason.

After their initial surprise attack failed, the Teldun launched no further attacks on the second and third days.

However, the psychological pressure they exerted on the defenders by digging trenches and pressing forward step by step was probably greater than that of directly attacking the city walls.

In particular, the news that the Teldens had four cannons spread like wildfire, causing increasing panic within the new city.

Mason's gaze swept over the group of militia captains, some with graying hair and beards, others still young lads. But without exception, they were either staring silently at the tips of their boots or smoking in silence.

Even before the war began, the atmosphere was so heavy that it seemed as if defeat had already been incurred.

A militia captain with a red birthmark on his face broke the silence, stood up and asked, "Sir, since the barbarians have cannons, should we further thicken the city walls?"

Although the former sergeant and current militia captain [Ivan] did not speak, he kept nodding in agreement.

After the large-scale preparations for war began, Ivan, a former member of the security guard and garrison soldier, was re-enlisted.

Ivan silently bid farewell to his wife and children, then returned to the military camp and took up his weapon once more. His performance in previous battles had been reliable, and he was promoted to militia captain for his meritorious service.

Mason looked around and noticed two people who seemed more enthusiastic: one was one of his former subordinates, and the other was a prisoner from the penal camp.

“I know you resent me because I tricked you to the south bank and forced you to defend the city.” Mason did not respond to his subordinates’ words, but looked directly at everyone and frankly pointed out their thoughts: “You may also resent the tribunal Montagne because he did not come to the aid of Gevodane.”

The air grew heavier, a sentiment shared by most of the militia captains. They could have safely retreated to the north bank, but instead were left to defend the city on the south bank; resentment was running high among them.

Mason said politely, “Gentlemen, I will only tell you two things. If we abandon the new city, it will be tantamount to cutting off the Montagne tribunal’s retreat, so the new city must be defended; if the Montagne tribunal comes to the rescue in haste, he will also be wiped out, so he cannot come for the time being.”

The civilians appointed as militia captains were mostly from the educated gentry class. Most people understood the two points Mason made. But when it came to themselves, they genuinely didn't want to be in that position.

"Did you understand what I said?" Mason asked gently.

"Understood," the man with the birthmark and Ivan answered in unison.

"Did you understand?" Mason asked again.

One after another, the militia captains responded.

“Now that you understand, there is another matter I need to inform you.” Mason’s expression turned serious: “You are now bound by military law. Cowardice and desertion will be severely punished, including but not limited to the death penalty and confiscation of property. We are in a state of war now. There is no defense or trial. Anyone who breaks the law will be executed by my own hand.”

A chill ran through the militia captains. Mason's tone was calm, but resolute as steel; even the most timid person would not doubt his determination.

The crowd answered "yes" again, this time louder and more in unison than before.

After instilling some courage and fear in his men, Mason finally got down to business: "The original city walls were designed to withstand firearms. Now that the Teldens have brought out cannons, the walls need to be thickened. No problem, just pile up earth behind the walls at the appropriate locations. Mr. Ivan, you're in charge of that."

"Yes!" Ivan immediately stood up and saluted.

"The Teldens only have four cannons at the moment, but I've heard rumors among the militia that they've deployed forty cannons?" Mason thought for a moment, then smiled and said:
"There's nothing to be afraid of with artillery; it's the rumors that are getting more and more frightening. Here's what we'll do: each militia unit will take turns going to the west wall to see the Teldun people's artillery and our army's artillery. Once you see what they are, you'll realize they're not so bad after all. I'll give you a schedule, and each unit will take turns going to see them."

The atmosphere became more relaxed, and the militia captains all answered yes.

“In my opinion, the fact that the Teldun are putting up this show actually indicates that their main attack is not directed at Ghevodan.” Mason spoke to everyone in a casual tone, “Given the strength of Ghevodan’s defenses, they don’t need to use such a time-consuming and laborious trench siege method.”

Many militia captains immediately perked up their ears; they desperately needed good news.

Seeing that he had captured everyone's attention, Mason felt that words alone were not enough. He pulled out a piece of white paper and beckoned everyone to come closer.

Mason patiently explained as he drew the diagrams: "...Given the earthwork capabilities the Telden people have demonstrated so far, they could easily get close to the moat and use shield wagons as cover to dig and fill it. The walls of Jervodan lack any protruding corners, so approaching the moat would be redundant."

The Teldenans' digging of trenches to get closer suggests they're not in a hurry to attack. But their long march and lack of supplies nearby indicate they're likely anxious. This suggests something's amiss… If I were the Teldenan leader, I would use…”

Mason became more and more enthusiastic as he spoke, while the militia captains listened with increasing curiosity. It was as if Mason, the tribunal for the city, was not the supreme commander of the defense, but was instead offering advice to the barbarian Hed who were attacking the city.

“...The city will surely fall.” Mason tossed down the graphite stick with a hint of exhilaration and laughed at his men, “So you see, that’s all the Terdon people are capable of—they’ve only learned a half-baked skill, which is frustrating to watch. There’s nothing to worry about. Thervodan has men and food; even if we don’t hold out for ten or twenty years, holding out for a month or two shouldn’t be a problem.”

The militia captains nodded, somewhat bewildered. They hadn't quite grasped how Tribunal Mason had deduced that "holding out for a month or two wouldn't be a problem." However, the Tribunal's confident and eloquent speech had, to some extent, projected that confidence onto them.

It was getting late, and Mason planned to have the militia captains stay for dinner—although the so-called dinner consisted of a standard ration of a piece of bread and a bowl of soup.

A messenger ran over and whispered a few words in Mason's ear.

"Oh?" Mason said calmly, "Bring him over."

"But," the messenger hesitated.

“Bring him here,” Mason commanded.

The messenger saluted and strode away.

"The Teldens have sent envoys," Mason told the militia captains with a smile. "Their purpose is not hard to guess; they want to persuade us to surrender or extort us, offering money and food in exchange for peace."

The hearts of the militia captains were in their throats again, and a glimmer of hope appeared in the eyes of many of them.

"Sir," the man with the birthmark stood up abruptly, urgently advising, "Officers shouldn't directly contact enemy envoys; they might be assassins..."

Mason smiled and waved his hand. The man with the birthmark pursed his lips, sat down, and said nothing more.

Footsteps sounded again, and the messenger brought over the Teldun envoy. All eyes turned to the newcomer.

Two men arrived, both dressed in Hedren fur robes. The one in front was clearly Hedren, while the robe on the back looked somewhat awkward. The Hedren envoy, seeing the tent was full of people, was not intimidated. He strode confidently towards Mason and arrogantly declared, "[Hedren's] messenger..."

Before he could finish speaking, Mason picked up a pistol from the table, pointed it at the messenger's head, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

With a click, the latch disengaged and the spring wheel began to rotate.

The flash of light appeared twice, once from the ignition trough and once from the muzzle of the gun.

Lead bullets were driven into the head of the Hart envoy through his forehead and emerged from the back of his head, splashing up a spray of white and red.

The messenger of the fire-bringer died on the spot, leaving everyone stunned.

The slave interpreter who had come with the messenger was so frightened that he lost control of his bladder and fell to the ground, begging for mercy.

“Take him away.” Mason pointed to the interpreter and carefully put the revolver back in its place. “See if we can get any valuable information out of him.”

The man with the birthmark strode forward, set up the interpreter, and left the tent.

Ivan silently followed behind and dragged the messenger's body away.

"An envoy? Nothing more than someone here to shake our resolve and probe our strengths and weaknesses." Mason wiped the bloodstains from his hands somewhat uncomfortably—he was still not used to doing this kind of thing—and said slowly:
“The Hed people have a rule: if they kill their messenger, everyone will either be killed or enslaved on the day the city falls.”

After a pause, Mason spoke again: "I have something else to tell you gentlemen. The Hurds have another rule: if they don't kill their messengers, everyone will either be killed or enslaved on the day the city falls. Don't take any chances. There is no room for compromise between us and the Teldons; it's a matter of life and death."

Among the militia captains, a manor owner who had just been fantasizing about negotiating peace with the Heds involuntarily swallowed hard.

He had just confirmed one thing—this magistrate who had been kindly explaining siege tactics just a moment ago would not hesitate to kill without hesitation.

Recalling the "military law" the other party had mentioned before, the manor owner couldn't help but swallow again.

Another messenger rushed over and reported something else to Mason, who nodded slightly.

Everyone tensed up again.

"Good news." Mason smiled, and everyone seemed to see the kind tribunal had returned: "Madame Montagne has brought us hot food!"

……

Along the St. George River, small boats carry barrels of piping hot, fragrant broth from the north bank to the south bank.

The broth was specially stored in buckets so that the militiamen who came to collect it could easily carry it back to their respective teams for distribution.

Winter has arrived, and the weather is freezing cold. The militiamen stationed on the south bank, who previously only had hard, cold rations to eat, were overjoyed to learn that they would be able to drink meat soup.

Anna, wearing a veil and a small hat, and dressed in a simple dark blue rider's outfit, was accompanied by the old mayor, Priskin, to the South Bank.

[Note: Rider's clothing refers to cycling attire consisting of a tight-fitting top and trousers.]
Anna said to Mason somewhat apologetically, "Mr. Montagne has told many stories about wanting a sip of hot soup during battle... The bridge was demolished in a hurry, I don't know if it has caused you any trouble..."

"[The stomach is the foundation of an army], how could it be a problem?" Mason replied with a hearty laugh. "On such a cold day, a bowl of hot soup is more effective than a hundred words of encouragement from me!"

Anna grew increasingly embarrassed: "What I mean is..."

"Don't worry, it won't happen." Mason smiled and shook his head slightly.

"How about we bring everyone soup every day?"

"Perfect!"

Old Mr. Priskin greeted Mason and then escorted Anna back to the north shore by boat. The old mayor originally wanted to stay with Mason on the south shore, but Mason dissuaded him, because the defense of the old city could not be done without him.

The tall, thin Ivan paced over to Mason and asked somewhat embarrassedly in a low voice, "Sir, should we... burn the entire ship as well..."

Mason laughed heartily: "When that time comes, even without a boat, we can swim back to the north shore. Are we going to cut off everyone's hands and feet? Demolishing the bridge is a way of showing our attitude and determination. Keeping the boat might come in very handy."

……

Meanwhile, on the Dajiao River, seven kilometers upstream from the pontoon bridge.

Captain Moro, whose face was covered, and Samukin were leading soldiers and laborers to drive wooden stakes into the riverbed of the Big Horn River.

The two had just escaped death and returned to Oxhoof Valley the day before, and immediately threw themselves into another task—building a dam on the Big Horn River.

When building a dam on the Huiqing River, where the water volume is relatively small, one can still use the method of crudely piling up cages filled with stones.

But not the Big Horn River. Although the Big Horn River is not as vast as the River Styx, it is still a large river that can be over 100 meters wide during the high-water season.

To break through the natural barrier of Tiefeng County, an alternative construction method must be used.

Guided by local fishermen, Moro and Samukin found a spot at the narrowest point of the river, just the right distance from the pontoon bridge.

They first drove two rows of parallel wooden stakes into the riverbed, one next to the other, tightly packed together, leaving as few gaps as possible.

“The next step is to drive wooden stakes diagonally between the two rows of stakes, dividing the two rows of stakes into triangles.” Moro used a twig as a pen to draw a diagram on the sand and explained to Samukin: “We don’t have to wait for the parallel stakes to extend to the riverbank; we can do it now.”

"Okay!" Samukin's eyes were bloodshot; he hadn't rested in a long time. "I'll arrange the manpower right away."

“We don’t have enough manpower right now.” Moro tapped the sand repeatedly.

“The tribunal of Montagne has agreed to fully support your plan, and will provide as many people as you need.”

Samukin personally went to St. K. and brought back Winters's unreserved support—including manpower, food, and the arrival of Ronald's officers.

“Winters Montagne? Yes, he’s a tribune of the plebs!” Moreau sneered a few times, throwing away the branch: “Whatever! As long as he kills the Heds, it’s none of my business if he declares himself marshal!”

Samukin remained silent.

Although their time together was short, Samukin was deeply impressed by Moro's tenacity and ability during their escape from the Teldun people and the construction of the dam.

However, Samkin could not accept Moro's attitude toward Centurion Montane.

Therefore, Samukin chose to remain silent for the time being in response to the other party's offensive remarks.

“The plan needs to be sped up; we don’t need to wait for the wooden stakes to be fully completed. Every time a triangular area is divided up, we’ll dump stones into it.” Moro stood up and looked at the laborers working near the riverbed: “First dump the large stones, then the small stones, and finally fill in the gaps with silt. We’ll dump stones while simultaneously driving in the wooden stakes.”

Samukin also stood up. Still somewhat worried, he couldn't help but ask, "Are you really sure this will work?"

"Don't believe me? Then let Winters Montagne do it himself," Moreau said coldly. "He can build a bridge across the River Styx, so building a dam shouldn't be difficult for him, right?"

Samukin fell silent again.

Moro stood quietly for a while before speaking: "The method I used is essentially the same as that used by stonemasons to build bridge piers—cofferdams, pumping water, and pouring mortar. Now we're not building a stone bridge that can stand for a hundred or a thousand years, so we don't need to pump water or pour mortar. We just need to build cofferdams to fix the stones in place."

"Thank you." Samukin saluted deeply.

Moro didn't return the greeting, but turned his head to look at the river, his back to Samukin, and sneered disdainfully: "Thanks my ass! Think about how to defend this dam first!"

No one saw that his dry eyes were a little red.

……

Meanwhile, in what was once the forge town—now a charred ruin—the old translator secretly met with several guests.

There were five guests in total, led by a blond, green-eyed man who looked to be about thirty years old, and four guards wearing iron masks.

The blond man strolled among the ruins, occasionally rummaging through the scorched earth and finding small trinkets with great interest.

The old interpreter accompanied the blond man on a "walk," while four guards stood a little further away to protect him.

"[Old saying] They seemed to have left in a hurry." The blond man picked up a small, burnt, twisted spoon and whispered to the old interpreter, "[Old saying] Your Excellency."

The old interpreter remained unmoved by the title of Earl, saying indifferently, "[Old saying] The most important advantage of the Teldun tribe in this raid was the surprise attack, and the rebels of Iron Peak County obviously knew that the Teldun were coming long ago."

"[Old saying] So who told them that?" the blond man asked with a smile.

"[Old saying] Who do you think told them?" the old translator asked rhetorically.

The blond man stared wide-eyed at the bewildered green eyes.

"Stop playing dumb!" the old translator impatiently switched to Common Tongue. "Who else could it be but your little pet?!"

“No, no, you’re wrong.” The blond man patiently corrected him: “Who would keep a lion as a pet? [He who treats wild beasts with disrespect will surely die in their jaws.]”

The old translator squinted and stopped in his tracks: "If you're not here to lend a helping hand, then what are you doing here?"

“[Old language] Sightseeing,” the blond man replied with a smile.

The old translator spat.

“[Old saying] Observe, assess... that is, sightseeing.” The blond man said sincerely, “[Old saying] You want to know our purpose, and some people want to know what is happening here. The world is too vast, so [a belated truth is more useful than a hundred timely false rumors].”

The old interpreter grunted. Although he called the current Paratul regime a traitor, he showed no respect whatsoever to the blond man.

“[Old saying] It’s not that I don’t want to lend you a hand. It’s just that…” The blond man hesitated for a moment, then softly uttered a title, speaking so cautiously as if mentioning it here would be an offense: “[Old saying] His Majesty… possesses power, but he uses it cautiously. If you want the Supreme One to fund your ‘great’ cause, what you rely on must at least be able to survive. But now…”

The blond man looked around at the scorched earth and ruins, shrugged, and spread his hands, everything was understood without saying a word.

The old translator remained silent, then uttered a single sentence: "[Old saying] Just you wait and see."

“[Old saying] No problem,” the blond man replied with a smile.

[I'm late again... Sorry, it's a long chapter, I didn't finish writing it at noon...]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
[上一章有书友提到“[赫德语]”这类标识会占字数。请放些，这些都是免费的部分。每一章[n*500—(n+1)*500]字的部分都是不收费的。例如本章6000-6400字的部分]
[Although I usually write as I go, I often end up with some extra words. Sometimes, when I stop writing exactly at 400+ words, I'll delete some and go back to 399+ words.]
[As for the language, I still prefer to mark it. After all, language is an important part of the plot. Books can use two fonts to represent two languages, but Qidian only has one font, so I can only mark it casually...]
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(End of this chapter)