Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 33 Visitation
The middle-aged man waiting for Winters in this small room was none other than Antonio Serbiati, the husband of Winters' mother's younger sister, a fellow military academy classmate who had fought alongside Winters' father, and Winters' closest relative.

"I knew customs couldn't possibly know everything!" Winters cheered in his mind. He had thought he was going to be subjected to torture, but now he found out it was just a "prison visit," which made him overjoyed.

The head guard who brought Winters there bowed respectfully and left the small room.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a screech, leaving only the uncle and nephew in the small house.

Antonio strode over happily and hugged Winters tightly, ruffling his hair and exclaiming sincerely, "You little rascal, look at you! You've really grown into a man! You're just like your father when he was young. I even thought the gods had taken me back twenty years and let me see your father walk in from outside the door."

Uncle Winters' voice was deep and mellow, carrying six parts joy and four parts sadness.

Winters was both touched by his uncle's emotions and felt sad, but he also got goosebumps from the sudden display of affection.

Six years of secluded boarding school life for boys had a profound impact on his personality. His peers were not family, and men would not express their feelings in such an intimate way—men simply did not communicate their feelings with each other.

Therefore, Winters, who had left the ivory tower of military academy, was very uncomfortable with this intimate physical language. In Antonio's eyes, Winters was still the little boy who pestered him to learn swordsmanship, but Winters now felt more embarrassed and at a loss.

"Is Kosa alright? Is my sister alright? Are the General and the Young General alright?" Winters quickly tried to use words to break free from his uncle's pincer attack.

“I’m fine, I miss you so much.” Antonio released his arm, wiped his eyes with his palm, and sniffed, seemingly still lost in sadness. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

Antonio took Winters' arm and led him back to the table.

Winters had barely sat down in his chair when he asked in a low voice, "Does the military know we've been detained by customs?"

Seeing Winters's cautious demeanor, Antonio couldn't help but chuckle, "Of course I know. Let alone the 'Royal Palace,' the sound of the commotion at the docks was known throughout the entire city of Hailan in less than two hours. The rumors outside are absolutely rampant. It's all over the city that the army's smuggling was intercepted by customs, leading to a fight, and some people are even saying that hundreds of people were killed. Everyone's telling their stories with great detail."

The Royal Palace was originally a nickname for the Army Ministry in Venetia, because it was built too luxuriously and was ridiculed by the citizens for resembling a royal palace. Over time, the palace and royal residence became a synonym for the Army Ministry in the mouths of the soldiers.

"Then, Uncle, were you sent by the Army to pick us up?" Winters was overjoyed, thinking that it seemed everyone would soon be able to leave this awful place.

Antonio smiled and gently shook his head: "No, I'm just visiting as a relative."

"Why?" Winters' smile froze, utterly astonished. "Since the War Department already knows we're being held captive, why haven't they sent anyone to get us out?"

"Hmph, of course it's because those idiots at customs did something incredibly stupid." Antonio sneered, his smile now tinged with contempt and disdain. "These customs bastards have mud in their heads. First, they locked you all up without a word. Now they're stuck, unable to move forward or back, and too proud to admit it, so they're actually trying to get the Joint Council to send a letter 'requesting' to take you back from customs. Do you think the 'Throne' will agree?"

Since the Army Department is jokingly referred to as the "Palace," the small conference room where the Army's highest authority, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, holds meetings is naturally the most powerful room in the palace—the "Throne Room." Therefore, the Joint Chiefs of Staff is also jokingly referred to as the "Throne."

"This is utterly shameless!" Winters was both shocked and furious after learning about the customs decision-makers' ulterior motives. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared violently, and he suddenly stood up, knocking his chair away.

Winters said angrily, "What right do they have to do this? We were just dragged into this."

“Don’t rush, don’t rush.” Antonio pulled Winters to sit down, his tone relaxed and cheerful: “Haha, your temper is just like your father’s… Ah, as people get older, they always like to reminisce about their youth. Sit down and let me tell you slowly.”

Winters knew that his outburst at his uncle in the heat of the moment was very inappropriate. He smiled apologetically at his uncle, reminding himself countless times to be more restrained and calm in the future, before pulling up a chair and sitting down again.

"Anyway, that's how things are now. Customs did something stupid, but they don't want to lose face, so they want us to clean up their mess. They want the throne to speak first." Antonio spread his hands calmly and said disdainfully, "That's wishful thinking. Why should the army lose face to clean up the mess for Customs? You're stuck in the middle now. But it's not a big problem. Customs won't dare to do anything to you. They still have to cater to you for now."

“They didn’t treat us like royalty.” Winters gave a wry smile. “They put us all in prison. The environment is relatively clean, but I think it would be best to take one of the seriously wounded out and care for him.”

"Seriously wounded? Is he a trainee officer?"

"No, it's Major Moritz."

“Moritz van Nassou?” Antoni raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled; clearly, the name Moritz had piqued his interest.

“I don’t know the major’s full name.” Winters shook his head. In just a few days of contact, he only knew that the major’s name was Moritz; he knew nothing else about the other parts of the major’s full name.

“Hmm.” Antonio stroked his chin and said hesitantly, “I’ve only heard of one person in the Army Department named Moritz. He was the bronze medalist in fencing at last year’s All-Army Games, and supposedly a spellcaster. Is that him?”

Upon hearing his uncle's description, Winters nodded: "A master swordsman or a spellcaster? Then we must be talking about the same person."

"A master swordsman or a spellcaster? I'm afraid even a full squad of a hundred men wouldn't be enough to kill him. Just how many enemies did you encounter that could seriously injure someone like him?" Winters' words surprised even Antonio, who had been a soldier for many years.

"The major mainly drowned, and also suffered a ruptured eardrum from his own magic, resulting in temporary deafness." Winters explained the major's injuries as concisely as possible: "In addition..."

"Wait a minute." Antonio stopped Winters, took out a small notebook from his pocket, and then found ink and a quill pen from a drawer in the corner of the room.

After preparing his notes, Antonio said seriously to his nephew, "That brute Leighton only sent back a few words. The information the palace received is chaotic and contradictory, and rumors are flying everywhere. Tell me carefully from beginning to end what exactly happened at the dock this afternoon."

Winters began by recounting the events of the ship docking, carefully explaining to his uncle the details of the four passengers, the assassin, and the explosion. To avoid interfering with the main point, he only briefly mentioned the encounter with the pirates. To prevent eavesdropping, he also refrained from mentioning that one of the four passengers was a spellcaster, since this was customs territory and who knew if they had secretly installed pipes to eavesdrop.
Antonio listened intently as Winters recounted his experience. When he heard that his nephew had nearly died, his pupils involuntarily dilated, but he remained silent throughout, only nodding occasionally and jotting down key points on a piece of paper.

“That’s it.” Winters finished recounting the assassination and explosion at the dock with lingering enthusiasm. He really wanted to tell his uncle about the boarding incident at sea and the fire in Guido. He had many questions and hoped to seek his uncle’s wisdom for help, but now was clearly not the time.

Antonio pondered Winters' words in his mind and came to a conclusion.

He rubbed his temples and said, "This has nothing to do with our army at all! Our probationary officers were just acting bravely, which is why they got dragged into this."

“Yes!” Winters slammed his hand on the table, but then he remembered the spellcaster among the passengers who could use deflection magic, and thought to himself: It may have something to do with the army, but it has absolutely nothing to do with us trainee officers.

"What are these customs officials thinking? Instead of catching the assassins, they've locked you all up." Antonio put away his notebook. "Don't worry, since this has nothing to do with us, customs shouldn't try to pin the blame on the army."

Winters nodded emphatically, greatly encouraged by his uncle's attitude.

“Tell your colleagues not to rush, eat and drink as usual. Let’s see how long customs can keep you under house arrest,” Antonio said to Winters with a booming voice, imparting his fighting strategy: “You’re not prisoners. Just ask for what you need. If customs dares not give it to you, smash this place up. They’re just a few guards, can’t you handle them?”

Winters initially wanted to remind his uncle that walls have ears, but then he suddenly realized that his uncle might be using this opportunity to put pressure on customs, so he joined in the act, repeatedly answering "yes."

However, he thought of Major Moritz and couldn't help but worry, so he lowered his head and asked softly, "What about Major Moritz? He'd better be able to rest in a good place."

After a moment's thought, Antonio slowly replied, "Moritz cannot leave for the time being. The Throne cannot take the initiative to ask for someone. I will have the customs officials invite a doctor to treat Moritz."

He added with a smile, "Don't worry, now it's the Customs' turn to pray for Major Moritz's health, and that he doesn't die in a Customs cell. If anything happens to Moritz, the Customs General Administration will get to see what the Army's cannons look like."

Winters nodded heavily again. Regardless of whether there were customs officials listening in, Antonio's threat was not unfounded.

The various power institutions of the Republic of Aquamarine are highly independent. To be precise, it is not that the government administers various powerful departments, but rather that the various powerful departments constitute the government of the Republic of Aquamarine.

Therefore, it is not uncommon for major power institutions to engage in armed clashes due to irreconcilable conflicts.

Although neither side has used firearms so far, it is not unimaginable that if the army is pushed to the limit, it might bring up artillery and let its fellow units experience the "breath of fresh grapeshot".

As for the neighboring United Provinces Republic, the situation there was even worse. So much so that the Venetian philosopher Conte once sarcastically remarked: "The United Provinces Army is not the United Provinces Republic's army; the United Provinces Republic is the United Provinces Army's country."

As the first regime on this continent to overthrow the emperor and nobility after the Republic of Grumro, the constituent states are all feeling their way forward in establishing a political system for the post-imperial era. To this day, none of them has been able to answer the simple yet complex question: "What happens without an emperor?"

“Oh, and this too.” Antonio pulled a small basket covered with a white cloth from under the table and pushed it toward Winters with a smile: “Guess what it is?”

Winters leaned in and took a deep sniff, then said happily, "Actually, I smelled the fragrance when I came in, but I just didn't have a chance to ask."

He lifted the white cloth, revealing a neatly stacked layer of small pies inside. Underneath the pies was another white cloth, and judging by its thickness, there were probably three layers in the basket.

This type of pie has a unique shape, rolled up from the inside out into a plump cylindrical shape; it's more like a rolled pancake than a pie.

The dough is made with the finest white flour, and the filling is ground beef seasoned with spices. The dough needs to be rolled out thinly, the ground beef is spread evenly on top, rolled into a long strip, steamed in a pot until cooked, and then cut into small pieces.

The ratio of flour to water, the force used to knead the dough, the timing of fermentation, and the seasoning of the meat filling—if any step is not done correctly, the final product will taste very different.

This "dessert" recipe comes from Winters' mother's family and is now Winters' aunt's unique craft. Winters can confidently say that it's the only one of its kind in the entire Venetta.

Food is the deepest bond to one's hometown; a person's taste is profoundly connected to their upbringing.

Winters didn't care about hygiene and just put the whole piece into his mouth. The salty and juicy meat filling and the perfectly fermented dough... the familiar taste finally made him feel like he was home. Before he could even finish tasting it, the pie was gone.

“I heard yesterday that your ship had reached the anchorage outside the harbor, and Kosa started preparing for you in the kitchen early this morning.” Antonio watched his nephew eat heartily with both hands with affection: “I never expected such a thing to happen… When she heard I was coming to see you, she insisted that I bring you some food. Hey, this really turned into a prison visit.”

Winters ate a few, then thought of Bud, Andre, and other contemporaries, and put the pie back in his hand.

Seeing his nephew stop, Antonio asked in confusion, "What's wrong? Has it gone bad?"

Antonio knew his nephew's abilities; six years ago, when Winters went to the prairies, he could eat two pounds of these small pies in one go, and even if he ate as much as he wanted, this whole basket wouldn't be enough to fill him up.

“No, I want to keep it and take it back for my friends to try.” Winters carefully covered the white cloth back up and tucked in the corners.

Antonio carefully examined his nephew's eyebrows, eyes, nose, and chin, then chuckled, "You've matured so much now. I still remember when you were little, you and your sister would fight over a pie..."

Winters blushed as his embarrassing past was exposed, and he quickly stopped his uncle from bringing up more old grievances: "Stop talking. I was wrong back then, and I deeply regret it."

Antonio laughed heartily; revisiting a child's embarrassing past is clearly a great pleasure for middle-aged people. But he suddenly stopped laughing and looked Winters straight in the eyes.

Winters sensed the change in atmosphere and listened attentively.

Antonio asked his nephew seriously, "Do you want to leave here now?"

Winters' first reaction upon hearing Antonio's words was confusion. He then realized that his uncle was not joking; if he wanted to get out, Antonio would definitely have a way to get him out of the prison right now.

Winters asked himself: Do I want to leave that cell?

The answer is, of course, that no matter how good the prison environment is, it's still a prison. It's low, damp, and crowded, with uneven mortar floors, and there's not even a comfortable place to lie down.

There was nothing to do to pass the time in the cell; all one could do was sit there listlessly, each second feeling like an eternity.

However, if I were to leave that cell, I would never do so alone. Everyone in the cell is in there; what would it look like if I ran away alone? If I were to leave, I would leave with everyone else.

Having figured this out, Winters shook his head: "When everyone else left, I went out too."

Antonio stared into Winters' eyes and suddenly burst into laughter: "Good! [Enrique Montagne's] son ​​should have this kind of magnanimity!"

Antonio slammed his hand on the bell on the table and leaned back in his chair with an air of superiority.

A short while later, a middle-aged man in a silk customs officer's uniform walked in. The customs official, a broad smile on his face, stood beside Antonio, rubbing his hands together and asking in a humble voice, "General Serbiati, have you finished talking with your nephew?"

Antonio smiled and said, "We've finished talking. There's something I really need to ask of you."

"Of course, of course," the customs official nodded hurriedly.

“This is truly a difficult matter to discuss.” Major General Antonio Servetia’s smile could melt even the hardest heart. “My wife only has this one precious nephew, whom she spoils rotten. I heard he’s suffering in the customs jail and causing quite a ruckus at home…”

"Don't worry, with the dignified Army Corps Commander personally vouching for you, I will definitely give you this face no matter what. I'll explain to the Director and the Chief of Staff, and you can take your nephew away now." The customs official quickly seized the opportunity to climb the social ladder.

“That’s really great…” Major General Antonio’s expression suddenly changed and his tone abruptly shifted: “But when I got here, I found that the environment of the customs prison is very helpful for young people to hone their minds, Warrant Officer Winters!”

"To!"

"I order you to remain in the customs jail! You are not to leave, even if customs asks you to, without orders from the Ministry of War!"

"Yes!"

The customs official, who had thought he had solved a thorny problem for the big boss, was now dumbfounded, but Major General Antonio did not let him off the hook.

He grabbed the customs officer by the collar, dragged him in front of him, and said menacingly, "Listen carefully to what I'm asking you! Go back and tell that old bastard Hart that the army will 'take' the man back, but they will absolutely not bring him back. If you don't give us an explanation for this, I'll take my troops and tear down your customs headquarters!"

Actually, I think the type of food that best reflects the influence of upbringing on personal dietary preferences is fermented food. Adults often find it difficult to get used to unfamiliar fermented foods they didn't eat as children, because many fermented foods basically taste rotten, such as the infamous pickled auk.

Thank you to "Old Wang, the Social Justice Advisor" for the recommendation vote.

I used to vote for myself every day, but I always felt it was a bit shameful to do so. Recommendation votes should be a form of praise from readers, not self-praise from the author. So, I'd like to ask you, dear readers, for your votes instead. If you have any recommendation votes, please vote for me. Thank you very much.

(End of this chapter)