Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 43 Thugs
“I didn’t expect you to be so quick, that puts my mind at ease,” Antonio said to Winters with a sense of relief on the way home.

"Don't even mention it, I got slapped as soon as you left," Winters said dejectedly. He subconsciously touched his cheek where he had been slapped; although the physical pain had long since disappeared, the emotional trauma remained.

"You got slapped? Were you in too much of a hurry?"

“Miss Navarre and I are not what you think; they can understand old language.”

"Hmm? A woman knows old language?"

“Anna is not an ordinary woman; I think she is more educated than I am.”

Antonio's tone was filled with disappointment and frustration: "How could you be so naive? You've only met him once, and you're already head over heels for him?"

“Why won’t you believe me? I really have no intention of pursuing Miss Navarre.” Antonio already had a prejudice against her, and Winters was now speechless. “Besides, I think Miss Navarre… is very sincere.”

“Of course I’m sincere! If I didn’t make you feel sincere, how could I manipulate you?” Antonio retorted, but then he changed the subject and laughed, “But men have to be deceived by women. Only by being deceived can they mature.”

Winters was no longer willing to say anything. He simply shut his mouth tightly, staring straight ahead, and nudged the horse's ribs with his boot heel. Strongly received the command and galloped off happily.

“Don’t be angry, what can’t we talk about?” Antonio shouted at Winters’ back. “Don’t ride so fast at night, or you’ll break your horse’s hoof.”

Winters initially didn't want to pay him any attention, but upon hearing that he might break his horse's hoof, he slowed down. Antonio caught up from behind: "Hey, what are you shy about? We used to talk about these things when we were young."

"Please don't say that. I have absolutely no feelings for Miss Navarre that you think I have."

"Alright, alright, I won't say anymore," Antonio said kindly, though his tone sounded like he was comforting a shy young man.

Winters didn't bother to explain, and the two rode in silence for a while. Suddenly, Antonio sighed and said, "Alas, it seems that what I was most worried about back then has come true."

He deliberately dragged out his words, waiting for Winters to respond, but Winters didn't engage with him at all.

Antonio clicked his tongue in disbelief and continued, "Do you know what the Army Officer Academy was based on?"

Winters thought to himself when he heard the question, "Isn't it the university?" But he didn't want to deal with Antonio right now, so he kept quiet.

“If you think it’s a university, you’re wrong.” Antonio asked and answered himself: “Universities are places where young people study, drink, and fight. Have you ever experienced that? The Army Officer Academy is modeled after a monastery. You are essentially ascetics with military status in the military academy. There is little communication with the outside world. The military academy is the whole world.”

Antonio continued, “When military academies were first established, it wasn’t a big deal. When your father and I went to military academy, I was sixteen and seventeen, almost adults. But the United Provinces added preparatory schools and kindergartens. Now, in your generation, you were sent to military academy at nine and rose through the ranks. After ten years of monastic life, you have almost no social experience. I don’t know if this model is good or bad, but I’m certain of one thing now: once you meet Judith, you’re all Holovnis.”

Judith used her beauty to get close to Holovny, the enemy general who coveted her, and beheaded him while he was drunk, ultimately leading to the Assyrian defeat. Although Winters was not a believer, he knew this famous story recorded in the scriptures.

But Winters didn't want to hear any of this. He flicked his whip and galloped home.

————Cut————

The next morning, Winters greeted Bud and Andrei before going to the gendarmerie office.

Bard circled the Strong Ride three times, praising it highly. Andrei, upon seeing the Strong Ride, couldn't take his eyes off it and insisted on riding it.

After Winters and his two companions had shown off their new toys and arrived at the gendarme's office, he saw the clerk, Moruk, pacing back and forth in the corridor, looking as anxious as a cat on a hot tin roof.

"Good morning, Mr. Moruk? Didn't you bring your keys?" Winters greeted him jokingly.

“You’ve finally arrived, Commander Montagne.” Moruk was relieved to see Winters. “The garrison command was furious. They sent people over yesterday afternoon to make a huge scene. But neither of the officers were there, so I couldn’t explain it to them. They came again early this morning and are just sitting inside.”

The customs prison was surprisingly efficient in getting rid of the four stinking corpses. No sooner had Field and Winters left than the warden brought in some thin planks, nailed them together to make four makeshift coffins, placed the bodies inside, and sent them to the Blue Ocean Garrison Command.

Lieutenant Colonel Field's statement was half true, but the other half wasn't false. He did say that Army Headquarters didn't have a morgue, and that part was true.

However, his request for customs to send the body to the "morgue of the Hailan Garrison Command" is ambiguous, as the garrison command does not have a morgue.

Upon seeing the customs carriage carrying corpses parked at the gate, the officers of the garrison command exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of what was going on.

Upon learning that the garrison command did not have a morgue, the customs officials brazenly placed the coffin directly next to the garrison command's gate, claiming it was "sent by Lieutenant Colonel Field," and then left.

The garrison command was disgusted, literally disgusted. When the coffin was opened, many officers vomited on the spot, and the coffin was quickly nailed shut again.

Although there was a coffin between them, it only reduced the stench from enough to make people vomit to enough to make them feel physically uncomfortable.

The four bodies have now become a problem for the garrison command. There is nowhere to put them in the garrison command, and they do not have the courage to throw the four coffins at the entrance of the Army Headquarters.

When the head of the military police heard that the four gas coffins had been sent by Lieutenant Colonel Field, he flew into a rage.

He mustered his men and stormed into Army Headquarters, determined to confront Field.

However, Field was not there at the time, and Winters had already finished reading the report and gone home, leaving only Moruk at the gendarmerie office.

There's a reason for every wrong, and a group of burly officers couldn't do anything to this skinny clerk. They couldn't very well beat up this little clerk who was desperately trying to please them, could they?

The security personnel, having punched cotton, returned dejectedly. The next day, they sent another lieutenant colonel, demanding an explanation from Field and that he remove the four corpses immediately.

Yesterday, Winters felt guilty for causing trouble for the garrison, but today he has learned that the case is essentially a political struggle, and that pushing it to the gendarmerie is just to annoy Lieutenant Colonel Field.

Therefore, Winters is under no psychological pressure at all, and for the first time in his life, he is experiencing the benefits of a low military rank.

He mimicked the attitude of the skinny guard at the customs prison, saluted, and then, no matter what the lieutenant colonel in the garrison said, he would always reply with "I don't know," "I'm not sure," or "I'm just a trainee officer, I can't make that decision."

The lieutenant colonel opposite him was furious, but there was nothing he could do, since a mere trainee officer was not in charge.

Just as Winters was calmly reviewing the customs autopsy report while drinking the sugar water poured by Morluck, Lieutenant Colonel Field entered the room.

The two lieutenant colonels started arguing as soon as they met, neither listening to the other and shouting at each other.

This kind of argument is all about volume and momentum. So in the end, the spellcaster, Lieutenant Colonel Field, naturally gained the upper hand, easily suppressing his opponent with his amplification spell.

Lieutenant Colonel Field roared one sentence after another, spitting in the other man's face:
"Those four corpses are important evidence!"

"You push all the dirty work onto me, and you can't even keep some evidence?"

"What's wrong with temporarily storing them at your place since headquarters doesn't have a morgue?"

"If you're not satisfied, take the case back!"

He shouted and slammed his fist on the table, making a loud bang that could be heard clearly throughout the entire Army Headquarters.

The power of magic is beyond human capability. The lieutenant colonel of the security department could not out-speak Field, and seeing that he could only suffer losses here, he stormed off in anger.

Lieutenant Colonel Field relentlessly attacked the fallen enemy: "Don't bury it! If the evidence isn't properly stored and the case can't be closed, it's all your fault!"

I've vented my anger a bit, but the case still needs to be investigated.

Field brought in four squads of ten men each, and Winters led the military police straight to the docks.

Upon seeing Winters riding the Lucia horse, Field looked quite surprised: "Isn't this 'Good Luck'?"

Winters stroked the horse's long neck: "Now it's called 'Strong Luck'."

Field nodded, his thoughts unreadable.

Upon arriving at the dock, Winters discovered that Lieutenant Colonel Field's investigative approach was essentially no different from that of the Customs and Guard Service. Both involved finding witnesses and conducting thorough questioning and investigations.

This is how law enforcement officers have always investigated cases: first, find witnesses; if there are no witnesses, investigate step by step; once a suspect is found, torture is used; and finally, the case is closed.

Winters believed that since Officer Lopp had not obtained any results using this method, Lieutenant Colonel Field would certainly not obtain any more useful information either.

But he didn't say anything, he just kept working silently.

The military police of the Army Headquarters Military Police were essentially guards, and they had their own job—standing guard.

Lieutenant Colonel Field waved his hand and transferred people to the dock to investigate the case, which actually encroached on the soldiers' rest time.

As a result, the soldiers were demoralized and passive, listlessly asking the residents and vendors near the dock.

Judging from their listless appearance, any valuable clues they might have missed would likely be overlooked.

Seeing the soldiers' condition, Lieutenant Colonel Field realized that continuing the investigation was pointless. So, before noon, he dismissed all the military police.

“This investigation won’t work; we need to come up with a new approach,” Field said to Winters, who was sitting across from him, while eating lunch at the Army Officers’ Club.

Winters swallowed the bread in his mouth and said boldly, "If you want to close the case, isn't it simple?" "Hmph, they pushed the dirty work onto me, thinking I'd let them do whatever they wanted. But I'm not going to let them have their way; I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Field was neither surprised nor offended. He glanced at Winters and asked, "But you, since you knew this place was a pit of fire, why did you still jump in here?"

“What you said at the introductory meeting was very educational for me,” Winters said honestly. “I have never seen anyone who can control the output of amplification so smoothly as you. I want to learn your magical skills, so I came to the Military Police.”

“Just say what you want, that’s interesting.” Field poured Winters some light beer. “But Lieutenant Montagne, you need to think carefully first. Do you want to learn magical skills or how to kill enemies?”

Winters understood what the lieutenant colonel was saying; the difficulty of a spell was not related to its destructive power.

Precisely controlling the output of amplification is far more difficult than achieving the explosive sound technique that can rupture eardrums.

The former is like walking a tightrope, the latter is like cracking walnuts with a sledgehammer. The latter only requires explosive power, while the former requires superb skill.

"Can't we learn them all?"

"Hahaha, think about it, why are you spellcasters who are good at fire spells far less capable in actual combat than spellcasters who specialize in speed spells?"

"Acceleration spells are better suited for combat."

"Wrong! You've been learning too many different things. The Magic Operations Bureau's training approach is completely flawed. If you want to train spellcasters skilled in killing, teaching just one spell is enough." Field slammed his hand on the table.
"The Fire element currently has seven spells, while the Acceleration element only has three: Arrow Spell, Wind Spell, and Deflection Spell. Among them, only Arrow Spell is lethal, so spellcasters specializing in the Acceleration element practice this one spell to kill enemies."

"But I think that vaporization is obviously more difficult, but its power is far less than that of flying arrows."

"You can also practice the Flying Arrow Technique."

"I'm not very good at speed-enhancing spells, and no matter how much I practice, I improve very slowly."

Field laughed and leaned back heavily in his chair: "This is what I wanted you to think about. What is it that you really want to learn? Is it the magic you're more talented at? Or the magic that's better suited for killing?"

Winters pondered these words. The lieutenant colonel's meaning was simple: if the goal is practical combat, then practice the spells best suited for combat, even if you don't have the talent for it.

“Think about it carefully yourself.” Field said as he poured himself a light beer. “I can teach you my magical skills. If your goal is practical combat, you’d better learn from my adjutant. But he’s been recuperating at home recently and won’t be back for a while.”

After saying that, the lieutenant colonel put his knife and fork on the plate and drank the rest of the light beer in one gulp.

There was still a lot of food left on the plate, but the lieutenant colonel didn't seem to have much of an appetite.

He said to Winters, "After we finish this meal, let's go and ask some dockworkers and coachmen if they have any clues."

Upon hearing the word "coachman," Winters recalled the Paratine coachman at his home. He immediately reported the information about the coachman's secret society to Lieutenant Colonel Field and offered his speculation: "I think the Brotherhood the coachman mentioned may have helped the assassins deal with the carriage; at least, from what the coachman said, they have that capability."

“Interesting.” Field stroked his stubble and fell into thought.

After a while, he said, "Your idea is very good. Maybe those shady characters will know some clues."

He grabbed his hat and stood up, urging Winters, "Stop eating. Let's go to Qianmin Street, but we need to find someone first."

"Who are you looking for?" Winters quickly finished the last few sips of soup.

“Find some thugs. You’re a fire-based spellcaster and I’m a sound-based spellcaster, what good are we in actual combat? In a place like Qianmin Street, if four or five people come and surround us, we’ll both be wiped out.”

Field didn't hold back in belittling himself: "So we need to find a thug. I'll take you to the best [thug] in Army Headquarters! If you want to learn how to kill, you have to learn from him."

The two hurriedly left the officers' club and, led by Field, rode towards the DC district.

Field finally stopped in front of 122 Shell Street in the DC area, a row of beautiful brick houses. A kind old woman wearing a gray smock and a green floral headscarf opened the door for Lieutenant Colonel Field. She was not surprised to see the lieutenant colonel; clearly, Field was a regular there.

Lieutenant Colonel Field bowed slightly, and without any pleasantries, asked directly, "Is he home?"

"They should be sleeping," the old lady said, pointing upstairs.

Field nodded and went through the door. Winters followed behind, bowing slightly as he passed the old lady.

Upon entering the house, the first thing you see is a short, narrow corridor. Boots creak on the wooden floor, indicating that the supporting structure underneath needs repair.

Go straight up the stairs to the second floor. At the end of the stairs is a small window, and to the right is a spacious living room.

The dark red wallpaper was devoid of any decorations, shrines, or statues of the Virgin Mary commonly found in ordinary homes.

A deck chair was placed in front of the fireplace, swaying gently in the breeze.

Apart from a few wine glasses, empty wine bottles were scattered all over the desk and coffee table.

Lieutenant Colonel Field seemed unfazed; he walked straight to a door on the inside of the living room and knocked heavily a few times.

no respond.

He knocked a few more times, harder.

Still no response.

He pushed the door again.

Can't push it.

The lieutenant colonel took a few steps back and kicked the door open with a powerful kick.

The room was completely dark, and a strong smell of hangover emanated from it.

Field went inside and skillfully drew back the curtains and opened the wooden window.

Sunlight, along with fresh air, entered the room, allowing Winters to finally see the interior clearly.

This is a bedroom, not very big, with a single bed in the corner.

A wardrobe was placed against the wall next to the single bed, and a desk was placed opposite the bed. Several pieces of clothing were hanging on the back of the chair in front of the desk.

There was someone still fast asleep in bed, and despite the loud noise Field made kicking the door, the person didn't wake up.

When Field opened the window, light streamed in.

But the person on the bed simply pulled the blanket up and covered their head.

“It’s already noon, and you’re still sleeping?!” Field said to the person in bed.

But the person in bed did not react.

Field picked up the bottle from the bedside table, held it up to the light, and saw that only a little more liquid remained.

"You're drinking in broad daylight?" the lieutenant colonel said, somewhat annoyed.

The person on the bed still didn't react.

Field pulled back the covers and poured the remaining liquid from the bottle onto the man's head on the bed.

The room's owner was suddenly awakened from his sleep and reached out to grab the sword on the ground.

Only when he saw that it was Field standing by the bed did he breathe a sigh of relief and throw his sword back to the ground.

The room's owner raised his arm, sniffed himself, and frowned as he asked, "You didn't pee on me, did you?"

“Anyway, it’s your own stuff.” Field shrugged.

The room's owner pointed to his ears and said loudly, "I can't hear anything right now."

Winters recognized the man's face and blurted out a name:

Major Moritz?

Until the 19th century, universities were hotbeds of murder. Hormonally charged young people were prone to fighting; Michael Hunt's book, which taught university students self-defense, featured swords, spears, and all sorts of weapons. It wasn't just fights between students; students frequently clashed with civilians in the surrounding area. Public authority consistently favored the universities—early universities even possessed independent judicial power. When public resentment grew too deep and long-standing, a major purge was inevitable. In 1355, 63 Oxford students died in a large-scale brawl, ultimately being besieged by civilian archers inside St. Mary's Church.

Now for the acknowledgments. Thank you to reader "Social Justice Old Wang" for the recommendation vote, thank you to reader "20181013204343295" for the recommendation vote, and thank you to reader "Bamboo Shadow and Rhyme Moon" for the recommendation vote. Thank you all!

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(End of this chapter)