Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 45 The Spring-Spring Gun and the Arrow-Throwing Technique

Research by the Alliance's Magical Operations Bureau indicates that a spellcaster's magical talent is an inseparable whole. The three major spell types are artificial classifications acquired later in life, and those with magical talent can use all types of magic.

Simply put, humans can only be divided into two categories: "those with magical talent" and "those without magical talent." There is no such thing as having only a partial talent for magic.

For example, during testing, even if a subject only exhibits talent in fire-based spells and not in the other two types, after a long period of training, they can still use sound-based and speed-based spells.

Like Winters, although he excels at fire spells, he can also use speed and sound spells. However, he progresses slowly in the latter two types of spells, so he prefers to invest his time and energy in fire spells.

But Moritz van Nassau was different; he was a unique case among the thousands of spellcasters trained by the Magic Operations Bureau over the years. He only had the talent for acceleration magic and could only use high-level acceleration spells.

As for sound magic and fire magic, even after years of hard training, he could only use the most basic spells and could not apply them to more advanced situations.

When Moritz was taking spellcasting courses at the military academy, his instructors and classmates jokingly referred to this rare condition as a congenital disability.

However, the desperados lying in the underground passage would probably disagree with this statement.

After just a dozen or so breaths, only Lieutenant Colonel Field, Major Moritz, and Warrant Officer Winters remained standing in the tunnel.

The smell of rust and earthiness mingled together, stimulating Winters's sense of smell. The flickering torches illuminated the walls of the tunnel, which were splattered with red and white paint, making it seem as if this were not a tunnel located a dozen meters underground in the city of Aquamarine, but rather the backyard of a thriving butcher.

Field shook the blood off his knife and caught up with the man he had asked the major to leave alive.

"No, don't kill me..." The masked man with shattered knees lay on the ground, digging his way forward with his hands.

"Shh, don't make a sound." The lieutenant colonel squatted down next to the masked man and asked kindly, "Where's the cripple?"

“It’s up ahead, right ahead.” The masked man hurriedly pointed deeper into the tunnel, then suddenly bent down to kiss the lieutenant colonel’s shoes: “Don’t kill me, I’ll take you there.”

Field took a step back in disgust.

"I'll lead the way." The masked man struggled to his feet, but couldn't maintain his balance. He staggered forward half a step before falling to the ground again. His wounds were aggravated once more, and the masked man arched his body like a shrimp, howling in pain.

"Alright, alright, since we're not changing locations, I won't trouble you to lead the way." Field approached the masked man with his sword in his hand.

The masked man, who had been screaming on the ground just moments before, suddenly sprang up. He appeared to be arching his back in pain, but in reality, he took the opportunity to pull out a weapon from his pocket. At this moment, he was holding a gleaming short knife, which he plunged straight into the lieutenant colonel's abdomen.

With a sharp whoosh, another silver coin struck the masked man squarely on the back of the head. The force of the coin propelled the masked man forward, causing him to collapse into the dust, no longer breathing.

"Interesting, trying to drag someone down with him." Field clicked his tongue and plunged his sword into the masked man's back, ensuring the man was dead beyond any doubt.

Then, without a second thought, he wiped the blood off his sword with the masked man's clothes and asked Winters without looking up, "You took care of the rest?"

Winters noticed that although the lieutenant colonel looked rugged, he was unusually cautious in certain areas. He tried to answer calmly, "Two more strokes each on the neck and chest."

“Interesting.” Field’s tone held a hint of surprise; he hadn’t expected this young intern to be so efficient. The lieutenant colonel slowly sheathed his sword. “Let’s go.”

The three of them only encountered this one group blocking their way; after that, they could walk straight ahead without any obstacles.

After passing a warehouse filled with wooden crates and barrels, Field led Winters through a tightly closed wooden door and into a small room.

In the subterranean neighborhood, where tombs and sewers are the main buildings, this small room is remarkably elegant. Not only does it have a bed and a table, but it even has stone slabs paving the floor. The most striking features are two large bookshelves, piled high with scrolls of documents. If it weren't for its dark underground location, Winters would believe it was the room of a scribe.

The torch flames swayed from side to side, suggesting there might be hidden ventilation shafts or secret passages here.

"Where is he? Did he run away?" Field sat on the bed with an air of authority: "Crippled man, if you don't come out soon, I'm going to burn all your goods outside."

No one responded to him.

“An old friend has come, but you’re hiding and won’t come out. Then I’ll have no choice but to hand over your ledgers to the council of law and see just how many respectable gentlemen have participated in your big business.” Field continued speaking to the air.

He said he was looking for the ledgers, but Field didn't even glance at the documents on the bookshelf. He got up, picked up the stacks of white papers on the desk, and shook them at Moritz and Winters: "Found them."

But what he was holding was clearly a blank sheet of paper.

Field dipped his hand into the basin of water and slowly explained to his two subordinates, "Some shady people write shady things in an invisible way. This technique is called steganography. It's basically using alum water as ink. Once it dries, it's just blank paper. It only becomes visible when you apply water."

He spread water evenly on the white paper, but nothing appeared on the paper.

Major Moritz coughed lightly, somewhat awkwardly.

Field, however, showed no sign of embarrassment. He said with interest, "Oh, you've even improved the technology? That's interesting."

The lieutenant colonel held up a piece of paper, examined it against the light, and said confidently, "Stegacting is a riddle. As long as the party needing to read it knows the answer, obtaining the information shouldn't be difficult. Common methods are nothing more than water and fire. If it's not water, then it must be fire?"

As he spoke, the lieutenant colonel picked up a piece of paper and held it close to the torch to warm it. After a dozen seconds, lines of pale yellow text appeared on the white paper.

"I thought it was something new, but it turns out to be just another old trick like lemon juice mixed with ink." The lieutenant colonel's tone was quite disappointed, as if some fun toy had broken.

The creaking sound of the wooden axle turning filled the air, and a hidden door suddenly appeared in the wall.

Winters instinctively drew his weapon, completely unaware that there was a hidden door in the wall.

The designer cleverly concealed the gaps in the hidden door by using the uneven surface of the earthen wall. In the dim lighting underground, one would probably have to press against the wall and search bit by bit to find it.

An indignant voice came from the hidden door: "That's not a ledger, just a few bank statements. Besides steganography, I also used encryption. Even if you decipher the steganography, you still wouldn't know what was written."

A bald man in a gray robe limped out of the door. Winters had assumed that the leader of the thugs would be a fierce-looking man, but this gray-robed man looked like an ordinary person, even thinner than the average person.

Perhaps because he rarely saw sunlight, his skin had a sickly white hue. But he possessed perfectly aligned teeth, a rarity among the lower classes. His hair and beard were neatly groomed, and although his robe was of poor quality, it was spotless. Even underground, not a speck of dirt could be seen under his fingernails.

Moreover, his baldness doesn't seem natural; it looks like he deliberately shaved it into a Mediterranean style.

The grey-robed man gave Winters the same impression he had of the room. If he had met this man on the street, Winters would probably have thought he was a Catholic priest.

Field gestured for Winters to sheathe his sword, then waved the stack of papers in his hand at the gray-robed man: "Would you like to try and see if I can decipher your cipher?"

The gray-robed man limped over to Field, angrily took the stack of white papers from the lieutenant colonel's hand and stuffed them into his pocket, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had just had more than a dozen of his men killed.

He dragged his legs back onto the bed and said impatiently, "If you have something to ask, just send someone to deliver a message. Is it really necessary to go through all this trouble every time? Do you think it's easy for me to gather this bunch of scum?"

“I sent someone because I was afraid I wouldn’t get a clear answer,” Lieutenant Colonel Field replied with a smile.

"Ask whatever you want to say, and then leave as soon as you're done." The gray-robed man used polite language, but his tone was extremely impatient.

Lieutenant Colonel Field dragged a stool over and sat down in front of the gray-robed man: "Once the docks were bombed, the whole city knew. Don't tell me you didn't hear a thing."

"You came to me just to ask about this?"

"Correct."

“I really don’t know much about this,” the gray-robed man said, frowning. “I only know that someone ordered a batch of wheelbarrows from the north on the black market, specifically short guns that could be used with one hand. Wheelbarrows are rare items. As soon as I heard that someone wanted to buy wheelbarrows and short guns, I knew that some big shot was probably going to be finished, so I kept a slight impression of it.”

"Someone wants to buy a wheel gun made by the federal government?"

"Yes, they specifically requested to buy the ones made by craftsmen from the United Provinces, and they are in a hurry and are offering a high price."

"Is it possible to find out who bought it?"

The gray-robed man grinned silently and chuckled dryly, "What do you think? Why do you think we should come to the black market to buy this stuff?"

"Who sold it?"

The gray-robed man snorted coldly: "Isn't that a pointless question? Qianmin Street isn't my backyard. I'm just running a small business here. Anyway, I'm not the one selling. It's no use finding out. In this place, the seller wouldn't know who the buyer is."

The man's tone was aggressive, but the lieutenant colonel wasn't annoyed. He rested his chin on his hand and asked, "Is there any other useful information?"

The gray-robed man lowered his head and pondered for a moment before looking up and replying, "Nothing, at least I don't know."

Winters couldn't tell whether the gray-robed man was telling the truth or lying, but Lieutenant Colonel Field didn't seem to doubt him.

“Then please find out more about any recent developments and let me know immediately.” Field stood up, clearly intending to take his leave. “Please don’t come in person again; just send someone to deliver a message,” the gray-robed man said with a wry smile.

……

An hour later, in the living room of Major Moritz's residence.

Field came up from downstairs, carrying three freshly washed wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

He placed the wine glasses on the small table, poured himself half a glass and drank it, then poured half a glass each for Moritz and Winters.

The lieutenant colonel was quite concerned about the mental state of Winters, this inexperienced rookie.

As he handed the glass to Winters, he said, “Don’t feel guilty about what happened today. Half of those scum in the underworld have a murder on their hands, and the other half have more than one. Killing them will only save the Senate money for the gallows.”

“You can’t say that, after all, we didn’t go through any trial process.” Major Moritz took a sip of his drink and slowly offered a dissenting opinion.

"They attacked officers on duty, no trial needed." The lieutenant colonel's tone was very unfriendly. He poured himself a drink and said, "It's a pity these scum can never be completely eradicated. If so many are killed today, the cripple can bring even more tomorrow. Heaven knows how many rats are hiding in this Qianmin Street."

"Who is that bald man, and why does he have a Catholic priest's hairstyle?" Winters asked, holding his wine glass.

“The Cripple… The Cripple is the least scum-like of the scum in Qianmin Street. With him keeping those beasts in check, they can get away with less dirty work.” Lieutenant Colonel Field did not answer Winters directly, but changed the subject: “Warrant Lieutenant Montagne, do you still want to learn practical magic? If so, the person who can teach you is right in front of you.”

After saying that, Field pointed at Major Moritz.

“I want to learn.” Winters stood up excitedly.

Today, Major Moritz's extraordinary magical abilities impressed him. That day at the docks, Moritz was suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms, and that wasn't his true skill level.

"What are you going to learn from me? I can't use anything except speed-enhancing spells. A spellcaster like me is a deformed child among spellcasters—born with a disability," the major said with a wry smile.

"Bullshit! The Magic Operations Bureau's thinking is completely wrong." Lieutenant Colonel Field slapped his thigh hard. "The Magic Operations Bureau wants spellcasters to master every spell, teaching us a dozen spells all at once. I realized this too late. I only understood that this thinking was completely wrong after I met Moritz. A spellcaster only needs to master one spell in their lifetime."

Although Moritz himself did not seem to be proud of his magical abilities, Winters was very determined to learn from the Major.

He had been troubled by the lack of lethality in fire-based spells, and now that he finally had the opportunity to learn from a more skilled spellcaster, he was naturally unwilling to give up easily.

Seeing that this junior student genuinely wanted to learn, Moritz shrugged.

He went into his bedroom, rummaged through his desk for a while, and finally came out with a small leather bag.

"Here you go." The major tossed the small briefcase to Winters.

Winters untied the rope, revealing ten metal rods inside the bag.

He took one out and, judging from its luster and weight, determined that it was made of steel or iron.

The metal rod has a uniform texture, a smooth surface, a pointed end, and a flat end.

It's about twice the size of my little finger and about the same length as my middle finger. It's neither too light nor too heavy when you hold it in your hand.

"Is it iron?" Winters asked.

“It’s steel, very good steel. This is training equipment that I figured out myself.” Major Moritz sat back in his recliner and slowly explained, “The way to practice acceleration in military academy courses is to accelerate heavy objects, the heavier the object, the better, but I think that kind of training is meaningless.”

I believe that when practicing arrow-throwing techniques, one should ensure that the weight of each arrow used is exactly the same; only through long-term practice can one develop a feel for it. These ten steel awls—five blunt-tipped and five pointed—have all been precisely balanced using the most accurate scales; their weights are identical.

Winters took out all ten steel cones; five had blunt, curved tips, and five had sharp spikes.

He took two sticks and weighed them in his left and right hands, but he couldn't tell which one was heavier.

"Have you ever played darts?" Moritz asked Winters.

"I've played it, but it's not very good."

Moritz went into the bedroom again, and this time he pulled out a round target from under the bed. The wooden base of the target was wrapped with a circle of straw rope, and a silver coin was nailed in the center of the target.

The major hung the target plate above the fireplace, turned to Winters and said, "Use that blunt steel cone as the material for your arrow-throwing spell, and shoot it at this silver coin."

Winters held the steel cone in his hand, aimed at the silver coin in the center of the target, recalled the feeling of using the Flying Arrow spell, and entered the casting state.

He endured the intense stinging and burning sensation, using magic to accelerate the steel cone in his hand.

The steel cone, which had been stationary, was magically accelerated in a short time and flew out of Winters' hand, leaving the range that Winters' third hand could reach.

But the shot landed slowly on the edge of the fireplace, without even touching the edge of the target plate.

[The third hand and fifth limb are both metaphors for magical abilities.]
Winters' face felt burning, but Major Moritz's face remained expressionless.

"Aim a little higher," the major said.

Winters nodded, took a deep breath, and fired the second steel cone.

This time, the steel cone hit the target, but it hit the upper right corner, still some distance from the silver coin in the bullseye.

"Do you still practice magic every night?" the major asked.

“Yes,” Winters replied. At military academy, nightly spell training was a mandatory course for all spellcasting cadets.

Except for the few days on the ship when he was unable to practice spells due to phantom limb pain, Winters never stopped his spell training every night, even after returning home.

"Change all the training programs to this one, and don't practice any other spells for now. Use the blunt ones for practice, and the pointed ones for actual combat." Major Moritz explained while drinking: "Just think of the Arrow Spell as throwing darts with an unseen third hand. The explosive power of the spell determines the power of the dart, and the feel of the spell determines the accuracy of the dart."

Both of these can be improved through consistent practice. Practice this when you get home, and don't stop as long as you can still use the Arrow Technique. Practice until you experience phantom limb pain and can no longer enter a casting state. If you can't sleep at night because of phantom limb pain, drink this in water.

Major Moritz tossed Winters another paper package, which Winters recognized as something the major had bought at the black market on Qianmin Street. He opened the package and glanced inside; it appeared to contain some kind of herb.

"Drinking this in water can help you fall asleep—but only a little at a time, don't make too much. Sleep allows you to repair yourself, and the phantom limb pain will disappear after a good night's sleep."

“But the phantom limb pain didn’t go away until we had rested for several days on the ship,” Winters asked cautiously.

“I’ve never seen the kind of severe phantom limb pain you had on the ship. The phantom limb pain won’t be that severe with my kind of training, so don’t worry.” The major curled back into the deck chair and said with a puzzled look, “I’m also wondering how the United Provinces managed to get you into that state.”

"understood."

The major went from sipping the wine little by little to drinking it mouthful by mouthful: "Ultimately, it still requires long-term training."

The spellcasting course ends when you leave military academy, but the training of a spellcaster never truly ends. When I first graduated, my arrow-throwing skill was only slightly better than yours. Don't worry, you'll improve with practice.

Winters carefully remembered the major's words, but he still had a question: "Since you have this special steel awl, why do you still need to use silver coins?"

“It’s hard to have too much money, what else can I do?” Field, who hadn’t spoken for a long time, suddenly said.

The major laughed heartily: "What do you think?"

“Uh…easy to carry?” That was the only reason Winters could think of, but using silver coins was still too extravagant; he wouldn’t be willing to spend that much.

“That’s right.” Moritz nodded approvingly. “Think about it, it’s normal to carry a hundred silver coins when you go out, but it’s cumbersome to carry a hundred steel spikes. Moreover, these steel spikes are specially made. Once they’re all used up, the feel of using new ‘arrows’ will change drastically and you’ll lose your accuracy. So I later discovered that silver coins are better. Even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won’t have to worry about running out of ammunition.”

"Bullshit! The weight of silver coins is different. Do coins minted by the Oathbreakers weigh the same as those minted by the Azure? I also know many black-hearted devils who scrape scraps off silver coins; they scrape off a bit from every silver coin they handle." Lieutenant Colonel Field was clearly quite dismissive of Major Moritz's reasoning.

[The one who broke the oath, namely Henry III, Holy Sheikh Emperor]
The major said lazily, "It won't be much different. Besides, after practicing for a long time, a slight difference in weight doesn't matter."

The lieutenant colonel was still debating with the major, while Winters had already decided that he would find someone to make several hundred steel cones in one go when he had time, as he did not think carrying a hundred steel cones with him would be a burden.

After all, turning the Arrow Technique into a "money-throwing" technique was still too wasteful in Winters' eyes.

Thank you to reader 20181013204343295 for the recommendation vote. Thank you. [The "Exploding Sound Technique" is simply a larger version of amplification, not a more advanced application.] (Thanks to reader "Black Computer Accessories" for pointing out the plot bug; I'm fixing it.)
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(End of this chapter)