Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 458 Cumulonimbus Clouds

Under the shade of the tree, Winters glanced at the note in his hand, then looked at the prospective student who had brought it.

"Commissioner Mason sent you to see me?" Winters asked in surprise. "Didn't he say anything else?"

"No," the trainee in front of him replied, looking bewildered.

“Alright, please wait for me a moment.” Winters stuffed the note into his gauntlet and casually pointed to the clothes and packs under the tree: “There’s water and food there. Help yourself if you get hungry.”

Then he saw a trainee named "Hodel" walk stiffly to the tree, his legs straighter than the tree trunk.

"Have a seat." Winters couldn't help but smile. "It's alright."

But the trainee remained standing ramrod straight. Clearly, he was at a loss, unsure whether to take the tribunal's words as mere politeness or as an order to obey.

Winters was somewhat used to this. He cleared his throat and ordered in a deep voice, "Soldiers, attention!"

Trainees subconsciously bring their heels together, tense their knees and shoulders.

"On command—sit."

The trainees quickly pressed their buttocks to the ground.

Winters nodded, pulled down his mask, turned and walked toward the other swordsman who had been waiting, and the two resumed their conversation that had just been interrupted.

“Let’s continue.” Winters gripped the wooden sword firmly with both hands.

The swordsman in front of him also took his stance, and a somewhat muffled voice came from inside his helmet: "Have you heard Speaker Milehouse's speech?"

"Which speech are you referring to?" Winters nodded, gesturing for the other party to press on: "The one in Varne? Or the one after we returned to the federal provinces?"

“After returning to the United Provinces.” Winters’ opponent finished speaking and, without warning, took a step forward and thrust forward.

However, the surprise attack had no effect on Winters. He raised his arm to deflect the oncoming longsword, and in the midst of the blades clashing, he pointed the tip of his sword at his opponent. The whole process was smooth, light and natural.

Winters even had the energy to chat: "I've heard about it, but it's pretty much just gossip. I'd like to hear your version."

His sword stopped a foot from his opponent's shoulder—his opponent stopped on his own initiative, took a half step back and raised his hand, and then walked back to the starting position.

Raising your hand signifies acknowledging a lost point; this is standard etiquette in formal competitions.

However, there were no referees or scoreboards next to this small clearing under the shade of the trees, and the only spectator was a guy who still didn't understand what was going on.

To the bewildered spectators, the contest between the tribunal and the sparring partner seemed like a mere formality, over before it even began, leaving them completely unable to discern who won or lost.

It's not fair to blame the audience for being blind.

Winters and his opponent lacked the necessary protective gear, so their safety depended on their opponent rather than themselves—although they were wielding wooden swords, a solid hit would still leave them wounded.

Only when there is absolute trust between them can the two parties "play" like this. Since it is "playing," it naturally appears to be all about touching the surface and having no clear winner or loser.

“You’ve probably heard about what Milehouse said at the Alliance Conference; it was pretty much the same as a declaration of war.” Winters’ opponent returned to the other end of the open space, stretched his wrists, and gripped his longsword tightly again. “When he returned to Guitu City, he immediately gave another public speech in Martyrs’ Square, which was even more shocking than his speech at the Alliance Conference.”

Having said that, he drew his sword and attacked Winters again.

Winters effortlessly deflected the opponent's wide, sweeping swing: "Tell me about it."

“Speaker Meyerhouse himself has declared the April 1st Revolution a rebellion.” His opponent took a step back, raised his hand, and gasped for breath: “An illegal armed rebellion.”

Winters frowned involuntarily, lowered his sword, and asked, "The United Provinces Army has made no response?"

“I don’t know. At least when I left Kings’ Castle, I hadn’t heard of any major commotion in Guitu City.” His opponent’s laughter escaped from his helmet, and one could easily imagine how gloating his expression was beneath the visor: “But Cornelius must be having a tough time, going from ‘hero’ to ‘traitor’ all of a sudden.”

Winters lowered his longsword, deep in thought: "Tell me in detail what the new Speaker of the United Provinces said in his speech."

“A cliché.” The swordsman standing opposite Winters also slung his wooden sword over his shoulder and replied casually:

"First came the cursing, vehemently condemning the corruption and incompetence of the previous provincial government; then came the weeping, lamenting the misery of the provincial people; then came the alarmist rhetoric, using the internal strife of the Empire, the Venetta, and the Paratul to frighten people; only at the end did they speak the truth, acknowledging that the 'April 1st Revolution' was an armed rebellion, but they also found an excuse, saying that because 'the Lionel regime was so corrupt and incompetent,' 'the army had to step in and temporarily take over the country.'"

“Temporarily?” Winters keenly sensed something unusual.

“Yes, for now.” The swordsman, who had just been speaking wittily, became hesitant and uncertain. He said slowly, “Speaker Meyerhouse has publicly promised to reorganize the National Assembly, re-elect representatives at all levels, and gradually return national power from the military to the new National Assembly within three years.”

"Three years?" Winters raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, three years."

"A counterattack by the United Provinces Army?"

"There was no counterattack. Instead, several generals came forward to endorse Speaker Myerhouse's promise. The United Province Army is in a similar state, riddled with factions, each trying to undermine the other."

"Where is Minister Cornelius?"

"He's no longer the Minister, and I haven't heard of a new appointment. After Speaker Milehouse disbanded the Provisional Military Council, Colonel Cornelius should have been sent home to retire." The swordsman standing in front of Winters shrugged. "Cornelius rose to power through the coup, which has made many people envious. He's not exactly a likable guy. I'm not surprised at all that Speaker Milehouse used him to quell public anger."

Winters pondered for a moment, then asked his sparring partner, "Do you believe it?"

"Believe in what?"

"Meyerhouse's commitment."

"I..." The swordsman fell silent for a long while before saying with distress, "I don't know either. But given the current situation, if I were a member of the United Province, I could only hope that Speaker Myerhouse would return the power of the state, right? After all, he made a public promise."

Winters sighed deeply after hearing this: "Then we'll wait and see."

“Speaker Meyerhouse also stated in the communiqué,” he whispered to the swordsman, “that the provincial trustee government will do everything in its power to promote a peaceful resolution to the Paratul civil war. He also promised that the provincial army would never be involved in the Paratul civil war—provided that Venetta does not interfere in Paratul affairs.”

Winters gave a soft hum, turned the sword around, and gripped the hilt with both hands again.

The fencer who was sparring with Winters also hurriedly prepared.

The two slowly approached each other, and the moment their sword tips clashed, they both moved.

In a flash, Winters dodged his fiercely charging opponent and patted the latter on the shoulder with his free left hand.

The swordsman stopped, raising his hand in frustration. Sensing Winters' change in mood, he changed the subject to a lighter one: "There's been another big case up north, have you heard?"

"What major case?" Winters had never heard of this before.

"Of course, it's a major case involving the Southern Army."

"Didn't the false emperor already disband the Southern Army?"

"It's because of the plan to disband the Southern Army that this major case has been triggered." He asked the swordsman with great interest, "Guess what crime the false emperor is using to carry out this purge?"

Winters answered without hesitation: "Embezzlement?"

"Smuggling! Everyone in the Southern Army is involved!" The swordsman laughed heartily. "The Southern Army, established to guard against us, has become the biggest smuggler in the empire. The false emperor has completely lost face!"

Winters chuckled, but he wasn't as optimistic as he was about the swordsman: "The false emperor's determination to eradicate the poisonous sore may not necessarily be a good thing for us."

"Who cares?" He was dismissive of the swordsman: "Anyway, it's imperialists killing imperialists. Whoever dies, we're the ones who profit. The false emperor has already executed three counts, and according to the news coming from the north, this is just the beginning. It won't be long before the Southern Army is rebuilt."

Winters sighed. "That's even worse."

"Yes, I understand what you mean." The swordsman's mood immediately soured; he hung his head and said dejectedly:

"The false emperor doesn't even hide his strategy; he simply wants to watch the republics fight each other. The solution is simple: we just need to avoid attacking each other. I can figure it out myself, so how could you generals and members of parliament not understand? But they... but what about me? What can I do? I'm just a lowly lieutenant..."

The swordsman's voice trailed off as he spoke, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and met his senior's calm gaze, which held no hint of reproach.

“It’s their fault, not yours.” Winters’ calm voice carried a reassuring strength: “There’s no need to be anxious about it. We are all being swept along by the river.”

"Hmm." The swordsman sniffed hard.

Winters affectionately tapped the shoulder armor of the swordsman, held the longsword upside down, and walked toward the tree roots where the clothes and water were placed.

"I don't know if you're aware," a soft voice from the swordsman sounded behind Winters, "but there are many opponents of Grove Magnus in Kingsburg... This crushing defeat in the newly reclaimed lands will surely shake... no, dismantle Grove Magnus's rule..."

Winters replied without turning his head, "I don't mind less bloodshed, even if it takes longer."

"Mmm!" came the excited voice of the swordsman.

“But don’t be too optimistic.” Winters turned around, his gaze deep and unfathomable, and said slowly, “Because you still don’t understand what a gambler who has lost all his chips will do next.”

After saying that, Winters patted the shoulder of the swordsman, picked up his sword, and walked towards the shade of the tree.

……

Under the shade of the tree, the monkey—Hodel—watched blankly as Blood Wolf and his sparring partner chatted and competed.

Because he couldn't tell who won or lost, Houdel didn't know whether he should cheer or applaud.

After a few more moves, Blood Wolf suddenly stopped and said something to his sparring partner, then walked straight toward Houdel.

Houdel was even more confused until the Blood Wolf walked up to him, at which point he came to his senses and jumped up in a start.

Houdel saw Blood Wolf wave at him: "Sit down, relax, it's alright." Then, the latter began to remove the protective gear from his shoulders and arms.

Houdel paused for a moment, then suddenly realized he should help.

However, before Houdel could step forward, someone had already stood behind Blood Wolf and skillfully helped him unbuckle the belt buckles on his arms and shoulders—it was the swordsman who had been sparring with Blood Wolf.

Houdel was greatly embarrassed. He looked around and saw the kettle.

However, someone was faster than him. Before Houdel could even bend down, Blood Wolf's sparring partner had already darted to the water bottle and handed it to Blood Wolf.

Blood Wolf naturally took the water bottle and drank from it.

In desperation, Houdel began racking his brains to recall something nice to say to someone about their swordsmanship.

In the end, it was Blood Wolf's sparring partner who spoke first, and Houdel got goosebumps when he heard him call him "squad leader".

"Squad leader!" Blood Wolf's sparring partner praised without any hesitation, "Your swordsmanship is too strong now! The real skills honed in actual combat are different from mere showmanship! It looks like there are no moves, but every movement is flawless, and your timing is incredibly precise. I've already performed beyond my usual level, but I still can't win even a single point. You're really too strong."

"That's not how it works." Blood Wolf seemed somewhat pleased, smiling sheepishly as he said, "I haven't practiced in a long time, so I've regressed a bit."

Houdel, standing to the side, had already started cursing in his mind.

From the moment he first glanced at Blood Wolf's sparring partner, he knew this guy was a "booty-wearing" type. His demeanor, bearing, and the faint "scent" that every "booty-wearing" type possessed betrayed him.

But the monkey never imagined that "the one in boots" would be so obsequious, so good at flattering, and so shameless.

“I don’t think even the master is a match for you now,” Blood Wolf’s sparring partner said sincerely.

“Ike? That’s right.” Blood Wolf remembered something, raised his chin and pointed at the bewildered Houdel beside him: “The person who captured Axel alive is right here.”

"Huh?!" Blood Wolf's sparring partner exclaimed in surprise.

Houdel, who had been ignored all along, finally regained his dignity. He felt the other man's gaze sweep from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, and then from his shoulders to his fingertips.

Houdel didn't say anything, but simply straightened his back even more.

Blood Wolf's sparring partner frowned and carefully examined the soldier in front of him, then smiled broadly and extended his hand to Houdel in a generous manner: "I am Kadar Lagrey."

Houdel looked at Blood Wolf questioningly, and when Blood Wolf nodded slightly, he wiped the sweat from his palms and shook hands with "Kadar Lagre".

“Senior Axel is the best fencer at the Army Academy, perhaps even the best fencer in the academy’s history,” Kadar said with a smile. “You captured Senior Axel, which is equivalent to doing something none of us have done.”

The politeness of "the one in boots" made Houdel feel embarrassed.

“I wasn’t the only one at the time,” Houdel said, blushing. “Besides, I used a fishing net to launch a sneak attack, which was dishonorable.”

Upon hearing the word "fishing net," Kadar paused for a moment, then burst into loud laughter. He laughed so hard he was doubled over and breathless.

“When it comes to life and death, there’s no such thing as glory or dishonor.” Kadar wiped away the tears of laughter, shook hands with the soldier in front of him again, and said seriously, “There are only those who stand and those who lie down… This is something I only learned recently.”

Houdel scratched the back of his head.

Winters couldn't help but laugh out loud, but it aggravated his injury, causing pain in his ribs again. He leaned against the tree trunk and slowly sat down on the ground.

Kadar noticed something was wrong and rushed forward to support his squad leader, asking with surprise and concern, "Are you injured?"

“I was careless,” Winters explained casually. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen it that I forgot about anti-magic tactics.”

"Anti-magic tactics?" Kadar's expression immediately tensed up. "Detection, lock-on, and destruction—where do we stand?"

"destroy."

"Destroy?!" Kadar's pupils dilated uncontrollably.

“Destroy.” Winters chuckled. “But Sanel underestimated me; he didn’t use enough gunpowder.”

Houdel, standing to the side, noticed with puzzlement that "the one in boots," who had been so energetic just moments before, suddenly had tears in his eyes.

"Don't be so mushy. Judging from your expression, I thought you were attending a funeral," Winters teased. "But I heard that a funeral has already been held for me once?"

“Yes.” Kadar wiped his eyes and said with a smile, “Senior Axel cried so hard!”

"Really? He didn't tell me."

“How tragic! I cried my eyes out! We even built a cenotaph for you using your old military uniform, and on the day of your ‘burial,’ Professor Christian from the Magic Department even came.”

Winters' mind raced: "How is Professor Christian doing these days?"

“Not good,” Kadar replied seriously. “The symptoms of mental illness are getting worse.”

Winters thought of Christian, then of the Army Academy, and then of Guido City… his thoughts drifted to the horizon.

Coming to his senses, Winters couldn't help but sigh: "I've finished writing the report on the Battle of River Valley Village, and it will be sent out tomorrow. It will not only be sent to Iron Peak County, but also to other counties in the newly reclaimed lands, and will also be seen outside the newly reclaimed lands. The list of officers killed and captured will also be sent out as an appendix."

Winters looked at Kadar: "I've ordered a news blackout; the other prisoners know nothing about your situation. So, the choice is yours."

“Class monitor.” Kadar lowered his head: “Since the United Provinces dared to let me return to Palatour, they are certain that I would not dare to join the ‘rebels’—just like those classmates who are inclined towards Alpad, who are still under house arrest in Guitu.”

Winters nodded without speaking, waiting for Kadar to make a decision.

“If I join your army, my family will become hostages,” Kadar said in a low voice. “But if I become a ‘prisoner of war’ and am exchanged back, they will force me to fight you.”

Winters nodded again.

“So,” Kadar said, feigning nonchalance, “please report me missing.”

“Missing and killed in action are separated by just one formality,” Winters asked softly. “Your family will be devastated.”

“If they knew I was still alive, it would only be more dangerous for them.” Kadar feigned nonchalance: “Missing, their fate unknown, there’s still a glimmer of hope.”

Winters thought for a moment and said softly, "Colonel Jessica has a research lab in Ghevodan, and he's been yelling at me several times because he's short-staffed. Why don't you go help him? Nobody knows you in Ghevodan, you'll be safe there."

“Great!” Kadar’s eyes lit up.

“Then it’s settled.” Winters stood up, leaning against the tree trunk. “I’ll have Samukin take you to Zhevodan today. Even though you’re living alone, the prisoner-of-war camp is still full of people and eyes. The sooner you leave, the safer you’ll be.”

Kadar remained silent for a long time, then bowed his head deeply: "Thank you."

Winters simply nudged Kádár on the shoulder and said nothing.

Houdel, who felt superfluous, was suddenly called out by Blood Wolf: "Alright, come with me."

“Okay…yes!” Houdel hurriedly stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes haphazardly, and asked in confusion, “But…where are we going?”

Winters whistled sharply, and soon a magnificent white horse emerged leisurely from the woods.

The horse was saddled, but not bitten, and still had uneaten tender leaves in its mouth—the wind preferred the tender shoots of broad-leaved shrubs to the coarse grass.

“Go to the horse stable,” Winters said.

Houdel realized something was wrong. His eyes widened, and he stammered, "Sir, what are we going to the stables for?"

"Go and get a horse."

"Who should receive it?"

“Of course it’s you.” This time it was Winters’ turn to be confused. He took out a note from his wristband: “Didn’t Tribunal Mason send me to teach you how to ride a horse?”

"This...this..." Houdel was almost suffocating: "How could this be?"

"Don't be nervous." Winters smiled tolerantly, comforting the prospective trainee. "Commissioner Mason hates two things the most: the first is not being able to find me, and the second is seeing me idle. Arranging for you here is equivalent to solving both of his most hated problems."

Houdel didn't know how to react, so he could only raise his hand in a salute with a long face.

“Come on, I’ll pick out a gentle mare for you. You’ll learn very quickly.” Winters patted the prospective student on the shoulder, gazing in the direction of Kings’ Castle, and murmured, “Learn to ride a horse as soon as possible; you’ll need that skill soon.”

……

……

[At the same time]
[Outside of Zhuwangbao]
Under the scorching sun, two riders, one in front of the other, were galloping westward.

The riders lagging behind looked back at the dust cloud and shouted in fear, "Major Ronald! They're catching up!"

Major Ronald, who was running ahead, heard the cries for help from behind. He gritted his teeth and turned back to the riders who had fallen behind.

The major forced his companion to stop and, without further ado, exchanged horses with the other side.

"Don't look back." Major Ronald saddled another rider. "Just keep going."

The rider, panting heavily as he was helped onto the saddle, asked in despair, "Where can we go next?"

Colonel Ronald paused briefly, then answered decisively, "Go find Winters Montagne!"

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