Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 51 New Ideas
“The dock is only so big, and all the dockworkers are familiar faces. You don’t know who’s missing after the bombing?” Winters slammed his hand on the table.

"There are too many people at the docks. Anyone with strength can become a porter. How can we remember everyone?" The man being questioned replied flawlessly, "Sir, why don't you ask someone else?"

Winters asked various questions from other angles, but the other party insisted that he knew nothing.

"You can leave now." Exhausted, Winters waved his hand. "Call the next person in."

The man left, and another short, stocky man took his place in the chair.

The short, stocky man sat awkwardly on the stool, his lips pressed tightly together, saying nothing.

"May I ask your name?" Winters politely broke the silence.

Before he could finish speaking, the short, stocky man, as if he'd been pricked in the backside by a hedgehog, stuck out his neck and shouted, "I don't know anything!"

"I asked for your name..."

"I don't know anything!"

"name……"

"I don't know anything!"

"roll!"

"I don't know anything!"

Winters grabbed a cup from the table and smashed it to pieces on the floor.

——Cut——

"The dockworkers are all very tight-lipped and won't say anything," Winters reported helplessly to Lieutenant Colonel Field about the results of his questioning of the dockworkers.

In the officers' club lounge, Field, Moritz, and Winters sat in a circle around a small table.

"The dockworkers are afraid of being seen as whistleblowers. Several gangs control all the dockworkers' business, and they've issued gag orders, so the dockworkers naturally don't dare to utter a sound." Field was in a bad mood, holding his wine glass for a long time without drinking a drop: "We can't protect the dockworkers' families either; they won't stand on our side."

There was no progress in the assassination case, and Field and Winters didn't look too happy.

Major Moritz, standing to the side, seemed completely unaffected, happily pouring himself a drink. Winters couldn't help but wonder whether Major Moritz had truly lost his hearing, or was using his inability to hear anything as an excuse to avoid his tedious work.

Beneath the calm surface of the docks, undercurrents surged, and the Benvinuto family house remained empty. A lame man from the Hidden Village Street brought news explaining why the dockworkers were all keeping silent and why the Benvinuto family had disappeared.

The dockworkers at Hailan City Wharf are roughly divided into several groups based on their regions. They often engage in violent conflicts due to competition for work, and occasionally one or two arms or legs are broken.

On the night of the assassination, the Monta people found their leader lying in a pool of blood in the alley behind the Pinewood Tavern, killed by a stab wound to the left side.

Just a few days ago, the Monta people and the Varn people had a fierce battle. One Varn was seriously injured, and more than a dozen were lightly wounded. The seriously injured one died not long after being carried back.

The Republic of Monta is located in a mountainous region with harsh living conditions. The land cannot support its people, so the men have no choice but to join the army to earn money. Therefore, the people of Monta are known for their fierce, resilient, and fearless nature, and the Republic of Monta has been an important source of soldiers since ancient times.

The Monta people now believe the Vane are the murderers and have vowed revenge. They will not rest until their enemy's blood is spilled.

Although the Varn people do not admit to killing the Monta leader, they only regret that someone has deprived them of the opportunity for revenge.

For the Wahn people, who value family ties, the death of a Wahn member can lead to a large family seeking revenge. The entire Wahn community is connected by a complex network of kinship, much like a pot of soil overgrown with plant roots.

The Varn people, having suffered a great loss before, are also licking their wounds and preparing for revenge.

In the shadows of the bustling port area, both sides were sharpening their weapons and gathering strength, ready to clash at any moment.

According to the lame man, both sides bought a lot of real weapons on the black market, including a considerable amount of gunpowder. Even the Paratites, who had no connection to the matter, were secretly making preparations. The final outcome could be very unpleasant.

The Wain man who died from his injuries in the previous violent conflict was Benvinuto's uncle, and blood revenge is a praised and celebrated act in Wain culture. Therefore, the Benvinuto family is now a primary target of the Monta people's retaliation, and according to the cripple, their family should be under the protection of the Wain community.

Several groups of dockworkers were about to fight to the death.

Field didn't care about such things at all.

In his eyes, even if the seawater in the port was stained red with the blood of dockworkers, that was a problem for customs and the city guard.

But it was precisely because of this absurd reason that the dockworkers remained silent and refused to say anything.

“These guys are just taking advantage of the fact that we don’t have evidence to torture them,” Field said angrily and frustratedly. “Damn it! If we lock them up in jail and beat them up, they’ll tell us everything.”

However, Field could only make empty threats. Although torture was a common method used by law enforcement officers in the League to obtain evidence, League law strictly limited its use. The church also strictly prohibited believers from using torture on each other—theoretically.

If Field dared to arrest and torture the dockworkers today without any evidence, he wouldn't even need to wait for the day the case is overturned; he'd be packing his bags and writing war history right now. "What about money?" Winters suggested another simpler method.

“We can’t afford to pay them enough for their lives. Dockworkers’ gangs never hesitate to kill rats [referring to whistleblowers].” Field shook his head. “Besides, ordinary workers wouldn’t know any valuable information. We have to find the leaders, but they’re absolutely not going to tell us where the leaders are right now.”

Winters had a new idea in mind these past few days, but he was cautious and didn't bring it up rashly. Now that the investigation had reached another stalemate, he felt it was time to share his new idea.

“I’ve gotten my hands on a wheel gun these past few days, it’s similar to the one we fished out.” Winters was referring to the same wheel gun that Sophia had: “After testing it a few times, I realized that this gun is no ordinary weapon, and the gunman is no ordinary weapon either.”

After Sofia was taken to the military camp and placed under house arrest, the revolver she had taken with her was left at Serbiati's residence. Winters couldn't resist his curiosity and disassembled the gun, only to spend three times as much time reassembling it.

With a natural intuition for mechanical structures, Winters quickly grasped the construction and working principle of the wheel gun. The ignition mechanism of the wheel gun was essentially a friction wheel connected to a spiral spring; before use, the friction wheel needed to be wound up, turning it round and round. Pulling the trigger caused the friction wheel to rotate and rub against the flint, generating sparks that ignited the gunpowder.

According to Winters, the advantage of this design is that it does not require the careful handling of the matchlock to prevent it from going out, unlike a matchlock gun, and it does not have an open flame.

It's important to understand that the matchlock gun was an extremely dangerous weapon, both for the enemy and for the gunman himself. Although the matchlock burned slowly, it was still an open flame. For a matchlock gunner who carried large amounts of gunpowder and was covered in gunpowder powder, simply avoiding setting himself on fire was a guarantee of a paycheck.

Another advantage is that it can be used with one hand. The firing process of a matchlock gun requires the use of both hands, so there is no such firearm as a one-handed matchlock pistol. However, a wheel gun can be fired by holding the gun and pulling the trigger with only one hand, which is why dock assassins could hold a gun in one hand and a sword in the other.

However, Winters also realized the danger of this design—the spring mechanism was too complex, too fragile, and not reliable enough.

The trigger, the catch, the spiral spring—if even one of these parts comes loose, the gun will misfire. How could an assassin dare to carry such a gun on his waist? Wasn't he afraid of accidentally shooting himself in the thigh?
"What's so complicated about it?" Field lay back down on the sofa, looking uninterested.

"It's not easy to use! The gun maker didn't consider the practicalities of one-handed use at all; it still uses a long gun barrel. Essentially, it's just a sawn-down long gun, and it still fires 30-gram lead bullets. This caliber gun is too difficult to use with one hand. If I were designing it, I would make the caliber smaller." Winters confidently stated his thoughts: "The gun we retrieved has a larger caliber than the wheel gun I have. Whoever can shoot accurately with that gun must be an expert in firearms."

Field lay back on the sofa and softly hummed in agreement: "And then?"

"The customs coroner's report gave me a bit of inspiration. Customs coroners infer the identity and social class of the deceased based on their physique, appearance, and calluses on their hands. I think we can also use the existing evidence to speculate on what kind of person the assassin was."

“That’s interesting.” Field slowly sat up straight upon hearing this. “Continue.”

"Of the four assassins, at least two were proficient in firearms and could wield such a large-caliber revolver gun with one hand; there were also assassins' accomplices in customs, so they knew when the Skuas would dock and waited for them at the pier in advance; it was also strange that the four passengers approached them on their own initiative, thinking that the assassins were there to pick them up... Oh, and their horses, those draft horses that pulled the carriages were not panicked at all after hearing the gunshots... Ha, untrained draft horses probably couldn't do that."

Field's expression turned extremely serious, and even Moritz noticed the change in atmosphere and silently put down his wine glass. The lieutenant colonel said to Winters in a deep voice, "Just say what you want to say."

"There's another thing about those assassins that really impressed me: they were all masters of swordsmanship, especially very, very, very familiar with Marshal Ned's longsword technique."

Winters used "very" three times in a row to express his thoughts. He continued, "As familiar as if they had practiced a thousand times, the assassin knows exactly how to use a swift sword against a longsword. I almost got my stomach slashed open the moment I clashed with the first assassin I encountered. If it were an ordinary swordsman, I would never have been so badly injured. Major Moritz has also fought with him. You can ask the major for his opinion."

“There aren’t many people in Veneta who fit the description of a master swordsman familiar with the military academy’s sword techniques, proficient in firearms, and horses trained to withstand gunfire.” Winters gritted his teeth and stated his conclusion: “This is my own idea. The assassin we’re looking for should be a few alumni… one of them even had his jaw broken by my kick.”

“Alumni”? What alumni? Winters clearly meant army officers, but the accusation was too serious, so he used the term “alumni” instead. But Field wouldn’t misunderstand.

"Are you very good at swordsmanship?" Field asked abruptly.

"It's alright, but there aren't many swordsmen who can make me look that bad."

“Come on, there are training swords in the club.” Field grabbed his uniform jacket and stood up: “Talk is cheap, we’ll know once we try.”

Half an hour later, on the second floor of the officers' club.

Field took off his helmet, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said breathlessly, "You're actually pretty good, kid. I didn't expect that with a new recruit like me, I'd still be the worst swordsman..."

Without training armor, only helmets, in a swordsmanship contest that ended in a draw, Winters defeated Field 20-0. Winters had actually considered giving the colonel a few points, but once he gripped his longsword, only winning was on his mind. Colonel Field's swordsmanship was far inferior to his magical prowess.

“It’s your turn.” Field beckoned to Moritz and tossed the helmet to the major.

Facing Moritz, Winters felt the pressure increase dramatically. The major, as expected of a top-ranked fencer in the army's internal competitions, possessed far superior reaction speed and control after the exchange of blows compared to the lieutenant colonel.

However… he was still a step behind Ike. Although Winters was indeed frequently defeated by Ike, Ike was a true top-tier swordsmanship master. Through repeated defeats, Winters' swordsmanship continued to improve, and he even nearly defeated Ike in the end.

Major Moritz was a skilled swordsman, but he was only a first-rate fighter. He couldn't suppress Winters; in fact, Winters grew stronger with each match and won.

Lieutenant Colonel Fidel watched with his eyes shining.

"This year's competition depends on you to bring glory to the Military Police. Moritz has no motivation, so you must train hard." Field rushed up and grabbed Winters' hand tightly: "You must take down those bastards in the Garrison Command."

A flattered Winters nodded repeatedly.

Thank you to reader 烟云散, thank you to reader 20181013204343295 for the recommendation vote, thank you to 青鬼w for the recommendation vote, and thank you to all the readers who voted for the book before.

The competitive spirit is a very interesting thing.

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(End of this chapter)