Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Brothers returning from the wasteland need no elaboration from me! Nor do the people of Wolf Town need any empty chatter! Let me introduce the others to you!"

Pierre stood on a large rock, delivering a passionate speech to a gathering of bandits, his earlier languid and decadent appearance gone:

"This is Captain Winters Montagne! The champion of Paratu! The best Centurion! Centurion Montagne has returned! With our brother back, we have nothing to fear! Centurion Montagne is back! The green..."

Pierre spoke with fervor, but Guoquan Dickson's face grew paler and paler.

The moment Monta recognized Pierre as the Centurion, Guoquan had the urge to flee.

But he couldn't escape; he was being watched too closely, shadowed by two Dusacks even when he went to relieve himself.

After a brief and not so fierce inner struggle, Guoquan knelt before the Centurion with a plop, pleading, "My lord, I'm just an honest farmer. I only turned to banditry because I couldn't make a living anymore. Please spare me!"

Winters raised his eyebrows slightly: "Stand up and speak."

But Guoquan's knees seemed nailed to the ground, he even tried to kiss the hem of the Centurion's cloak.

Pierre stepped in front of Guoquan with a stern face and declared, "Now that Centurion Montagne is back, these men have nothing to do with you. Get out of here."

"I... can I really go?" Guoquan, mixed with joy and anxiety, asked tentatively.

"Scram!"

This was truly a dilemma; staying meant certain death, but leaving could also mean death.

With a wave of his hand, Pierre told the other bandits, "Those who don't wish to stay may leave!"

After hesitating for a long time, Guoquan clenched his teeth and decided to take a gamble: "Thank you for your mercy, my lord. I truly don't want to be a bandit anymore!"

Guoquan determined that staying meant death. He was accustomed to freedom and didn't want to take orders from any Centurion.

Given the chaos in the Newly Reclaimed Land, as long as he could get away, it would be easy to round up another group.

Seeing Guoquan deciding to leave, a few others also wanted to go, all of them old brothers of Guoquan.

"Get out of here," Pierre said with a tilt of his chin.

Guoquan thanked him profusely, backing away a few steps before turning to run.

However, as soon as he turned around, Pierre's saber came slashing down.

The shining steel blade described an arc, cleaving through the left shoulder, pausing only slightly at the bone. In the end, it left a gruesome gash from which blood gushed forth.

Pierre shook his saber to clear the blood, wiped the blade, and sheathed it.

The other veterans also sprung up and executed the few who wished to leave.

Winters was somewhat surprised but said nothing.

He gathered the twenty-two "bandits" together, along with his thirteen warriors who were present.

Looking at everyone's grim faces, Winters began his first speech.

"According to the law of the Newly Reclaimed Land," his tone was even, but his voice clearly reached everyone's ears, "those who band together to block roads and rob will be broken on the wheel if they are the principal offenders, and hanged if they are accomplices."

The expressions darkened even further; who didn't know this?

In the Newly Reclaimed Land, becoming a bandit was a dead end. If they weren't desperate, no one would join a bandit group.

Winters spoke again: "However, my appointment as Garrison Officer of Wolf Town is still in effect. Therefore, from this moment on, I conscript all of you as members of the Newly Reclaimed Land Wolfton militia.

You must submit to my authority and from now on be bound by military law. You are no longer bandits, nor are you farmers; it is now your duty to eradicate banditry."

Those from Wolf Town had tears in their eyes; they were like rootless duckweeds drifting with the wind, living each day in fear of the future.

The appearance of Captain Montaigne, like a plank to a drowning man, was a remnant of the former world, evoking memories of better times.

But farmers from other places showed only numbness and indifference on their faces; they didn't know Winters Montagne.

To them, Guoquan? Garrison Officer? Centurion? It was all the same—just switching who would dole out their porridge. What difference could it make?

Winters met each person's gaze in turn: "I promise you. One day, you will be able to lay down your weapons, pick up your ploughs, and return to the golden wheat fields, back to your mothers, wives, and children. I promise you this; remember it well."

His voice was calm but carried a strange power, as if he truly could fulfill his promise.

Even the most numb of farmers felt a slight pricking in their hearts at this moment.

The smell of earth, the gold of the wheat fields...

So close yet so unattainable, as if they were memories from long ago.

...

Winters reunited with his warriors, and they all had endless things to say to each other.

The young stable boy, Anglu, clung to Winters' arm, crying one moment and laughing the next, unwilling to let go.

Pierre brought a young man to Winters, saying excitedly, "Look who I've brought to you, sir!"

Winters couldn't help but laugh at first sight.

The young man in front of him was the very image of the blacksmith Berlion; nobody could mistake it.

However, Berlion was quiet and cautious, while the young man had the mischief and vivacity typical of youth in his eyes.

Winters asked the young man, "Your father is Alexander Soya, right?"

The young man was startled and looked to Pierre, at a loss for what to do.

"Stop teasing him," Pierre said, patting the young man's shoulder. "I ran into Carlos among another group of people. The moment I saw him, I knew who he was. That's why I kept him close, to look after him a bit."