Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"You know my brother, too?" Carlos asked.

The surrounding soldiers all burst into hearty laughter.

"How could we not?" Winters joined in the laughter and turned to ask Pierre, "Where's Berlion?"

The laughter stopped.

Pierre's expression became somewhat dejected, "Under Alpad's control, he is a blacksmith, kept under strict watch. My father, and many others, are also under Alpad. But as for their exact location, I don't know. Are they still alive? I don't know that either."

"We need to figure out a way to bring them back," Winters sighed.

Pierre perked up, slapping his thigh and said, "As long as you are back, we have nothing to fear!"

The others all nodded in agreement.

Winters remembered something particularly important and asked Carlos with a serious demeanor, "How about you... How's your cooking?"

"No good, no good at all," Carlos frantically waved his hands, "I always ate what my brother cooked, I can't do it."

"Oh," Winters was quite disappointed and asked with a sense of loss, "Then can you forge iron?"

"I can, it's a skill I've had since childhood, but I'm nowhere near as good as my brother."

"Pierre, put him in charge of repairing the arms, don't let him handle swords and knives."

"Yes, sir!"

Upon hearing this, Carlos immediately became anxious, "Why can't I use swords and knives? I have two arms and two legs too! I'm not worse than anyone else!"

Pierre slapped the back of the kid's head, "Watch your manners! The captain is taking care of you!"

Carlos didn't recognize the newly arrived Centurion Montagne, but he respected Pierre greatly and became sheepishly quiet.

"Since when did I become a captain?" Winters was baffled.

"You didn't know? Oh... Indeed, you wouldn't know," Pierre said with a smile, "Posthumously promoted! There was even a grand ceremony. Fallen officers were promoted one rank, something those people in Alpad's group orchestrated."

Since Winters Montagne had supposedly died in battle, naturally, there were no limits to contend with.

When he received the "Knight's Great Cross Sword Medal," tradition dictated that he could be promoted one rank.

For sacrificing his life for his country, he was promoted another rank.

Therefore, the "First" Republic of Paratu generously posthumously promoted Winters to the rank of captain—at that time, the Blue and Red Roses had not yet split.

However, Winters was still alive, which made the determination of his military rank a bit problematic.

But who cared? Certainly not Winters.

"Tell me what's been happening with you all," Winters pulled Pierre and the others into a circle, "Tell me everything."

The big guys started talking, each taking turns to recount the perils they faced coming back from the no-man's land, the agony of being stranded in the Shuangqiao Main Camp, and the journey of escaping back to Wolf Town.

As for the times they ambushed officers and pursuers, Pierre didn't hide any details from Winters.

"That bastard Bunting, I wanted to kill him too," Pierre said bitterly, "But that animal has a keen nose, he sensed something was off and tucked tail to run to Revodan."

Winters remained noncommittal.

"Then we just moved around among various bandit gangs, never straying too far from Wolf Town. Occasionally, we could go home to see our families, bring them some food," Pierre's voice grew softer as he continued, "Anyway, we just scraped by, living day by day."

Everyone fell silent; they had sabers, but they didn't know where to strike.

Resist the authority that ruled this land? They didn't have the courage yet—and besides, that was tantamount to suicide.

"What do these bandit gangs subsist on? Robbing travelers?" Winters asked patiently, "How much can travelers carry on them?"

The others were still confused, but Pierre had already grasped Winters's point and said helplessly, "Don't be fooled by Guoquan's appearance, that guy is cunning and knows his way around the authorities. He only robs travelers and merchants on the road, at most he extorts from farms, but he never touches the conscription teams from the authorities! Stays far away from them."

According to the laws of the Newly Reclaimed Land, the responsibility to suppress bandits rested with local town governments.

If Wolf Town had a bandit problem, Wolf Town was responsible; if there was a bandit problem near Revodan, Revodan managed it.

The only circumstance in which the New Reclamation Legion would dispatch its gendarmerie was when bandits managed to rob from the legion itself.

As a seasoned robber, Guoquan never touched conscription teams.

As long as he didn't provoke the New Reclamation Legion, with the local law enforcement already near collapse, there truly wasn't anyone who could hold him accountable.

But a scoundrel always meets a harsher scoundrel, and Guoquan had already been buried.

Winters counted and realized that the only ones he could truly rely on were his thirteen "old soldiers."

Of the other twenty-two, perhaps those from Wolf Town might be trustworthy, but the rest were the sort who would rush forth in a mob and disperse just as quickly.

Winters had no intention of commanding them, but if he disbanded them, he would see them in another gang of bandits the next day.

Winters thought, "I need to find a way out for them."

"No problem," he could not speak disheartening words, so he said as confidently as possible, "I have a plan."

...

...

"Creak."

"Creak."

Those were the sounds of wagon wheels turning.

A convoy was moving sluggishly along the road, pulled by beasts of burden including horses, mules, oxen, and donkeys.

Loaded on the wagons were sacks of wheat and baskets of immature fruits and vegetables, along with all kinds of scavenged food items.

There were even two squealing piglets and a goat.

The men escorting the convoy were armed and looked like soldiers.

But they all appeared listless, with slumped shoulders and hands hanging down, trudging along without a word.