Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The carriage drivers were no different; they carelessly cracked their long whips, even the tips of which seemed to move with a hint of reluctance.

Returning full-loaded from Wolf Town, they were now hurrying toward Revodan.

About fifty escort soldiers, and a little over twenty drivers, with only one person in high spirits.

That was the person in charge of this grain requisition convoy, Sergeant Ivan.

Sergeant Ivan had originally been a member of Revodan's security forces, notorious for his hot temper and for beating his wife and children when drunk.

The military commander of Revodan had expanded his troops, and Ivan rode the tide to become a sergeant.

There was only one reason for his promotion—higher-ups thought his fiery temper and burly physique could keep the rank-and-file in check.

"Farmers have no grain? Bullshit! Farmers are the sneakiest bastards!" spat Sergeant Ivan, boasting proudly to the Centurion beside him about his experience with grain levies: "Ask for grain, they won't give! Ask for wheat, they have none! Open their cellars and look, all flour! Wheat! You've got to put a knife to their throats to get them to be honest!"

The Centurion beside him forced a smile and nodded repeatedly in agreement, not wanting to provoke the brute.

The convoy moved slowly, taking a few days, from one to two at a minimum or up to four or five, to get back to Revodan from various villages.

Therefore, along the way to the Revodan garrison, military outposts had been set up—this was also a common strategy of the Parlatu Army.

"Pick up the pace!" shouted Sergeant Ivan at the rank-and-file soldiers: "You can rest once we get to the outpost!"

It was only at dusk that the outpost finally came into view.

Outpost was a term used rather loosely here; it was just some wooden fences arranged in a circle on a flat ground, with a few huts thrown up within.

To keep the cattle and horses from running away and provide a place for the levy team to stay overnight.

Sergeant Ivan walked into the outpost and saw four rank-and-file soldiers gathered around a table, enjoying dinner and chatting away.

They seemed to be having a great time, bursting into laughter now and then.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" the look on Sergeant Ivan's face turned sour.

A young Centurion stood up to greet him.

Seeing a bottle of alcohol on the table, Sergeant Ivan became even more irate: "You idiots, you've been drinking?"

"Oh," the Centurion scratched his head: "I'll put it away now."

"Where are the original people of this outpost?" Sergeant Ivan's brow knotted into a scowl.

"Gone."

The direct consequence of forcible soldier conscription was a large number of deserters.

The New Reclamation Legion was currently maintaining discipline strictly through collective punishment, which led to entire groups of ten deserting together at the first sign of trouble.

Sergeant Ivan was accustomed to this kind of thing.

"Keep a sharp eye out tonight," he warned the Centurion coldly: "If I find my men have run off by tomorrow morning, you'll be held responsible as well!"

The Centurion nodded gravely.

"Get some water for us!" Sergeant Ivan sprawled next to the table nonchalantly: "Leave the bottle."

There was no need to wait until the next morning, as the grain requisition team was ambushed by Winters that very night.

Sergeant Ivan had his head covered with a sack and received a good beating before being securely tied up.

When the sack was taken off again, Ivan found himself surrounded by three masked people.

These three masked individuals were Winters, Pierre, and Vashka. Due to the accent issue, Pierre was the one who interacted with Sergeant Ivan in the outpost.

"You sons of bitches have some nerve!" Sergeant Ivan cursed loudly: "Do you know who you're robbing? The gendarmerie will catch you one by one, break your bones inch by inch..."

Pierre stepped forward and slapped him hard twice: "Will you shut the fuck up with your nonsense?"

"Hey!" Winters patted the sergeant's cheek: "Look at me, who's in charge in Revodan now? Speak!"

The sergeant had been so dazed by the slaps that his consciousness blurred. He vaguely heard the young Centurion complaining: "Kid, why don't you know your own strength?"

Suddenly, a bucket of water was splashed over him.

"Who's in charge in Revodan? Speak! Talk or I'll kill you."

"M-Major Ronald..."

"What's he doing with so much food?"

"Don't know..."

"Is he Red Rose or Blue Rose?"

"Neither..."

"Neither?" Winters's eyes narrowed: "Who's above Major Ronald."

"Don't know..."

Winters lifted his chin, and Pierre slapped him again: "You fucking don't know?"

"I..." Sergeant Ivan felt something hard in his mouth; his teeth had been knocked out: "...I really don't know..."

"How many soldiers does Revodan have now?"

Sergeant Ivan's eyes rolled back, and he passed out.

"What should we do now?" Pierre was completely flabbergasted.

Winters was furious: "Who told you to use your fists?"

"Then what? Wake him up?"

"Forget it, he's no different from an ordinary soldier, can't see anything. Take him away."

...

Afterward, the still-confused soldiers of the escort team were gathered by the masked men, their weapons already seized, and their hands bound behind their backs.

"Head north along the road!" the leading masked man ordered coldly: "Whoever dares to look back will be slaughtered!"

The soldiers of the escort team were stunned at first but then suddenly scurried northward along the dirt road.

"We should hurry as well." Winters pulled off his mask: "Don't wait for the military police to catch up."

Anglu inappropriately asked: "Does Revodan have any cavalry?"

"Fuck off."

Twenty carts and the weapons of over fifty men fell into Winters's hands.

While harnessing the carts, Vashka excitedly said: "This is really a big deal! Much more fucking satisfying than robbing travelers or farmsteads!"

"Aren't we still just bandits?" Samujin was a bit upset.

"Why care so much?" Vashka touched the healed wound on the back of his head: "The sky falls, and the Centurion holds it up; just follow along."

Ever since deserting in the midst of battle and receiving a slash on the back of his head from Centurion Montaigne, Vashka had always been a bit afraid of Winters.

Meanwhile, Winters was lamenting: "Aren't we still just bandits?"

"What did you say?" Pierre hadn't heard clearly.

"I said." Winters enunciated each word: "After this haul, we can finally get the team in proper order."

Pierre said happily: "Just right! We're just bandits now! It's time to get organized. But why not recruit them? Isn't this fifty men ready for the taking?"

"Are those soldiers?" Winters began to educate Pierre: "That's fifty mouths to feed!"

From the road to the north came a succession of footsteps; Winters and Pierre exchanged a glance—someone was coming to the station!

The veterans quickly drew their weapons and leaped onto their horses.

Soon, they brought back three Revodan soldiers with their hands tied behind their backs.

"What are you guys doing back here?" Winters pulled his mask back up: "Looking to die?"

"Lord Montaigne!" One of the soldiers actually called out Winters's surname: "Take us with you!"

He explained rapidly: "I recognized your soldiers first thing this morning! When they entered the station, I knew it was them! That's why I didn't expose them. I'm not one of your men, but I've seen you. I've fought alongside you; I'm also from the wastelands! Take us with you! We don't want to serve Revodan anymore!"

"There we go." Pierre sighed: "Three more mouths to feed."

"You're wrong." Winters patted Pierre's shoulder: "We've gained three more warriors."