Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

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If it weren't for the sixteen old soldiers leading the way, the convoy would have fallen apart on its own while on the move.

The villages, small towns, and even the bandit gangs in the forests all covertly spied on this troop.

Is it a conscription team?

Unlikely.

For months, they had only seen conscription teams hauling grain to Revodan, it was the first time witnessing a convoy carrying grain on the way back.

"Lift your heads! Puff out your chests!" Winters, on horseback, inspected them from front to back, "You are soldiers, not bandits! Walk with pride!"

Under Winters' harsh commands, the tense cheeks of the "new soldiers" gradually relaxed.

They thought: That's right? I'm already a member of the militia, why should I be scared?

"Vashka!" Winters called out from a distance.

"Present!" Vashka hurriedly rode his horse over.

"Sing a song for everyone!"

Vashka's face turned bitter, "Centurion, I only know the songs of the Dusans..."

Most military songs had tunes but no words.

In contrast, there were only a few tunes for folk songs, but the lyrics were incredibly diverse.

Winters glared at him, "Sing when you're told to sing! What are you dithering for?"

Vashka shivered with fright.

He coughed a few times, turned red in the face, and began bellowing:

"Big brother, as you leave the village gate!

Little sister finds it hard to make you stay!

Hand in hand with brother's palm!

Escort brother to the house's front..."

"Stop, stop, stop!" Winters chuckled bemused, flinging his whip towards Vasya, "What the hell are you singing?"

The militia also laughed good-naturedly.

Covering his head, Vashka felt extremely wronged, "But this is our Dusan song! When Dusacks leave home for service, the women go to the village gate to see them off..."

"Fine! Then keep singing!"

Vashka continued to bellow:

"Gripping tightly the sleeve of my brother!

Streams of tears flow into my gut!

I only hate that I cannot join you!

I just hope you return home soon..."

Vashka's singing was dreadful, off-key three out of four lines.

But as he sang, the militia's eyes became moist, for everyone was someone who had left home.

The homeless farmers from the Newly Reclaimed Land and the Dusacks, paying blood tax for a century, suddenly found common ground.

"Don't just listen!" Winters stood up and ordered everyone, "All join in and sing! Learn to sing!"

...

...

"Big brother rides away on horse!

Little sister feels bitter at her core!

How long will this departure last?

May you too return with a head of white at last..."

Accompanied by wailing song that echoed like ghosts and wolves, Winters' troops entered Wolf Town.

Immediately thereafter, with a sweeping gesture, Winters ordered that all the grain be returned to the people of Wolf Town.

Villagers from around gathered in the town square, even the farmers of Wolf Town, whose grain had not been conscripted, came to see what the fuss was about.

Every face beamed with smiles, those receiving grain as well as those distributing it.

Identifying which grain belonged to whom was fairly simple, as the grain was contained in handcrafted straw baskets and a few burlap sacks.

The baskets and sacks were handcrafted, so each household's weaving habits varied. To prevent mistakes in everyday life, many farmers even left unique markings.

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Thus, the restitution work was carried out smoothly.

Winters even played the role of a temporary judge: when two farmers both claimed a basket of wheat was theirs, he told them to go home and retrieve their own woven reed baskets. Once compared, the truth came to light.

Ever since the central town was burned down, Wolf Town hadn't seen such a crowd as it had today.

Sitting on the hillside outside the town, Winters looked down at the bustling scene of Wolf Town, feeling completely satisfied.

"Alas," Pierre, sitting next to Winters, still felt a bit of regret, "I think it really would have been better not to return it, just aid those who lack grain. It would also have made them remember your kindness."

Winters laughed and retorted, "Do you think the people of Wolf Town are fools? Wouldn't they understand what's going on? There's no need for such despicable tricks! Rest assured, I will secure supplies for everyone."

"Alas, it's not the supplies I am worried about," Pierre said with distress, "I am worried that they will resent you in the future. You've helped them once, what about the second time? The third time?"

"It's okay," Winters leaned back against the hillside and patted Pierre on the back, "It's all right."

...

After returning all the food to the people of Wolf Town, the second thing Winters did was to gather the remains in the cemetery.

The cemetery, located beside the church and surrounded by bushes, used to be a solemn and tranquil place for people to remember the deceased.

Now it lay in ruins.

The better the tombstone, the more severely the grave had been desecrated.

The desecrated graves stood out like wounds on the earth, cruelly exposed to the open air.

Bones were scattered everywhere, many of them no longer identifiable.

For those dead who still had living relatives, their bones had already been collected.

The bones now laying scattered across the cemetery belonged to those who had no further ties to the living world.

Winters led everyone in reburying the distinguishable remains in their own graves, while the unidentifiable ones were placed together in a newly dug mass grave.

Many people from Wolf Town also volunteered to help.

With everyone's effort, the gaping graves were filled in one by one. Like healing wounds, only shallow scars were left behind.

After the distribution of food and the collection of remains, Winters gathered his troops on the ruins of Wolf Town.

"Here," Winters stamped on the scorched earth and casually drew a circle with his cane, "right here, we will establish our camp. The camp is our home, our rear base. From now on, we are no longer bandits or outlaws."

The people listened in silence.

"I know that you stay with me not because you wish to be soldiers, but because you have nowhere else to go," Winters said with a smile, leaning on his cane, "so, I thought we needed a ceremony to make everyone understand: you are no longer farmers. Come on! Bring the things here!"

Anglu came over with a sack that clinked with the sound of Gold Coins!

Winters took the sack of money, walked in front of the people, and personally distributed a Ducat to each person.

He said slowly and clearly to the soldiers, "This thing is called pay. Soldiers earn their pay, and once you've received your pay, from this moment forward, you are soldiers, and we are mutually obligated to each other. You may not understand yet why you fight, but you will understand in time."

"Alright," Winters gently tapped his cane, "take your oath!"

There were no clergy, no sacred emblems, nor any other additional ceremonies.

One by one, the soldiers stepped forward and swore their loyalty to Winters.

Taking an oath to an individual is somewhat peculiar within the Republic, and Winters wanted more than this, but at the moment, this army was indeed held together by personal charisma.

Though it was still small, from that moment on, it was worthy of being called an army.

After the oath-taking ceremony, this army of fewer than forty people obediently accepted reorganization.

Like an artist standing before a blank canvas, Winters finally had the opportunity to establish an army according to his own ideals, unconstrained and unrestricted.

There were only eight men in a squad, too few to handle duties like night watches and patrols conveniently, so Winters increased the number to twelve.

Twelve men living in one tent would be too cramped, so Winters divided them into two tents.

Six men in a tent, two tents sharing one pot, they made up one squad.

A squad of soldiers had a Centurion and a deputy Centurion.

Due to phalanx tactics, the smallest tactical unit in the current military system of the Alliance was a company.

However, since companies might also carry out missions independently, an eighty-man company seemed too small for Winters, which he found inconvenient.

At the same time, the experience of commanding two companies gave him some insight.

He planned to expand the company size to 120 men, keep the size of the battalion unchanged, and add a middle command level between the company and the battalion, perhaps called a cohort.

The battalion's internal structure would be 1:2:4. With three officers for two companies, there would always be someone to take over if one fell in battle.

However, these were just Winters' draft plans, and he had no idea what issues he might face during implementation.

Currently, he had only thirty-eight soldiers, three squads plus two messenger boys, not even enough for one company.

And the most pressing issue at the moment was: where was he going to find food for everyone?