Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Winters's motion halted, and he released the rosacea-nosed bandit, tossing the military saber back to Vashka.

"Thank you! Thank you, my lord!" The rosacea-nosed bandit did not care about the filth on the ground, desperately trying to kiss Winters's boots, "I will do anything for you! I'll be your ox, your horse! I..."

Winters kicked fiercely, his iron-plated boot tip shattering the bandit's jaw.

…

The threshing floor of Saint Giles Valley Village had become an impromptu execution ground.

All the villagers were present.

Men and women alike, each face etched with sadness.

The parents who had lost their daughter wept and cursed, yearning for justice.

During extraordinary times, procedures were simplified.

After the accusations and trials, came the execution.

The rosacea-nosed bandit was tied to a millstone.

Winters lifted a wagon wheel high and slammed it down on the bandit's left arm.

Along with the sound of breaking bones, the bandit's left arm bent at an unnatural angle.

Then the right arm, the right leg, and the left leg.

The bandit was still alive when Xial and Pierre untied him from the millstone and fixed him to the wagon wheel.

An innocent girl had once died upon that wheel, and now one of her killers was bound to the same wheel.

The rosacea-nosed bandit would be displayed like this, until death.

In death, he would continue to be displayed, until vultures and crows had pecked away his rotting flesh, until only his bones remained.

This was breaking on the wheel, one of the most severe and harsh forms of punishment.

According to the law of the Newly Reclaimed Land, those who banded together to obstruct roads and commit robbery faced the wheel for the ringleaders, hanging for the accomplices.

After the breaking came the hanging.

Six habitual criminals were hoisted up and hanged.

Thirty-three coerced accomplices were flogged.

The executing militiamen did not hold back, and after twenty lashes, some of the accomplices were whipped to death.

The surviving culprits would face hard labor.

The public trial and execution came to a swift conclusion.

When the Wolfton militia left, the village chief of Saint Giles Valley clutched Winters's hand tightly, tears streaming down his face, "Thank you... thank you..."

The villagers had originally agreed to provide two carts of wheat, but they packed an additional two carts of oats and rye, heaping them high, hoping the militia would take more away.

"I..." Winters began but hesitated. Emotionally, he couldn't accept the food, but he needed it.

He grasped the old village chief's hand and said, "The Garrison Officer of Blackwater Town, Chelini, is a good friend of mine. If something like this happens again, just come to me. You don't need to offer food."

…

Winters set off on the return journey with a heavy heart.

After reuniting with old comrades like Pierre, everything had been going well for him.

Life was hard, and he was forever getting into endless arguments with the ragtag bunch, but Winters was happy.

Happy in spirit.

Returning to the military was like a fish returning to water, and he naturally stopped repressing his emotions, laughing when he wanted to laugh, becoming angry when he felt like it.

While chopping wood at the Mitchell estate, he had more than once pondered, "On that distant hillside, is it possible that Hurd cavalry might charge out at any second?"

But once he made up his mind to stay, to rebuild the Wolf Town militia, such thoughts never came again.

Winters was not only very happy, he even felt a touch of pride and complacency. He was satisfied with everything he had achieved.

He was the Garrison Officer of Wolf Town, he had fulfilled the responsibilities of a Garrison Officer, he was slowly rebuilding Wolf Town, and he had preserved peace in Wolf Town—even if just temporarily.

"Why am I staying here?" he asked himself more than once.

There was only one answer, "My sense of injustice will not rest; I want to protect something, I want to change something."

But to what extent and how widespread the changes should be, Winters couldn't figure out.

Could it be to change Paratu? One man against a nation?

"That's too presumptuous". Winters thought to himself. As a rational Spellcaster, he set his goals small and practical, "Maybe just change Wolf Town?"

But his experiences in Saint Giles Valley had brutally shown Winters, "It's not enough."

Monk Reed had said, "One who does not plan for the eternal is not capable of planning for the moment; one who does not plan for the whole is not capable of planning for a part."

Wolf Town is not enough.

Winters realized he needed to cast his sights further into the future.

He was thinking.