Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Please sit down and let's talk," Eileen invited gently, "the soup will get cold soon."

The four of them took their seats at the dining table.

Mr. Michel wasn't home, and Mr. Mitchell was on duty in the barracks, so the head of the table remained empty.

The four sat facing each other, Scarlett sitting next to Winters, and Father Caman and Mrs. Mitchell sat on one side.

"About Father Anthony's matter," Winters offered his condolences to Caman, "I'm very sorry."

Caman made a calm sign of the cross and spoke the customary words of the clergy: "Brother Anthony is not in pain, he is with the Lord now, and has eternal life. As for the gold and silver vessels, they are unimportant."

At this, Winters didn't know what else to say.

He had a vague feeling: the extent of Caman's grief over the church in Wolf Town becoming ruins didn't seem to match his own.

"By the way, Mr. Montaigne," Eileen said with her light blue eyes meeting Winters across the table, "Father Caman and I have discussed something, and we hope you can lend a hand."

"Just tell me," Winters answered solemnly.

"Could you send some people to help rebuild the church in Wolf Town?" Eileen added kindly, "Of course, we don't expect you to do it for nothing. Father Caman and I have thought of a plan that would benefit both parties."

Winters's face turned slightly red, and he coughed lightly to cover his embarrassment, hurrying to explain, "No need... You don't have to talk to me about a reward... "

Winters had cleaned up the cemetery, repaired the roads, rebuilt the smithy, the town hall, and the peacekeeper's station.

But he hadn't dealt with the church in Wolf Town, which still lay in ruins.

He needed to build barracks for the militia and shacks for the refugees; how could he find time to rebuild a church?

Not only had Winters not taken care of the church, but he had also seriously considered dismantling the remaining stone walls of the church to construct other buildings—stone was a valuable material, after all; how could it be wasted?

But considering the significance of the building in the hearts of the people of Wolf Town, Winters had very sensibly refrained from tearing down the church's foundation.

However, since Mrs. Mitchell and Father Caman had made a request, Winters naturally agreed on the spot.

He didn't lack manpower or building materials; rebuilding the church wouldn't be a difficult task.

Mrs. Mitchell and Caman only asked for this one thing; afterwards, it was the usual time for dinner.

The group chatted comfortably, with Mrs. Mitchell skillfully keeping the conversation flowing.

Father Caman seemed somewhat disinterested, focusing on his food.

As the excitement of their reunion faded, Winters looked at Caman and suddenly realized he was sitting in front of a user of Divine Arts.

And it was a "friendly" user of Divine Arts at that.

At least Caman hadn't silenced him by killing him, and he didn't seem like he planned to try in the future.

Winters almost shuddered with excitement, and under the table, his legs trembled.

The way he stared at Caman even made Scarlett's expression turn odd.

But Winters's reason held, and he carefully refrained from speaking rashly, quietly continuing with dinner.

"I need to figure out a way, at least to draft an experimental plan first," Winters stirred his bowl of soup unconsciously with his spoon, "Definitely not now."

He decided then and there that he would draw up plans that very night! Construction on the church would start tomorrow! He would ensure the church was built beautifully for Caman!

Winters's thoughts drifted away: "There were a few pages of speculation about Divine Arts in the general's notebook, what were they about? Why can't I remember?! Is Divine Arts within the general's system or outside of it? I need to design experiments to verify! Ah, but I need equipment for that! Where can I get equipment? Make it myself? What can I possibly make with the conditions in Wolf Town? I... "

Scarlett gently nudged Winters's leg.

Winters came out of his reverie, only to realize that he had stirred the soup onto the table.

He had stained a large part of Mrs. Mitchell's crochet tablecloth.

Scarlett quietly handed him a napkin.

"Sorry, I was lost in thought," Winters said with a wry smile as he wiped his hands and then the tablecloth.

"It's okay, leave it be," Eileen said without any reproachful intention, "I'll take care of it later. But if you don't start appreciating the white soup I made, I might just get upset."

...

The dinner finally ended in a relaxed and pleasant atmosphere.

Winters, leaning on the wall, paced to the living room—what the maids in the Mitchells' household used to call "the gentlemen's room."

The Mitchell's recliner was still in the living room, scrubbed clean.

In the past, after dinner, Winters and Gerard would come here.

Gerard would open the windows, settle comfortably in the chair, and carefully fill his pipe.

He would take a deep drag first, then contentedly puff out wisps of smoke.

Winters didn't smoke, but he enjoyed the feeling of lying down idle after a full meal.

Sometimes other guests came: Gerard's old buddies, the two priests from the church, other estate owners...

After Pierre's name was entered into the guestbook, Gerard even began to allow his son to join in the "gentlemen's time."

But now, the room was empty, save for a few recliners and Winters.

Winters sighed, opened the window, and slowly lay down on the chair.

He was so full that he even felt a twinge of guilt.

Because his men were still subsisting on coarse black bread—and not even enough of it—while he had enjoyed a sumptuous meal at the Mitchell's.

Ever since he had recovered his old unit, he had always eaten with the troops.

Whatever the militia ate, he ate the same.

Talking about sharing in hardships was easy to do but hard to practice.