Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 219 Blood Wolf

July 1st, an ordinary yet extraordinary day.

A strange officer arrived at the workshop of Albert, the goldsmith in Kingsburg.

The unfamiliar officer seemed to have a problem with his left leg, and he was walking with the aid of a horse-head cane.

Another military policeman with a grim expression accompanied them, holding a sword.

Upon seeing the military uniform worn by the newcomer, goldsmith Albert's heart skipped a beat.

In this day and age, the world is vast, and those with knives are the most powerful. Soldiers are now the undisputed rulers of the royal fortresses.

The rebel siege was lifted only two weeks ago, and the remains outside the city have not yet been fully recovered.

The citizens of Zhuwangbao still feel lingering fear when they recall this siege.

As soon as the city was locked down, the price of flour skyrocketed. Often, the price was one thing when weighing it, and another when paying.

Even if they could buy flour, they couldn't buy firewood. The trees in the city were quickly cut down, and many families had to dismantle their furniture for firewood.

Rumors were spreading like wildfire through the streets: rebel leader Alpad had ordered that "on the day the city falls, the rebels may plunder at will."

Thankfully, in the end General Sackler won.

On the day the rebels retreated, the citizens of Kingsburg took to the streets to cheer: "Long live General Sackler!"

However, the troops pursuing the rebels suffered a major defeat in Jiangbei Province shortly afterward.

The war is not over, and it is unknown when it will end.

But life goes on.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Albert greeted the officer solicitously, thinking to himself, "Oh no, is he trying to extort me?"

Albert wasn't really familiar with the subtle differences in military uniforms, but based on the fabric, style, and the man's demeanor, he was certain that this was an officer.

"I am Lieutenant Moritz of the Military Police." The unfamiliar officer was young, but his voice drew people in.

He looked coldly at Albert and went straight to the point: "The military police have received a reliable tip that you are helping thieves dispose of stolen goods."

"No! No! No! Absolutely not!" Albert pounded his chest and stamped his feet, shouting his innocence. He thought to himself, "It's over, they really are here to blackmail me!"

Albert was so afraid because he was actually selling stolen goods for the thieves.

Thieves and robbers who acquire gold and silver ornaments usually have them melted down by goldsmiths to be made into new coins.

Once melted and cast, it could no longer be traced by anyone.

Some simply exchange stolen goods for ready-made money or jewelry.

The exchange rate is a bit low, but it's convenient.

Albert often does this kind of business; he never asks where the goods come from, as long as they are cheap.

The unfamiliar military officer gave a half-smile: "No?"

"No! Absolutely not! How could I dare?" Albert shook his head frantically, the other person's gaze was like a razor, Albert felt as if he was being peeled away layer by layer.

He tentatively asked, "Or... could you suggest a solution that's 'not possible'?"

“Last September, a robber came to you. Dark-skinned, thin, with a coastal accent, and a mouthful of gold teeth.” The unfamiliar officer leaned back in his chair, leisurely toying with a small knife. “You helped him dispose of the stolen goods, didn’t you?”

The knife was only the size of a palm, and its workmanship was very simple. The handle was made by wrapping leather cord around the blade, but the blade was gleaming.

Every time the knife tapped on the table, Albert's knee would involuntarily tremble.

Upon hearing the unfamiliar officer mention the features of being dark-skinned, thin, and having gold teeth, he immediately recalled who the officer was referring to.

He secretly rejoiced and replied happily, "Sir, I remember who you were talking about. I really didn't help him dispose of the stolen goods; I reported him! That man is still in jail!"

Last September, a gold-toothed robber with an out-of-province accent came to Albert with a promissory note and asked to exchange it for a thousand Ducats.

A promissory note represents gold deposited in advance by a client; theoretically, the goldsmith is merely holding it in custody. Gold is redeemed upon presentation of the note; the note is the sole criterion, not the person holding the money.

However, all goldsmiths would misappropriate customers' deposits, either for investment or lending, to make money from money.

Albert was no exception.

Business can be profitable or not, and loans can sometimes go unrecovered. Early last year, Albert unfortunately lost everything in a high-stakes gamble.

When the gold-toothed robber found him, he only had a little over a thousand Ducats left in his vault.

If you give it to that robber, he will go bankrupt on the spot.

As for why Albert was able to determine that the other party was a robber?
The answer is simple: Albert has seen plenty of robbers. He can smell the stench of a robber the moment the other person opens their mouth.

Judging from the robber's accent, which indicated he was from another province, and seeing that he was alone, Albert had a bold idea without realizing it—to double-cross him.

The rest is quite simple—Albert has a cousin who works as a servant under the sheriff.

The gold-toothed robber was arrested and thrown into prison.

At first, Albert was terrified. So he begged his cousin to spare the robber's life, so that if the robber's accomplices came looking for him, he would have some leverage.

As time went by, he forgot about it until today when the unfamiliar officer brought it up again.

"How did this get leaked?" Albert cursed inwardly. "Which bastard got jealous and reported me? Ugray? Or Kovacic?"

The unfamiliar officer didn't respond, but instead seized on the loophole in Albert's words: "That person didn't have it, but others did, is that right? Search them and prove your innocence."

Albert then made another round of oaths and vows.

The incident ultimately ended with Albert paying a fine to avoid further trouble; he needed to "donate" a sum of money to the Gendarmerie in Kingsburg.

Finally, Albert discreetly passed a small packet of gold coins to the unfamiliar officer.

The unfamiliar officer's actions startled him. He shook the leather bag, heard a crisp sound from inside, squinted, and asked, "Bribing a military policeman? Should I write you a receipt?"

Albert was startled and at a loss for what to do, he thought sadly, "This is outright robbery."

He had just given the other party his biggest weakness, but fortunately, the other party didn't make things difficult for him anymore.

"Alright, that's settled then." The unfamiliar officer scoffed, pocketing the gold coins, and casually asked, "Where's that gold-toothed bandit locked up?"

……

Beneath the western city wall, in a secluded corner, the Zhuwangbao City Guard Prison stands silently.

It's called a prison, but it's really just a few dilapidated bungalows.

As is customary, serious criminals such as murderers are taken to military police prisons, which have stone cells and iron bars.

The city guard's prison is full of thieves, debtors, and tax evaders.

Shortly after the turmoil at the goldsmith Albert's workshop, an uninvited guest arrived at the city guard prison.

An officer, accompanied by a military policeman, entered the prison with a warrant from Lieutenant Colonel Robert, the deputy director of the "Inspectorate of Public Security Affairs," to remove a prisoner.

Even the jailer didn't know what the "Public Security Affairs Management and Supervision Department" was; he couldn't even pronounce the phrase correctly.

However, the seal was properly affixed to the warrant, and the jailer still recognized Plato's eagle emblem—although he didn't recognize the small print below the eagle.

"Sir," the jailer led the officer into the cell block and explained cautiously, "During the recent war, the prisoners were conscripted for hard labor. I don't know if the person you're referring to is still alive."

The officer gave a lukewarm "hmm".

"During the war, many prisoners were killed or wounded. It's really not my fault, I was partly responsible too..."

"Enough with the nonsense." The officer frowned, his voice as cold as eternal snow: "Lead the way."

"Okay, okay." The jailer nodded and bowed as he walked ahead.

The prison was poorly lit, and there must have been many people inside, because there was an unbearable stench in the air.

However, many of the cells are now empty, indicating that the missing prisoners died during the previous siege.

Deep inside the prison, the officer found the prisoner who had been imprisoned for "theft".

The already dark-skinned and thin "Captain" with gold teeth became even thinner, his skin clinging to his bones like oilcloth. His gold teeth were gone—all pulled out by the jailer, leaving him a gap-toothed captain once more.

"That's him." The officer nodded.

The jailer hurriedly led his men to unlock the shackles, and the military police who had followed the officer entered the cell and lifted the prisoner up.

"Yes, it's you... cough! cough cough!" The prisoner struggled to lift his head and look at the newcomer in the dim light. Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly coughed violently.

"Take him away." The officer, leaning on his cane, walked out of the cell without looking back.

The emaciated prisoner murmured in a barely audible voice, "I...I knew...you would come..."

The jailer spoke kindly and escorted the officer out of the prison, even lending him a prison van.

……

Night falls in Albert's workshop—which is also his home.

A revenge is underway.

"No! No! Don't kill me! I'll give you all the money, everything..." Albert scrambled towards the vault, yelling, "Help!"

The two guards he hired were taken down by the intruders before they could even draw their weapons.

The vault—you're safe as long as you hide inside!

Before Albert could run a few steps, accompanied by a faint whooshing sound, his knee suddenly ached, and his body fell uncontrollably to the ground.

Immediately afterwards, someone grabbed his hair from behind and yanked him up violently.

The man who grabbed Albert punched him in the Adam's apple.

Albert curled up into a ball, clutching his throat and gagging, unable to utter another word.

"Tap, tap, tap." That's the sound of a cane tapping the ground.

“It’s you!” Albert instantly recognized the voice and the horse-headed cane. He managed a broken, strained sound: “It’s you…”

Another gaunt figure emerged from behind the officer with the cane. He walked shakily to Albert and struggled to squat down.

The gaunt figure ripped off his mask, revealing gaping, dark teeth, and brought his face close to Albert's, laughing heartily as he asked, "Hello... do you remember me?"

The light was dim, and Albert couldn't see the other person's face or recognize who it was. He shook his head frantically and tried to back away.

“My name is Gold, good luck… Gold.” Gold coughed violently, saying each word slowly and deliberately, “You don’t remember me… that’s alright, I’ve never… forgotten you…”

After saying this, Gold slowly plunged a dagger into the goldsmith's heart.

His movements were slow, partly because he was exhausted, and partly because he was enjoying the process.

The goldsmith twitched a few times and then stopped moving.

After doing all this, Gold felt as if his soul had been ripped out.

He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, two tears streaming from his dry eyes. He looked at Winters: "Thank you, sir..."

Winters shook his head and helped Gold to his feet. The latter was still very weak, having come for revenge with great difficulty.

“There’s another woman and a few children upstairs.” Charles walked back and said in a low voice, “They’re under control.”

Winters looked at Gold.

“Enough.” Gold suddenly laughed a few times. “I’m not dead, his life is enough.”

Charles then produced another piece of printed parchment: "Miss Navarre's promissory note, found in this fellow's counter."

Gold took the promissory note and said resolutely, "I want to cash this promissory note."

“Okay.” Winters nodded.

So he used the key he found on the goldsmith to open the vault. Gold counted the Ducat coins one by one, not taking a single extra silver coin.

Pointing out a full thousand ducats, Gold placed the promissory note on the goldsmith's corpse and pressed it down with fifty gold coins—the due safekeeping fee.

Then he spat at the goldsmith's corpse.

“Let’s go.” Winters helped Gold away.

"If I were still in this dangerous profession, I would have no complaints about being beaten and killed." The former pirate captain lamented, filled with sorrow and grief: "Why...why..."

Winters couldn't answer; he helped Gold out of the house.

Because of noise issues, the workshops are all detached houses, far away from other residences.

Winters and the Shire acted quickly, and no one noticed the feud in the goldsmith's workshop yet, nor had the night watchmen arrived.

Winters helped Gold onto his horse and whispered to him, "Alpard blew up the southwest corner of the city wall. The Charles will take you out of the city from there."

“And what about you, sir?” Gold realized Winters wouldn’t be coming with him.

“Me?” Winters seemed to be laughing in the darkness. “I have things to do.”

Gold gripped Winters' hand tightly and shook his head frantically.

“If I haven’t come looking for you by dawn, don’t wait for me. Take Gold back to Hailan,” Winters said to Charles.

Charles wiped away his tears, nodded heavily, and rode away with Gold.

Winters watched the two figures disappear into the night.

He put his cane into the saddlebag, hung his saber at his waist, and took out the 164 wooden awls from the saddlebag.

Then he mounted his horse and headed north of the city.

He walked alone on the streets of Zhuwangbao late at night.

The further north you go in the city, the more frequently you'll encounter night patrols.

A curfew was imposed in Zhuwangbao, and citizens were not allowed to go out on the streets at night, except for military personnel.

Winters, dressed in an officer's uniform, passed through without hindrance. The night patrol simply saluted him without questioning or stopping him.

He walked until he reached the gate of a beautiful two-story stone building.

This two-story stone building was the office of the Paratul Army Military Council, which was the former army headquarters.

Winters leisurely tied up his horse outside the gate.

The guards looked at the officer with curiosity, wondering why he didn't send the warhorse to the stables in the yard.

After securing his warhorse, Winters picked up his saber and, dragging his injured leg, headed straight for the main gate.

His leg injury hadn't fully healed, and he walked with a slight limp, but he walked with great determination.

"Sir, please show me your identification." A guard stepped forward and asked the unfamiliar officer, who was wearing an old uniform.

Winters raised his hand.

With a series of explosions, blood gushed from the guard's helmet, and the guard collapsed limply to the ground.

The other three guards were stunned; they had no idea what the other had done or what he was going to do.

With a simple gesture, the person in front of them died instantly.

Winters continued toward the stone building, looking at the remaining three guards: "Don't be stupid."

First a spark, then a few inches of flame, and the fire rose in the cold furnace, burning with intense anger in his chest.

He had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

A guard, regaining his senses from the shock, reached out to ring the bell. Before his hand even touched the bell rope, he was killed with a single blow.

"Don't! Seek death!"

The remaining two guards were completely demoralized; not long ago they had been mere militiamen. They scrambled backward, stumbling and falling as they fled towards the gate.

However, the commotion at the gate alerted others, and disheveled guards poured out of the duty room, staring in astonishment at the scene before them.

"Enemy attack!" someone shouted as if waking from a dream.

The guards were thrown into chaos; some turned back into the house to get their weapons, while others came out carrying swords and knives.

Some people, relying on their superior numbers, wanted to take down the lone attacker directly.

"I only want Sackler!" Winters drew his sword and charged into the crowd: "Those who stand in my way shall die!!!"

In his office on the second floor of the old Army Headquarters, Brigadier General Sackler—no, now Major General Sackler and Commander of the Grand Corps—also noticed the unusual activity outside.

During the siege, Sackler lived and ate at the military camp. After the rebels were defeated, Sackler moved his family to the old army headquarters.

He lives here, in the heart of the army of the Second Republic of Palatine.

He heard a strange noise outside, so he opened the window.

A thunderous roar echoed from the darkness in all directions, like a raging beast devouring people:

"Sackler!"

"Do you think!"

“This matter!”

"Will it end like this?!"

"I only want Sackler! Anyone who stands in my way shall die!!!"

Major General Seckler paused for a moment, then shook his head and smiled wryly when he remembered whose voice it was: "The Venetians..."

Sackler got out of bed, lit the lamp, tidied his appearance, and meticulously put on his military uniform.

He gently stroked his military uniform, trying to smooth out every single wrinkle. But no matter how hard he tried, a few wrinkles stubbornly remained.

Sackler gave up trying and sat upright in his chair, quietly waiting for the other person to arrive.

The shouts of battle and the clash of weapons grew closer and closer, first from the main entrance on the first floor, then from the stairs, and then from the corridor.

Finally, Sackler's door was kicked open, and a blood-soaked Veneta man entered the room carrying a blunt-bladed saber.

His uniform was covered in blood, whether his or someone else's, it was unclear. Crimson liquid dripped from his saber, leaving a trail of blood that stretched from the outside of the house.

Winters spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and suddenly coughed violently.

“You’ve arrived.” Sackler gestured, “Please have a seat.”

Winters threw away his dull weapon and sat down in front of Sackler with a flourish.

By the dim candlelight, the two looked at each other.

“This is Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, not even twenty years old. A grenade landed next to me, and he used his body to shield it. I survived, he died…” Winters took out a wooden awl and placed it in front of Sackler.

He then produced a wooden awl: "This is Taumash, a man from Saint-Claude, whose skull was smashed by an iron hammer. He didn't die immediately; he struggled in agony for over ten minutes before finally succumbing."

Winters's backpack contained a total of 164 wooden awls, representing his 164 warriors.

They trusted him, followed him, and protected him. They fought bravely all the way, leaving their lives in nameless corners of the vast wilderness, and were eventually abandoned on the west bank of the River Styx.

“You don’t care about them.” Winters’ voice betrayed neither sadness nor anger; he seemed to be making a judgment from the perspective of an outsider: “You don’t care about them.”

Sackler sighed. "If I had to do it again, I would make the same decision, because..."

“No need to say more,” Winters interrupted Sackler, his words surprising: “I understand you.”

Sackler raised his eyebrows slightly.

"If I were you, would I make the same decision? I don't know," Winters calmly questioned himself. "Who knows?"

Sackler shook his head with a wry smile, a glimmer of light appearing in his eyes: "This country..."

The next second, his head was suddenly torn apart by an invisible force, and the red and white parts were flung onto the walls and ceiling of the room.

“I understand you.” Winters loosened his fist and said to the spot where Sackler’s head had once stood, “But I’m still angry.”

Sackler is dead. Whether he was a great man or a hypocrite, he is dead. Whatever his thoughts were, they have vanished with the wind.

Is that the end of it?
Winters felt a sense of unreality.

With the deepest hatred, he carved out 164 wooden awls, intending to use them to nail his enemy to death, but in the end he gave Sackler a quick death.

Is this the end?
From the moment he was abandoned on the west bank of the River Styx, from the moment he laughed and cried out "Fuck the motherfucker," from the moment he regained consciousness, he had been yearning for revenge.

This feeling took him away from Erlun, away from the Hed Wasteland, and all the way to the Castle of Kings.

What if he killed Sackler? He knew very well that the dead cannot be brought back to life, but he had no option to forgive.

"Let it end like this," he thought.

He didn't weep bitterly, nor did he feel the exhilaration of revenge; he only felt a little calm and endless exhaustion.

Winters suddenly felt lost: What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? Where else can I go?
Come back home!

I still have a home to go back to!
Someone at home is waiting for me!
Hope rekindled in his cold chest, and Winters stumbled toward the door.

He can go home; he wants to go home.

In the distance came the sounds of voices and the neighing of warhorses, indicating that someone had noticed the unusual activity at the old army headquarters and sent reinforcements.

But it doesn't matter, Winters Montagne wants to go home, and no one can stop him.

……

As darkness gradually receded, the sky slowly turned deep blue.

One kilometer southwest of the city of Zhuwangbao.

Charles stood on a large rock, gazing anxiously at the road leading out of the city.

As dawn broke, Charles could no longer bear the wait: "I'm going to find my brother."

“I’ll go with you,” Gold said weakly.

“You’re about to die, how can you go? You stay here.” Charles mounted the saddle. “If I don’t come back either, go to Wolf Town, recover from your injuries, and then return to Veneta.”

Gold also wanted to get on the horse: "I'm lucky, I'll go with you, it's okay."

"No need." Tears welled up in Charles' eyes. "My brother is back."

A rider, with his back to the rising sun, galloped toward Charles and Gold.

Charles shouted, jumping up and waving his hands vigorously.

Even Gold secretly wiped away a couple of tears.

It wasn't until Winters came close that Charles could see the bloodstains and external injuries on Winters' body.

"Brother, what happened to you?" Charles helped Winters down from his horse, his voice trembling with tears. "Why do you still have a gunshot wound?"

“There’s nothing we can do.” Winters smiled for the first time since the bloody battle on the banks of the River Styx. He said with a smile, “Who told you that deflection techniques don’t protect against the back? Stray bullets, just flesh wounds.”

"Sit still and don't move. I'll treat your wound." Charles sobbed as he pulled a sewing kit from his saddlebag.

"Let's go home."

"it is good."

“However,” Winters gasped in pain, “we need to go to Wolf Town first.”

[Revenge is the greatest happiness in the world—a proverb by Venetia, from Chapter 96 of Book Two, "The Final Act (Part Two)"]
[The people of Venetia are described as "fiery and violent, indifferent to life and death, and fiercely vengeful; besides the custom of carrying swords and masks, they also have a tradition of secret societies"—Volume 1, Chapter 28]
[A reader mentioned the section about Heard's Wasteland, where Winters became withdrawn. To be precise, it wasn't withdrawal. On one hand, he overreacted to the outside world; for example, he wouldn't have punched the old translator in the nose in the past. On the other hand, he was almost constantly thinking about revenge. When he was sharpening his awl, when he was desperately rehashing, the faces of the dead soldiers appeared before his eyes, and he truly couldn't smile.]
[Palatu's situation was like a scale, and before this, probably no one cared about the anger and hatred of a mere tool. But it was this very person who disrupted the balance and steered Platu's future in an unpredictable direction—a fact Winters was unaware of for the time being.]
[Regarding Winters' individual combat prowess—Palatu couldn't find a second spellcaster with stronger overall strength and more combat experience. Because spellcasters are promoted first, most quickly fall out of frontline positions, and their spell training slackens. Spellcasters like Winters, who have fought their way up on the battlefield, are rare indeed.]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
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(End of this chapter)