Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 288 Twins
The night was long and seemed to have no end.

White foam spewed from the mouth of the white-spotted, black warhorse with its ears tightly pulled back, its long neck stretched forward, and its heart seemed to be about to tear its ribs apart and leap out of its chest.

Winters struggled to keep his balance on horseback, breathing heavily, his boots sinking deep into the stirrups.

With each camp he breached, fewer men followed him; with each hill he crossed, a rider would stumble and fall straight off his saddle.

The sound of hooves grew fainter and fainter, while the thunderous roar ahead grew increasingly deafening.

Winters may have had a slight advantage in surprise when he broke into the first two campsites.

But the further they went, the better prepared the Teldenans became. They had already learned what had happened from the escapees. Even without anyone informing them, the sounds of clashing blades had long since reached their ears.

There were no more surprise attacks or catching the enemy off guard; only one head-on clash after another.

He spurred his horse up the hill, and hundreds of Teldun cavalrymen suddenly appeared before Winters.

Heinrich followed closely behind Winters to the top of the hill. Enemy cavalry spotted Winters' banner and charged down the opposite slope towards him.

The Teldun's encampment had no walls or moats, and holding out was tantamount to surrendering. Some Kotas immediately fled, but the leader of this cavalry force chose to engage in battle.

Winters reined in his horse and removed his helmet.

The helmet's lining, made of cotton and silk, looked as if it had just been pulled from the water. The warhorse was the same; sweat streamed down its sides, dripping onto the ground.

He looked around and counted his men; only twenty-eight riders remained, almost all of them wounded. Charles was not among them, nor was Tamas, nor many others.

There may be some people who have fallen behind, but they probably won't make it.

Among them were the short, stout and tall, thin representatives of Niu Ti Valley; they were the only remaining commoners among the twenty-eight riders.

“You stay,” Winters said to the short, stout representative and the tall, thin representative.

After saying that, he shook the sweat off the padding, fastened his helmet, and attached the hook.

The short, stout man looked over Winters' shoulder and saw the Teldun cavalry spreading out in formation, surging up the hillside like waves.

His parched lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something. But Winters had already drawn his saber, spurred his horse, and ridden down the hill.

The short, stout elected representative stared at Winters's retreating figure, then suddenly raised his saber high and slashed the horse's rump with the back of the blade before gritting his teeth and galloping down the hill.

The tall, thin elected representative ran along in a daze, not even knowing where he had lost his saber. Only when he was the only one left on the hill did he snap out of his daze and regain consciousness.

A sense of relief welled up in his heart, but it was followed by an immense sense of shame.

He stood there motionless for a long while, then suddenly shouted and spurred his horse down the hillside. Before he had even crossed a sandy rope, he abruptly reined in his horse, ultimately unable to take another step forward. This middle-aged man, who already had a son of his own, burst into tears.

The distance between the two sides closed rapidly, and Winters set his sights on the enemy running in the lead.

The man rode a tall, chestnut-colored horse, brandishing a curved sword with a gold-inlaid scabbard swaying at his waist.

Not all Teldonians carried swords; those with spears were always at the forefront. Winters used this method to identify the Teldonian leader.

The Teltonian also recognized Winters as a formidable opponent, and he spurred his horse to gallop towards Winters.

The Telden man lifted his buttocks off the saddle, leaned his upper body slightly, and raised his scimitar high.

Winters tucked his saber to his shoulder, also poised to strike.

The cavalrymen passed each other in the blink of an eye. But in that instant, the power of men and horses would come together—not only their own, but also that of the enemy.

Even a wrong angle of thrust can cause a saber to fly out of your hand and dislocate your wrist.

Winters's equestrian combat skills came not only from what he learned at military school, but also largely from his real-world combat experience and practice after leaving the ivory tower. He had already achieved a high level of proficiency in mounted thrusting techniques.

In the instant they passed each other, Winters and the Teltonian simultaneously swung their weapons.

Winters struck first, his saber landing precisely on the tip of his opponent's blade. With a single blow, the Telden man's hand and arm went numb.

Telden felt a chill run down his spine. He gripped his scimitar tightly, trying to turn his back to parry. At the same time, he desperately whipped the reins, attempting to create distance.

But it was too late. The two horses had missed each other by about half a horse's length, and Winters' scimitar drew an arc and circled back over his head.

He stood on the stirrups, leaned out and slashed fiercely at the other man's back, while simultaneously dragging the hilt of his sword backward with all his might.

The man's back was cleaved in a terrible way, and he slid heavily off the saddle like a lifeless sack of flour.

Winters ignored the man, and after a round of clashes, the two sides engaged in a chaotic battle on the hillside.

His armor was particularly conspicuous, and the second and third Telden men charged at him without any apparent reason.

Winters delivered a disintegration spell to his second enemy, causing blood to gush from the man's nose, ear canals, and eyes, before he collapsed limply to the ground.

The third enemy, unaware of what was happening, continued to spur his horse and thrust his spear at Winters.

Winters used all his strength to tighten the reins, barely dodging the thrust aimed straight for his heart.

Sparks flew as the spear tip grazed his left rib, leaving a slight dent in his breastplate.

Winters caught the spear shaft with his left arm and slashed diagonally at his opponent's bent neck, which was covered by a leather neck guard.

His saber was already blunt, so the potentially fatal slash was blocked by a neck guard made of hard leather. But the blunt force of the blow still made the man's vision go black.

When slashing didn't work, Winters plunged his dulled military knife into the man's chest. He felt no emotion as he did it.

The man instinctively gripped the blade with both hands, screaming as he fell from the saddle.

Winters released his grip and took the opponent's spear. Using magic to kill the enemy might be faster, but the night was far from over, and he needed to conserve his magic.

The Teldun cavalry had discovered the warrior's incredible bravery, and no one dared to approach him again.

Winters spotted a swaying red feather in the chaotic crowd. He gripped his spear, thrust it into his horse's ribs, and charged straight at the red feather.

The people of Teldun along the way avoided it like the plague and gave way to it.

The red-feathered warrior realized that there was no one left between him and the brave armored soldiers, and without hesitation, he spurred his horse and fled.

Upon witnessing this scene, the Tertons' resolve wavered, and they broke away from the melee, fleeing in all directions.

Winters spurred his horse on and continued the pursuit. Just then, his white-spotted, black-horned warhorse let out a mournful whinny.

The horse's forelegs could no longer support its body, and it collapsed to its knees with a thud, its chest slamming into the ground. Its body slid forward a short distance due to inertia, and the spot where it touched the ground instantly became bloody.

As if the earth had suddenly collapsed, Winters sank and was then thrown from the saddle.

The world spun around him, and he rolled several times before finally stopping. A warm current flowed down his forehead into his ears, and his skull was buzzing. His shoulders, arms, neck... everything hurt.

Winters struggled to his feet. The horse lay on the ground, mouth agape, hooves twitching slightly, looking at him with sorrowful eyes, as if to say, "This is as far as I can go."

Red Feather, who had already run some distance, was overjoyed to see Palatul's warrior fall from his horse. Red Feather shouted loudly and whistled, ordering his men to return.

Nearly half of the Telden cavalry, who had already fled, rallied and turned back. Winters, leaning on his lance, laboriously walked to his horse's side. He hadn't named the warhorse; his emotions were hidden beneath his helmet, and no one knew whether he was weeping, angry, sad, or numb.

The battlefield has no place for a person with emotions; emotions only make one appear weak. What the battlefield needs is a numb, ruthless killing machine encased in iron armor.

The Iron Peak cavalry around them realized that Winters was in danger, so they abandoned their enemies and rushed to his aid.

Upon witnessing this scene, the Teltonians became even more certain that the fallen warrior was a nobleman, and they began to whip their mounts relentlessly, charging towards Winters.

Arrows flew in with a whistling sound, some landing in the ground, others hitting armor and bouncing off.

Winters stopped looking at the horse, gripped the lance tightly, placed it on his knee, and with a sudden burst of strength, broke the lance in two.

Hong Lingyu was still wondering why the other party had inexplicably broken the spear when she saw something flash by.

The pain came later than the sight; Hong Lingyu felt a sharp, bone-crushing pain in his chest, as if a mace had been swung around and smashed into his chest.

Hong Lingyu also fell from her horse.

The surrounding Teldun people saw a different scene: the armored warrior broke his spear and hurled the upper half with incredible force, slamming their kota to the ground.

More hoofbeats were approaching from afar—Charles, Tamas, and others who had lagged behind were arriving at the battlefield one after another.

Nothing could stop the Teldenans' rout. They lay sprawled on their horses and fled the dead zone like startled birds.

The last thing Hong Lingyu saw before losing consciousness was the armored soldier walking towards him, leaning on the other half of his spear, speaking in a language he couldn't understand.

What Winters actually meant was, "Now it's just you and me."

After defeating the relatively strong Telden Centurions, Winters paused briefly to gather his straggling men.

Tamas brought Winters another chestnut warhorse.

"Leave the wounded behind." Winters stepped into the stirrups and saddle, his voice clear and cold: "Signal the other side so they can come and pick up the wounded and clean up the battlefield."

"Yes."

After a brief rest and changing horses, the cavalry charged at the enemy's location once again.

……

Iron Peak County, Ghevordan, Mitchell Villa.

In front of the house in Mitchell's villa, many iron pots were set up, bubbling and simmering something.

The house had almost become a tailor shop, where women were cutting strips of undyed and bleached linen and cotton fabric that had been collected.

Behind the house, many clotheslines were erected, with strips of boiled cloth fluttering in the wind like tassels on clothes.

Anna tied her hair up with a silk scarf like a married woman and combed everything inside and outside the villa—as well as three other "shops" of similar size.

"Oh no! Madame Montagne, we're almost out of firewood!" A little girl with soot all over her hair and cheeks ran up to Anna in a panic.

Perhaps dust got into her eyes; the little girl rubbed them as she spoke.

"Don't rush, tell me slowly." Anna pulled the little girl aside, took out a handkerchief to carefully wipe her face, and patiently asked, "How could there be none? Didn't Captain Mason send two truckloads last night?"

Mason did send two cartloads of firewood last night, but some of it was secretly taken home by the women working here.

Actually, each person only takes a small amount, just a handful. But if you take a little and I take a little, it won't be enough to burn today.

The little girl didn't dare to speak, but Anna, being perceptive, roughly figured out what was going on.

"They didn't dare come to me, so they sent you, right?" Anna asked gently.

The little girl nodded.

"This isn't your fault." Anna patted the little girl's head. "Go back. I'll handle it."

The little girl walked away obediently.

Gévordine has recently been implementing a system of separate camps for men and women, but progress has been very slow. With Winters absent, Mason is unable to control the gentry and merchants in the city.

Left with no other option, Mason had to settle for a limited separation of men and women among the families who came to seek refuge.

So many women and girls moved into places like Mrs. Mitchell's house and the Navarre sisters' house.

Just as Anna was thinking of Mason, Mason walked in from outside the courtyard.

“Mr. Mason,” Anna said, bowing slightly.

“Madame Montagne.” Mason removed his hat.

“Is there news about Mr. Montagne…” Anna asked, her eyes brightening slightly, but she was still a little shy about calling Winters by his name, so she changed her words to, “Is there news about Mr. Montagne?”

"Sorry, no." Mason shook his head apologetically.

There was such a thing, but Mason couldn't bear to say things like, "The outcome of Winters' crossing of the river is still uncertain." He preferred to wait for a definite result before speaking.

Anna's eyes dimmed slightly as she politely requested, "Please let me know as soon as possible if there is any news, whether it's good or bad."

"Of course, of course," Mason replied guiltily, then changed the subject, "Where are Mrs. Mitchell and little Catherine?"

Anna felt a little tired—there had been no news of him since he left, even though they lived so close, he hadn't sent a single letter back.

She managed a weak smile: "They're preparing for another fundraising event."

“You have really helped us a lot.” Mason praised sincerely, sparing no words of praise: “If the army had prepared it, I don’t know how long it would have taken, and the quality would have been inconsistent. I have never seen clean bandages like this, three in a pack.”

"Just doing what I can."

"Can I help you with anything?"

“Indeed, there are some.” Anna roused herself, returning to her role as Madame Montagne: “What’s holding this little ‘shop’ back now isn’t manpower, but raw materials and tools. We need more pots—four iron pots aren’t enough—and more firewood. Raw materials are also scarce; the donated cloth is limited and not a long-term solution…”

Mason took out his notebook, listened and took notes, nodding frequently.

“That’s all for now.” Anna held onto the hem of her skirt and slightly bent her knees. “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Mason.”

Mason nodded respectfully in return: "It's all I should do. The fabric might be a bit of a hassle. The pots and firewood are easy to arrange; I'll send you a few cartloads over first."

With nothing else to do, Mason took his leave.

Anna gazed at the horizon, her thoughts drifting to the far south.

"Where are you?"

[Thanks to reader [Big Fat Immortal Buddha] for being the Alliance Leader, thank you!]
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[About bandages]
[The history of bandages is interesting; humans have known how to wrap wounds to stop bleeding for a very long time. Initially, they used leather or wool strips, and sometimes various plant leaves. After the advent of fabrics, people began using cloth as a bandaging material.]
[The ancient Egyptian pharmacopoeia clearly describes how to bandage wounds. They used clean, unbleached linen to bandage wounds, applied various herbs, and changed the bandages regularly. The frequency of bandage changes varied depending on the type of wound.]
[The situation was different in ancient Rome, where people wore cotton and linen clothing, but initially, wounds were not bandaged with cloth. Instead, they used thin strips made of various metals and alloys, which had to contain copper, as the ancient Romans believed that copper could stop bleeding.]
[In the late Roman period, bandages began to return to cloth, primarily red cloth. However, at that time, whatever cloth was available was used.]
[By the 18th century, military doctors began to prepare clean linen in their backpacks, and housewives who cared about their health would also prepare a clean strip of cloth to bandage minor cuts they made while cooking or doing housework. Initially, coarse linen was used, but it was later discovered that fine cotton cloth was more suitable for bandaging wounds.]
[As for gauze, it wouldn't appear until the end of the 18th century.]
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(End of this chapter)