Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 306 Luck
The west wind howled, people shouted and horses neighed, and militiamen with stiff steps and horse-drawn carts loaded with supplies poured into the small town of Saint-Cheer from all directions.

It was as if an invisible vortex existed, drawing all the manpower and resources of Tiefeng County to this place.

Without a doubt, the church of St. John's Abbey is located at the very center of the vortex.

A statue of the Virgin Mary with downcast eyes stands above the church entrance, silently watching people carrying sharp weapons come and go.

"Lieutenant Bard, the village chief of White Bull Village in Little Stone Town said that the amount of dry rations issued to them is not enough."

"The ration for Bai Niu Village was increased yesterday."

He said it still wasn't enough...

"Sergeant Roland!"

"exist!"

"Take the roster and the military police to the Bai Niu Village garrison and count the number of people."

"Yes!"

"Report!" A guard rushed into the church: "Another convoy has arrived from Wangqiao Town!"

"Mr. Melsin!"

"Your Mightiness?"

"We would like you and Brother Theodore to be responsible for counting and registering the new convoy that has arrived in Wangqiao Town."

"Please rest assured, Your Excellency."

The supplies needed to be stored, processed, and distributed; the militia needed to be sent to various parts of the front lines; and they also needed to have food, drink, and lodging.

If it weren't for Bard supporting the situation, the Iron Peak County army would have been worn down by logistics long ago.

The command post was no longer simply "Winters Montagne plus a few messengers"; it had inevitably become much larger because Bard had drawn on all the literate and arithmetic civilians and soldiers.

Bard was stationed in the monastery's copying room, where intelligence and information flowed in continuously, followed by instructions and orders being issued to various locations.

The clerks were surprised to find that even the smallest matters, once reported to the tribunal of Badr, could be recalled when needed.

Therefore, Bard never issues vague instructions. Each of his orders is given to a specific person to carry out, clearly informing them of what they must do, leaving no room for them to shirk responsibility.

The clerks felt both awe and exhaustion at this.

Bard seemed to have inexhaustible energy. He wielded an invisible whip, urging his clerks at all levels forward like a horse being driven.

The command center was thus put into operation, and the personnel and supplies gathered in Shengke Town were systematically registered and then uniformly allocated to the places where they were most urgently needed.

There was also a little anecdote: the centralized office work and the large amount of writing work indirectly led to the acceptance of graphite strips.

Some old-fashioned people insisted on using quill pens because graphite strips were not very clear and were easily smudged.

But soon, even the clergy of the monastery quietly switched to graphite strips wrapped with rope.

The reason is simple: graphite sticks are so convenient. With a quill pen, you have to use sand to absorb the ink, but with a graphite stick, you can write directly and send it out.

With Bard providing logistical support, Winters was able to devote all his energy to the war effort.

Winters is not in St. John's most of the time.

He toured various parts of the battlefield, spoke with militiamen on the front lines, and even personally went into Teldun-controlled areas to conduct reconnaissance.

He hardly used his knees or spurs to urge his horse on; instead, he constantly swung his whip.

To this end, Charles specially prepared many horses for his service, and would immediately replace any horse that was about to die from exhaustion.

Upon learning of the attack on the dam, Winters rushed to Bullhoof Valley immediately.

At this very moment, he was on the banks of the Big Horn River, with a dam extending towards the opposite bank in front of him.

The previous night, Teldun cavalry raided the construction site on the south bank, killing some laborers and burning some timber, before being repelled by Tamas and his troops.

“If we’re exposed, we’re exposed. We couldn’t hide it anyway. The key is speed and time.” Winters leaned on his cane and asked Samukin and Tamas seriously, “How much more time do you need?”

Samukin bit his lip and answered resolutely, "Three days! If it's not finished after three days, you can kill me!"

“Three days is not enough.” Winters calmly rejected Samukin’s assurance: “Based on your current progress, it will take at least five more days. Considering the water storage process, it may take a week or even ten days.”

Samukin lowered his head.

"Re-establish camp at the south bank construction site." Winters gave the order directly to Company Commander Tamas: "Bring your men down."

“Yes!” Tamas answered without hesitation.

Tamas's camp was located at a pass between Niu Ti Valley and Duanlu Township, with Tiefeng to the east and Dajiao River to the west. The terrain was treacherous and easy to defend.

Winters deployed his elite First Company and auxiliary militia there to prevent the Teldens from entering Bullhoof Valley via the western slope of Iron Peak.

While rebuilding a stockade at the dam site could protect the dam construction area, the terrain there is too low, making it unfavorable for defense.

Winters nudged the company commander's arm, nodded slightly, and said no more nonsense: "The third and fourth companies will be reinforced for you."

"Yes."

"We will provide you with additional laborers."

Samukin suddenly raised his head.

“It can be repaired slowly.” Winters tapped his cane lightly on the ground. “But the dam must remain standing.”

Seeing Samukin's confusion, Winters didn't mince words: "As long as the dam exists, the Teldun's retreat will be threatened. The dam's construction is slow, and at most it won't be able to cut off the enemy's retreat in time."

If the Teldens retreat, the siege of Jervodan will break. But if the dam falls, the Teldens will be free to come and go, maintaining the initiative throughout.

"Therefore, the dam must not be breached." Winters' eyes were stern. "Do you understand?"

Tamas nodded emphatically, and Samukin gritted his teeth and replied, "Yes!"

“Now that the dam has been exposed, the battle here will surely be fierce.” Winters drew a rough map on the beach with his cane and carefully explained to his two most trusted subordinates: “I will launch a feint attack in the direction of Saint-King Town to relieve the pressure on you here.”

Currently, the situation between the two sides resembles a nested doll:

In the inner circle, those who were warming themselves by the fire were besieging Gervodan;

On the outer ring, Winters' troops are gradually taking control of the roads around Gevordan.

The initiative is temporarily in the hands of the fire-brooder; he can choose to fight, retreat, or launch a surprise attack on Zervodan.

Winters was put on the defensive because his troops had almost no field combat capability and were far less mobile than the swift Teldun cavalry.

But Winters has never been one to sit idly by and wait for death; his motto is "If you don't have the initiative, then fight for it."

Winters has two strategies for seizing the initiative:
First, it threatens the Telden people's retreat route. Once the pontoon bridge is destroyed, the Telden people will have no choice but to fight to the death.

Secondly, they controlled the key transportation routes around Jervodan, advancing step by step and constantly shrinking the Tertons' space for activity.

Once Winters' encirclement is complete, the Teldenans will be trapped in a narrow area on the south bank of St. George's River.

At that point, the situation will become a replica of the Battle of the Pontus, where Winters can slowly strangle the fire-breastman.

However, with the dam still under construction and gaps in the perimeter fencing, the Telden people still hold the initiative.

Those warming themselves by the fire seemed to sense the danger as well.

The Teldun cavalry took back roads and through old forests, doing everything they could to bypass the blockade and frantically advanced behind the defensive line.

Their intentions were obvious—to cut off Winters' supply lines and annihilate the army in Saint-Claude.

In response, Winters established garrison outposts to protect supply lines, and also employed cavalry against cavalry.

When the Teldens broke the raid, Winters countered with a counter-raid. When the Teldens ambushed and killed militia convoys, Winters' cavalry specifically targeted the Telden light cavalry.

The war was trending toward a war of attrition. Winters looked at the compiled casualty reports, his mood growing increasingly depressed, but he never wavered.

Watching the Great Horn River flow slowly downstream past the unfinished dam, Winters sighed softly, "Please thank Senior Morrow for me."

“Yes.” Samukin nodded seriously.

Winters had met Captain Morrow a few times while building the Bridge to the Styx. He vaguely remembered him as a charming and witty senior who was always surrounded by a group of colleagues.

However, the two were not close friends because Morrow was an artilleryman and was many years older than Winters.

Morrow refused to meet with Winters, and Winters did not force him to.

A rider with a green helmet plume galloped down the hillside, delivering a letter with red diagonal stripes.

Red diagonal stripes indicate that the content is extremely urgent.

Winters unsealed the letter, glanced at its contents, and calmly handed it to his two subordinates.

Samukin hesitated for a moment, then let Tamas take it first. Tamas didn't reach out either, because he was illiterate.

“We can learn slowly after the war.” Winters smiled and put away the envelope: “The Teldens are attacking the city.”

……

The siege of Ghevordan began with an artillery barrage.

Winter's freezing temperatures increase the difficulty of earthwork operations, requiring a large workforce.

Winters could conscript militia, but there was nothing left to conscript around Ghevordan, as the civilians had already taken refuge inside the city.

Therefore, the Trenchmen's trenching project did not progress smoothly. After five days of digging, the front of the trench was still more than 60 meters away from the city wall, and they did not have time to extend it in a direction parallel to the city wall.

Perhaps they wanted to put more pressure on Revodan and lure Saint K Town into an attack; or perhaps they simply intended to breach Revodan's defenses.

In any case, the Teldun people abandoned their half-hearted tactics and launched a real attack on the city walls.

Four cannons were lined up in a row, firing solid shells at the firing towers behind the city wall and the arrowhead forts on the city wall.

Many militiamen had never seen cannons fired before, so they peeked out from behind the city wall to watch the spectacle.

Mason sat cross-legged on the ground with his left hand on his knee and his back against the city wall, listening intently to the roar of his second-hand daughter.

The four cannons fired in sequence at fixed intervals, which means that the Teldens knew how to use cannons in groups.

Moreover, the Teldens were lucky; their second shot hit the firing tower without any correction.

The shield of the firing tower was broken, and sharp wood chips flew everywhere with the sound of impact. The militiamen who had just been watching the cannon firing with great excitement were frightened and hid behind the wall again.

Mason remained unmoved; he had already given orders that archers were not allowed to climb the firing towers before the enemy approached the city walls.

The third shell flew over the city wall, and the fourth shell hit the wall directly, embedding itself deep inside. The loose soil on the surface of the wall slid into the moat.

“The angle is still not enough to deflect the shells—I didn’t expect the Teldenans to have artillery.” Mason counted in his mind as he ordered the sergeant beside him: “Get on the firing tower.”

"Huh?" The sergeant looked troubled, clearly the shelling had left him with considerable trauma.

“The Telden’s cannons are still being loaded. Hurry up and down, they won’t be able to hit you.” Mason explained helplessly to the sergeant who was going into battle for the first time: “I saw that the shell didn’t penetrate. Go up and get the shell for me.”

The soldiers were skeptical and went reluctantly.

Mason patiently counted the time, wanting to see at what frequency the Teldenans could fire.

Reloading speed is a better indicator of a gunner's skill than accuracy—provided, of course, that the gun isn't blown up.

About six minutes later, there were four more claps of thunder. Each round of firing took six minutes; the reload speed was a bit slow.

Mason was well aware of the performance of the six-pounder cannon: a volley of fire every three or four minutes was normal, and a skilled crew could even manage a volley every two minutes. During the second volley, the Telden's cannon did not explode.

Six or seven minutes later, four more thunderclaps sounded in sequence, but the chamber still did not explode.

The fortifications of Ghevodan were designed to withstand cavalry charges. Therefore, the walls were relatively steep, allowing cannonballs to hit them with greater force.

The Teldenans weren't firing randomly; their twelve shots were consistently aimed at Arrowhead Fort.

After being repeatedly struck by external forces, a corner of Arrowhead Fortress collapsed, and large chunks of soil crumbled into the trench.

Although the wall remains intact, Teldun's artillery has proven its ability to threaten it.

Mason sighed, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the dust off his face.

The sergeant retrieved the shell and presented it to Mason with a boastful air: "Sir, that was incredibly dangerous just now..."

Mason took the cannonball, weighed it in his hand, and smiled slightly: "An iron cannonball."

The soldiers and the surrounding militia were all puzzled.

“In the Great Wilderness, iron is a form of currency, like gold and silver. Telden calls iron ‘black money.’ The Teldens are essentially using money to fight us now.” Mason patiently explained the intricacies to the militiamen beside him:

“If they were stone cannonballs, it would mean the Teldun people were well prepared. But they are using iron ones now—the Teldun people don’t have the ability to cast iron cannonballs. These iron cannonballs must have been abandoned by the expeditionary force on the wasteland. Every one used is one less available.”

The militiamen suddenly realized what was going on.

Mason flipped the shell over to examine it, hoping to find markings such as inscriptions, but found none.

He casually tossed the shell on the ground: "I estimate that after a while, the Teldenans will switch to using small stones as shotgun shells and adopt close-range firing tactics."

The militiamen nodded as if they understood, and whispered among themselves.

"So we're just going to take the bombardment?" a tall, thin young sergeant asked, mustering his courage.

“Of course not.” Mason smiled confidently. “They need to be taught a lesson.”

How to teach the other party a lesson? Mason had a bold idea—to fight fire with fire.

A third-generation wooden cannon was pushed onto the wall, and Mason patted the cannon gently as if to encourage it.

This was the best quality third-generation wooden cannon he had on hand, capable of firing solid projectiles weighing approximately four pounds.

The third-generation wooden cannon was made by wrapping leather rope and iron hoops around a wrought iron pipe and then securing it with wood.

Its design is intended to fire shot, but it is not incapable of firing solid shot.

Mason stretched out his arm and tucked his thumb in. According to his estimation, Teldun's cannons were about a hundred meters away from the city wall—which is why the shelling was so accurate and rarely missed.

The four cannons were lined up in a row, and the cannon emplacements were built with thick wooden planks.

If Mason were on the offensive, he wouldn't have pushed the artillery so close. One hundred meters is already within the kill range of the grapeshot.

Thick wooden planks could withstand the fire of matchlock guns and perhaps even a storm of grapeshot, but the enemy clearly hadn't considered the possibility that the defenders might use cannons against cannons—or more likely, someone was deliberately giving the defenders an opening.

Mason spent a long time adjusting the angle before starting the loading process: gunpowder, wooden pads, cotton wool, and hemp wool were stuffed into the breech in sequence.

After dispersing the militiamen who were watching, Mason nodded to his men, signaling that they could begin loading the shells.

The fierce-looking man with a red birthmark on his face spat twice into his palm, picked up an iron spoon, and took out a red-hot shell from the stove.

A few gasps came from the crowd, and the militiamen then understood why they were not allowed to stand close to watch.

The four-pound iron ball, faintly glowing with flames, was loaded into the breech. Mason lit the ignition powder with a long rod and quickly retreated to a distance.

With a loud "boom," the cannon shook violently and was pushed away from its original position.

The crimson fireball shot out of the cannon, tracing a beautiful arc through the air with the expectation of victory.

Then, under everyone's watchful eyes, it flew over the heads of the Teldun's artillery crew, slowly landed in the distance, bounced a few times, and finally fell silent—it had gone too far.

The stark contrast between the two situations prompted the militiamen to unconsciously utter sighs of disappointment.

Mason remained unmoved. He first reset the cannon, then adjusted the angle with a plumb line, and reloaded and fired.

The second shot also missed; the shell landed early, bounced a few times, and then stopped moving—it was too close.

One militiaman couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Is Lord Mason even capable?"

Some veterans confidently testified on behalf of the tribunal: "What do you know? When we were fighting, Captain Mason missed his first three shots, but the fourth hit the bullseye! That's called artillerymanship! Test firing, understand?"

Mason was busy adjusting the firing angle with a plumb line and didn't hear the other militiamen's chatter. Even if he had, he would have had a hard time explaining it to them.

He was indeed practicing shooting at the school.

For his first shot, he deliberately aimed to make the shell land further away.
For his second shot, he changed his approach, aiming for the shell to land nearby.

Then, by taking the landing points and shooting angles of the two shots, the correct shooting angle can be calculated.

Ballistics is a profound subject. Although there are only some empirical formulas available at present, it is by no means something that those muscle-bound, simple-minded brutes in the infantry and cavalry departments can learn—Mason thought with a touch of pride.

Of course, theoretical calculations are one thing, but in practice, you also need a bit of luck... just a little bit.

The third shot, carrying Mason's hopes, was fired at the most accurate preset angle, but it still missed.

The shell whistled as it flew out of the cannon barrel and landed at a far point.

It's a little different from what was calculated. Theoretically, even if this shot misses, it should still land nearby.

Undeterred, Mason continued making corrections.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth shots all missed.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on Mason's forehead. The militiamen watching were getting bored, while the Telden men had become numb.

When the defenders fired the first shot, the Terdun people were startled. Qing Lingyu, who was in charge of the battle, hurriedly ordered his men to protect the cannons with thick wooden planks.

After several rounds of firing, Qing Lingyu, who was supervising the battle, found that the two-legged men's artillery skills were terrible. The shells flew everywhere without any accuracy, and they were not as accurate as the slave gunners under his command.

Qing Lingyu simply ignored the two-legged man's harassment and focused on bombarding Arrowhead Fortress.

The defending troops fired six shells, but didn't even hit a horse's tail.

During this process, Qing Lingyu fired three rounds of artillery fire, with the vast majority hitting the walls of Arrowhead Fortress.

“It’s a problem with the cannons.” After the seventh missed shot, Mason wiped the sweat from his forehead and said seriously to his old subordinate with a red birthmark on his face, “These wooden cannons haven’t been drilled, the inner barrels are too rough, and the trajectory of the shells is unpredictable.”

“It’s like this.” The man with the red birthmark nodded expressionlessly—because the birthmark on his face was so terrifying, he usually didn’t show any expression: “The cannon barrel is very hot, should we cool it down first?”

"Bring some oil to cool it down." Mason looked around and inadvertently met the complicated looks in the eyes of the militiamen. He couldn't help but sigh: "It really is a problem with the artillery."

"That's how it is." The man with the red birthmark nodded and left the gun position to get the cooling oil.

Mason took out a roll of scrap paper and began writing and calculating again.

Upon seeing this, the militiamen returned to their posts, many of them still whispering among themselves as they left.

People had given up hope on the tribunal's artillery skills, but fortunately, after all the trouble, the defending militia had become somewhat desensitized to artillery—after all, the power was just so-so, and it wasn't anything special.

"The Teldenans' use of artillery was still very rudimentary," Mason noted. "The advantage of the six-pounder cannon was its lightweight design, allowing it to be moved easily when mounted on a gun carriage. However, the Teldenans placed the six-pounder cannon in fixed positions, using it as heavy siege artillery, thus deliberately giving up its mobility advantage..."

Mason wrote down the calculations while observing and recording the point of impact.

Suddenly, his whole body stiffened, his pupils dilated sharply, and the graphite strip in his hand snapped in two with a "crack".

Mason didn't have time to grab a new one, so he picked up half a graphite stick and quickly calculated and sketched, his lips pursed tighter and tighter.

The man with the red birthmark led his men to fetch grease to cool the cannon barrel. Afterward, seeing his old superior intently sliding a graphite strip on a piece of scrap paper, he dared not disturb him.

The man with the red birthmark and the other gunners waited quietly.

"Eureka! Eureka!!!" Mason jumped up and slammed the last piece of graphite onto the ground, laughing loudly, "Ons! Double the charge this time!"

Once, nicknamed "The Devil" because of the large red birthmark on his face, unusually questioned his old superior's order: "Double charge, it'll explode."

[Note: Birthmarks are considered the devil's kiss, and black birthmarks on women are believed to be the nipples that nourish the devil.]
"Let's try one and a half charges first." Mason immediately set a new firing angle for the cannon.

“I’ll light the fire.” Demon Ons said nothing more.

The artillery has the greatest range at a 45-degree angle, according to the gunners' experience.

Instead of aiming directly at the opponent's firing angle as before, Mason opted for a smaller firing angle.

Once loaded, Demon Ons took the ignition rod and, expressionless, lit the ignition powder.

The extra half-unit of gunpowder resulted in a higher muzzle velocity.

The crimson shells shot out, flying with unprecedented power toward the Teldun's gun emplacements.

Although the militiamen didn't understand artillery, they roughly understood what it was after watching it a few times.

"We're getting closer," a quick-thinking militiaman instinctively thought.

It was indeed close; the shells had already slammed heavily onto the ground while the gun emplacement was still some distance away.

Qing Lingyu, who was overseeing the battle beside the cannons, laughed heartily.

But in an instant, his smile froze on his face.

The high-speed shell did not sink into the mud; instead, it bounced off the ground and glided forward again.

Time seemed to freeze at that moment, and Terdon Qinglingyu watched in horror as the shell flew straight toward him in a bouncy manner.

Qing Lingyu tried to dodge, but the cannonballs were faster.

The dark red, high-temperature shell struck Qing Lingyu's left leg directly, smashing it off at the knee.

For a moment, the captured gunners around them seemed to hear the sizzling sound of roasting meat, and then they actually smelled the aroma of roasting meat—the emaciated prisoners subconsciously drooled.

Then they heard the screams of the Azure Feather Barbarian.

The shells skipped across the water, landing and bouncing several times before flying into the crowd. Everyone, whether on the attacking or defending side, was stunned.

"What incredible luck!!" The city's militiamen were initially astonished, then began cheering wildly.

"What kind of luck is this?!" The Terdonians watching the game were equally astonished.

Demon Ons quickly figured out what was going on: in the freezing cold and without rain, the soil hardened, and the shells, when fired at a low angle and high speed, were able to bounce off instead of sinking into the ground.

But Demon Ons still finds it hard to believe that this was a "planned" shot.

His eyebrows rose slightly, and he looked at the old officer with a hint of surprise in his expression.

"I was lucky. I didn't expect to hit it on the first try." Mason scratched his head sheepishly, his cheeks slightly flushed. "It looks like I hit someone? Shall we try the double-load next?"

……

The artillery battle at Ghevodan ended with both sides winning and losing.

On the other side, Winters had two guests.

The first guest claimed to be a slave who had escaped from the Teldun tribe and was carrying important intelligence.

The second guest should not call himself that; his name is Good Luck Gold, and he brought Winters good luck—which is exactly what Winters needed.

[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
[抱歉又迟到了……2、4、6或许是2、4、周末更恰当？]
[Happy Labor Day again! Long live the working people!]
[Long live the Great Chapter!]
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(End of this chapter)