Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 390 Storm (Part 4)

A narrow, enclosed room, with stone walls as cold as solid ice.

Trembling breaths, a violently contracting heart, hot, humid breaths bounced back from the stone wall, endless darkness.

Roars, shouts, the clanging of weapons against each other, the sharp blades scraping through armor were more piercing than the wailing of a banshee.

A muffled groan, a scream, flesh and blood splattering onto the camel hair tapestry, the crisp sound of breaking bones.

Countless death-dealing melodies intertwined, like invisible reptiles gushing from cracks in the rocks and pipes, burrowing into Borso da Este's ears and nearly driving him mad.

Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the world became quiet, and only darkness remained.

A series of hurried footsteps.

A few barks from dogs.

Then a few knocks.

"Here!" someone shouted.

"Can't get in!"

"Bring gunpowder and blow it up!"

Borso felt all the blood rush to his head, and he screamed madly, "Don't use explosives! I'm getting out!" But his vocal cords were as stiff as rusty iron door hinges, and his screams were frozen inside his chest.

"No need." A magnetic male voice rang out: "Found it."

The latch snapped back into place, and the hidden door was flung open with a bang. A cool, fresh breeze blew into the secret room, but Borso was dragged out.

The firelight outside the window shone into the bedroom, reflecting the helmet and scimitar with a chilling gleam.

A corpse lay sprawled by the door, its death gruesome. Two ferocious-looking giant wolves sat crouched before Borso, staring intently at him.

Borso was stunned and collapsed to the ground like a rag doll, looking around the familiar yet unfamiliar bedroom in terror.

Then he received two slaps.

"Hey, wake up!" The person who slapped him swiftly and hard, but spoke in a hoarse, immature voice: "Are you stupid?"

Seeing that Bolso was still in shock, the man with the hoarse voice impatiently raised his hand, as if to hit him again.

Borso instinctively raised his hand to protect his head.

"You still know how to block? Then stop playing dumb. I have some questions for you."

Borso looked up in a daze and finally saw the faces of the newcomers clearly—three unfamiliar knights wrapped in iron armor, their robes bearing no emblems, only dark red bloodstains.

Heavy footsteps sounded, and another knight entered the bedroom.

Before Borso could even look at the fourth knight, his chin was suddenly gripped by a hand.

The hand moved Borso's head from side to side, and after a moment, the iron grip loosened, and a deep voice said: "He's alright."

Then, a hand landed on Bolso's shoulder. For some reason, after his shoulder was supported, Bolso's heart stopped pounding, and his mind became much clearer.

“I’m still alive, I’m still useful to them,” Borso thought. He leaned against the wall, straightened his back, and tried to regain a shred of dignity: “I am…”

“You are Borso da Este.” It was that same magnetic male voice: “The White Eagle of Flora.”

The male voice stirred fragments of Borso's memory. As the man removed his helmet, Borso's expression twisted from shock to rage. He pointed tremblingly at the corpse lying by the door: "It's you! You! Why did you kill my men!"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Lord Esther. If I were you, I would observe carefully before speaking. So, I don't know whether to laugh at you or pity you." Winters gestured with his chin toward the corpse by the door: "Drag him over here and let him see clearly."

The body at the door was dragged to Borso by Charles and another guard.

Even in dim light, it would be difficult to confuse the soft fabric armor and pure black cloak on the corpse with the sky-blue robes of the Ester family embroidered with white eagles.

Borso scrambled to the body, roughly ripped off the veil, revealing an unfamiliar face. He looked up at Winters in astonishment.

“Don’t get me wrong, I really am here to kill you.” Winters casually put down his helmet and sword, walked straight to the lampstand, and said to himself, “But it seems… someone is more anxious than I am.”

Recognizing the unfamiliar knight as Winters, Borso's courage grew. He leaned against the wall to his feet, raising his head and looking up: "Since you're here to kill me too, what are you waiting for?"

Winters removed the lampshade, pulled out the candle, and snapped his fingers lightly, causing the wick to ignite out of thin air: "I'll wait until you help me get to know someone."

"Who?" Borso tried his best to remain calm.

Winters nodded slightly.

Charles understood, turned around, took a pocket from the belt loop, took something out of the pocket, and tossed it to Borso.

Borso instinctively caught it; the object was icy cold to the touch, as if wrapped in a tangled mess. He looked down to examine it closely, and in the dim candlelight, he saw eyes, a nose, and golden hair…

Borso was so frightened that he fell to the ground as if he had touched a red-hot iron. He dropped what he was holding—the hoarse-voiced armored soldier had clearly thrown him a head, with the knife and axe marks on the severed neck still clearly visible.

Winters placed the candlestick next to Borso, then walked to the corner of the room and retrieved the head.

“Now it seems we can’t see the eye color anymore.” Winters pressed his head into Borso’s hands, making their eyes meet, and said seriously, “But I can tell you, he has green eyes.”

Winters took a few steps back, sat on the four-poster bed, placed his sword on his lap, and said in a voice that chilled to the bone: "Come on, tell me, who is he? Don't lie, there are people here who can tell the truth from the lies."

……

When old Schmidt and the North City Sheriff arrived at Ester Manor with all the help they could find, Winters was just walking out the gate.

The gardens that the Esther family was so proud of were now ablaze; one could feel the scorching heat even standing outside the walls. The main building was not yet on fire, but whether it would survive depended on the wind direction later that night.

Winters held his sword between his elbows and gently pulled, wiping the blood off the blade with his robe.

He sheathed his sword and noticed that his robe was stained with blood, so he simply took it off and threw it into the fire, revealing his gleaming white armor.

To the arriving residents of the northern city, Winters seemed to have emerged from a raging inferno, casually wiping his blood-stained sword as if no one else was around. The crowd was stunned, and no one dared to approach and ask him a question.

Winters also noticed the North District residents surrounding the manor. He was wearing a helmet with his face covered, leaving only his eyes visible, so he wasn't afraid of being recognized for the time being.

The battle was long over.

Like the swordsmen who ambushed Winters, the assassins who raided Estèphe Manor wore soft armor made of linen and cotton to avoid attracting unnecessary attention, and used weapons such as swords and short guns that could be concealed in their cloaks.

Faced with Winters and his men, clad in full armor and wielding swift horses and long swords, the assassins left behind on the perimeter were utterly powerless to stop them.

A volley of gunfire rang out, and before the smoke had even cleared, the warhorses had already charged at the assassins. Those who couldn't dodge in time were either slashed down or trampled, either dead or wounded. The warhorses didn't slow down, breaking through the enemy lines, and the other assassins could only watch helplessly as Winters led his men into the manor.

When Winters led his men into the mansion, the two sides clashed in close combat, and the assassins were no match for him.

Unable to create distance and lacking heavy firearms, Winters and Kaman advanced with unstoppable momentum, forcing the assassins into a retreat.

Winters wanted to capture a prisoner for interrogation, but he failed. First, because Kaman was too cautious, leaving no survivors in his path; second, the assassins were extremely ruthless, committing suicide, taking poison, or even executing their incapacitated accomplices when escape was hopeless.

Moreover, Winters led too few men; they were good at attacking fortified positions but not at encircling and annihilating the enemy. Assassins could not stop his advance, and he could not stop them from escaping.

Winters sighed as he watched the North City militia arrive only after the dust had settled. However, he had learned not to dwell on things he couldn't change—the most crucial move was always the next one.

"Gentlemen," Winters said, mounting his horse and surveying the crowd from his saddle, "the old town is out of control. By order of Colonel Bern, from this moment forward, you are all under my command. Who is the sheriff? Step forward!"

silence.

silence.

silence.

The North City Sheriff felt the attention of everyone on him. He forced himself to step out of the crowd, took off his hat and held it in his hand: "Uh... it's me."

“Sound the alarm.” Winterstan calmly issued the order: “Gather all men who can carry a weapon—regardless of whether they are citizens or not. Pick out those who can ride horses and have them take their horses. This place is nice, spacious enough, and well-lit; assemble here.”

Winters pointed to old Schmid, then randomly picked someone else: "You two go with the sheriff to gather the militia, the rest of you come with me. Some rioters have already infiltrated the north of the city, come with me to investigate."

The sheriff was stunned and it took him a while to process what he had heard.

According to Steel Castle's laws, in emergencies, the militia in each district are recruited and commanded by the sheriff, who in turn receives orders directly from the mayor.

Whether from a practical or legal perspective, it is an overreach for army officers to interfere with the command of urban militias.

The North District Sheriff was naturally unwilling to relinquish his power so easily, but the sight of several armored soldiers leading horses out of the manor, covered in blood, was truly terrifying.

The officer who gave the order was also imposing and awe-inspiring, making him someone no one dared to underestimate.

So, the North District police officer cautiously asked, "Sir, may I ask who you are...?"

“Army Captain, Axel Bernie.” Winters casually sewed a name, then pointed to old Schmidt: “He can prove my identity.”

Now all eyes were on old Schmid. Old Schmid cleared his throat and nodded without changing his expression—the old blacksmith was dark-skinned, and it was dark, so it was impossible to tell whether his face was red or not.

The sheriff still wasn't entirely convinced, and he tentatively asked, "Excuse me, what is this Esther Manor...?"

The others also pricked up their ears to listen.

Winters had figured out what everyone was thinking: a stranger from who-knows-where, who was bossy from the moment they met, and no one dared to defy him. But no one dared to openly confront him, so they could only hope that the sheriff would step in.

In other words, as long as the sheriff is subdued, everyone else will obey like sheep follow their leader.

Winters then answered succinctly and forcefully: "Looted by rioters."

“Mr. Esther…”

"They have been rescued."

As they spoke, Charles was "helping" the distraught Borso out the door.

"Why haven't I heard of you before..."

"Recently transferred."

"Could I take a look at Colonel Bern's orders...?"

"Only a password."

"Then, may I ask who Colonel Bern is to you..."

The sheriff's tone softened, and Winters sensed the time was right. He slightly braced himself with his knees, and Longwind immediately snorted and strode forward, cornering the sheriff.

Winters asked with a smile, "What Colonel Bern is to me is not important. Do you know what's most important right now?"

The sheriff nodded and then shook his head.

"Time!" Winters roared in fury, his voice like thunder: "Every second you waste brings Steel Castle one step closer to purgatory! Go sound the alarm now! The rest of you, follow me."

With that, Winters pulled on the reins and whipped the horse away.

The quick-witted Charles readily mounted his horse and urged them on, shouting, "What are you all standing there for? Let's go!"

The residents of Beicheng reluctantly moved their feet, one by one... until they all followed.

The sheriff wanted to say something more, but old Schmidt stopped him.

The two men exchanged a glance, both seeing a resigned "let it be" in each other's eyes. The sheriff sighed, put on his hat, and hurried off with old Schmidt and another man Winters had casually pointed out to ring the alarm.

Almost no one realized that from this moment on, military command of the northern part of Steel Castle had been transferred to Winters Montagne.

[Working hard to pay off the debt!]
[You won't believe it until you look! Winters' story in Monta has already exceeded twenty chapters!]
[This is clearly too long, exceeding my original plan. I take full responsibility (bangs my head on the table)]
[But instead of regretting that the beginning was too long-winded, I should try my best to make the later parts more exciting—at least that's how I comfort myself (facepalm)]
[I will do my best to write a good ending (it feels like I'm setting a flag again, ahhhhhh)]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, rewards, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
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(End of this chapter)