Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 396 Storm (The End)

After the spectacular fire tornado destroyed the burning Ehrlich Cathedral, the fire on the south bank had no more strength to launch an attack.

The fire in the old town was gradually divided and surrounded, eventually running out of fuel and dying out unwillingly.

By the afternoon of the following day, the fire in the city had been largely extinguished, but the embers that had spread to the mountains continued to spread for three days.

The interim military control committee issued a notice changing its primary task to controlling wildfires.

The conscripted militia, having just rebuilt their command chain according to the previous year's winter training, immediately marched into the mountains and forests south of the city under the leadership of officers at all levels, and once again began to fight the fire.

Only a small number of military police and militiamen were maintaining order in the city for the time being.

The garrisons in neighboring states have been notified one after another, and reinforcements are rushing towards Steel Fortress day and night. However, the messengers who went to Horn Fortress have not yet returned with any news.

Post-disaster management is more troublesome than firefighting.

On the night of the fire, many workshops along the coast were looted, and a large amount of military equipment stored in the workshops was lost.

The fire quickly spiraled out of control, and escaping became the top priority. As a result, a significant amount of military equipment was abandoned on the south bank of the fire.

Another portion of the weapons were carried by the refugees and were confiscated by the army checkpoints when they left the city.

Some military equipment also flowed into the less affected North Shore, but its whereabouts are unknown and it urgently needs to be recovered.

As for the workshops that were not looted but were also damaged by fire or demolished, they were temporarily sealed off by the military.

Due to the tradition of fighting with their own weapons, the laws of the Republic of Monta allow civilians to possess weapons and armor.

Therefore, distinguishing between "lost military equipment" and "weapons originally owned by citizens" and recovering them is a major challenge.

In addition, the recovered weapons came from dozens of different workshops and are now all mixed together. How to return them to their rightful owners is also a major problem.

The ordnance problem is just one example of the difficulties faced in disaster relief.

It's not just the weapons that are missing; even though thousands of houses, shops, and warehouses in the old city have been reduced to ashes, some things will always remain.

People who have lost everything cherish their remaining possessions even more. On the morning after the fire was not completely extinguished, some people risked returning to the city to see what was left.

Furthermore, on the night the garrison took over Steel Castle, to ensure the roads remained open, a large number of wagons were pushed directly into the Rose River. As a result, the river was covered with tables, chairs, clothes, tableware, and all sorts of things that could be taken from home.

While it was an urgent matter that necessitated expediency at the time, it created a huge problem for the subsequent cleanup work.

Even the aforementioned problems are not the most pressing ones. Inside and outside Steel Castle, tens of thousands of hungry and homeless refugees are watching the future with fear.

Extinguishing the fire is not the end; it is merely the end of the beginning.

……

[Steel Fortress, South Bank of the Old Town]
[Temporary Command Post of the Garrison]
The sky was overcast and the sun was not visible.

Due to the terrain surrounded by mountains, the smoke and dust generated by the fire lingered in the air above the steel fortress for a long time.

Everyone in line covered their mouths and noses with scarves, and Ernst Fuller was no exception.

He suppressed the urge to cough and vomit, and pulled his cloak tighter around himself, doing his best not to attract any extra attention.

A few steps to Fuller's right, there was a dead man hanging from a newly erected gallows.

A wooden board was hung around the neck of the dead man, with the cause of death written in a few strokes: "[I robbed]".

Two crows landed on the dead man's shoulders, one on each side, cawing wildly as they feasted.

The dead man swayed gently in the wind, his lifeless eyes scanning the living people queuing up, but the living people deliberately avoided his gaze.

The line moved slowly forward, and Fuller finally got a little further away from the corpse, which gave him some psychological relief from his churning stomach.

Martial law did not end with the fire, and Steel Castle remained under military control.

The military establishes order in a brutal and ruthless manner; any criminal—even if it is just petty theft—will be hanged after a simple trial.

Looking around, all you see are identical broken walls and ruins, except for the brand-new gallows erected along the main road.

Fuller lowered his head, his gaze focused on the calves of the person in front of him, but his mind was gradually occupied by other things.

Everything he went through was so crazy that he's still in a daze.

A cloak, an assassin, the strange sensation of a cold blade piercing a thigh, slippery brain matter dripping onto the ground…

In just a few days, he went from a respectable forge owner to a pathetic speculator on the verge of bankruptcy, and then a fire wiped out all his wealth, leaving him without even the right to go bankrupt.

But even in the most desperate situation, a glimmer of light appeared, a glimmer of hope for a turnaround...

The line moved forward a few more steps, but Fuller remained standing there dumbfounded. It wasn't until someone behind him coughed in dissatisfaction that he snapped out of his daze and hurriedly caught up.

If a busybody were to come along and ask each person in line about their identity, he would be surprised to find that the people in this long queue, even if they were not the highly respected masters of the forge, were at least free citizens with civil rights.

The fact that so many "real steel fortress owners" could line up like ordinary soldiers is already quite a spectacle.

But none of the people in line were in the mood to appreciate the comments; most of them, like Fuller, were masked, with gloomy eyes, and silent.

It's not hard to understand; anyone whose home has been destroyed by a fire would be in no mood for jokes or laughter.

The long line moved slowly, and everyone who passed the checkpoint was thoroughly searched, including Fuller.

A soldier, leaning on his halberd, scrutinized Fuller with the look one would give a prisoner. Two soldiers approached Fuller, gesturing for him to open his arms.

Fuller felt uncomfortable being stared at and turned his head to look at the Rose River.

In the middle of the river, some militiamen, led by men who looked like soldiers, were carefully dredging debris from the ice.

Fuller's pistol was quickly found during the search—of course, Fuller hadn't intended to hide it anyway.

The halberd-wielding soldier took the pistol from his subordinate, frowned, and asked in an unfriendly tone, "What are you doing with this?"

"For self-defense," Fuller replied softly.

The halberd-wielding soldier inspected the gun barrel and powder bath, but found no lead bullets or gunpowder: "Empty?"

Fuller also felt a little embarrassed: "I just used it to scare people."

The soldier with the halberd shook his head and put the gun back into the box in the guard post: "Come back for it when you leave."

"well."

From the night the army took over Steel Fortress, the chapel bridge and nearby houses were requisitioned by the garrison to serve as their temporary command post, a situation that continues to this day.

Following the signs, Fuller walked into a shop at the end of the bridge.

The original furnishings of the shop have been cleared out, and the countertop is completely covered by maps.

Inside the counter were far more shelves than a typical shop should have; in order to accommodate so many shelves, all the partitions in the room had to be removed.

Several people who looked like clerks were walking between the shelves, busy filing documents, while several orderly soldiers were constantly carrying boxes of files into the room.

Behind the counter sat an officer with bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. When Fuller entered, the officer slightly raised his eyelids: "Name?"

"Fuller. Ernst Fuller."

"Did you bring the land title deed?"

Fuller nodded vigorously: "I brought it."

"If you brought it, take it out!"

With Fuller's body still warm, the workshop deeds and all the certificates for the forge were placed on the counter.

The officer glanced at them, turned around and gave a few instructions, and several clerks immediately began searching through the shelves.

After a while, a clerk walked to the counter with a copy of the file.

Comparing the deed with the copy kept at the city hall, the temporary clerk, who originally belonged to the municipal government, confirmed that it was not a forgery and nodded slightly to the officer.

The officer took the land deed, marked the location on the map, rang a bell to summon a messenger, and told Fuller without looking up, "He'll take you there."

Fuller wanted to ask something else, but the officer was already impatiently urging, "Next!"

The messenger took the map, saluted, and then walked towards the door. Fuller, somewhat bewildered, followed him out of the shop.

Stepping out of the room, the messenger asked practicedly, "Do you have a lot of things in your shop?"

"Quite a bit."

"Then let's go get a carriage first." The messenger led Fuller toward the horse stable: "And get two militiamen to help carry the things."

Fuller thought of his own warehouse and said hesitantly, "One carriage probably won't be enough."

"Hey, don't worry, all the gentlemen I met today were worried that one carriage wouldn't be enough." The messenger grinned, "When we got there, we found that one carriage wasn't even full."

The messenger drove the horse-drawn carriage, carrying Fuller and two militiamen, slowly out of the bridgehead camp.

Walking through the old town now, it's easy to get lost, because the once narrow and dark streets and alleys have been completely transformed.

What was once a workshop, church, and prefabricated house is now a ruin, with no landmarks to tell people where they are. Only the spire of the distant El Indah Cathedral still stands astonishingly.

The Fuller family's workshop wasn't hard to find; it was just a short walk along the riverbank. However, it took Fuller some time to accept the workshop's current state.

The walls of the workshop collapsed, the roof fell down, and the two forges that Fuller's father and grandfather were so proud of were buried in the ruins.

The warehouse, which used to be able to accommodate two heavily loaded horse-drawn carriages, now has only a small section of its wall, blackened by smoke, stubbornly refusing to collapse.

The messenger whistled: "Take a look and see if there's anything worth taking."

Fuller walked into the collapsed warehouse so that no one else could see his tears.

To be honest, he didn't think he liked the workshop: it was too noisy, too small, and there was that rafter he might accidentally bump into.

But at this moment, a sudden wave of grief washed over him. It wasn't because of the loss of property, but because the traces left by his grandfather and father had been erased.

"This area is so big, we can't clean it all by ourselves." The messenger followed, "How about I get a few more people?"

“No, no need,” Fuller replied unconsciously. He sniffed hard, and relying on his memory, he found the area that should be the warehouse shelves and began to clear away the clods of dirt and charred wood that were pressing down on the top layer.

Two militiamen also quietly offered their help.

The wooden structure, though not completely burned, was charred after the fire, so it wasn't difficult to move. Just as they worked together to move a few thick beams, a militiaman suddenly cried out. Fuller looked down at the militiaman and couldn't help but shudder.

Beneath the beam lay a corpse, not yet fully burned. The exposed skin was charred and cracked, revealing deep red flesh and blood.

The messenger walked over, glanced at the body, lightly kicked the beam pressing down on it, and concluded unsurprisedly, "The rioters who were taking advantage of the chaos to loot things were unlucky; they got crushed to death by the roof."

The two militiamen seemed somewhat at a loss, and the messenger made no move to help. Fuller stood for a moment, then bent down, grabbed the charred corpse by the shoulder, and dragged it out of the ruins.

Unexpectedly, although Fuller dragged the charred upper body of the corpse, the lower body remained in place, and the contents of the corpse's abdominal cavity spilled onto the ground.

Two militiamen couldn't take it anymore and rushed outside to vomit.

The messenger turned his head away in disgust and kindly advised, "Why don't you leave the body here? It won't delay your search."

“No way.” Fuller gritted his teeth. “This is the workshop left by my father and grandfather. How can we let thieves use it as a grave?”

The messenger said nothing more and bent down to help Fuller. It took the two of them some effort to finally get the body outside the workshop.

Fuller gratefully extended his hand to the messenger, but the messenger simply covered his nose and shook his head.

The work of clearing the rubble continued, and another beam was moved. This time, Fuller let out a scream—a scream of surprise.

Under the watchful eyes of the other three, the plump, white-skinned owner of the forge knelt on the ground, disregarding his dignity as he rummaged through the ash heap.

Fuller quickly pulled out a musket. Although the barrel was bent and the stock was charred, a musket is a musket, without a doubt.

Fuller was greatly encouraged and continued searching, where more stacked musket barrels, buried under the rubble, were exposed to the air.

The messenger surveyed the ruins, estimating the original layout of the house, and stroked his chin as he analyzed, "It seems the roof collapsed so quickly, which might be a good thing? If the things by the door are still there, there shouldn't be any problems inside."

Upon hearing this, Fuller collapsed to the ground. A moment later, he began to sob softly.

The two militiamen looked at each other, while the messenger, seemingly oblivious to everything, continued, “Judging from this, one wagon is definitely not enough. We’ll need to find more people to clear the rubble. But it’s not a big problem. Steel Fortress is short of everything, except people… Hey you, what’s your name again? Never mind, go back and find Captain Hutt. Ask him to send three more men and tell them we’ve found an intact warehouse.”

The militiaman saluted and ran back to the camp.

The messenger helped Fuller up, brushed the dust off him, and said nothing to comfort him. Fuller, wiping away his tears, kept thanking him.

Normally, forge owners don't even give ordinary soldiers a second glance, so this situation is quite unusual.

Fuller was both crying and laughing on one side, while on the other side, a single-horse carriage was coming from the east.

The elderly man with the gray beard on the bus saw the group of people in the ruins, squinted for a moment to make out their identities, then suddenly stood up and asked loudly, "Ernst? Is that you?"

Fuller hastily wiped his face and headed towards the main road.

Fuller was greeted by another forge owner named Georg. Georg was of the same generation as Fuller's father, but he had not been close to the Fuller family in the past and rarely interacted with them.

However, the owners of the steel forges have just gone through a calamity together, and the past unfamiliarity and prejudice have been diluted. They all feel a sense of shared sorrow for each other.

Georg took a water bag from the car and handed it to Fuller: "How's your workshop doing?"

Fuller was about to answer when he suddenly remembered that glimmer of hope, and his mind suddenly sharpened.

He took the water pouch, took a sip, shook his head slightly, and said nothing.

Georg spat into the peat by the roadside, his beard trembling with anger: "Thieves again, fire again, and those who weren't robbed or burned have been completely destroyed by the legion, what a damn mess!"

"Where is your home?" Fuller asked.

Old Georg slapped his thigh and cursed, "The workshop was blown up by the legion with gunpowder, and the warehouse was left with half a room, but what good is that? All the good swords were ruined after being burned! Even the ones that weren't deformed by the fire have to be sent to be hardened again, but where are we going to find hardeners now? And who can we sell them to after they've been hardened?"

Fuller's mind raced, and he nodded repeatedly.

"I heard that many of those workshops on the north bank have been preserved. Sigh, why didn't I put my forges on the north bank back then?" The old man became more and more distressed as he spoke. "I also heard that the warehouses at the South District Wharf are all intact. If I had known, I would have put all my things at the South District Wharf too. Who could have known? Who could have known that these things would happen?"

Fuller offered a few words of comfort to the old man, then tentatively asked, "Uncle Georg, what do you plan to do with the rest of your goods?"

Upon hearing this, the old man, who had just been tossing and turning in regret, suddenly perked up: "What? You have connections?"

Fuller remained noncommittal: "You have to be prepared. In any case, blades and swords that have been burned once will not be worth the original price."

Old Georg stared at Fuller for a long time, then asked suspiciously, "I remember your father never used outside hardeners, and your family also had an annealing furnace?"

"My workshop only makes gun barrels, not sword blades."

"Don't try to fool me!" Old Georg slapped his thigh again, spitting all over Fuller's face. "You took my sword blade cheaply, re-hardened it yourself, and then sold it as a brand new blade! You little rascal, when did you learn to be so cunning? You're even more cunning than the Venetians!"

Fuller wanted to explain that he was just an intermediary. But then he remembered the other party's request—to keep the real buyer a secret as much as possible.

So the chubby Ernst Fuller gritted his teeth and asked bluntly, "Just tell me if you're selling or not!"

Georg's breath hitched. The old man pursed his lips again and again, finally jumping off the carriage and pulling Fuller toward a secluded spot: "Let's negotiate a price first."

Fuller stood firm and said in a low voice, "I have one more request."

"Trouble! Tell me!"

"Keep it a secret. I can't tell anyone I bought it." Fuller thought for a moment, then added a plausible motive, saying awkwardly, "This deal... isn't honorable."

Georg glanced at the militiamen around him: "As long as you don't tell anyone that I sold it to you."

……

[Steel Fortress, North Bank of the Old Town]
[City Palace]
The three landmark buildings of Steel Castle are the Eyin Cathedral on the south bank, the City Palace and the Parish General Guild on the north bank.

A fire broke out overnight, causing the roof of the Elin Cathedral to collapse, but the City Palace and the parish guild hall remained unscathed.

Starting the day after the fires in the city were brought under control, the Steel Castle city councilors who were still able to act gathered at City Hall, and then... began to discuss.

The topics discussed covered a wide range of issues, such as refugee resettlement and relief, post-disaster reconstruction, and whether to levy special taxes.

There are also some very sensitive issues. For example, some members of parliament believe that the military's takeover of Steel Castle is a serious violation of the laws of the autonomous region and the republic, and a trampling on citizens' property rights. The municipal government should immediately submit a petition to the Grand Council and demand compensation.

Some lawmakers also argued that, according to the law, the command of the Steel Fort militia belongs to the mayor elected by the city council, and the legion should immediately return command.

However, all of the above issues are only open to discussion, and there has been no resolution to this day.

Conversely, since Steel Castle is now completely in the hands of the military, what else can the lawmakers do if there's no discussion?

On the first floor of the council chamber, the members of parliament held differing opinions and engaged in a heated debate.

On the second floor of the council chamber, a young woman wearing a blue veil sat quietly in a corner.

A figure quietly walked up to the second floor of the council chamber and approached the young woman. The guards recognized the person's face but did not stop him.

The visitor took off his hat and held it in his hand, bowing respectfully: "Madam."

Anna returned the greeting politely: "Mr. Fuller."

"His Excellency the Baron is..."

“He has other things to do.”

"Understood, understood." Fuller nodded repeatedly. "I came here to..."

"Don't rush," Anna said, glancing at the audience. "Listen to the end first."

The dry voice of Congressman Servet came from the first floor: "...Dispersed relief and aid are not as efficient and effective as comprehensive relief and aid, and the possibility of the military compensating for losses during disaster relief is close to zero. Taking all these factors into consideration, levying an additional special movable property tax is the only feasible option."

The audience immediately erupted in commotion:

"Special movable property tax?"

"What nonsense!"

"Steel Castle just suffered a fire, and now they want to raise taxes at a time like this?"

A deep, steady male voice cut through the noise—it was Iron Hand Geisberg: “Your Excellency, who are you planning to levy a special movable property tax on? The Blacksmiths’ Guild has no extra funds.”

“The Blacksmiths’ Guild doesn’t have any extra funds, but other guilds do.” Councilor Servet’s tone remained unchanged: “The purpose of levying the movable property tax is not to take funds from the Blacksmiths’ Guild, but to use funds from other guilds to bail out the Blacksmiths’ Guild.”

"Which guild has the resources to bail out the Blacksmith Guild?"

"According to my calculations..."

“Stop calculating!” Geisberg interrupted Servit. “Instead of wasting energy misappropriating other guilds’ assets, we should find a way to get the garrison to return the confiscated weapons to us as soon as possible. Each workshop has its own markings, and with some time, they will be returned to their rightful owners sooner or later.”

"This is another matter I mentioned. Returning the items to their rightful owners would be a losing proposition. The best strategy is for the municipal government to purchase all the armaments as a whole, secured by debt, and assist all workshops in rebuilding equally..."

The audience started arguing again:
"absurd!"

"Where will the municipal government get the money to guarantee the debts of all the workshops? Are they going to mortgage the Municipal Palace?"

Geisberg's voice rang out again: "Hardworking blacksmiths make money, lazy blacksmiths lose money, it's always been like this. Some workshops do well, some don't; the good ones continue to survive, the bad ones should go bankrupt. Where is the principle of fairness in indiscriminately guaranteeing debts?!"

Fuller, listening from the second floor, grew increasingly puzzled. He couldn't help but whisper, "Madam, isn't Iron Hand a die-hard Servet supporter? Why is he contradicting Servet? And why isn't Mayor Woodpecker saying a word?"

“Iron Hand opposes Servet because their interests clash.” Anna rested her chin on her hand. “Mayor Wupper is silent because he is fully focused on three things.”

"what's up?"

"How to absolve oneself of responsibility, how to claim credit for one's work." Anna paused for a moment: "And how to claim credit for one's work while absolving oneself of responsibility."

Fuller glanced at Paul Woodper, who was dressed in a purple robe and seemed lost in thought, and was speechless.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Fuller?"

Fuller paused for a moment, then suppressed his joy and reported as calmly as possible: "Four workshop owners have already agreed to sell the overstocked weapons at low prices—secretly. Mr. Götze is still considering it, but I think he will agree sooner or later."

“You’ve done a great job, Mr. Fuller. You should receive more workshop owners in the coming days. Please continue.”

"Then...buy them all?"

"Yes, all of them."

“If we buy them all, with so many unfinished and scrapped military equipment, word will inevitably leak out sooner or later.” Fuller became somewhat hesitant: “Under what pretext do you plan to purchase them?”

"Under what pretext?" Anna smiled. "Scrap metal, of course."

[No updates this week due to support work on the front lines, sorry.]
[Originally, I planned to conclude the story of Steel Fortress with one chapter, but it now seems that a longer chapter is needed.]
Heat treatment is a crucial part of the material forming process. After being heated, metallic materials can easily lose their original surface properties and even their overall mechanical properties.
[For example, if a cold weapon is thrown into a furnace and heated until red-hot, and then cooled to room temperature, even if its shape remains unchanged, its surface hardness will decrease. This means the original heat treatment is wasted, and it must be quenched and tempered again.]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, rewards, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
(End of this chapter)