Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 464 Rest Day (Part 3)

The Vaughan County Garrison is located in the center of Artemis city, adjacent to the garrison barracks, and faces the diocesan cathedral across the square.

After the Iron Peak County army entered Artemis, they immediately raised Blood Wolf's personal banner there, announcing to all the citizens that the capital of Vone County had changed hands.

Right now, the tattered red flag is still flying above this gray two-story building—meaning that Blood Wolf himself is inside the garrison.

However, none of the Waughshire gentry who came to visit with various reasons and purposes were able to get what they wanted.

Because Blood Wolf is undergoing a physical examination.

"Do you feel any pain?" Kaman asked seriously as he gently pressed on the swollen area under Winters' ribs.

“It’s alright,” Winters replied through gritted teeth.

Kaman looked displeased and suddenly increased the pressure on his hand: "I didn't ask if you could endure it, I asked if you felt any pain."

Winters groaned in pain: "You... you know the answer already."

"Yes or no?"

"Have."

"What kind of pain? A sharp, obvious stinging pain? Or a slow, throbbing pain?"

"former."

"here?"

"Have."

"here?"

"Distending pain".

After the palpation was over, Kaman stood up and walked silently to the corner of the room.

Winters was left sitting there for a long time, ignored. It wasn't until he heard the sound of water that he realized Kaman was diligently cleaning his hands.

“None of the insults I’ve ever suffered so far have been as intense as what you’ve done right now,” Winters said, his expression becoming complicated.

Kaman acted as if he hadn't heard anything, walked back to his seat expressionlessly, and asked methodically, "What were the other doctors' diagnoses?"

"No results—because you were the first person to be seen."

Kaman frowned, a hint of reproach in his voice: "Since the pain is so obvious, you should seek treatment promptly. Green Valley and Mickey Mouse may not be able to find a licensed doctor, but there can't be no doctor in Maplestone City."

Winters replied without hesitation, "I don't trust the doctors in Maplestone."

Kaman understood that Winters was referring to more than just medicine, but he still couldn't comprehend: "You can leave the doctors in the barracks."

“The act of seeking medical advice itself reveals a lot of information,” Winters shook his head dismissively, frankly telling Kaman:
"The newly reclaimed lands are like a cauldron of boiling oil. A single drop of water could set it on fire. And Maplestone City? It's less secure than a sieve. I don't want to project an image of weakness that could lead our allies to make the wrong judgment."

Winters quickly regained his easygoing demeanor and casually remarked, "Well, my health condition is classified information now, too."

Kaman listened to the man's boasting with his eyes lowered, sighed softly, and a helpless smile appeared on his lips: "It seems that everything is under your control."

Winters blinked and joked, "If even you think that way, then it means there isn't a crisis of trust within our rebel group yet."

After speaking, Winters habitually leaned back in his chair, but inadvertently aggravated his injury, causing him to let out a low groan of pain.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Kaman asked rhetorically.

“Trust!” Winters replied firmly.

He braced himself on his knees until the pain subsided slightly before speaking again, his tone still humorous: "It hurts more each time... What? Is there any hope for me?"

Upon hearing this, Kaman's brow furrowed again. He wiped the smile from his face and replied coldly, "To be honest, I don't know."

"Ok?"

“Touch alone is not enough to tell the situation, and I don’t have eyes that can see through flesh and bone. So, I don’t know the extent of your injury.” Kaman paused for a moment, cleared his throat, and continued, “However, considering that half a month has passed since you were injured, if it were a fatal fracture, you should have died from a high fever for days.”

"So?" Winters leaned forward.

“So, I don’t know the specifics of your injuries,” Kaman said bluntly. “But since you’re still alive, be grateful!”

Winters laughed and whistled.

Although Kaman tried his best to keep a straight face, his eyes still revealed an undisguised curiosity: "Who did this to you? As far as I know, Palatour should not have any high-level mages who can match you."

“It wasn’t the work of the spellcaster,” Winters replied simply.

Kaman immediately tensed up; his pupils dilated, his lips tightened, and his fingers curled up.

Seeing Kaman's expression, Winters smiled knowingly: "You're not a priest either, but you still haven't explained where Saul went."

Kaman visibly relaxed and coughed lightly. "I wasn't there when Brother Saul left. You know, I was with you at Steel Castle."

“Don’t deceive yourself.” Winters’ eyes gleamed. “Whoever took Saul away, they burned down a great cathedral and silenced all the monks present. You are the last clergyman of Jevodan, and also hold the status of a priest. Although I don’t know the status of priests within the Catholic Church, if the Church investigates one day, you will not be able to escape.”

Kaman replied solemnly, "In any case, this matter will not involve you, I can guarantee that."

“Don’t make promises lightly,” Winters sighed deeply—clearly, Kaman possessed information he didn’t know, but the latter was currently unwilling to disclose it—he said helplessly.

"If I've learned anything from my experience, it's that the more confident you are in making a promise, the more complicated the process of fulfilling it will be. Even if the promise is eventually fulfilled, it's often not in the way you initially envisioned."

Kaman looked down at the ground guiltily, avoiding Winters' gaze. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat, trying to change the subject: "You still haven't told me—who did this to you?"

Winters' expression unconsciously turned serious, as if recalling scenes from the battlefield. He struggled to squeeze out the answer: "The New Reclamation Expeditionary Force."

"How could this be?" Kaman was even more puzzled: "The rebels you are fighting... the New Reclamation Expeditionary Force, also have high-level spellcasters with them?"

“No.” Winters closed his eyes. “They only have some spellcaster officers who can use amplification.”

"How did they manage to injure you like this?"

This time, it was Winters' turn to remain silent.

Kaman wanted to press for more information, but he held back his curiosity. He smiled tolerantly and said, "It seems we all have some secrets to keep."

Winters opened his eyes and stared intently at Kaman. As the latter felt increasingly uncomfortable from the touch, Winters suddenly reached out and grabbed Kaman's shoulder, whispering a single word:

"trust."

Kaman wanted to push Winters' arm away in disgust, but then felt a little embarrassed and could only nod awkwardly.

Winters released his grip, sat back in his chair, and began to recount the whole story: "Back when the Butcher Duke invaded the foothills, there were reports of suspected court mages participating in the war. When the Mad Emperor personally led the campaign, court mages were openly deployed to the battlefield."

“Back then, the Alliance had no spellcasters,” Winters glanced at Kaman, “and certainly no priests.”

Kaman guiltily looked away.

"Assassination, sneak attack, breaking formations, decapitation—the court mage has used every conceivable method of warfare. The heavily fortified fortress was silently captured by the enemy overnight, with not a single soldier escaping. An officer who was full of energy the day before was found dead in his sleep the next day, and the cause of death could not even be found."

"I can hardly imagine the determination and courage people had in burying the dead and then continuing to resist."

"But courage and determination alone are not enough. Fortunately, the Alliance soldiers never lacked something else—wisdom. In the long war, our predecessors gradually summarized some of the patterns of action of the court mages."

"They discovered that the court mages were very selective in their targets, mostly only engaging units smaller than a hundred men. In other words, the court mages' 'power' was not unlimited. Given limited 'ammunition,' the court mages would inevitably tend to choose 'high-value' targets."

"Secondly, the court mages mostly operate at night. On the one hand, this suggests they are adept at concealment, appearing and disappearing without a trace. On the other hand, it also indicates their tendency to avoid direct combat." "Finally, let's analyze the few records of court mages participating in field battles. Without exception, they were deployed to the battlefield as an elite assault force to decide the outcome during the most intense moments of the battle."

Winters paused deliberately, giving Kaman some time to process the information, and then proudly introduced, "Based on the patterns we summarized, the Allied Forces developed a series of countermeasures. After the war, these various countermeasures were further summarized, eventually forming the current 'anti-magic tactics'."

“Court mages are like unseen beasts.” Seeing Kaman’s confusion, Winters used an analogy: “Their actions are extremely covert, yet their behavior is predictable. Therefore, the most effective way to deal with them is with traps.”

"By setting up false, high-value targets, they lured the court sorcerers into their trap. The entire process consisted of three steps: discovery, targeting, and destruction..."

Kaman finally heard something that interested him: "Destroy? How do you destroy it?"

He observed Winters' body language with suspicion: "According to you, the rebels during the war against traitors were neither able to identify mages nor had the combat power to match them."

“Yes.” Winters readily admitted, “So, let’s just not bother with identification.”

Winters's ribs throbbed again, and he patiently explained, "The full name of 'destroy' is actually 'ensure destruction.' If it is confirmed that the court mage has entered the tunnel, then fill the tunnel completely; if it is confirmed that the court mage has entered the forest, then burn the forest down; if it is confirmed that the court mage has entered the fortress, then blow the fortress directly into the sky."

"Compared to destruction, discovery and locking are actually more crucial. Discovery refers to intelligence gathering and analysis; locking refers to confirming that the court mage has entered the trap."

Winters recalled something and added, "In fact, there's another link—concealment. That is, if intelligence indicates the presence of enemy spellcasters, then every link in the chain of command must conceal itself as much as possible."

Winters said with a wry smile, "Just like the battle at River Valley, as soon as I arrived on the battlefield, all the officers of the Sixth Army took off their uniforms, the military flags were all changed to be arranged in a staggered manner, and even the messengers no longer reported directly to the officers."

"The officers are all in hiding." Kaman asked skeptically, "How can the Sixth Legion itself remain unaffected?"

“Of course there will be an impact, but it’s better than the officer corps being wiped out for nothing.” Winters tried to correct Kaman’s misconception: “There is no strategy that wins or loses everything on the battlefield. Every commander finds a way to win under the constraints of various unfavorable factors.”

Kaman rubbed his forehead, squinted, and asked, "Magicians aren't mindless beasts after all. After falling into a few traps, they'll understand your strategies. At that point, can you still expect them to foolishly walk right into the traps?"

“The brilliance of this strategy lies in,” Winters replied enigmatically, “because magicians are not mindless beasts, making the traps even more effective.”

Kaman suddenly had a flash of inspiration. He slowly sorted out his thoughts and organized his words: "You mean, the emperor's wizards, knowing your strategy, have become hesitant and afraid to attack easily?"

Winters smiled and shook his head: "It's even further than you said."

"Go a step further?" Kaman was puzzled.

“Many so-called ‘traps’ are not even fake ‘high-value targets’.” Winters paused for a moment, then told Kaman with the utmost respect, word by word: “On the first day the old marshal entered Narcissus Castle, he planted three thousand pounds of explosives in the central bastion; General Antoine Laurent wrote in his letters that every night when he closed his eyes, he was prepared to perish together with the lackeys of the false emperor.”

“No matter how powerful the court mages are, they are still human. They dare not engage in battles from which there is no return; they are afraid of death. But we…” Winters paused for a moment: “But the martyrs of that era were not afraid of death. They despised death. They simply could not use magic, but in terms of courage, they were a hundred times, ten thousand times braver than the vicious dogs kept by the false emperor.”

Winters concluded emphatically: "So, in the war for sovereignty, we won."

Kaman was speechless for a long time. After a while, he nodded with difficulty, acknowledging Winters' words.

“So, what’s a little injury like this?” Winters leaned back in his chair, his upper body, unprotected by armor, covered in scabbed cuts. His chest, protected by armor, bore large patches of bruises and swelling that hadn’t yet healed. “What’s that?”

Kaman remained silent for a long time before suddenly asking, "But you wouldn't want Miss Navarre to see you like this, would you?"

Winters was speechless.

He quickly straightened up, gripping the armrest, and looked at Kaman eagerly: "So, I can only count on you, Father."

Kaman crossed his arms and circled Winters, examining him closely. "Flesh wounds don't require medication; they'll heal on their own. The key is the bone injury under the ribs, which is also difficult to treat and can only be left to heal on its own."

Kaman then gave a barrage of medical advice: "Don't ride a horse, don't get angry, don't raise your arm—in short, don't do anything that aggravates the injury."

"You mean you want me to rest?" Winters said, slightly disappointed.

Yes. Rest and recuperate.

Winters tentatively asked, "Besides rest, is there any other way for me to recover faster?"

After a moment's thought, Kaman replied, "Drink more milk, get more sunshine, and... sleep on your back, not on your side."

Winters coaxed, "Besides what you've mentioned, are there any more direct intervention methods, such as..."

Kaman's brow furrowed again, and a few cold laughs escaped his throat: "For example, divine magic."

“Yes.” Winters no longer beat around the bush and asked directly, “Why not use divine magic?”

Kaman's face simultaneously displayed pity and anger. He struggled to calm himself and organize his thoughts, finally explaining to Winters with remarkable restraint: "Divine magic is not a bricklayer's mortar, to be applied wherever there's a problem. It is a miracle, an authority, a power, not to be wielded by us, but manifested through our hands. It will surely achieve its promised result, a result not shaped by us..."

Winters, who had been listening intently, suddenly spoke up: "It's impossible."

Kaman, who was interrupted, was taken aback: "What?"

"What you've said all boils down to one sentence—it's impossible!"

Winters couldn't help but burst into laughter. As he laughed, he gasped in pain as the wound under his ribs was pulled, making him look rather comical. "It seems that even the omniscient and omnipotent creator god can't do anything about my ribs."

Kaman's face darkened instantly. He stood up abruptly and walked silently toward the medical kit. When he returned, he held a boning knife—a tool typically used only by butchers.

Winters' hair stood on end: "What are you going to do?"

"To heal the wizard." Kaman's words had a double meaning.

Winters retreated swiftly to his chair, the pain suppressed by his stress. Although reason told him that today would certainly not end with "only one person standing," his intuition made him feel an unprecedented sense of crisis.

What would happen if divine magic were applied to torture? Just imagining it in one's mind makes it clear that being burned at the stake would be an extremely merciful way to die.

Winters quickly surveyed the battlefield—the office exit was behind Kaman, and the dignity cost of jumping out the window was too high.

Kaman approached step by step, explaining sternly, "The injury is inside the body. To perform divine magic, one must cut through the skin, fat, and tendons, down to the bone, in order to accurately apply the technique."

Winters astutely spotted the flaw: "Does that mean divine magic can't work through flesh and blood?"

Kaman smiled politely but did not give a direct answer.

He flicked the gleaming blade lightly, and it responded with a pleasant, crisp sound: "Don't worry, if you can stop struggling, you'll only end up with a shallow scar."

Winters gripped his only weapon—the armchair—and stumbled backward, saying, "No need! Rest is enough!"

“You’re not just bragging, you’re not even afraid of death,” Kaman asked with a smile. “Why would you be afraid of surgery?”

Upon hearing this, Winters stopped in his tracks and stood rooted to the spot.

This action, however, surprised Kaman. Kaman watched Winters silently, waiting for the latter to speak.

“Alright!” After a fierce internal struggle, Winters finally gritted his teeth and answered recklessly, “At least it can serve as a sample for divine magic experiments—let’s do it.”

But he pressed on, still uneasy: "But I vaguely remember you saying that 'divine magic cannot be used on bone injuries, otherwise the injured person is more likely to die.' Why can divine magic be used on ribs? Is there something special about ribs?"

“There’s nothing special about it.” Kaman shook his head calmly: “Using divine magic on a rib fracture will still easily kill the recipient.”

Winters paused for a moment, then roared in grief and indignation.

The shouting startled the people downstairs.

The sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs. Kaman chuckled at the sound, but before anyone could see what he was doing, the blade had vanished from his hand.

The door was kicked open.

Anglu barged in.

Pierre, carrying a military knife, followed closely behind.

[The Mid-Autumn Festival holiday isn't over yet... not yet...]
[One chapter is owed (added to the list of debts that need to be settled in the short term), sorry Orz]
[I'll never set a goal again (Q_Q)]
[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)