Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 465 Rest Day (End)

It was both fortunate and unfortunate that the people in the garrison were unable to witness the contest—or rather, the one-sided beating—between the most notorious spellcaster and the most unknown priest in the newly reclaimed land.

When a third person appeared in the room, the previously frivolous and laughing atmosphere between Winters and Kaman vanished instantly.

Kaman slowly stepped back, subtly clearing the central area of ​​the room, drawing everyone's attention back to Winters.

Kaman himself, like any competent confessional priest, stood with his hands tucked in his sleeves, displaying a presence that was noticeable but not overbearing.

Winters paused for a moment, then walked cooperatively to the coat rack and calmly put his shirt back on.

The office that originally belonged to Major Sandel suddenly fell into an unusual silence, with only the rustling sound of clothes being put on could be heard.

Anglu, who had just broken down the door, scratched the back of his head, unsure whether to turn around and leave or ask for permission.

He looked pitifully at Father Kaman, but the priest kept his eyes down, his expression as calm and serene as a marble sculpture.

Anglou looked to Pierre for help, but Pierre's attention was completely drawn to the horrifying large bruises on the chest and shoulders of the Montagne tribune.

Just as some were lost in thought, some were anxious, and some were racking their brains trying to figure out how to end things, another series of clattering noises came from the corridor.

"Your Excellency! Hang in there!"

The speaker's distinctive, raspy voice pierced the eardrums, as if he wanted to make sure that no one was unaware of what had happened on the second floor.

Houdel, carrying a terrifyingly large shotgun, rudely squeezed through the crowd blocking the door and rushed into the office, shouting, "I'm here!"

Meanwhile, Pierre silently put away his saber.

As Houdel stepped into the office, he was about to ask in a commanding manner, "Where is the assassin?" when he suddenly sensed that the atmosphere was very strange, as if he had stumbled into some kind of secret ceremony. He froze on the spot.

However, his rash actions gave this minor incident a chance to end.

Winters, meticulously buttoning the last button, gave Houdl a stern, yet undeniably authoritative, glance.

“Um…” Houdel swallowed hard, hastily raised his hand in a salute, his voice barely audible, like a mosquito flapping its wings: “Sir, if there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave…”

Winters nodded very slightly.

Houdel felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He quickly saluted, hunched over, and slunk out of the room.

With Houdel gone, the others followed suit. The once packed corridor was quickly cleared out.

Pierre saluted the tribunal, nodded slightly to Father Carmen, and then prepared to leave with the others.

But a dignified and cold voice came from behind: "Mr. Mitchell, please stay for a moment."

Anglou, who was at the back, cast a concerned glance at Pierre, but could only leave the office with the others.

The door closed again, leaving only Pierre, Kaman, and Winters in the office.

Pierre cautiously turned to glance at the tribune, only to find that the latter's previously frosty expression had melted away, and he had regained his usual carefree and easygoing demeanor.

Winters sighed and slumped his weight into the armchair, like an old man with stiff joints and limited mobility.

When the whole set of movements was finally completed, he let out a long, satisfied breath.

Kaman, standing beside him, kept his eyes straight ahead, maintaining a composed demeanor as if he hadn't seen anything.

However, even though the priest's posture was respectful and submissive, Winters was still sensitive enough to sense the contempt and disdain that someone was subtly emanating from him.

He protested angrily, “That’s a natural reaction, Father.”

"The body is merely a prison for the soul, and pain is nothing but your illusion," Kaman replied politely, "Your Excellency."

If we continue exploring this topic, it will likely spark another "debate".

Fortunately, Winters had already learned how to deal with Kaman: avoid pointless verbal battles with him in areas where Kaman excels.

So he didn't respond to Kaman's words, but instead reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, raised his chin and pointed to the chair in front of him, casually asking Pierre, "What are you standing for? Come and sit down."

Pierre carefully sat down opposite the tribunal, only putting half of his buttocks on the chair. Winters, seeing this, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Bishop Horn of the Diocese of Artemis has an appointment with me.” Seeing that Winters and Pierre were about to discuss serious matters, Kaman opportunely found an excuse to leave: “Please allow me to take my leave first.”

Winters nodded slightly, and after thinking for a moment, smiled and said to Kaman, "Please convey my gratitude to Bishop Horn and tell him that I am very grateful for his intervention to appease the parishioners in the city. If the time is right, I will personally visit him to express my thanks."

Kaman frowned slightly, glanced at Winters suspiciously, and nodded rather reluctantly: "I will pass it on."

After saying this, Kaman nodded slightly to Pierre, then turned and left the room.

Throughout the process, Pierre keenly sensed that Father Carmen's gaze lingered on him for a brief moment.

The priest's gaze, like that of a potter searching for cracks in a water vat, inevitably made Pierre somewhat uncomfortable.

However, the priest of Wolftown had a close relationship with the Mitchell family, so Pierre temporarily interpreted Father Carmen's inspection as concern from an old friend.

Winters watched Carman leave, then looked at Pierre and said quippedly, “Come on, give me some good news. I’ve had enough of the complaints these days.”

Pierre snapped out of his daze and immediately sat up straight.

He solemnly placed the package that Vahika had given him on the table, deftly untied the ropes, and then slowly took out a key from it.

Then came the second game, the third game...

Finally, a total of seven keys were carefully placed in front of Winters.

The seven keys were of different materials and sizes. Some were silver-plated and gold-plated, with exquisite designs; others were merely twisted iron bars, requiring considerable comprehension to identify them as keys. Pierre proudly explained the origins of the keys: "Longbow Bay, Floating Harbor, Ice Creek Valley... wherever your banners have gone, the towns of Vaughan have surrendered without hesitation, all willingly offering their 'keys to the city' as a sign of submission."

The next moment, Pierre saw Blood Wolf take out a huge, heavy iron ring from the drawer.

All sorts of keys were hanging from the iron ring.

“Sometimes, I’m really curious.” Winters frowned as he threaded the seven keys on the table onto the iron ring: “How many of these so-called city gate keys can actually open a door?”

“I’m afraid not even one.” Pierre carefully concealed his disappointment, and asked with a smile, “The town gates aren’t even linked together, so how could they need keys?”

Winters noticed the forced smile in Pierre's eyes and suddenly realized that what lay before him was not just seven keys, but also the fruits of Pierre's hard work.

He wanted to pat Pierre on the shoulder and say a few words of encouragement, just like his older brother would. But unfortunately, he wasn't good at that kind of warm and affectionate communication.

He lifted the iron ring, and the keys of various sizes jingled. He also asked with a smile, "Since you don't need keys, how did it become like this?"

“Because they heard that any town you conquer, as long as it obediently hands over the key to its city gate, can be spared from looting and extortion.” Pierre pointed to the thick, long, twisted iron bar: “So, even Fuqing Port, which doesn’t even have a city gate, had a ‘city gate key’ made for you on the day I ‘visited’.”

"Oh?" Winters became interested and picked out the twisted iron bar representing Floating Harbor: "Is this it?"

“Yes.” Pierre couldn’t help but smile. “When it was handed to me, it was even still warm.”

Winters examined the uneven surface of the key: "They wouldn't have been robbed or extorted in the first place."

“But they don’t believe it,” Pierre replied calmly. “They’d rather believe you’re the ‘Blood Wolf,’ eager to seize the keys to the city gates to demonstrate your authority, and that they can avoid misfortune simply by obeying you. Rather than making them anxious, why not go along with their imagination and let them secretly rejoice?”

Winters found Pierre's idea amusing, but he couldn't help but seriously ask Pierre, "There's no way to not be a Blood Wolf, but there is the option of pretending to be one?"

“I think we should go further.” Pierre gritted his teeth and answered honestly, “Rather than be misunderstood, we should openly become Blood Wolves. The new settlers are used to the rule of the Legion and to being treated brutally and tyrannically. Being too merciful will only backfire.”

The office fell silent.

Winters thought for a moment and said, "That sounds like something Andrea Cellini would say."

Pierre rested his hands on his knees and lowered his head.

"Why are you looking down?" Winters chuckled. "You're thinking the same thing as Tribunal Cellini—and that's not a derogatory term."

Pierre seemed to have made a great decision. He raised his head, looked at Blood Wolf, and said in a low voice, "Sir, on my way to the garrison, every 'commissioned officer' showed a strange eagerness. At first, I thought they were eager for me to see you. But in the end, I realized that it was not eagerness, but anxiety and panic... They were afraid."

Winters propped his chin up and asked nonchalantly, "What are you afraid of?"

Pierre pursed his lips: "Afraid of peace."

This answer silenced the room once again.

This time, without Winters even needing to ask, Pierre broke the silence himself: "Towns can change hands, soldiers can go home, and officers in boots can be reinstated. But the commissioned officers—those veterans who have followed you from the very beginning—have no way out. If we lose one day, they will lose everything."

As if trying to finish before Winters could speak, Pierre spoke rapidly: “Believe me, every single one of them is willing to fight for you to the last moment—they have never even entertained the thought of betrayal. It is precisely because of this, precisely because they are no longer penniless, precisely because they would never betray you, that the possibility of defeat is all the more despairing for them. Just imagining that possibility sends chills down their spines.”

“Your Excellency, Centurion, Brother Montagne…” Pierre struggled to remain composed as he spoke slowly and deliberately, “Your most loyal men are gradually becoming pessimistic about the future.”

"why?"

“Because they don’t know if this is the end.” Pierre stared intently at the Blood Wolf, his voice trembling, and repeated, “Is this our end?”

Winters looked at Pierre with a mixture of relief and helplessness on his face.

He stood up, propped himself up on the table, called the bewildered Pierre to the window, pointed at the Iron Peak soldiers outside, grabbed Pierre's shoulder, and asked, "Can you sense their—your comrades'—hostility towards your men?"

Pierre didn't know why the tribunal asked that question. He stood there for a moment, then replied, "I felt it."

“Our allies see us that way too.” Winters patted Pierre on the back and led him back to his seat. “If we continue to make greedy demands, the new reclamation lands will soon be engulfed in another war.”

Pierre sat in his chair, his fists clenched tightly and his head bowed. When he looked up again, his eyes were burning with rage. He gritted his teeth and retorted, "Isn't that even better? It's the perfect opportunity for us to take all the newly reclaimed land."

Winters walked toward the chest of drawers in the corner of the room, seemingly oblivious to Pierre's implied meaning, and casually asked, "And then?"

Pierre was stunned: "I...I don't understand..."

Winters returned from the chest of drawers carrying a bottle and two glasses. He poured Pierre some of Major Sandel's prized possessions, leaned against the desk, and looked down at Pierre: "I ask you, take all the newly cultivated land—and then what?"

Pierre felt uneasy under the Blood Wolf's seemingly penetrating gaze. Suppressing his discomfort, he raised his head and replied, "Then comes the Fortress of Kings! Then comes the Jiangbei Province! Then comes the Senas Alliance!"

“I’m not asking you to make a decision,” Winters chuckled, placing the cup in Pierre’s hand. “I’m asking you a more practical question.”

Winters leaned back against his desk, tapping lightly on the surface, asking one question after another: "How many casualties are you prepared to suffer in order to annihilate the three counties' forces? If the three counties refuse to surrender, how many troops do you plan to commit to the siege? After annihilating the three counties' forces and taking all the newly reclaimed land, how long do you think it will take us to fully digest the spoils of war..."

"There couldn't be a better time!" Pierre clenched his fists, his eyes red, and answered resolutely, "Since we're destined to fight the New Reclamation Army, the sooner the better. If we don't shed blood today, rivers of blood will flow tomorrow."

“I haven’t finished asking yet,” Winters said, waiting until Pierre had finished speaking before asking his last question.

He looked Pierre straight in the eye and asked, "If another civil war breaks out in the newly reclaimed lands, will we still have enough strength to deal with external threats when it ends?"

“External threat.” Pierre was taken aback at first, then fell into unprecedented anxiety. He asked, puzzled and indignant, “Your Excellency! The Castle of Kings has no more troops available! What are you worried about? Have you forgotten your promise?”

Winters put his hand on Pierre's shoulder and patiently waited for Pierre to calm down.

“Pierre,” Winters said, summing up his many expectations in one sentence: “Open your eyes and look to the future.”

“The enemy is not only in Kingsburg,” he said slowly, “not even in Palatour.”

[Oh my god! It's the end of the month again! What have I done?!]
[(ㄒoㄒ)(ㄒoㄒ)(ㄒoㄒ)]
[I am a heinous criminal (ㄒoㄒ)]
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(End of this chapter)