Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The infantry of the 200th men squadron of Iron Peak County, [Peter Buniel], did not know where to go, and his centurion, [Tamas], would not allow him to ask any questions.

Bunir in the old language means dwarf, fitting for him as he was born short-statured. Therefore, an officer, who got a headache just from hearing "Peter," registered him angrily with this apt nickname.

Before setting off, everyone received a stick, and the dwarf got one as well.

The centurion strictly ordered everyone to bite down on their sticks like horses with bits, not allowing them to fall out. If one did, it meant a whipping.

There was no pre-battle speech. The centurion's face was overcast as he spat out one sentence, "Whether you're worth three hundred acres depends on today!"

With that said, he waved his hand.

Biting on a stick, the dwarf hoisted his spear and set out.

The squad moved through the forest without any real path to speak of; the slightest carelessness could cause dispersal.

The dwarf's squadron had followed the centurion through the old woods twice before, not knowing the purpose at the time, which now seemed likely to have been in preparation for today.

The dense branches of the trees not only made marching difficult, but also provided many with the opportunity to desert.

The dwarf watched with opened eyes as the comrade ahead dropped his weapon and ran into Chestnut Forest, disappearing without a trace.

But the dwarf did not run. He did not dare, and besides, he was fixated on those three hundred acres.

So he quickened his pace, catching up with those further ahead.

The squad eventually stopped in a piece of forest, unaware of its location or purpose, and the enemy was nowhere to be seen.

The centurion ordered everyone to lie down, one by one whispering into their ears:

"When the signal sounds, you rush forward for me. If you see someone without a red scarf, kill mercilessly for me! Three hundred acres! Remember, three hundred acres!"

The moment for truth had arrived. The dwarf lay on the ground, his mouth dry, his limbs numb.

He was merely a cowardly, honest farmer who had lived his life dealing with the land, without even having killed a pig, let alone a man.

To kill a man was to go to hell!

But three hundred acres, those were inconceivable even in dreams.

He longed to hear the signal, yet he also dreaded it.

After an unknown wait, the life-or-death charge finally reached his ears.

Loud cries of killing erupted in the woods, and many impulsively charged out with spears gripped tight.

The dwarf lay motionless on the ground, his limbs refusing to obey him.

He was genuinely terrified, fearing death itself.

During his days serving the previous lord, he only received two pieces of black bread a day.

So when he laid down his arms to surrender, he felt no burden whatsoever.

On the contrary, not having to fight relieved him immensely.

Serving under this current lord, he got not only bread but also three silver coins.

The silver coins were now hidden in a secret pocket close to his body, pressing painfully against his ribs.

But what worth were three silver coins next to life? War truly was deadly!

The dwarf was not certain he was heaven-bound; he was not very devout and had never donated money or grain to the church.

Even if the Lord were merciful and allowed him into heaven, it was better to delay the journey as much as possible.

After all, he had already pocketed those three silver coins…

He had also received a land grant document, which he cared for as much as the silver coins, placing them together cautiously.

The dwarf yearned for land, so much so that it drove him mad, but he had not truly taken possession of any yet.

The three hundred acres existed only in description; the dwarf had neither set boundary markers nor ploughed furrows.

Nobody had pointed to an actual piece of land and told him in concrete terms, "This land is yours, belongs to no one else but you."

"What if it's a lie?" a voice inside him desperately tried to convince the dwarf: "Who knows if they'll really give you the land? When has a lord ever been kind? Hide, just hide here! Wait till the fighting's done before coming out!"

Another voice incessantly muttered: "Three hundred acres, those are three hundred acres! Go for it!"

Suddenly, a searing pain struck the dwarf's back.

He turned to see the furious face of Centurion Tamas looming over him.

Tamas, holding a vine whip, lashed the small soldier lying on the ground furiously, bellowing like thunder, "Coward! Trash! Charge! Look with your pig eyes! We're winning! Charge, and we win! A free three hundred acres! Three hundred acres for nothing, and you don't want it!"

The dwarf screamed miserably, his body curling up into a tiny ball, begging for mercy continuously.

Centurion Tamas lashed out so furiously that the whip could not endure and "snapped" into two pieces.

Tamas's arm trembled, he tossed the remaining half of the vine toward the small soldier and reached for his sword, "You don't want your three hundred acres! Fine! Fuck you! I'll kill you right now!"

The dwarf clawed at the soil, struggling to his feet.

Pain, shame, greed, fear, hate… His mind was nearly a mushy mess.

"Ahhhh!!!" A chilling scream erupted from the dwarf's chest, as the simple farmer, eyes bloodshot and unarmed, burst out of the forest, "Kill the devil! Three hundred acres!"

The other cowards, either infected by the dwarf's frenzy, or scared of military punishment, or muttering about the three hundred acres, or a bit of everything, began to rise, panting heavily.

"The devils are up ahead! They're here to steal your land! Kill! Killing devils doesn't count as killing people!" Tamas, brandishing his military saber, bellowed fiercely, "Whoever the fuck doesn't move, I'll kill them right here!"

"Kill!" Their faces twisted fiercely, they filled with roars and charged towards where the devils were.

...

[Tang Juan] was never afraid of battle; on the contrary, fighting could get him so excited it was addictive.

But this time, he felt anxious for the first time.

The enemy's arrangement was methodical, with a double-layer wooden fence surrounding the camp, and sentries scattered early on.