Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Hundreds of soldiers marched briskly toward Deerhorn Town.

Strangely, there were no troops wielding halberds and wearing armor to maintain order, nor officers riding high-headed horses and dressed in splendid uniforms.

Only soldiers, and nothing but soldiers.

A rider came from the opposite direction, squinting his eyes, trying hard to find his superior among the soldiers.

A bald man impatiently waved his arm at the rider.

Relieved, the rider happily ran to the colonel, saluting automatically.

Gessa slapped away the rider's hand in a fit of anger, "How many times have I said it? No salutes!"

The colonel had also changed into coarse clothes, his face smudged haphazardly with soot.

But no matter what he wore, his shiny bald head was too eye-catching, so he had also gotten a dirty hemp freedom hat.

At a glance, this baldy actually did look like a rough peasant—just a bit too plump.

"The rebels are on the main road between Deerhorn Town and Falconflower Fort!" the rider blurted out urgently, "Lots of flags! At least a thousand men!"

"Fake!" Gessa dismissed with contempt, "If the rebels truly had a thousand elite troops, would they need to take such a risky gamble? They would simply deploy and fight us, and that would be that, right?"

The rider scratched his head.

"However, the rebel's cavalry is indeed quite formidable," Gessa's eyes lit up, his voice filled with envy, "If we could capture them, it wouldn't be a waste of our efforts."

Gessa had concentrated all of the officers' mounts to strengthen his scouts. Even so, Gessa's cavalry was far smaller than the enemy's.

It was not that Mont Blanc County didn't produce horses, but the warhorses had long been conscripted away.

"So should I give the order to try and spare the warhorses as much as possible?" the rider inquired tentatively.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Gessa fumed, steam almost rising from his seven orifices, "Without killing horses, how are we to deal with the cavalry? You're thinking of dividing the spoils before even winning the battle?"

The rider just chuckled sheepishly.

Gessa held his forehead and sighed, "Have the messengers sent to the towns returned yet?"

"Some from the nearby towns have, the ones from farther away have not," the rider stifled his laughter and answered earnestly, "Don't worry, the militia from the towns should already be assembling. As for the villages... the peasants are playing ghosts! We couldn't conscript any grain from them; I don't believe the rebels could have, either."

"Is the bridge to Lin County demolished?"

"All demolished."

"Good! The rebels following the bandit chief to Mont Blanc County are surely all veterans and the main force. Killing one lessens one danger," Gessa sneered, "Don't let a single one escape."

...

Mont Blanc County is naturally enclosed, surrounded by water on three sides and mountains on one.

Winters was currently located in the heartland of Mont Blanc County—between Deerhorn Town and Falconflower Fort.

Scout reports indicated that the enemy's vanguard was less than ten kilometers from Deerhorn Town.

Having carefully considered it, Winters thought that if he were commanding the enemy forces, he would deploy troops after reaching Deerhorn Town and envelop from three or more directions.

This was the enemy's territory; if defeated, there would be no escape.

However, Winters wasn't very anxious.

He gathered the acting centurions and sergeants of his three hundred-man squads.

Twelve of them, standing in line, each received a map from Winters's hands.

"There's a lot to learn from this map. This is something Colonel John Jeska told me," Winters gestured for everyone to sit.

His subordinates sat before him, as if attending an evening class on an ordinary day.

Winters rested his chin on his hand, making eye contact with each of his former comrades, "The longest among you has known me for over a year; the newest, less than three months. Thinking you can understand the map in just three months is daydreaming."

"However," his tone shifted as he smiled, "as long as what you're carrying on your shoulders is a head, not a rock. Using a map to avoid getting lost is more than enough to learn in three months."

An acting centurion from Wolf Town suddenly laughed out loud, the less seasoned acting sergeants not understanding why.

"Bart Xialing!" Winters raised his arched eyebrows, "What are you laughing at?"

...

Bart Xialing hailed from Nanxin Village in Wolf Town. He was tall, with a square face that made him easy to spot in a crowd.

During the militia draft in Wolf Town, he was the first to draw the lot. As a result, Winters remembered this big fellow right away.

During the Great Wilderness battle, he was promoted to sergeant. Now, he had become an acting centurion.

...

Bart Xialing tried desperately to hold back his laughter, his face turning red as he responded, "Report to the Centurion, nothing, sir!"

"Impudent! Do you think I don't know why you laughed?"

After stopping his subordinate's disrespectful act, Winters returned to the main topic.

"I won't hide the battle situation from you—the situation is dire," Winters analyzed calmly, "The enemy forces are encircling us, their strength at least six times ours. This is their well-established stronghold; the nearby villages and towns, not one will help us."

The relaxed atmosphere dissipated gradually, and the expressions of Winters's newly promoted commanders turned solemn involuntarily.

"We can't fight head-on—we'd be outmatched. Even if we could, all of our resources would be spent," Winters continued, "The objective of containing the enemy forces has been successfully completed. It's time for our triumphant return."

He tapped the map in his hand, "Do you understand what this means?"

Bart Xialing spoke up eagerly, "Does it mean we're retreating separately?"

"Exactly," Winters nodded, "Even in retreat, there must be order. If we all leave together, it's too big a target and too easy to be caught. The enemy commander is just waiting for me to gather my troops all in one place—he wishes!"