Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Field climbed up from downstairs, holding three freshly washed goblets in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

He placed the goblets on a small table, first poured himself half a glass and drank it, then poured half a glass each for Moritz and Winters.

The lieutenant colonel still cared quite a bit about the mental state of Winters, the rookie fresh out of the gate. As he handed a goblet to Winters, he said, "Don't feel any guilt about today's events; half of those scum in the slums have one murder on their hands, and the other half more than one. Killing them actually just saves the Parliament the money it would've spent on hangman's ropes."

"You can't say that, after all, we didn't go through any trial process," Major Moritz sipped his wine and methodically offered a counterpoint.

"They attacked officers in the line of duty; there's no need for a trial," the lieutenant colonel said with marked ill temper as he poured himself more wine. "It's a pity that this scum can never be completely wiped out. Kill so many today, and tomorrow cripples will find even more people; heaven knows how many rats are hiding in those slums."

"Who was that bald man, and why was he sporting a clergyman's hairstyle?" Winters asked, holding his goblet.

"Cripple... Cripple is the scum of the slums who somehow doesn't quite seem like scum. With him keeping them in check, those beasts commit fewer foul deeds," Colonel Field didn't directly answer Winters, but deftly shifted the topic, "Ensign Montaigne, do you still want to learn practical spellcasting? If so, you have someone who can teach you right before your eyes."

Having said that, Field pointed at Major Moritz with his hand.

"I want to learn," Winters said, standing up excitedly.

Today, the extraordinary magical abilities showcased by Major Moritz had impressed him. That day at the docks, when Moritz was suffering severe withdrawal symptoms, was far from a true representation of the major's capabilities.

"What are you going to learn from me? I can't use anything but acceleration spells. Spellcasters like me are the freaks among spellcasters — congenitally disabled," the major said with a wry smile.

"Bullshit! The approach of the Magic Combat Bureau is utterly wrong," Colonel Field slapped his thigh forcefully, "The Magic Combat Bureau wished spellcasters could master every spell, bombarding us with over a dozen spells to learn all at once. I understood too late, it was only after meeting Moritz that I realized how completely wrong this approach was. A spellcaster, mastering a single spell in their lifetime is enough."

Although Moritz himself seemed to take no pride in his magical abilities, Winters's resolve to learn from the major was firm. He had been troubled by the lack of lethality in fire-type spells, and now that he had the opportunity to seek guidance from a more skilled spellcaster, he was unwilling to give up easily.

Seeing that the younger student genuinely wanted to learn, Moritz shrugged his shoulders. He went into his bedroom and rummaged through his desk for a long time until he emerged with a small leather pouch.

"Catch." The major threw the little leather bag to Winters.

Winters untied the binding cord, and inside the pouch were ten metal rods. He took one out, and from the sheen and weight, the material appeared to be steel or iron. The rods were of uniform quality, smooth on the surface, with one end pointed and the other flat. They were two sizes thinner than his little finger, about as long as his middle finger, and felt neither too light nor too heavy in his hand.

"Is it iron?" Winters asked.

"It's steel, good quality steel. This is the training equipment I've devised myself," Major Moritz said as he settled back into his lounge chair, slowly explaining, "In the military academy, the practice for the Arrow Flying Spell involves accelerating heavy objects, the heavier the better. But I find that practice meaningless. I believe when practicing the Arrow Flying Spell, it's essential to ensure the 'arrows' used have the exact same weight each time, only after a prolonged period can one develop a good feel for it. The ten steel spikes here, five with blunt ends and five with sharp points, have been adjusted to the same weight using the most precise scale."

Winters took out all ten steel spikes, five with curved blunt ends and five with sharp tips. He took two and weighed them in each hand, indeed, he could not distinguish the lighter from the heavier.

"Ever played darts?" Moritz asked Winters.

"I have, but I'm not very good."

Moritz then went into the bedroom again, and this time he dragged out a round target from beneath the bed. The wooden target wound with a coil of straw rope, at the center of which was nailed a silver coin.

The major hung the target up above the fireplace and turned back to Winters saying, "Take one of those blunt-ended steel spikes as the material for the Arrow Flying Spell and aim for that silver coin."

Winters held the steel spike in his hand, aimed at the silver coin in the center of the target, recalling the sensation of casting the Arrow Flying Spell, and entered the spellcasting state. He endured the intense stabbing and burning sensations as he magically accelerated the spike in his hand.

The originally stationary steel spike was magically accelerated in a short time, flying out of Winters's hand, beyond the reach of Winters's third hand. It hit lazily at the edge of the fireplace, not even touching the edge of the target.

[Both "third hand" and "fifth limb" refer to magical abilities]

Winters's face felt hot with embarrassment, but no emotion could be seen on Major Moritz's face.

"Aim a bit higher next time," the major said.

Winters nodded, adjusted his breathing, and shot out a second steel spike.

This time the spike hit the target, but it was at the upper right corner, still some distance from the silver coin at the center.