Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The Reconnaissance Cavalry sent to the Old Town had yet to return, but Winters could no longer wait.

Fuller stared with wide eyes and speechless at the "Baron's servants" lifting out one heavy wooden box after another, taking out chain mail, breastplates, arm guards, and underskirts, and expertly helping each other don their gear.

There was even someone who excitedly brought over a set of horse armor, only to receive a glare from the Baron and sheepishly carry it back.

Winters was now desperately short of hands.

Even with Xial and Berlion joining later, his entourage never exceeded a dozen. After dispatching messengers and reconnaissance cavalry, they were even more shorthanded, leaving only Winters, Anna, Caman, Anna's personal nursemaid, and six guards in the inn.

Caman was in low spirits, unable to give any orders. The nursemaid was scared half to death and couldn't be of much help. The guards, tasked with perimeter surveillance, could only armor up in turns.

In the midst of the bustle and chaos, Anna walked into the living room and silently took the silk bodice from Berlion's hands, clumsily assisting Winters in changing his attire.

Winters deliberately avoided Anna's gaze. Anna also kept her head slightly lowered, not letting Winters see her expression.

"Sir," Fuller asked with empathy, "Are you going to...to fight again tonight?"

Winters had already taken off his regular clothes and put on his silk body wear, now dressing in his combat attire.

He took the silver box found on the green-eyed corpse and tossed it directly to Fuller, asking, "Do you recognize what this is?"

Fuller carefully opened the lid of the box: "A clock?"

Old Schmid glanced at it: "It's a Nulan Clock."

"Do you know what this thing is for?" Winters asked again.

Fuller was puzzled: "To keep time?"

"One clock is for keeping time, ten clocks are for planning." Winters spread his arms to let Anna fasten his belt: "Those assassins lying in the courtyard, each one is skilled. You two have seen their abilities with your own eyes, and I nearly fell victim to them."

Fuller instinctively thought to slap on some flattery about the "Lord's bravery" or "unparalleled swordsmanship", but suddenly recalled the assassin's half-spilled slick brain, instantly feeling his stomach churn and pushing the broth up his throat, unable to speak a word for a long time.

Winters moved his shoulders and waist a few times, making sure his clothes were loose and snug, not hindering his movements, then nodded indicating he could put on the armor.

He gave a sideways glance and asked the two Forge Masters: "Those dozen or so assassins in the yard are just a paw, but there's a wolf, even possibly a pack of wolves, hidden inside the fortress. Mr. Schmid, Mr. Fuller, do you really think the mastermind behind the assassins prepared such a grand show just to deal with me?"

Old Schmid remained silent, while Fuller felt a tremor in his heart.

Fuller had long guessed that he would not escape easily tonight.

Strewn corpses on the streets, unrest in the Old City, the inn was in a state of panic for a time. Already three or four groups of attendants and guests had come to ask the Baron for news, and all were mercilessly turned away.

Although Fuller was trembling with fear, his eyes saw clearly: the Baron and his wife were not only tending to their wounds, preparing hot wine and a restful room for themselves, but they never mentioned sending him home.

If they won't let me go home, then so be it, Fuller calculated meticulously in his little ledger: with the outside in such chaos, I wouldn't leave even if they asked me to. We can talk at dawn if need be.

Old Schmid abruptly asked, "Your Excellency, may I inquire who is behind the assassins?"

"I don't know," Winters replied without hesitation.

"Why are they targeting you?"

"I don't know."

Old Schmid was silent for a moment, then with a hoarse voice asked again, "If the situation is really as you describe, shouldn't you stay in the inn and wait until things calm down outside before leaving?"

Winters guessed what the old blacksmith was thinking and told him straightforwardly, "The assassins are not Montans, nor are they from The Federated Provinces."

Old Schmid's face turned grave, while Fuller was at a loss.

"As for the other question. Given the current situation, staying in the inn is indeed safer." Winters had already donned a full set of three-quarters armor, his striking appearance like that of a holy warrior walked out of a mural.

He clenched and then loosened his fingers, protected by leather and armor plates, getting used to the feel of the grip, different from bare hands: "But I prefer taking the initiative rather than sitting around waiting to die."

"What does it mean to take the initiative?" Old Schmid stared at the Baron, his gaze intense.

Winters drew his sword and inspected it; the blade radiated a faint chill, reflecting his dark pupils.

After a short while, Winters sheathed his sword, fastened the sword belt neatly around his waist: "I'm going to pay a visit to the White Eagle."

Longwind had already been led out from the stable, fully equipped with all its gear.

Since arriving at the fortress, Winters had hardly ever ridden Longwind; the fortress lacked the space for galloping freely, and this combative stallion had long been impatient staying in the stable.

Now, sensing the scent of blood in the air, Longwind was not frightened, but rather excitedly stamped the ground with its forehooves.

Fuller, as if in a trance, followed the Baron into the courtyard, watching fully armored cavalry leading the horse, waiting for orders, watching the Baron receive a pistol from an attendant, watching the Baron approach with the pistol in hand.

Suddenly awakening in alarm, Fuller stumbled back, pleading desperately: "I...I won't say anything!"

Then, Fuller saw the Baron turn the pistol around, offering the handle to him, asking: "Do you know how to use it?"

Fuller foolishly took the revolver, looked at it carefully, and realized it was the very revolver with a revolving cylinder that he had previously given to the Baron.

"Do you know how to use it?" Winters asked again.

Fuller stood still an instant: "No."

Winters patted Fuller on the shoulder: "Then you might have to learn to use it tonight."

After saying so, Winters walked towards Longwind.

Old Schmid strode hurriedly to catch up with Winters, asking anxiously, "Sir, are you really going to go to the North District?"

Winters took the reins from Longwind, mounted the horse using the stirrups, and ignored the old blacksmith.

Old Schmid clenched his teeth and knelt on one knee: "Please take me with you."

Winters sat on his horse, looking down from his height, slightly frowning, sizing up the old blacksmith.

Old Schmid stood up, fists clenched tightly: "My entire family is still in the North District. If it's really as you say, I must go back to them tonight! Without me, they won't make it."

"The Old City is in turmoil; the current situation is still unknown," Winters spoke calmly: "Crossing Old Town now could mean losing your life; I cannot bring along a burden."

"I'm aware of the risks; they are mine to bear. You need not worry about me, and I can still ride," Old Schmid turned his head to glance at Fuller: "Young Fuller, bear witness. I owe the Lord a favor tonight, and if I die, you go tell my sons to pay it back for me."

Winters remained unmoved: "My men are more important than your favor."

"You're in need of hands!" Old Schmid was relentless: "Every household in the North District knows me, and I know them. Can you mobilize the North District? I can!"

Winters watched Old Schmid for a few seconds, then lifted his hand and pointed at him: "Bring him a horse."

A guard quickly brought out a prepared horse and handed it to Old Schmid. The old blacksmith, without a word, mounted the horse.

Fuller, slow to catch on, also ran staggeringly into the courtyard, with a mix of snot and tears: "Take me! Sir! My whole family is in the North District too!"

Winters glanced at Fuller's short limbs and round belly: "You can't."

Fuller was about to plead again when Caman stepped out from the shadows, tapped the back of Fuller's head. Fuller, who was still wiping tears, trembled and collapsed limply to the ground, passing out.

"I'll go with you," Caman said with an austere face.

Winters shook his head: "Stay here to protect the others."

Meanwhile, the courtyard became noisy.

The sound of horse hooves like hailstones approached rapidly, and a far-off Reconnaissance Cavalry showed loudly: "Xial is back! Xial has returned!"

The guards heard the call and opened the gates. Xial, wrapped in the wind, galloped into the courtyard, screeching to a halt just before Winters. His clothes bore the smell of gunpowder, and on the horseback, a struggling person was tied up.

Xial rolled off the horse and hurried to Winters's side, reporting in a low voice: "The Old Town has completely descended into chaos. Rioters have blocked the main roads leading in and out of the district. They're pillaging homes, stealing food, and there's arson."

"Where are the troops stationed outside the city?"

"Colonel Berny's men won't be able to make it for a while," Xial panted, speaking rapidly: "The roads into the city are blocked by several barricades, shantytowns along the way are ablaze. It is said..."

Xial gritted his teeth: "It's said that someone opened the warehouses of the Riverside Workshops, and now they're distributing weapons to the rioters!"

Outside, there was another commotion, and a dull chime of a clock came from somewhere.

A Cavalry responsible for perimeter patrol raced into the courtyard, gasping as he reported: "Centurion! There are calls outside, commanding that every citizen with rights arm themselves immediately and assemble at Gerten Church Square! It's the order of the Sheriff!"

Xial stepped forward swiftly, yanking the Cavalry, much his senior, off the horse, and scolded sharply: "Shut up! Don't panic!"

The Cavalry realized his slip up and annoyed, gave himself a hard slap on the cheek.

Fuller lay unconscious, hearing none of this. Old Schmid's expression did not change, as if he heard nothing either.

"The Sheriff?" Winters looked towards Old Schmid.

"The Sheriff appointed by the city council, responsible for catching thieves and fugitives, there's one for each district," Old Schmid promptly explained: "In emergencies, the Sheriff can call on citizens to maintain order."

The situation became even more tangled and unpredictable. Having witnessed the methods of court mages, Winters would not easily believe any external news.

Immediately, a guard accompanied Old Schmid out of the courtyard to verify the authenticity of the "Sheriff's order."

Winters pointed at the person on the horse's back, asking Xial: "Who is he?"

The person on the horse was blindfolded, gagged, bound up like a shrimp, revealing only sickly white hair.

Felling the horse stop, the white-haired man tried to speak incessantly but could only make indistinct "mmph mmph" noises due to the gag. He struggled violently but was helpless due to his bound limbs.

"Don't know," Xial punched the white-haired man, quieting him some: "Found him in the assassin's carriage!"