Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The Montans, having endured beyond their limits, finally rose up against their oppressors—a rebellion, as it was called by the Empire.

The uprising began in Steel Fortress, with old soldiers, farmers, and commoners forming the backbone of the rebel army. They took over the city hall, breached the garrison fortress and jail, released prisoners, publicly executed Imperial tax collectors and officials, and swept across the mountains within the next month, defeating Imperial forces aimed at quelling the rebellion twice.

However, lacking a clear set of demands and with widespread belief among the rebels that "if only His Majesty knew of our suffering, he would surely eliminate corruption; all disasters are due to his advisors, who are corrupt and authoritative," the rebels ultimately surrendered on the condition of being pardoned.

The disarmed rebels were immediately slaughtered en masse, with the lucky survivors either adopting new identities or going into exile in the south.

This was historically known as the [June Rebellion].

Imperial Calendar year 550, exactly ten years ago, the day before the Festival of Fives.

Thousands of apprentices suddenly gathered in the Old Town, frenziedly smashing and looting the shops, workshops, and warehouses of foreign merchants.

It started with apprentices from the brewing guild and the leatherworking guild, and then the most numerous blacksmith guild's apprentices joined the destruction.

Long-standing tensions between the residents of Steel Fortress and foreign merchants were well-known, but no one knew what spark ignited the powder keg.

Some said it was due to a Vinetan merchant named Francesco da Baldi boasting in a tavern about how he seduced the wife of a Steel Fortress citizen; others said it was because of a group of foreign usurers using violence to collect debts; there were also rumors that it was the preaching of friar Berlin, inciting the Montans to defend their homeland.

Regardless, the oppressed apprentices, who had long been at the bottom of the guild hierarchy, vented their pent-up anger on the foreign merchants, and chaos devoured Steel Fortress in an instant.

The rioters first destroyed barrels in the brewing workshops of St. Paul Street, then rampaged through the slaughterhouses and meat markets, and ultimately spread along Rose River, smashing, looting, and burning everything in their path.

Initially, their targets were limited to "foreigners," but this quickly escalated to "anyone who wasn't from Solingen," and eventually, they resorted to looting anything they saw.

The streets of the Old Town were quickly in shambles: most shops were vandalized, some were set ablaze, people were severely beaten, and some were thrown into the river.

This was historically known as the [Festival of Fives Riot].

It wasn't until dusk that the troops stationed outside the city entered Steel Fortress to suppress the mobs and imposed a curfew, putting an end to the chaos.

...

The Old Sheriff Bitler had personally experienced each of the riots, disturbances, and uprisings mentioned above.

As for other small-scale disturbances and chaos, they were hardly worth mentioning for the Old Sheriff.

However, with this uprising, Bitler sensed something unusual.

Different from every other time, this one came too quickly, erupted too suddenly, and the methods were too violent.

When a city faces unrest, everyone within can feel the oppressive and restless atmosphere. Old Sheriff Bitler was particularly keen on such feelings.

Yet this time, Bitler had no premonition of an imminent storm or falling house, no sense of crisis before it all unfolded.

Of course, the unemployed laborers stranded in Steel Fortress are a destabilizing factor; indeed, there is still no solution in sight for the crisis of the trade embargo; true, the price of flour in Steel Fortress has risen day by day.

The Old Sheriff internally exclaimed: "But all of that shouldn't be enough reason to burn everything to ashes in despair!"

Even during the Festival of Fives riot, vandals exercised great restraint in not resorting to widespread arson.

Fire is the most terrible nightmare of a city; the larger the city, the greater the fear of fire.

A mistakenly placed torch can reduce an entire block to ashes; an accidental fire can turn a well-to-do resident into a homeless beggar within an hour.

Thus, every year as autumn arrives, the Old Town of Steel Fortress implements a curfew, enforced until the first rain of the following year, all to prevent fire disasters.

And so the people of Steel Fortress harshly execute arsonists—burning them alive on the stake—as a warning to others, meting out similar punishment even to those who verbally threaten to set fires.

However, the current situation in the Old Town seems to be one of heedless arson and looting, as if tomorrow were the end of the world.

Bitler even began to doubt whether his age had dulled his senses, making him unable to accurately gauge the pulse of Steel Fortress and misjudge the situation.

"What should I do?" Bitler felt indecisive, gripping his frostbitten hands even more tightly: "Do I hold the South City? Do I just watch as the Old Town turns to ashes? Suppress the riot? With just these few hands? What about South City?"

From the dark streets, a rider burst forth, covered in dust on their hair and face. Upon reaching the barricade, they called out loudly, "I'm a messenger from Colonel Berny, where is the sheriff of the South Town district?"

"Here!" Hearing the words, Bitler pushed aside his assistant and hurried down the ladder in a few strides, limping towards the barricade: "Where is the colonel? Where is the legion now?"

The rider glanced at the other militiamen, took out a letter from his chest, and said, "Please read."

Bitler took the letter with displeasure.

The letter was rolled up and possibly due to haste, was not sealed with wax but fastened with a damaged ring—Bitler naturally recognized the colonel's ring. He didn't comment but took a lantern and squinted to unfold the letter.