Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The letter paper bore traces of ash, hastily inscribed with a few lines.

Bitler quickly finished reading, his face expressionless as he tucked the letter into his chest. He asked the messenger, "Where is the Colonel?"

The messenger replied in a low voice, "With the troops."

"How's the legion doing now?"

The messenger dismounted, leaned in, and told Bitler, "The troops are stuck on St. Paul Street."

Bitler nodded, the messenger's words matching the content of the letter.

The old Sheriff had in fact received a call for aid.

The city's garrison, stationed outside, had encountered armed rioters on the inevitable route into the city—St. Paul Street. The combat resolve of the rioters was unexpectedly tenacious; they erected barricades in the streets, coupled with arson, entangling the troops for the time being.

Colonel Berny requested that the Sheriff of the southern district lead the militia to flank the street barricades from behind, in order to crush the main force of the rioters. The Colonel predicted that, once the backbone of the rioters was cleared, the other agitators would not be a concern.

Bitler hesitated not a moment, immediately beginning to muster men.

He knew every single one of the southern district's militiamen. Who was capable, and who was useless, he had a clear grasp.

Seeing the old Sheriff gearing up for a proactive strike, Schler became flustered.

"Mr. Rhenetahl!" Schler, regardless of the risk of offense, asked loudly, "What are you planning to do exactly?"

The attention of the militiamen was instantly drawn.

Bitler's face hardened: "Get lost, I am the Sheriff. I don't need to explain what I'm doing to you."

Schler's voice rose: "I am also a duly appointed Sheriff! I have responsibilities to the citizens of the southern district! Are you trying to lead people to the Old City?"

"Yes!" The old Sheriff glanced sideways at his subordinate.

"If you take everyone away, what about the south town?" Schler asked aggressively, "What if rioters slip into the southern district?"

The face of Bitler turned iron blue: "Who said I'm 'taking' everyone? Naturally, I'll leave enough men to defend Republic Street."

Schler retorted, "If you take away the capable men, what use are a bunch of old, weak, sick, and disabled left behind?"

"Do we just watch the Old City get burnt to the ground?" Bitler also asked loudly, "Ignored and unattended?"

When it came to marching and fighting, the old Sheriff had far more experience than his subordinate. But when it came to debate, Schler could outtalk two Bitlers tied together.

Faced with the old Sheriff's counter-question, Schler did not respond directly but instead gestured to the other militiamen and shouted, "Let's see what everyone else says. Would we rather see the southern district destroyed to save the Old City? Or do our duty, and give priority to protecting the southern district! Protect our wives and children!"

"You're equivocating!" The messenger couldn't help but rebuke Schler.

"Shut up! What's it to you, what we people of the southern district decide?" Schler rudely interrupted the messenger, turning to point at a militiaman holding a firearm, "You, which do you choose?"

The singled-out militiaman didn't dare to speak, and finally stomped his foot: "I'll go with the majority."

Schler pointed at another militiaman, "You say."

The militiaman hesitated for a long time before murmuring softly, "Surely the southern district must be protected first."

Schler pointed to another militiaman.

"Yes, the southern district is important, but we can't just watch the Old City be ravaged..."

"I already know what you're thinking!" Schler bellowed, "Your workshop is in the Old City, you're afraid it will get looted and burnt, but have you thought about others? Our homes are all in the southern district. A workshop can be rebuilt, but once home is gone, everything is gone!"

Seeing Schler taking control of the situation, the anxious messenger cut off Schler's speech and loudly asked Bitler, "Mr. Rhenetahl, you are the Sheriff! Make a decision!"

Bitler's eyes swept over the group of militiamen; the firelight reflected in their eyes showed weakness, selfishness, and fear—their everyday bravery and generosity completely vanished.

Bitler almost crushed his silver teeth, Schler had ignited the militiamen's instincts for survival and self-interest, quenching all those noble sentiments.

Seeing the old Sheriff not speaking, the anxious messenger simply bypassed Bitler and directly conveyed the command to the militiamen, "By order of Colonel Berny, militiamen of the southern district..."

"The militia reports directly to the city council! Not under the command of the legion!" Schler interjected sharply, "Berny wants to mobilize us? Let him produce the mayor's mandate!"

"Dammit! You're asking for it!" The messenger pulled at his reins and "whooshed" out his sword.

Schler also jumped onto the barricade, standing tall and looking directly at the messenger, "You dare?!"

"Stop!" bellowed Bitler, "I've made my decision..."

"Listen!" a militiaman shouted in alarm, cutting off the old Sheriff's words, "What's that sound?"

Upon hearing this, everyone turned their ears to listen; a messy sound of footsteps made by many people came distinctly from the direction of the Old City.

At first, the sound was faint, later becoming clearer, then growing louder and more intense. Without any pause, it drew closer and closer.

Then, the sound of horses neighing, people crying out, and the "creak creak" of turning cart axles mingled with the footsteps, reaching everyone's ears.

Dark figures began to appear from the smoke and dusk, forming a "fleeing" procession. There were old men driving horse-drawn carriages, men carrying loads on shoulders and in hands, and women clutching children.

Unlike the scattered individuals who had previously fled to the southern district, this time an endless stream of people were escaping the Old City, carrying all their possessions they could, desperately abandoning their homes.

"Fire! Such a huge fire!"

"Mom! Where are you?"

"It's hopeless!"

"Show some mercy!"

Behind the barricade, the militiamen were momentarily stupefied. They had set up the barricade to block the riotous looters, but they couldn't stop so many refugees: "What do we do about this..."