Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

After the spectacular fire tornado consumed the blazing Erwin Great Cathedral, the South Bank's inferno lost its strength to launch further offensives.

The blaze in Old Town was systematically divided and surrounded, eventually exhausting its fuel and perishing unwillingly.

By the following afternoon, the fires within the city had largely been extinguished, but the remnants spreading to the hills continued to expand for three more days.

The Temporary Military Governance Committee issued a notice, declaring the top priority to be controlling the wildfire.

The newly recruited militia, just reorganized based on the winter training structure from previous years, immediately marched into the southern hills under the command of officers at all levels to engage the flames once again.

Only a small number of gendarmes and militia were left temporarily to maintain order within the city.

The garrison from neighboring provinces had been progressively informed, with reinforcements racing day and night toward Kingsfort. However, there was still no news yet from the messenger dispatched to Kingsfort.

Compared with firefighting, post-disaster management posed far more troubling challenges.

On the night of the blaze, many workshops along the riverbank were thoroughly plundered, leading to a massive loss of military armaments stored within.

As the fire rapidly spiraled out of control, escape became the sole priority, resulting in a significant portion of armaments being directly abandoned in the South Bank's fire-ravaged zones.

Another portion of weaponry was taken by fleeing residents, only to be confiscated by military checkpoints upon leaving the city.

Yet another portion flowed into the relatively undamaged North Shore, with their whereabouts unknown, urgently requiring recovery.

As for workshops that were neither plundered but still struck by the fire or dismantled due to the disaster, the military temporarily sealed them off.

Given the Monta Republic's tradition of private weaponry for combat, its laws permit civilians to possess arms and armor.

This made distinguishing "lost military armaments" from "weapons originally possessed by citizens" and recollecting them an enormous challenge.

Furthermore, the recovered weapons, originating from dozens of different workshops, were now intermingled, raising the equally perplexing question of how to redistribute them to their rightful owners.

The issue surrounding armaments was merely a microcosm of the broader difficulties faced during post-disaster management.

It wasn't only armaments that went missing. Despite the fact that thousands of homes, shops, and warehouses in Old Town were reduced to ashes, there were bound to be remnants left behind.

For those who lost everything, their attention to the belongings that survived became even more intense. By the morning after the fire hadn't yet been fully extinguished, some were already risking their lives to return to the city and see what remained.

Additionally, on the night the garrison took control of Kingsfort, in an effort to keep roads clear, many carts were directly pushed into the Rose River. This resulted in the river surface being strewn with tables, clothing, utensils, and all kinds of household belongings.

Although such emergency measures were justifiable at the time, they created a daunting aftermath to clean up.

And yet, all these challenges weren't even the most urgent concern. Inside and outside Kingsfort, tens of thousands of starving, homeless refugees were staring fearfully into the unknown future.

Extinguishing the fire wasn't the end; extinguishing the fire was merely the beginning of the end.

...

[Kingsfort, South Bank of Old Town]

[Temporary Command Center of the Garrison]

The sky was ashen, shrouded and devoid of sunlight.

Due to the surrounding mountainous terrain, the smoke and dust from the fire lingered over Kingsfort, resisting dispersal for a long time.

Everyone in the queue had scarves wrapped around their mouths and noses, and Ernest Fuller was no exception.

Suppressing his urge to cough or vomit, he tightened his cloak around himself, doing his best to avoid drawing any extra attention.

To Fuller's right, just a few steps away, hung a corpse on a freshly erected gallows.

A wooden sign dangled from the dead man's chest, bearing a few crude words explaining the cause of death—[I robbed].

Two crows perched on the corpse's shoulders, cawing brazenly while feasting voraciously.

The corpse swayed gently in the wind, its lifeless eyes casting a hollow gaze upon those in the queue, though the living deliberately avoided meeting its stare.

The line moved forward slowly, and Fuller managed to put some distance between himself and the body, providing some psychological relief to his churning stomach.

Martial law had not been lifted with the fire's containment; Kingsfort remained under military control.

The army enforced order mercilessly—any criminal, even petty thieves, faced summary judgment and execution by hanging.

As far as the eye could see, the landscape was monotonous with broken walls and ruins, except for the gallows dotting the main roads, standing newly built.

Fuller kept his head down, focusing his gaze on the legs of the person ahead of him, though his mind was increasingly occupied with other thoughts.

Everything he had experienced was so wildly surreal that he still felt dazed.

Cloaks, assassins, the strange, cold sensation of a blade stabbing into his thigh, the slimy brain matter leaking onto the ground...

In just a few days, he had plummeted from a respectable Forge Master to a miserable speculator teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Then, in the aftermath of the fire, he lost all his wealth, incapable of even claiming the status of a bankrupt.

Yet, within the despair, a glimmer of light appeared, offering a faint possibility of change...

The line inched forward again, and Fuller remained frozen. Only when someone coughed impatiently behind him did he snap out of it, hastily stepping forward to catch up.

If at that very moment a curious onlooker approached to ask each person in the queue about their identity, they would be surprised to discover: this long line consisted of individuals who, if not respected Forge Masters, were at least free citizens with recognized rights.

For so many of the "true owners of Kingsfort" to queue like ordinary soldiers was an unusual spectacle.

However, none of those waiting in line had the energy to admire or discuss it. Like Fuller, most of them were masked, their gazes grim, and speechless.

It wasn't hard to understand; anyone who had their property destroyed by a fire wouldn't be in the mood to joke right now.