Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

From a distance outside the city, a plume of dark brown smoke rose from the direction of the municipal square. Soon after, muffled booms came from the debtor's prison and the parish guild headquarters, followed by clouds of dust and debris.

Although the other guards at the main entrance of the municipal palace were farther away, they too were swept off their feet by the shockwaves and flying fragments of stone and iron.

Before the guards could recover from their confusion and dizziness, enemies wielding swords and daggers in both hands charged up the steps, lunging straight at them.

...

The sudden explosion interrupted the interrogation, shaking loose a layer of dust from the room's ceiling.

Outside, there was a chaotic burst of running footsteps and questioning voices. Soon, the door to the room was opened, and a junior officer stepped into the interrogation chamber, whispering something to Major Thomas.

Taking advantage of the brief moment when the door was ajar, Alonso glimpsed the scene outside.

The result disappointed him. Beyond the interrogation chamber was still a sealed corridor, offering no clues about the time or the location.

Major Thomas nodded, and the junior officer saluted before turning and departing the room.

Soon after, the sound of galloping hooves rang out like hail, growing louder and then quieter as it faded into the distance.

Alonso held his breath, listening intently until the tumult shifted back to silence. Coming to his senses, he noticed the fake baron watching him with great interest.

Alonso immediately lowered his head, but the man spoke first: "Are you waiting for someone?"

Alonso did not answer.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Baron Granashi," Alonso licked his lips, "self-proclaimed."

"Very good." Winters didn't argue, instead gesturing vaguely toward the Major beside him: "Knowing that I and Major Thomas don't serve the same interests is enough for you."

Major Thomas, hearing this, cleared his throat and discreetly glanced at Junior Berny.

"Although Major Thomas has issued various threats, you should be able to tell—he doesn't want to resort to torture against you." Winters earnestly analyzed the stakes for Alonso: "A barely alive prisoner won't prove the Major's capabilities. He needs an impeccable confession, a willing witness. Only then can he turn the 'Empire Spy Arson Case' into an ironclad prosecution."

Alonso listened silently.

"But I am different." Winters locked eyes with the captive: "I only care about the truth."

The room fell into a deathly silence, and Alonso's heart clenched.

Winters seemed unaffected, casually standing and walking to the cabinet.

Involuntarily, Alonso watched as the other man opened the cabinet, but the fake baron merely retrieved a bottle of wine.

Winters uncorked the bottle and poured himself a small serving of red wine: "To be frank, I am no better at interrogation than Major Thomas, than you, or than anyone else in this room."

All eyes in the chamber—not just Alonso's—were fixed on Winters.

"I dislike coercion because inflicting pain on others brings me no pleasure." Winters sipped a small amount of wine, his pale complexion quickly tinged with a sickly redness.

In his deep, dark eyes, melancholy intertwined with determination:

"But for the truth, I will resort to any measures necessary, and no one can stop me.

You cannot endure what I am prepared to do; no one can. Mind and body have their limits—you, me, everyone. No matter how brave you are, breaking those boundaries is just a matter of time. With an iron hammer, even the hardest stone can shatter. Surely, you know that better than I do."

"I…" Alonso lowered his head, his spirit sinking as he struggled to ask, "How do you want me to cooperate?"

"Simple." Winters yawned, replying indifferently: "Name a few insignificant contacts, divulge a safehouse that's already compromised, provide some half-true, half-false intel. Verifying the information takes time—it'll buy you another day or two at least."

Alonso raised his head in shock.

Winters stood up, stepped to the space between the table and the prisoner, and leaned casually against the table's edge: "I completely understand your actions and can assure you that you won't suffer needless torment simply for stalling."

This time, even Major Thomas couldn't hide his confusion and surprise, glancing sideways at Winters.

"You're clinging to hope because you believe time is on your side." Lowering his gaze to the prisoner, Winters asked compassionately: "Are you waiting for someone to rescue you?"

...

[Outskirts]

[Military encampment perimeter]

Silhouettes of cavalry disappeared at the far end of the road, the dust kicked up by their hooves settling bit by bit.

The Hawk Officer stood beside the warhorse, his left hand gripping the saddle horn while his right held a drum-shaped silver box. He stared motionlessly into the silver box's interior.

Other than the Hawk Guards feigning attacks on the municipal palace, prison, and guild headquarters, the remaining combat-capable Hawk Guards were assembled behind him.

No, to be accurate, it wasn't just the Hawk Guards and advisers.

The Empire's armed forces mobilized every possible asset in Solingen State—Royal Security Committee spies, Royalist Party members eagerly anticipating the Emperor's imminent battle with the rebels, desperate mercenaries lured by hefty rewards yet oblivious to their mission...

Those who could evacuate had already done so; those who couldn't were subjected to ruthless exploitation until their last ounce of value was drained.

The Emperor's Hand's deputy director was prepared to end years of intricate espionage in Solingen State with a pyrrhic victory—for from the moment their highest official was captured, the Empire's intelligence network in Solingen State was doomed to collapse.