Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

If Selvit previously struggled to understand why the "Baron" always brought the "Lady" along, then upon seeing Anna with her hair tied back, dressed in a short jacket, breeches, and boots, he at least realized that the Baron's unusual behavior was not simply an act of posturing.

In fact, as the departure drew near, Anna was busier than Winters.

Although Carlo Aide generously lent all his reliable associates to Winters, it was still far from sufficient for such a hastily assembled, massive caravan.

There were always invoices to settle, documents waiting to be filed, and carts yet to be inspected... In this "caravan," where the majority of key personnel only knew how to ride horses, wield swords, and shoot guns, critical roles such as clerical work, auditing, and logistics were almost entirely handled by Anna alone.

When Xial went to fetch Anna, Lady Navarre was still confirming the next camp's supply purchase list with the advance agents of the trading company.

As Anna stepped into the tent, she awkwardly bent her knees in a curtsy, suddenly unsure where to place her hands. According to traditional etiquette, she should place her hands on her skirt—of course, by the same token of tradition, wearing trousers was itself considered highly improper for a cultured lady.

Winters leaned on his cane as he walked to Anna's side, casually lifting her hand and turning to face Selvit. "Councilor, you may speak now," he said.

Selvit, always straightforward, didn't waste time with diplomatic pleasantries. He nodded lightly,

and said somewhat apologetically, "Regrettably, the voting result among the Forge Masters is... rejection. Most of the Forge Masters do not wish to alter the treasured virtues and way of life passed down through generations on this land. Nevertheless, we are grateful for your assistance; you will always be friends of the Steel Fortress."

"Hmm," Winters nodded.

John Selvit carefully observed the subtle changes in expression from the young couple before him—the Baron's emotions barely flickered; his calm demeanor even bordered on aloofness, with a fleeting trace of contempt in his eyes. Anna, the Baron's wife, who wasn't much older than Selvit's granddaughter, showed a hint of disappointment but didn't seem all that surprised.

"You knew the result already, didn't you?" Selvit couldn't help but frown. Up until the vote count was finalized, even he hadn't known what the conclusion would be.

Supporters and opponents had fiercely debated, with most Forge Masters swinging between opinions. The situation was rushed, with no one tallying votes beforehand. Selvit felt like a runaway wagon was dragging him into a foggy valley, an exceptionally rare occurrence that left the usually detail-oriented councilor with a sense of crisis and fear.

"Of course not, Councilor," Anna's palm faintly felt the brush of Winters' fingers tracing circles—a subtle signal celebrating victory. She answered politely, "The result is something you just informed us of."

Selvit countered, "But you don't seem surprised."

Winters turned his gaze to a clothing rack. "Divide one profit among ten people, and at least half will be dissatisfied; how much more so when it's split among four hundred?"

Anna walked to the rack with a resigned expression and, with a faint smile, brought Winters his cashmere cloak.

But Selvit was not ready to let go. "What are you implying? Four hundred is too many to arrive at a consensus favorable to themselves?"

"No, on the contrary. They've chosen precisely the answer that benefits themselves the most," Winters replied earnestly as he dressed. "If all registered blacksmiths had voted, I believe the outcome would have been different."

Selvit was left speechless.

With Anna's assistance, Winters donned his final coat, fastened his belt, and hung his silver-sheathed sword at his side.

He extended his arm toward the weary councilor. "Farewell for now, Councilor Selvit."

The two shook hands. Winters lifted the tent flap and strode boldly beyond the thick fur covering that shielded against cold wind and noise, stepping into a muddy, chilly, and bustling yet vibrant world:

Forests, snowline, sprawling mountains; the river valley bustling with tents being dismantled, snorting draft beasts, rain-covered carts, expressionless men, hurried boys, and family members rushing to bid farewell...

When Winters first laid eyes on the Steel Fortress, he was a weathered traveler, carrying only gold bars worth 140,000 Ducats;

When he gazed at the Steel Fortress for the last time, he would depart with 173 carts loaded with firearms, swords, armor, ironware, books, tools, and instruments... as well as unspent gold bars and silver coins.

And the actual number of carts commanded by his "caravan" exceeded 173.

Because the 173 covered only cargo vehicles—joining Winters in leaving the Steel Fortress were an additional 64 supply vehicles, personnel barely sufficient to keep the caravan operational, and every draft horse and mule Solingen State had to offer.

Such a vast number of carts, if all departing on the same day, wouldn't clear the Steel Fortress's gates even by nightfall. Thus, the vanguard of the convoy had already set off three days ago.

Winters' guards were also assigned across various positions within the caravan, taking on the duties of junior officers. Thanks to the Montan military tradition, which inherently fostered organization, discipline, and respect for orders, Winters was spared considerable effort.

"Mr. Neufel," Winters headed straight toward a cart parked by the roadside, where an elderly man with white hair clutched the reins. "Are they ready?" he asked.