Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Those who truly have nothing are more willing to try their luck in other free states than venture to the rumored war-torn land of the Kingdom of Galloping Horses.

Winters rode Longwind, slowly passing in front of the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the gathering.

What did he see?

Anxious eyes, weary faces, husbands and wives bidding their last farewells, mothers biting their lips to hold back tears...

Hardship and the tradition of blood payment had taught the Montan people to silently endure everything with habitual resignation. Perhaps they had already accepted the possibility of burying their bones in foreign soil, but Winters wasn't leading them to die.

Guiding Longwind back to the clearing in front, Winters once more surveyed the crowd and began to speak slowly: "From today onward, you shall embark on your journey to the Kingdom of Galloping Horses. You signed a contract to serve me, and in return, I promise to always be honest with you. Therefore, I must honestly tell you: you are not the people I originally sought."

"What I wanted were blacksmiths. From the beginning, my purpose was to hire blacksmiths. Among you, some have labored in workshops for decades, some are apprentices who never completed their training, some are blacksmiths from other towns whose work is unrecognized by the Steelburg guild. But you—are just laborers—or as the blacksmiths call you—'mule hands.' You are not blacksmiths; you are nothing more than beasts of burden in human form."

On the hillside, dark spruce trees leaned silently against one another, listening to the White Horse Knight's lecture. The earth in the river valley remained motionless, surrounded only by numbness and cold.

At the edge of the clearing, Selvit, Fuller, and other members of the send-off group furrowed their brows, unable to understand why the Baron was humiliating the laborers present with such harsh words.

Winters took in every face, maintaining his silence until the vast land fell into complete quiet.

"Why don't you refute me?" he asked.

"Why don't you feel anger?" he asked.

"Why don't you speak up?" he asked.

Kicking Longwind's flank with his boots, Winters spurred the horse forward. The dense crowd instinctively parted, leaving an empty circle between the warhorse and the ragged people.

Winters pointed his riding crop at a wiry Montan man in front of him: "Why don't you speak?"

The wiry Montan man pressed his lips together.

"Do you believe I'm right?" Winters asked.

"Do you believe you're a mule?" Winters asked.

"Do you believe you deserve to be humiliated?" Winters asked.

The wiry Montan man stared unflinchingly at the White Horse Knight.

Winters pulled the reins sharply. Longwind reared up with a violent neigh, bringing Winters back before the crowd.

The dense crowd remained as silent as the forested mountain, but Winters was already overcome with fury. He whipped down hard, the lash erupting with a loud crack: "Fools! Fools!! Such utter foolishness!!!"

"Have you not labored before blazing forges?"

"Have you not bent glowing iron bars over anvils?"

"Do you not bear the scars burnt into your skin by molten metal?"

Winters paced before the silent crowd, meeting each person's eyes directly: "Why did I choose you? Because you know how to wield a hammer and an anvil! Then why are they blacksmiths while you're mule hands?"

"I'll tell you why! The blacksmith guild—the true rulers of Steelburg! From the moment they select apprentices, they deliberately choose those who 'must obey them!' During the apprenticeship process, they weed out those who 'might disobey them!'"

"Obedience is the sole criterion. Disobedient apprentices are removed one by one, while talent and ability become irrelevant! How many of you were once apprentices? How many of you possess skills equal to or superior to the blacksmith's? How many of you have spent more time laboring beside the forge than the forge master himself?"

"The gods created iron ore—where were the blacksmith guilds when Adam and Eve first smelted iron using fire?"

His thunderous questions echoed across the valley, one after another, until Ernest Fuller turned ghostly pale, trembling as he sneaked glances at John Servette. John Servette remained expressionless, though the corners of his eyes twitched.

Winters dismounted, walking into the crowd. This time, they did not shy away. He climbed atop a wagon, surrounded by men and women alike.

He paused for a moment, as if to draw the anger back into his chest. When he spoke again, his tone was no longer as aggressive as before, but still carried the magma suppressed beneath an icy surface:

"In Paratu, in Vineta, on every piece of land under the Alliance, people believe Steelburg is the City of Wealth, the City of Splendor, the City of Greatness—and I did too! Just like the envoys seeking wisdom from King Solomon, I came to Steelburg hoping to learn how to break free from guild shackles, hoping to understand how a city without guilds could flourish."

"But what did I see? I still saw guilds! I still saw shackles! I still saw you—the blacksmiths, laborers, craftsmen—persecuted and exploited by guilds!"

"Have I spoken wrongly?"

"Have I spoken wrongly?"

"Have I spoken wrongly?"

Winters asked three times, each more fervently than the last.

The forest began to hum with resonance under the guidance of the wind. The silent Montan men and women started to respond with murmurs of agreement.

Winters scanned his surroundings, meeting the blazing, sharp, and furious gazes without hesitation: "Now, I can tell you with the utmost conviction—Steelburg is nothing extraordinary! It was guild-controlled in the past, is guild-controlled now, and will remain guild-controlled in the future.