Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Chengfu!" Gangchalov greeted proactively: "Mr. Vinius!"

The younger Vinius managed a forced smile: "Chengfu."

"How are you considering it?" Gangchalov asked courteously: "About the matter I discussed with you before."

Vinius looked as if he had been severely stabbed by a needle; his whole body tensed up violently, with rage spewing from his eyes: "Forget it! As long as I am alive, you can forget about buying my forge!"

"Why be so stubborn? Your family is still deep in debt outside, no? If you don't sell the forge, how do you plan to clear the debts? Even if you sell the forge, you could work as an employee in my house. With your skills, I assure you that you won't earn less than you do now." Gangchalov persuaded kindly.

"Gangchalov! You and your son have already taken enough! Why must you fixate on my forge?" the younger Vinius exploded in anger: "I'm telling you, your greed knows no bounds, and sooner or later, you will have to spit it out!"

"I don't want to buy your forge either. I have three brothers, but my family only has one forge. I need to provide for my younger brothers, don't I?" Gangchalov smiled, his eyes narrowing threateningly: "If you don't sell, I have ways to buy. It's just that the price won't be the same by then."

"Go to hell!" the younger Vinius spat on the ground, leaving in a huff.

Gangchalov smiled contemptuously, shook his head helplessly, and strolled away.

The town hall reverted to its silent state, with only the faint sound of hammering coming from afar: "Dong, dong, dong..."

...

After arriving in the military village, Winters felt much more at ease than when he was in Forging Village; he even felt a sense of returning home.

Upon entering the village, someone immediately took the horse to feed. Knowing the "protectors of the people" had arrived, villagers of all ages left their farm work to come and greet.

The women, particularly fond of the comparatively handsome — at least relative to the farmers — Captain Montaigne, sashayed their hips, pushing earnestly towards Winters with square plates, competing to offer salt and bread.

Winters was swamped by women, unable to move.

As per the protocol for welcoming guests, he had to taste the bread sprinkled with salt. But as he reached out his hand, someone caressed the back of it.

The scorching touch of a woman made Winters's body tense up suddenly. Then, another hand touched his thigh from behind.

If it weren't for the public setting, he might have been devoured on the spot.

The innocent Captain Montaigne, who had never encountered such a situation, nearly went into a spell-casting reflex.

It was Captain Thomas who charged into the crowd and rescued Winters.

Winters, with tears in his eyes: "What's all this for?"

Tamas grabbed a piece of bread casually: "Run for it, Centurion!"

After escaping the overly enthusiastic welcomers, Winters and Andre followed Tamas to the fields outside the first village — unfortunately, Senior Mason had gone missing.

Because of a lack of expertise in naming, the military villages were unceremoniously named in sequence as [First Village], [Second Village], and so on.

Tamas ran off in a puff of smoke, soon returning with two dripping bags, leaving wet trails on the irrigation ridges.

"Sour curd!" Tamas exclaimed, holding up the bags from afar, shouting excitedly: "I've brought you some sour curd."

So the three sat on the ridge, picking at sour curd from their pockets and chatting idly.

The wheat seedlings in the field in front of them presented an interesting gradient.

To the west were the earliest sown fields, where seedlings had already broken two feet above the soil, lush and verdant.

Moving from west to east, with progressively later sowing times, the height of the seedlings decreased accordingly.

Right to the easternmost side, where seeds were just sown, the fields appeared lifelessly black.

"How's the autumn plowing?" Winters asked.

"All the land that could be plowed has been turned over," Tamas replied, swallowing the curd and acting subservient: "How much it will yield, we don't know. Some lands were sown too late; I fear they won't survive the winter."

Winters chewed on the curd: "Do your best; that's all that can be done. I didn't specify how much land to assign this year because I wanted you to cultivate as much as possible."

Sugar is expensive, so farmhouse curd is hardly sweetened; the taste is sour and slightly refreshing.

"Anything unusual in Forging Village?" Winters seemed to ask casually.

"Nothing," Tamas responded earnestly: "The workshop owners have been fairly honest thus far; no signs of them trafficking weapons to the North Eight Towns."

"Any suspicious people lately?"

"None. You can rest easy; we are keeping watch."

...

Why were the refugees settled as far from the enemy as possible, yet the military village was established near Forging Village?

Winters had several considerations:

Firstly, Forging Village lay south of the St. George River, relying on the river as a natural barrier, blocking much prying;

Secondly, Forging Village was close to Revodan, allowing troops to assemble rapidly in case of emergency;

Third, Forging Village had only two natural villages with the rest of the land held by manors, making redemption convenient;

Lastly, and most covertly thought by Winters — to control and monitor Forging Village with the military settlers.

Forging Village, being the county's "stronghold" for ironwork production, could not be left unsecured.

The twelve military villages now enwrapped Forging Village and Iron Peak Mine, forming a human barrier.

Whether it be smuggling ironwork or disguising to spy, one would have to get past the military's watchful eyes first.

...

The two bags of sour curd were quickly consumed, and Winters stood up, stretching lazily. "Crack, crack" noises came from all his joints.

"That will do." Seeing that it was getting late, Winters yawned and said to the captain: "I'll stay at your place tonight. Tomorrow, I'll take a look at the other villages."

"Great!" Tamas was overjoyed: "I'll go arrange the accommodations right away. What would you like for dinner tonight?"

"That depends on what you have."

Later that day, Winters saw Senior Mason, his clothes disheveled.

Even later, Carlos brought one piece of bad news and one of good.

The bad news was that, as expected, Carlos's blast furnace had failed.

The good news, Carlos had successfully smelted Iron.