Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Andre had a multitude of words he wanted to say, but once they reached his lips, he swallowed them all back down again, his thousand words condensing into a hug and a teasing remark, "Winters... do you have some sort of peculiar penchant for chopping off heads?"

Winters looked at the complexions of the Venetian soldiers behind Andre and inwardly sighed that his reputation was now thoroughly ruined.

"The pirates want to exchange our heads for money; they have to take our clothes and shoes as proof," Winters explained with a bitter smile, to prove that his mental state was very normal. "Leaving a headless corpse, they can't tell who's dead."

The Venetian soldiers relaxed a bit upon hearing this. Even Venetians would feel chills seeing Winters in action in battle. The man now offering a helpless explanation was once again the normally amiable Lieutenant Montaigne.

"How did you find us?"

"With all the noise you were making, it would have been hard to miss," Bard stepped over and said with a smile.

Andre also excitedly gave Bard a bear hug.

Others were cleaning up the battlefield, the trio of lieutenants from the hundred-man squadron quickly held a meeting.

Winters briefly and concisely recounted how he had gathered the scattered troops, encountered Bard, and captured and interrogated two enemies.

"These Tanilians are all pirates, the Federation has put a bounty of two Gold Coins per head on them, alive and officers double," Winters said gravely. "Every long-legged pirate on Red Sulfur Island has started to cast their net to hunt us down, the ones who weren't drowned."

"You're now the highest-ranking officer in the chain of command; we'll do whatever you say," Andre said, relieved that he no longer needed to ponder the situation.

Colonel Kongtai'er was not dead; the pirates' powders for their guns were not very powerful, and had only caused a hole the size of a fingertip in his abdomen. The blood had stopped on its own, but the lead bullet was still inside, creating uncertainty about the situation within the abdominal cavity, and the colonel had already fallen into shock.

Winters and his companions were also at a loss; having soldiers who were half-dead was troublesome, and Bard had already arranged for soldiers to make a temporary stretcher.

"No choice, we have to run. The key question is, where do we run to?" Winters found a stone to sit on: "Moreover, we're carrying wounded, which means we can't move fast."

"So what do we do then?" After a moment of silence, Andre said in a strained, low voice, "Otherwise..."

He made a gesture.

"No," Bard said calmly, pressing down on Andre's hand. "The soldiers are all watching; if we abandon the wounded, their morale will break. We either carry the wounded with us, or we abandon everyone."

Five had died in the recent skirmish, and four were seriously injured—those needing to be carried were considered severely injured.

Winters was very clear in his mind: not only did the small group of survivors have to deal with the drag from the injured, slowing down their marching speed, but a larger group also made for a larger target. If only the three lieutenants moved, they would have a much greater chance of escape.

The soldiers who were clearing the battlefield were almost all wounded, but nobody dared show signs of injury, fearing they'd be left behind. A grievously injured soldier was crying softly, while others remained silent; everyone was acutely aware of how things would unfold.

All of the wounded would be abandoned, and with some luck, they might receive a quick end. Those whose strength failed would fall behind one by one, until only a few managed to reach the western shores of the island, still hoping they could find a boat to take them out to sea.

"Are my soldiers destined to only get this far?" Winters thought grimly. "Even if there is such a thing as fate, I refuse to surrender without a fight!"

All the living Venetians present were summoned to the side of Lieutenant Montaigne, including soldiers of the hundred-man squadron and sailors from the navy.

"Lieutenant Bard, Lieutenant Cherini, and I have decided not to abandon a single wounded soldier," Winters declared straightforwardly.

In the eyes of his men, Winters saw gratitude and also anxiety and bewilderment.

"Look at this map; we're roughly here. If we flee southwest, we could possibly make it to the coast," Winters, who had carefully wrapped the pre-battle map of Red Sulfur Island in oilcloth and kept it in his chest, was fortunate it hadn't been soaked: "But I've decided that we won't flee southwest; we're going to advance northeast, towards Red Sulfur Harbor. Listen well, we're not fleeing, we're advancing!"

"Heading towards Red Sulfur Harbor will be much safer, even safer than running southwest. The pirates' net will tighten, but the area behind the net is comparatively weak," Winters reiterated Colonel Field's teaching to the astonished soldiers: "Third-rate thieves wear black to skulk in the night, but first-rate thieves wear suits. Follow me, I will lead you in your finest attire through the net!"

Time returned to the present.

Fully liberated, the resolute Winters led the ragtag group of Venetian survivors in pirate clothing, crashing into a nearby farmhouse for a hearty meal, and even commandeered a large cart.

Venetian who could not speak the dialect of Tanilia—including three officers—had all become "captives".

His original plan was for everyone to dress up as pirates, but the three officers impersonating pirates could only fool the peasants. Anyone with a discerning eye could spot the ruse, so they were forced to go half pirate, half captive.

The "prisoner escort" team swaggered down the main road of Red Sulfur Island, attracting curious glances but arousing no suspicions.

The Bastion outside of Red Sulfur Harbor was in sight, however, there were fewer and fewer Tanilians around, apparently, most of them were preoccupied with capturing prisoners.

"Whose men are you?" asked a rider as his group and a large wagon came to a standstill, blocking the road just outside Red Sulfur Harbor.

The wagon couldn't make way, and the driver, unabashedly pushing forward, forced the riders to reluctantly move aside.

"Hailerdin!" the lead toothless thin pirate boldly announced a prominent name.

"Oh... one of Redbeard's men. No wonder," the rider in charge muttered thoughtfully. He glanced at the load in the wagon and asked with a smile, "What's with the mix of odds and ends?"

"Are you blind? Those are alive!" scoffed the toothless thin pirate with a sneer. "A dead one is worth two, a live one three. Do you even understand?"

The spear-wielding pirate was skinny, but his sharp tongue spared no one. Mixing rough sailor's slang with the Tanilian dialect, he was obviously not saying anything pleasant, and it was almost impossible to understand what he was saying.

"Oh... I see," the rider in charge responded calmly.

Winters, who had been keeping his head down, couldn't help but be curious about the identity of the rider, so he discreetly raised his head for a glance, only to lock eyes with him.

Winters knew instantly that this was not good and quickly lowered his head.

But it was already too late. The leader of the riders immediately ordered his men, "Bring that Venetian out from the middle, I want to question him!"

"You sons of bitches! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" the toothless pirate interposed fiercely, protecting the captives.

"I need to interrogate this prisoner," the leader of the riders said impatiently, not wanting to waste time arguing with the lowlife pirate. "Aren't you just going to trade him for money? I'll give you the money directly—how about that?"

"You think just because you want to question him, I'll let you? You..." The insult-spewing pirate's rant was cut short as he suddenly noticed the rider fumbling and showing difficulty, quickly realizing he hadn't brought money. He decisively changed his tune, "...Can you cough up the cash?"

"Hand him over to me, then go collect your money at Gott Guild Hall, tell them Captain Kidd sent you," Captain William Kidd, rummaging through his pockets and finding no purses, could only suggest another solution.

"I don't give a damn who you are! You want the man, bring the money!" cursed the toothless pirate. "Five Venetian coins! If you can't pay up, then piss off!"

["Venetian" referred to the gold coins minted by the Republic of Veneta, short for Venetian ducats.]

"Does anyone else have money?" Captain Kidd turned and asked his fellow riders.

Unfortunately, no one had brought money that day, and the other riders could only scrape together a handful of large silver coins. Find more to read at empire

"Just go," Captain Kidd said, disinterested in haggling with the despicable pirate before him, waving them off. "He'll end up in my hands eventually. I'll interrogate him later."

With that, he led his men away.

The anxious group finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"We might have just run into the commander of Red Sulfur Island," Bard whispered. "Did you see their horses? All top-notch warhorses."

Andre nodded in agreement, "We're lucky they didn't bring any money."

"Of course," the skinny pirate grinned widely, showing his uneven and missing teeth, "I'm 'Lucky' Gold, after all!"