Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The decision to raid Hongsong Manor was made after discussion among the three warrant officers, not just because Colonel Kongtai'er had an extra lead bullet in his abdomen that required a doctor, but also because they urgently needed a channel to acquire information from the outside world.

The biggest problem for the group was their complete lack of knowledge about the battle situation. Had the Third Legion launched a second attack? Where was the direction of the attack?

Particularly Winters and Andre, both of them believed that it was not an option to keep hiding in the Tanilia people's vacuum zone. Even if they needed to remain under the radar, it should be an "active" concealment, meaning they should gather intelligence and move flexibly, instead of burying their heads in the sand like ostriches, praying that the Tanilians would not stumble upon them.

Therefore, Hongsong Manor became the perfect target. The manor owner had a high social status and was well-informed; moreover, the location of Hongsong Manor was remote and not easily exposed; most importantly, Kalman was a doctor—though it was said his main method of treatment was bleeding.

Before Winters and Kalman could say anything, a Centurion hurriedly walked in and whispered in his ear, "Something's gone wrong, we've lost three of our men."

Winters, without changing his expression, left Kalman with Andre and strode towards the door. Your next chapter is on empire

"What happened?" Winters only asked after leaving the residence, maintaining a very calm attitude.

But his Centurion was somewhat panicked, "One went to check the house on the west side, and after he went in, he didn't come out. Two more went in to find him and ended up the same."

The Centurion, a seasoned sergeant with over a decade of experience, was Winters's trusted assistant and had the confidence of the warrant officers, but even he was sweating profusely and looked panicked.

"Take me there," Winters said, frowning.

Outside the row of wooden houses on the west side of the residence, the remaining soldiers stood a few meters from the doorway, craning their necks to look inside, but didn't dare to approach.

The house was pitch dark, as if it was hiding predatory beasts in the shadows, devouring every particle of light.

Upon seeing Warrant Officer Monta approaching, the soldiers saluted. Bard, seeing that the raid team had succeeded, also hurried over with two musketeers.

"What's going on?" Bard asked quietly.

"I don't know, only that three of ours went in," Winters turned to the Centurion, "Did they light torches when they entered?"

"The second group did," the Centurion explained anxiously, "But after they entered, there was a shout, and then it went dark again. Centurion, there's definitely something wicked in here."

"Is there a back door?"

"No, just this one entrance. One door in, one door out."

"Torches!"

A torch was handed to Winters; he drew his saber and led two other soldiers into the pitch-black wooden house.

The firelight reflected back at them; the entrance was curtained off, dividing the wooden house.

Winters used his saber to lift the curtain, and behind it was another curtain, with no one in sight.

He cut down the rope holding the curtains and continued to explore deeper into the room with his men. The wooden house was divided into even smaller spaces with curtains.

Suddenly, Winters heard a creaking noise from above, indicating the wood was under stress. He knew something was wrong and immediately stepped back.

However, the attacker moved extremely fast, leaping down from the beam, using momentum to flip him over. It was then that Winters realized it wasn't any sinister creature, but a person.

The two soldiers who had entered with him cried out twice before falling silent, their torch extinguished.

Winters lay on the ground, his torch snuffed out by a hand that reached from behind the curtains. The attacker who had leaped down was on top of Winters, wrestling with him, twisting Winters's right wrist almost 180 degrees.

But the saber was still firmly in Winters's grip. Suddenly plunged into darkness, his eyes hadn't adjusted, and he couldn't see anything. More people came out from behind the curtain, trying to pin down Winters's limbs.

In his desperate situation, Winters headbutted the attacker viciously. His forehead collided with something hard, causing agonizing pain in his skull.

But clearly, he had hit the right spot, striking a heavy blow on the attacker, who cried out in pain and released his grip on Winters's right hand.

"Attack!" Winters shouted the code word, and with his right hand free, he thrust the saber into the darkness towards the enemy.

But there was no sensation of piercing flesh; the adversary agilely put distance between them and Winters.

"[Language Winters didn't understand]" A hoarse, elderly voice came from deeper inside the house, "[Still language Winters couldn't understand]"

The others who had tried to restrain Winters withdrew their hands, and Winters, now completely free, pushed himself up from the floor.

By then, Bard had also led the rest of the soldiers into the wooden house.

In the glow of the firelight, Winters finally saw who was in the room.

A group of people with iron chains on their hands huddled in a corner of the wooden house—the women and some children were tucked away in the furthest part of the corner, with the other men shielding the women and children on the outside.

This group of people was vaguely led by an old man with a deeply lined face, leaning on a withered wooden staff, trembling as if a breeze could blow him over.

Yet his eyes were sharp and alert.

"We don't want to shed blood," the old man looked at Winters, his voice like crushed glass grating against each other, and said in a hard, strangely accented Common tongue, "Uninvited guests."

"Where are my men?" Winters demanded in a deep voice.