Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 466: Chapter 74: Entering the City

In the makeshift medical station, Bard was examining Winters’s left ear injury.

Understanding the structure of hearing organs involves anatomical knowledge, which probably only Father Caman within a hundred kilometers understands, so Bard couldn’t figure it out.

“Am I going to be deaf like this?” Winters asked with a mix of bitterness and grievance.

“No,” Bard comforted. “Major Moritz recovered completely in the end.”

“Ah.”

“It’s alright. Bleeding means there’s a wound, so don’t touch it. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

After settling Winters, Bard began treating the other wounded.

According to military regulations, the medical station should be set up at the safe rear. However, Bard found that the sooner the wounded received treatment, the better—even if it was just the simplest treatment.

Thus, his temporary medical station was set up on the battlefield: carts served as operation tables, stretchers were made with long spears, and the tools were just small knives, pliers, and sewing needles.

When Standing Army soldiers were taken back to the main camp for treatment, Jeska’s militia could remove arrowheads, take out lead bullets, and sew up sword cuts in the temporary medical station.

However, amputation and other surgical procedures needed to be done at the legionary medical station.

Within three minutes, Bard saw Winters rushing into the medical station again.

“But Major had both ears, I only have the left…” Winters asked.

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” Bard replied while stitching.

“Oh.”

Three minutes later.

“How do you know it’s nothing?”

“I’m guessing.”

“…”

Another three minutes passed.

“What if I can’t recover? Am I really going to be deaf? I…”

“You won’t, just don’t touch it.”

“Alright.”

Another three minutes went by.

Winters ran into the medical station once again.

“Give me a break,” Bard said with a wry smile.

“We’re ordered to clean the battlefield.”

“Do I have to go too?”

“That.” Winters scratched his head. “You don’t have to.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“I just wanted to ask… are you really sure I’m okay…”

“Get out!”

…

Some say: after a great battle, there comes a great rain.

But this time was different.

The rainfall had already been spent in advance, and as the sounds of slaughter gradually disappeared, the long-absent sun finally showed its true face.

The bright sunshine spread across the earth, bringing a touch of warmth.

The raindrops on the grass leaves reflected specks of light, making the wasteland seem covered in a sheer veil.

The beauty of the battlefield made everything seem unreal, only the cold corpses remorselessly reminded people of what had just happened here.

Paratu soldiers were spaced out in two loose lines, cleaning the battlefield.

Cleaning the battlefield meant collecting usable items, delivering mercy to dying enemies, and making sure the dead enemies were thoroughly dead.

General Sekler didn’t even give time for rest, as soon as the fighting within his view had ended, he urged all soldiers who could move to start work.

Jeska’s militia were also among those cleaning the battlefield, and after several “exercises,” everyone was very proficient at this job—perhaps even more than the Standing Army.

Everyone carried both long and short weapons. Upon encountering enemy corpses, they first used the long weapons to strike, then used short knives to cut off ears for merit.

Winters, riding strong Fergus, followed behind a single-horse cart.

From time to time, militia would put bloody armor and weapons onto the cart. There were those of Herders and also their own.

Andre and Mason rode abreast with him, chatting sporadically.

As Winters stroked Fergus’s mane, he casually remarked, “There should definitely be a cavalry unit attached to each battalion.”

Andre couldn’t help but chuckle, “Assigning a cavalry unit to an infantry battalion? Might as well say assigning an infantry battalion to a cavalry unit. You’re not considering the costs.”

“To put it differently, mixing cavalry and infantry at the battalion level would be useful.”

“Nonsense, cavalry is always useful, having four legs is indeed faster than two. But cavalry cannot be dispersed; they must be concentrated. They could be assigned to infantry battalions depending on the situation.” Andre summed up, “The reason you have this impression is that we’ve always operated independently.”

Winters looked thoughtfully at Mason, “Senior, what do you think?”

“Not enough belts. If the axle is strong enough, maybe we can do without suspension. But the cannons and carriages need to be lighter,” Mason said, tossing out a seemingly unrelated sentence.

With a teasing tone, Andre asked, “Still pondering your daughter’s affairs?”

Mason, without batting an eyelid, shot back, “You two are going on about combining cavalry and infantry, but what about adding artillery into the mix?”

“First, the cannons need to keep up with the marching speed—not even with the cavalry, but at least they should keep up with the infantry, right?” Andre patted his senior’s shoulder, speaking in a carefree manner, “Why are we three little Centurions studying these matters?”

“Right! Why bother studying these? Once back in Paratu, won’t I still end up raising pigs?” Mason burst into laughter, tears streaming from his eyes.

Winters felt sorrowful inside and softly consoled his senior, “True gold always shines in the end.”

Mason just shook his head with a smile without saying a word.

The loose double lines kept moving forward.

A militiaman waved his hand and shouted, “Sir! We found a survivor!”

“Can he speak?” Andre asked.

“Yes!”

“Take him to the Colonel.”

Whether or not a Herder prisoner of war could speak was a dividing line determining their life or death.

When it came to executing prisoners, Vineta’s military was relatively restrained. They didn’t do it unless necessary.

As for the Paratu People, they had no psychological burden in executing Herder prisoners. Whether to keep prisoners alive depended entirely on transport capacity, battle conditions, and the mood of the commander.

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