Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 467: Chapter 74 Entering the City_2

“`

Unbeknownst to themselves, Winters and his companions gradually became assimilated into the cruel customs of the “frontiersmen”.

A messenger Cavalry with green plumed feathers approached from afar, loudly asking everywhere, “Where is Jeska’s company?”

Winters beckoned the messenger over.

The messenger respectfully asked, “May I know which one of you is Officer Montaigne? Which one is Officer Mason?”

“What’s the matter?”

“The general wants to see both of you.”

…

The messenger Cavalry led the two Centurions at a gallop.

“General?” Winters couldn’t help but speculate wildly, “Alpad? Sekler? What do they want with me?”

It wasn’t until he arrived that he realized there was a problem with the messenger’s grammar. It wasn’t “the general”, but “the generals”.

Alpad and Sekler were both surrounded by a host of field officers, with Lieutenant Colonel Jeska also present.

Winters felt uncomfortable all over, for he noticed that the field officers were staring intently at him and Mason, some with eyes green with envy.

He also noticed that the two generals were standing on the small mound that had been shelled where Yasin, the White Lion, had been hit.

“You two lads, what are you standing around for?” General Alpad called out to the two Centurions with a swagger: “Come here!”

The small area looked very tragic, with dead bodies of men and horses scattered about. Combined with the rain and trampling, it had turned into a quagmire.

Disfigured bodies soaked in the mud, beginning to turn pale.

Winters’ attention was drawn to an arm.

The arm was stuck forlornly in the mud—apparently a left hand—pointing towards the sky.

As for the rest of the body… who knows where it had gone.

Whether the arm left the body or the body left the arm was also hard to determine.

Would a butcher be moved by the sight of a slaughterhouse?

Winters didn’t know, but he did feel something indescribable—not guilt, but neither joy.

Alpad leaned on a cavalry saber and pointed at the corpse of a shiny horse, sizing up the two men and asking, “Jeska tells me it was you two lads who fired the shot that killed Yasin?”

Jeska nodded slightly towards Winters.

“We fired the cannon, general,” Winters answered straightforwardly. “But the enemy chieftain Yasin should not be dead.”

Alpad clapped his hands and laughed, “The prisoner confessed that Yasin was severely injured, might well be dead by now.”

The Major General kicked a helmet with Green Plumed Feathers at his feet, jokingly saying, “Whether Yasin’s dead or not, your shot made him bleed profusely. You killed four Chiliarchs with one shot! If I hadn’t counted four helmets myself, I would have thought Jeska was drunk.”

“It was due to Lieutenant Colonel Jeska’s proper command,” Mason gave the standard answer.

“Jeska comes from a Cavalry background, what does he know about firing a cannon?” Alpad scoffed, pointing with his cavalry saber to a body on the ground: “Especially this savage, do you know who he is?”

Winters and Mason naturally did not know.

The armor on the body was dented and punctured with dense patterns from the lead balls, turning the man virtually into a honeycomb.

“This man is called [Bogli], meaning [Owl Hawk]. He was Yasin’s [Haug Koda], that is, his personal guard Chiliarch. By killing him, you have effectively severed one of Yasin’s arms.”

Winters had a slight impression; between the first and second cannon shots, it should have been this man who dashed recklessly in front of Yasin to protect him.

He wanted to see the face of this brave warrior, but the Owl Hawk’s features had been obliterated.

“You two have made a great contribution, and I want to reward you!” Alpad didn’t beat around the bush, he straightforwardly said, “If you were Paratu People, even a three-rank promotion would not be excessive. But you’re foreigners, so I obviously can’t just elevate your military ranks.”

“Bogli’s battle saber is yours,” Alpad tossed the curved saber he had been leaning on to Mason: “You are a United Provincial, I will let you return to The Federated Provinces.”

“And you,” Alpad took out a shiny object from between his breastplate and chainmail, tossing it to Winters: “This is yours from now on! Catch!”

The thing was heavy in his hand—a finely crafted flask. It was flat and square with smoothed edges.

A flask? What’s the meaning of this? Winters was somewhat puzzled.

But he was too lazy to think about it. Since Alpad dared to give, he dared to take.

And the Major General wasn’t wrong—only the truth stings like that.

If they offered a medal, Winters would take it; if it was a flask, he would take it too; if gold and silver were offered, Winters would grab them even more eagerly.

But if it were a field officer’s position, Winters would rather not accept it.

…

The military ranks of the Republics were interconnected and levelled.

In principle, all military personnel of the Alliance were under one large framework.

Even the promotion of alliance nation officers had to be documented and sent to the Allied Army’s headquarters for approval, a mere formality.

By the rules, when military personnel transfer, it’s done laterally. A Paratu field officer going to Vineta remains a field officer.

Earning merits in Paratu and then returning to Vineta as an officer? Isn’t that akin to being roasted on a fire?

Instead, the current situation, where Winters felt more comfortable and at ease, was better.

Although Alpad wasn’t polite in his words, judging by his actions, he was considering it from the perspective of Venetians.

…

Winters thanked him and casually pocketed the flask.

Meanwhile, Mason looked up abruptly and said, “General, please let me stay in Paratu.”

“How so?” Alpad’s eyebrows raised: “You don’t want to go home?”

“I do, dreaming of it,” Mason replied word for word: “But in The Federated Provinces, I’m even worse off than a foreigner.”

Alpad laughed heartily, and other Paratu officers joined in the laughter, only Jeska among a few others did not laugh.

“`

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