Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 478: Chapter 78: Review and Re-evaluation_4

The lieutenant colonel nodded three times.

Winters’s respect for the lieutenant colonel suddenly increased, “You can actually do mapping?”

“Copied from the legion’s large-scale map.”

“Oh…”

Colonel Jeska asked the centurions, “Do you see the shallows marked downstream on the Confluence River?”

All four nodded in unison.

“That’s Alpad’s Department’s crossing point, and we’re going to cross there too,” Colonel Jeska announced. “We’re the vanguard, and we’ll set off early tomorrow morning.”

The four centurions responded evenly; it was inevitable they would have to go, and leaving earlier was actually a good thing.

Mason suddenly became spirited and asked hurriedly, “Then… what about the golden statue? Just keep it buried?”

Winters also perked up, straightened his back, and pricked up his ears.

“What else can we do?” Colonel Jeska answered indifferently, “Continue to keep it buried.”

“Could someone dig it out?” Mason asked hesitantly.

“Then it gets dug out,” Colonel Jeska frowned. “Even the artillery is considered cumbersome, why bother with a golden statue? Next time we fight the Red River Tribe, we’ll find an opportunity to dig it out.”

“Next time?”

“Hmph, Bianli is broken, but the White Lion isn’t dead. Just watch, this fight isn’t over.”

“Next time, many militiamen might not be in service anymore.”

“Keep records and logs, they won’t lose out as long as nothing is lost.”

After measuring with a ruler, Bard said with some surprise, “General Alpad raided for a day and two nights, the straight-line distance alone is nearly ninety kilometers?”

Winters took the ruler and calculated it himself.

If the scale was correct, the straight-line distance was really seventy kilometers.

A day and two nights without rest, the straight-line distance for the forced march exceeded seventy kilometers. After reaching the battlefield, they smashed the Red River Tribe to pieces with a tsunami-like charge… and still had the strength to continue chasing down the remnants.

Winters quoted the old field marshal’s praise, “Truly like an iron stream of galloping horses.”

Colonel Jeska also showed a hint of a smile and did not say much more.

“Don’t neglect the skill of mapping on paper,” Colonel Jeska took out several small wooden tubes to pack maps for the centurions. “It’ll be useful sooner or later. It’s said that the old field marshal liked to carry a book of blank pages with him, recording any terrain he liked on the spot.”

“Hmph, my aunt also says that the old field marshal likes doing housework, homework, and eating lettuce,” Winters yawned, carefully putting away the map, “I’ve found that each republic has its own peculiar versions of the old field marshal’s anecdotes. Once I gather enough, I’ll compile them and publish a book called ‘The Great Man’s Footprints.’ Make every student at Lu You buy a copy, heh, I’ll make a fortune.”

Everyone shook their heads with helpless smiles..

Suddenly a voice came from outside the tent, “Excuse me, is Lieutenant Montaigne here?”

The people inside the tent looked at one another.

“Come in!” Winters called out loudly.

A tall, slender, serious infantry officer pushed aside the tent flap and walked in, “Um… Jeska? You’re here too?”

Colonel Jeska stood up, “Robert? What are you doing here… you’re looking for Montaigne?”

The others also stood up.

Colonel Jeska introduced the others, “This is Colonel Robert from the Sixth Legion, an old acquaintance of mine and quite the remarkable person.”

The lieutenants hurriedly saluted.

“Ah, come on, where am I remarkable? Let’s get to the point,” Robert waved his hand, anxiously asking, “Which one of you is Lieutenant Montaigne?”

“I am,” Winters replied, “May I ask what you need me to do, sir?”

Robert squinted, examining the lieutenant from head to toe, but he didn’t see anything special.

All he saw was a weary young man, slightly emaciated, with a mild and serene demeanor, not at all as exaggerated as the rumors suggested.

The young man had a faint white scar at the temple, just two inches away from making another one-eyed man under this roof.

“You spellcasters don’t seem to have anything special about you,” Colonel Robert said with a hint of disappointment, and then he promptly asked, “I hear that you’re currently the only spellcaster in the army who can use magic?”

…

Later in Robert’s battalion’s camp area, Winters met Lieutenant Roy, who was also a spellcaster.

Lieutenant Roy had a towel stuffed in his mouth, his face deathly pale and his teeth tightly clenched. Curled up under the blanket, his body couldn’t stop trembling.

“We don’t know why this is happening, there are no visible injuries on Roy, and there doesn’t seem to be any internal bleeding,” Colonel Robert’s eyes reddened slightly, “But this is how he is now… in unbearable pain, he’s suffering too much, I’ve even thought of putting him out of his misery to end this endless torment…”

Winters covered Roy with a blanket and asked, “Is every spellcaster in the army like this?”

Colonel Robert sat on a stool, supporting his forehead and replied, “Some are not as bad, but they also can’t use magic anymore. Roy is still one of the better ones. There are others more lucid than Roy, constantly screaming ‘kill me kill me,’ in pain until they pass out, then wake up, faint again, wake up again.”

Lieutenant Varga said softly beside him, “It’s as if their bodies are still in this world, but their souls are already dragged into purgatory suffering.”

“Can I talk to those with milder symptoms?” Winters asked again.

“Sure, I’ll take you to see them,” Colonel Robert said, ready to go right away.

“Colonel, wait,” Winters hastily stopped him, “I don’t know what to do either, but the most pressing matter should be to lessen Lieutenant Roy’s pain.”

…

What was Roy going through? Winters knew all too well because he had been through it, when he accidentally used the Fire Dragon Roll technique, resulting in a [muscle strain].

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