Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 479: Chapter 78: Review and Re-evaluation_5

Winters had a guess: Roy was still in the “strain” phase, while those dead Herder shamans had been “snapped.”

However, Winters wasn’t sure whether the “muscle” metaphor was appropriate.

He also wasn’t certain whether the operational mode of the third hand was really like that of a flesh-and-blood arm. It was the only “self-consistent” logic he could come up with at the moment.

So theoretically, as long as one used Moritz-brand sedatives and waited for the third hand to self-repair during sleep, it should be possible.

Even more, there might be gains to be had after recovery.

By regularly undergoing “Moritz-style” overtraining, Winters’s spellcasting abilities had improved much faster than they had in the past.

Therefore, he speculated that the process of “tearing and healing” could make the “muscle,” even the “bone,” stronger.

But the problem was that Winters didn’t have that kind of sedative herb on hand.

When those bastards from The Federated Provinces shoved him into the coach, his medicines were still in his luggage.

The luggage hadn’t been sent to Paratu either.

So, for the past half-year, Winters’s training mainly focused on [precision control], relying entirely on willpower to sustain overtraining, which resulted in increasingly poor sleep quality.

Moreover, even if he had those sedative herbs, Winters wouldn’t bring them out.

The spellcasters of Paratu were not lacking in intelligence; once they recovered, they would sooner or later realize their spellcasting abilities had slightly improved.

The improvement was actually very subtle. According to Winters’s direct perception, it was less than one percent.

But the Venetians had a saying, “Even small amounts accumulate over time.”

Assume an improvement of one percent per day, and it would result in a thirty-seven-fold increase in a year; two percent per day would result in a six-fold increase in a year.

[Note: Exponential functions are the most terrifying in this world.]

[Further note: The exponential improvement is just Winters’s speculation, but he indeed made a lot of progress.]

In Winters’s view, such sedative herbs should be classified as strategic resources. Their secret should be kept forever, banning the export of any finished product, seedlings, and seeds. Smugglers should be punished with the death penalty, familial liability, and excommunication from academia.

However, the problem was that the Alliance didn’t produce this stuff, and neither did the entire continent…

It could only be obtained from the farthest reaches of the known world, the edge of civilization’s edge, unimaginably distant— the Empire’s overseas colonies.

The natives there used this substance as a sleep aid, chewing gum, and waterpipe tobacco.

So Winters was even less likely to leak this secret, especially to the Paratu People.

Without sedative herbs, one could only resort to improvised methods.

…

“Do you know how to ease Roy’s torment?” Colonel Robert asked, full of expectation.

“How about…” Winters suggested tentatively, “trying some liquor? The stronger, the better.”

Alcohol anesthesia was also a therapy, and Winters had used it on the ship. He was originally unwilling to even mention this, but seeing the agony Lieutenant Roy was in, he couldn’t bear it.

Aside from Lieutenant Roy, who was tormented by phantom pains, everyone else in the tent stood dumbfounded.

Colonel Robert and Lieutenant Varga exchanged looks; the colonel shook his head slightly and turned away.

Lieutenant Varga said helplessly, “Winters, do you think we haven’t thought of using liquor? We’ve tried, to no avail. He clenches his teeth tightly; forcing it in would just cause him to choke.”

“If he clenches his teeth, then pry them open. If he chokes, scoop it out and pour again.” Winters let his rational side take over, spreading his hands, “Either give him liquor, or knock him out; these are the only two methods I can think of to alleviate his pain. If you don’t control your strength well when knocking someone out, you could kill them. Compared to that, giving liquor is safer.”

Colonel Robert clenched his fist, turned back to Winters, and demanded, “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

Winters hesitated and stammered, “Perhaps… there’s another method…”

“What?” Colonel Robert pressed eagerly, “What method?”

“This… supposedly suffocation can also cause unconsciousness, so maybe try suffocation?” Winters was also very helpless, “It seems better to knock him out than to have him conscious and suffering.”

Colonel Robert slapped his thigh, eyes red, teeth clenched, “Pour it! I’ll do it myself! We have to try everything! If nothing works, I’ll give Roy peace myself. He shouldn’t suffer like this…”

Winters also felt that using strong liquor was the most plausible solution. There were no teeth that couldn’t be pried open, only people who weren’t determined enough.

“As long as Roy can still swallow, there should still be a way to pour it in.”

Varga ran to fetch the wine, but soon hurried back in a panic, “Colonel, there’s no more wine!”

“What?” Robert exploded in anger, “Didn’t they deliver quite a bit? How could it all be gone?!”

Varga said with a mournful face, “It all got thrown into the river…”

“Didn’t you save any wine?”

“I don’t drink…” Lieutenant Varga—Winters’ real squad leader—was truly about to cry.

“[Expletive]!” Colonel Robert cursed, “I don’t drink either.”

Suddenly, Robert and Varga both looked at Winters.

Winters waved his hands repeatedly, “I don’t either, I’m a spellcaster, I can’t drink.”

The west wind moaned through the tent, and the three of them looked at each other in silence.

Colonel Robert calmly instructed Varga, “Go ask others for it, just say that I need it. Someone must have a few bottles stashed away.”

Winters had a flash of inspiration, reached into his bosom, fumbled around… and found it!

“Wine!” He pulled out a silver flask with excitement, “This was given to me by that guy Alpad!”

…

After being forced to consume a substantial amount of strong alcohol, Lieutenant Roy’s consciousness gradually blurred.

The good thing about spellcasters is they usually don’t drink, so their alcohol tolerance is generally poor.

Watching Roy fall into a deep slumber, no longer suffering torture as before, the others in the tent finally felt at ease.

Colonel Robert called over three robust soldiers to help, and it took the strength of six men to pry open Roy’s mouth, pour the wine down his throat, and not choke him to death in the process.

In the biting cold, Winters was drenched in sweat, panting, “Some poisons can also numb a person, snake venom, scorpion poison… would be much easier than what we’re dealing with now…”

Colonel Robert, who was wiping his sweat, kicked Winters and laughed heartily.

Colonel Robert declared boastfully, “This method works, I must tell the others. Lieutenant Montaigne, I owe you one.”

“I’d like to see those spellcasters with milder symptoms,” Winters hastily made a request.

“Sure thing,” Colonel Robert said with a grand wave of his hand, “I’ll take you there.”

In the medical tent, Winters saw his fellow spellcasters who were suffering from milder symptoms, able to endure the hallucinatory pain.

Some had almost no hallucinatory pain, just an inability to use magic—it was like the symptoms of a recovering patient, indicating that the tearing they experienced wasn’t severe.

After a long discussion behind closed doors, Winters gleaned a key term: [vortex].

According to the other spellcasters’ descriptions, the only word they could think of to describe their feelings at the time was “vortex.”

Bound within a vortex, swirling round and round, plummeting toward the depths, yet unable to break free.

Only when surpassing the limit of what they could bear, losing consciousness, did they find release.

“I won’t lose my ability to use magic, will I?” Lieutenant Mitch worriedly said.

“You shouldn’t,” Winters consoled, “Although I’m not certain.”

Another spellcaster, Lieutenant Matt, asked curiously, “Why were you unaffected? Any thoughts on that?”

Winters noticed that the unaffected spellcasters were all lieutenants who had just left the academy.

So he speculated, “From what I see, with the Herders’ attack spell, the stronger a spellcaster’s abilities, the more severe the damage suffered. I was almost knocked out instantly, but when I came to, I still had hallucinatory pain, which I was barely enduring but could still manage to cast spells.”

“I think,” Winters concluded, “it’s probably because my abilities are the weakest.”

Lieutenant Matt wanted to interject, but Mitch subtly held him back, shaking his head with an almost imperceptible motion.

Mitch smiled at Winters, saying, “Maybe so.”

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