Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

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"To the proudest Tanilia!" a gruff male voice overpowered the noisy hubbub.

"To the most honorable Vineta!" another part of the hall responded.

Cups clinked and drinks were exchanged; the banquet hall was lively and cheerful.

In a deserted corridor of the hall, Andreya Chelini slouched against a windowsill, spitting disdainfully onto the mirror-smooth marble floor tiles.

"I'm so fucking done with this," Andre drained half a cup of strong liquor down his throat: "The gutsy guys from Tanilia are either killed by us or are thinking about how to kill us. Has Debela's brain been soaked in donkey piss? Relying on these spineless lapdogs to guard the islands?"
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After a year of struggling on the battlefield, Andre's speech had completely matched that of the crudest brawlers.

"Wouldn't have thought you could spout some golden words out of that dog mouth of yours," Bard sat against the wall on the floor, sipping on special brew honey wine, and spoke in an indifferent tone: "But you have to use some locals, and there's not much choice."

Bard, the child who grew up in the Monastery and once the "Bishop," was now colored by blood and fire.

Although his demeanor remained as honest and gentle as before, Bard's expression would occasionally reveal a certain numbness and sharpness that comes with being accustomed to life and death.

Andre glanced irritably at Winters: "Quit fucking touching it. There's nothing on your chin. You've been rubbing it all afternoon. Watching you do that makes me want to touch it too."

Winters ignored Andre and continued to stroke his bare chin. Although the beard that had been grown for half a year wasn't very long, shaving it off completely made Montaigne Warrant Officer feel like something was missing.

This was a high-status cocktail party, and the warrant officers were already highly honored to be invited; hence nobody came to join them for a drink, and Winters and his companions were happy for the peace.

Before attending the cocktail party, the warrant officers had thoroughly bathed, tidied their facial hair, and donned starched, brand-new dress uniforms, each looking tall, imposing, and full of vigor.

Only Bard still wore his academy uniform, which had been washed to the point of fading.

In fact, after a year of war and sharing the spoils, Bard had saved a small sum of money. But instead of spending it on a uniform, he had found a way to send it all to his parents.

Therefore, he only had this set of academy uniforms and adamantly refused any loans his friends freely offered.

But Gerard's Bard, from his time as a cadet, never cared for admiration when wearing this old outfit among his classmates. Let alone after a year of war and repeated brushes with life and death, he cared even less about these external possessions.

Winters and Andre had no choice but to let him be.

A bottle of wine was quickly finished, and Andre beckoned a waiter to bring more wine.

Bard teased: "You cuss them out so fiercely, but you sure aren't shy when it comes to their wine."

"Fuck. That. Drinking when it's free is the way to go!" Andre drained the last bit of wine from the bottle: "This is my humble and glorious defiance. I'm not just going to drink it, I'm gonna take a couple of bottles with me too!"

Bard waved his hand: "Alright, alright. Rest assured, Debela can probably hear your unyielding cries even in his dreams."

The waiter didn't come, but Alvis Marcelo did, carrying two bottles of wine. Marcelo pulled the cork and poured half a glass for Andre, jokingly saying: "You guys sure know how to find a quiet spot."

Alvis Marcelo was also a contemporary of Winters', a probationary officer, a warrant officer, only he was from the artillery branch.

People from the artillery branch... were not very close with those from the infantry or cavalry, mainly because they didn't attend the same classes.

Whereas infantry and cavalry often shared many of the same classes in a "big course" setting. As a result, officers from infantry and cavalry were mostly familiar with each other, while they were merely acquaintances with those from artillery, even though all were from Vineta.

But after fighting side by side for a year, even strangers became close as brothers, so Marcelo and Winters were now very familiar with each other.

After pouring for Andre, Marcelo filled Winters' glass.

As Winters reached for it, he asked in return: "What are you artillery guys huddled up discussing? Seems pretty lively over there."

"You don't know?" Marcelo seemed surprised: "It's been all over the artillery circles."

"Know what?" Winters was baffled.

"Hey, I'm saying..." Marcelo said mysteriously: "...do you still remember those heavy cannons on Red Sulfur Island? Those thirty-two-pounders."

Winters, of course, remembered those behemoths placed on the bastions along Red Sulfur Bay that could sink a galley with one shot.

"What about them?" Winters became even more perplexed: "Didn't we use those heavy cannons during the attack on Gusa?"

"Yeah, those heavy cannons," Marcelo nodded and went on: "According to the Tanilia defectors, the Union still hasn't mastered the technology to cast such heavy artillery. The largest they can produce is a twelve-pound cannon weighing two thousand pounds."

"So they bought them, what's so odd about that?" Andre interjected dismissively.

"Who would sell them?" Marcelo immediately retorted: "Those thirty-two-pound heavy cannons weigh four or five thousand pounds each and have extremely exquisite craftsmanship, smooth bores with scarcely any pits or imperfections. There are only a few foundries around the Inner Sea that can cast such large cannons."

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