Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

However, the conscription effort in Revodan ran into a little problem…

"My lord! Mercy!" The leader of the conscription team—[Sergeant Peter]—flung himself down, trying to kiss Winters' boots: "I had no choice! I didn't want to leave the city to raid for grain. But my son and wife are in Revodan, and if I disobey military orders, my whole family will be punished! Please show some compassion…"

Peter had his arms tied behind his back and was bound together with four other people, clearly unable to move.

But the sight of the "bandits' leader" approaching, the intense will to live made him drag the four people, still almost rushing in front of Winters' horse.

It was Pierre's saber that quieted Sergeant Peter.

"Take another step forward." Pierre, his face covered, looked at the sergeant coldly. The second half of his sentence went unspoken, but the blade said it for him.

Sergeant Peter lay on the ground, crying and begging for mercy, and so did the other Revodan soldiers.

For a moment, pleas for mercy were everywhere, painfully hard to bear.

Winters had seen and heard so much that he had become numb, everyone had their difficulties, everyone was compelled.

But he hadn't come to listen to the grievances of these Revodan soldiers.

"Have all the weapons been confiscated?" Winters asked.

"They have."

"The wagons, the grain?"

"All taken care of."

Tang Juan came galloping over: "What's the point of talking? Let's hurry up and go!"

Winters nodded: "Take them all away."

At the words "take them all away," Sergeant Peter sprang up like a spring from the ground: "Take us away? Aren't you going to release us? You want to take us away?"

"Who said we're letting you go?" Pierre asked coldly in return.

"But, but in the past people were released!" Peter screamed hoarsely: "We've given up our weapons, surrendered our wagons, and didn't resist. According to the rules, we should be let go! Why kill us? We haven't done anything! Ah…"

As Peter shouted, he suddenly burst into loud sobs, wailing with a mix of snot and tears: "If I had known, I would've fought you... Ah…"

The surrounding prisoners, hearing Peter's tragic cries, also started to grow restless.

Winters, who had gone some distance, sensed something amiss and hurried back.

He jumped down from the saddle and kicked Peter over: "Stop your goddamn crying! Who said we're going to kill you?"

With teardrops and mucus still on his face, Peter asked in surprise, "Not kill us?"

"Cry again and you're the first I'll slay."

"Then why won't you let us go?" Peter roughly wiped his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with grief, and cried again: "In the end, you're still going to kill us? Just somewhere else… Mama…"

Winters had no good solution for this rough man who cried so easily.

He used an amplification spell to announce to the Revodan soldiers around him: "From this moment on, you are all my prisoners. Don't court death, and you won't die. Take them all away!"

"Even bandits want prisoners?" Peter asked between sobs.

Sergeant Peter's grain conscription team was led on their way.

The more he walked, the more Peter felt that these people, who hijacked the grain carts, were not bandits, as there were never bandits this formidable in Newly Reclaimed Land.

This group of "bandits" had about twenty riders, with the remaining thirty-odd people on foot.

At a whistle, all the bandits burst out from all directions at once.

The grain conscription team had no time to respond before they were completely surrounded.

In such a situation, the temporarily conscripted "soldiers" of Revodan instantly lost their will to resist and obediently surrendered their weapons.

Although the "bandits" all wore masks, a few of the riding "chiefs" spoke in a way that felt familiar to Peter.

As they walked on, Peter had an epiphany—the chief had a distinct "officer's accent," unintentionally revealing a hint of the Guidao City dialect.

The further they walked, the more familiar it became: Wasn't this the road to Wolfton Town?

The more he walked, the more certain he became, no doubt, it was the road to Wolf Town.

Why did the bandits not avoid people, still heading towards the town?

Why was there a military camp in the town?

Why was there a prison in the military camp?

Peter exclaimed that he had been tricked: Damn it! What bandits? We were attacked by the militia of Wolf Town!

Peter felt a bit happy, a bit angry, and mostly confused.

Happy, because as long as they were not real bandits, there would be no senseless killing, and at least his life was spared.

Angry, because the militia dared to disguise themselves as bandits and ambush him, the legit Revodan sergeant.

Confused, because he didn't understand where the Wolf Town militia got such courage?

Because he was a sergeant, Peter was imprisoned alone.

He was taken to a quiet, cramped cell.

Peter spent some time getting used to the dim light in the cell.

He saw there were two other men in the cell, their heads unkempt and filthy, beards and hair in disarray, sitting leaning against the corner of the cell.

To Peter's astonishment, the two men were... making straw sandals.

Their movements were swift, the straw as nimble as needles in their hands, and the soles of the shoes visibly extending at a pace visible to the naked eye.

Peter dared not move.

In the cramped cell, two disheveled men worked in silence on their straw shoes.

The sight was too eerie, too terrifying, carrying a mysterious, almost religious atmosphere.

"Hmm? Another one's come?" One of the men, having finished a sole, glanced up at Peter, unfazed, and knocked on the wall: "Hey! Someone else has arrived."

A head poked out from the bars on the wall—it turned out there was another cell next door.

"Another from Revodan?" The man in the cell next door asked hoarsely.

"Yes, I'm Peter from the south of the city." Peter carefully scrutinized the man, suddenly shouting: "Ivan? Aren't you dead? Killed by bandits?"