Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Bravo! Bravo!" Zibeer laughed furiously, "He gets the glory, I do the grunt work, right? Is that it?"

The tent grew ever quieter.

"Order! The First Brigade continues to besiege Hammer Fort!" Zibeer bellowed, "The Second, Third, and Fourth Brigades, follow me to Revodan."

The Centurions of Vernge County were shocked.

"No!" Captain Sale—the Chief Centurion of Vernge County—blurted out in opposition to his superior in desperation, "Absolutely not!"

"And why not?" Colonel Zibeer clenched his fist tightly and retorted with a cold laugh.

Although he knew he had angered the garrison officer, Captain Sale felt he had to stop the other's foolish plan, "Sir, dividing our forces on the eve of battle is a taboo. With just the strength of our four brigades, we don't have an overwhelming advantage over the Rebels. Please reconsider!"

Colonel Zibeer's fist pounded the table, like he was hammering on everyone's hearts.

"The main force of the Rebels has already been led away by bandit leader Montaigne." Zibeer ground his teeth and asked, "Are you implying that I can't handle a bunch of misshapen melons and split dates? Is that what you are saying?"

"I would never mean that, sir!" Captain Sale was nearly in tears with anxiety, "If we leave one brigade to besiege Hammer Fort, it's like letting the Rebels tie up a quarter of our forces with just one-sixth or one-eighth of their strength. We would have no advantage in strength to speak of! We should stick to Colonel Gaisa's plan—it's much more reliable."

Colonel Zibeer suddenly drew his sword and slashed it fiercely onto the campaign table.

The blade sank deep into the table, and the supports beneath could not hold and shattered into several pieces.

"Damn baldy!" Zibeer gasped furiously, cursing.

The tent was as silent as death, and not one of the others dared to breathe, leaving only the sound of the Colonel's heavy breathing.

It took a while before Colonel Zibeer calmed down.

"Retreat!" he ordered fiercely, "Fall back to Hammer Fort!"

A few officers in the tent breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, I'll notify everyone right away." Captain Sale saluted happily and turned to leave.

Colonel Zibeer took out a pouch of coins and threw it to Gaisa's messenger without counting it.

"Get out." Colonel Zibeer sat back down in his chair, his anger now even greater than before.

He saw Gaisa's messenger open the pouch, seemingly counting the coins.

This only increased Colonel Zibeer's fury, but he did not want to take it out on a common messenger.

So he closed his eyes to calm his mind, out of sight, out of mind.

The next second, a silver coin flashed from the messenger's hand, flying towards Zibeer's forehead.

The silver coin, moving at nearly two hundred fifty meters per second, easily sliced through the skin and collided with Zibeer's skull.

The hard skull cracked open a notch, with the silver coin drilling in, tumbling through the soft brain tissue, creating an instant large cavity.

Finally, it struck the other side of the cranium and rebounded back.

Zibeer stiffened, then suddenly fell backwards.

The other officers in the tent had not yet grasped what happened and were successively "called out" by gold and silver coins within a few breaths.

The messenger bowed his head in silence for the dead officers.

The mourning was brief; the messenger grabbed a sword from one of the bodies—he had been stripped of any weapon upon entering the camp—and then placed the oil lamp next to the tent.

The fire spread quickly, and the main tent was rapidly consumed by flames.

The messenger left the tent with the sword in hand, and a roaring sound spread in all directions, "The garrison officer is dead! Surrender and you will not be killed!"

Chilling bugle calls responded to this Sonic Blast Spell from all directions.

"The Lieutenant Colonel has done it!" Tang Juan's facial muscles twitched with excitement, he leapt up, drawing his sword and yelled, "Attack!"

"Attack!" The soldiers of the Iron Peak County Infantry roared to bolster their courage and, grinding their teeth, charged towards the enemy's camp.