Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

But Winters thought ringing the bell was too slow, once something happened, it was far from being as quick as a whistle.

The second thing was expanding the angles of the passages to the left and right of the cannon so that two groups of ten could be accommodated. Winters placed his two groups of ten on either side, instead of scattering them throughout the passageway.

This was the experience he gained after being ambushed several times at night: lone sentries could easily be eliminated; it was essential to arrange multiple concealed and visible sentries.

The third thing was to request six crossbows. In Winters's view, issuing matchlock guns to night sentries was pure stupidity, a model of bureaucracy. It was impossible for sentries to keep a matchlock smoldering all night, and even if they were not afraid to die, there wasn't enough match cord for them to squander.

It was better to simply use crossbows and blow a whistle if attacked than to fumble with lighting match cords in a panic.

The Vineta army's efficiency was extremely high. Winters went to the armory for crossbows and whistles in the morning, and by the afternoon, the passageway had been rebuilt. By evening, Winters, carrying a rifle and a saber, started night shifts again after a long absence since leaving the military academy.

Around midnight, while on duty, Winters thought about how he used to hate standing night watch, yet now he had to volunteer for it, and he couldn't help but sigh.

An abrupt voice interrupted Winters's thoughts.

"Why are you sighing, Centurion?" Halberdier Buba, with something in his mouth, mumbled unclearly while holding his halberd: "My mother says sighing blows away good luck, so after you sigh, you have to 'fan' the good luck back."

After speaking, Buba clumsily fanned twice in front of Winters's nose.

"Presumptuous! What are you doing?!" Centurion Taylor, startled, immediately scolded Buba fiercely.

Buba tentatively retracted his hand.

Taylor, with a hint of frost at his temples, pointed at his head and explained to Winters, "Sir, there's something... off with Buba's mind. Please do not take him seriously."

Winters waved his hand, indicating it was fine. He smiled at Buba and said, "I'm not a Centurion, Buba. Do you know how many people are on night watch here tonight?"

"There are two groups of ten." Buba counted on his fingers for a while: "Ten... sixteen people?"

"Does that make a hundred?"

"It does not."

"So am I a Centurion?"

"Then, you're not..." Buba hesitated, "... then you are... a Twenty?"

Winters couldn't help but burst into laughter at Buba's answer.

"Damnit!" Sergeant Taylor, furious, lifted his leg and gave Buba a hard kick in the rear. After kicking, he raised his hand to strike, scaring Buba into cowering and covering his head.

However, Taylor's raised arm did not come down, as Winters grabbed his wrist.

Sergeant Taylor was surprised to find that this seemingly not-so-strong warrant officer had an unexpectedly strong grip, holding his arm as if it were clamped in a vise, immobile.

"I asked, and he answered. He did nothing wrong, there's no need for corporal punishment," Winters said, and then let go, allowing Taylor's right arm to move freely again.

"Isn't this 'disrespectful speech'? According to military regulations, he should be getting a sound whipping," Taylor glared at Buba, then lowered his head and said to Warrant Officer Montaigne, "But it's fine if you don't mind."

"He wasn't wrong, though; I am indeed a 'Twenty' at the moment," Winters couldn't resist another laugh.

"Um... you can't say that..." Sergeant Taylor found himself at a loss for words.

Winters patted Taylor's arm and smiled, "Montaigne, Warrant Officer, Sir, whatever you find convenient to call me, I don't mind."

"I'm all confused... I'll just call you 'Sir,' okay?" The cause of the commotion, Buba, was completely oblivious, scratching his head and grinning sheepishly.

Centurion Taylor gave Buba a harsh stare, making Buba lower his head again.

"Food's here! The food's arrived!" Excited shouts neared from the distance, and the echo of footsteps resonated through the passageway.

Private Dan, carrying a small iron pot in his hands with three cloth bags hanging around his neck, ran out from the passageway.

The personnel guarding the cannon at night had to stay on duty from dusk till dawn, close to twelve hours. Because they had to rest during the day and couldn't get lunch, there was an extra meal at night.

Seven hungry soldiers from the group of ten eagerly took the iron pot from Dan's hands.
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Lifting the pot lid, they saw steaming soup.

With his stomach growling, Buba didn't even wait for Dan to take the cloth bags from around his neck; he was too impatient and stuck his hand inside the bags.

"Hold on! Don't mess around! Don't take the wrong one!" Dan guarded the bags tightly and pushed Buba away. After carefully identifying them, he handed two of the bags to Buba: "These are our bread."

Buba snatched the bags, and pulling out a brown loaf as big as a plate, he quickly broke off a piece and started chewing voraciously.

This hefty "loaf-shaped" bread, weighing almost a pound, was the main staple for Vineta soldiers. Unlike the vegetables and soup made by the soldiers themselves, the bread was baked uniformly by the legion's logistics bakers and distributed per headcount.

The primary ingredients of the military bread were equal parts wheat, barley, and rye, with salt and water as additives.

Winters had tried the military bread and found it somewhat sour. But in fact, since wheat flour made up one-third, it was considered quite good rations, affordable only to the yeoman class and above.

Many poor boys tasted this kind of bread, Maslin, for the first time when they enlisted.