Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

[Outside Kingsfort]

"...When you use a shovel, remember one thing," Mason lay on the ground, turning his head to look at the reserve cadets behind him, "never expose any part of your body outside the bunker."

After speaking, Mason began to demonstrate how to use a shovel while lying down. He switched from lying on his stomach to lying on his side, holding a shortened pointed shovel horizontally, his arms flew up and down, continuously filling soil into the nearby wicker basket. In the blink of an eye, he had dug out a shallow pit beneath him.

Throughout the process, Mason's body almost stayed glued to the ground, not even his elbows exposed beyond the wicker basket.

Behind Mason, reserve officers from the Second Army Academy, including Houdel, watched collectively as the Quartermaster rolled in the dirt.

Among the reserve officers attending Major Richard Mason's class for the first time, they looked at each other, both feeling amused and incredulous.

A reserve officer named Richard snickered quietly, asking the classmate beside him, "Doesn't it look like a maggot?"

No sooner had he spoken than Richard felt a force on the back of his knee—a person behind him had kicked him without warning, causing him to stagger, almost falling flat on his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" Richard steadied himself, gritting his teeth, and asked the person behind him.

The cadet who kicked Richard wore a defiant expression, provocatively staring at the speaker.

Richard recognized the person who kicked him: a muddy-footed country boy from Iron Peak County, named Houdel.

He was about to argue on the spot but changed his mind and decided not to act out. He just sneered and turned around, speaking contemptuously with a volume that ensured everyone around could hear, "Well, you're just maggots rolling in the mud."

The next moment, Richard was directly pushed down from behind.

Outraged, Houdel lunged at Richard, swinging his fist straight toward the latter's face.

But before he could vent his anger, someone pulled Houdel away. Houdel tried to break free to continue hitting Richard, but the arms holding him were like iron, unmoving.

Houdel turned his head to see who was holding him—it was Doug.

Doug silently but firmly shook his head at Houdel, and Claude, along with young Majiya, quickly darted between Houdel and Richard's friends.

The clash between Houdel and Richard was like throwing a grenade into the formation, and the shockwave immediately spread in all directions.

Everyone was looking towards them, even the surrounding instructors had noticed the small commotion. Only the Quartermaster at the front was still fervently digging, completely unaware that the cadets' attention had drifted from him.

Being stared at by hundreds of eyes sobered Houdel up a bit. He whispered to Doug, "I'm alright now."

Doug nodded and released Houdel.

Meanwhile, Richard was also helped up by someone. He shook off the arm that lifted him and rushed furiously toward Houdel.

Just then, a baby-faced voice chimed, "Houdel, minus five points."

The platoon leader's voice cooled everyone down. Amidst the gaze of the crowd, the baby-faced leader walked over from between the ranks.

He wasn't in a hurry or angry, instead, there was a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.

But when it came to deducting points, the baby-faced leader was straightforward and uncompromising,

"Jere Richard, you lose one point," the baby-faced leader stood between the two opposing sides, "Everyone else, back to your spots within five counts."

"I get points deducted too?" Richard asked in disbelief.

"For losing the fight," the baby-faced leader said with a smile, "another point off for questioning the deduction."

The reserve officers present were stunned.

"Three..." the baby-faced leader surveyed the cadets who hadn't moved, starting the countdown directly from "Three," "Two..."

Everyone scrambled back to their original positions like lightning. Claude and young Majiya looked worriedly at Houdel on their way back, while Doug just patted his buddy's back.

The cadet lineup quickly returned to order.

Meanwhile, Mason finally finished digging the demonstration trench, he stood up, dusting off himself, and proudly pointed at his work, turning to explain to the cadets, "Dig half a meter deep, half a meter wide. It's enough to move with your knees bent; this counts as the first step..."

The more Mason spoke, the quieter his voice became. Even he, despite being slower to realize, noticed the odd atmosphere on site.

"What's going on?" Mason turned, puzzled, asking the instructors beside him.

"It's been settled," Kadar stepped out from the ranks, loudly replying, "Sir."

Kadar ended up speaking not because he wanted to hog attention, but because all other low-ranking instructors there required a cane to walk, only his legs were nimble, hence he had to handle the emergencies.

Kadar strode over beside the senior instructor, discreetly explaining, "There was a minor conflict between the cadets."

"Minor conflict?" Mason instantly understood, his eyebrows involuntarily raised, "A fight?"

"Yes."

The reserve officers present initially thought the Quartermaster was going to lose his temper, but were left jaw-dropped at the next scene—Major Richard Mason's frown gradually eased, an expression of nostalgia spreading across his face.

"Youth is a wonderful thing," Mason commented with a grin.

Kadar also smiled wryly.

"Who fought whom?" Mason asked again.

"Jere Richard and Houdel."

"How did you penalize them?"

"Five points deducted for the fighter, one point for the beaten," Kadar replied bluntly.

Mason looked at Kadar with interest, "Ah, like your platoon leader, you have a cold exterior but a warm heart inside. Back in school, brawling would..."