Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

While Colonel Ludwick on Magit Island was planning an offensive, the new army forces on the west bank of the River Shijian were also racing against time to prepare for the enemy's next counterattack.

On the river dike, Demon Ongs was lying under the carriage of a Thirty-Two Pound Cannon, holding a candle, inspecting the breech inch by inch.

The bronze cannon, reflected in the candlelight, shone with a luster similar to gold. Melted wax occasionally dripped on Ongs' hand, yet the "Demon" didn't even blink.

Even with a tin canister casing, grapeshot damage to the artillery was still shocking, so Major Mason stipulated that after each shot, the cannon barrel—especially the breech—must be inspected to ensure no deformation or cracks.

And due to previous incidents of cannon explosions, when using these old fellows, the artillerymen had to be extra cautious.

After visually inspecting, Demon Ongs patted the carriage, and the artillery beside him pulled him out from underneath it.

Demon Ongs said nothing, just nodded, then moved on to the next Thirty-Two Pound Cannon.

While Demon Ongs personally inspected the cannons, other artillerymen were busy cooling them down.

Barrel after barrel of linseed oil was poured into the cannon bore to quell the anger of these bronze behemoths.

In comparison, the three Six Pound Cannons squeezed to the edge of the position looked inconspicuous, and their firing process was much simpler.

The Iron Peak County Military had captured these three Six Pound Cannons the longest time ago, using them the most frequently, and had long since figured out their quirks. So the gunners serving them did so with ease.

No need for oil cooling, just wipe away the gunpowder residue with a wet mop, then dry it with a dry mop, and they could reload again.

So while tensions ran high over the Thirty-Two Pound Cannons, the Six Pound Cannons were ready to fire once more.

Meanwhile, below the river dike, Captain Thomas of the Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment's First Battalion was leading his men in recovering the ferries with all their might.

Due to the influence of the water flow, the route of the ferries between the two banks was not straight to and fro, but "diagonal to and fro."

The first soldiers to land on the island started their journey from half a kilometer upstream of the landing point, and when the ferries looped back, they were swept half a kilometer downstream.

A round trip meant a kilometer of "loss," which could only be compensated by manpower.

Thomas led his men in hauling the stranded dinghies and gigs ashore, carrying them back over the river dike, loading them onto wagons, and transporting them back upstream.

From the temporary command center, Gessa Adonis looked out at the soldiers of the Iron Peak County Regiment, climbing up and down the river dike on both sides, and couldn't help but furrow his brow.

"What's the matter?" Mason sensitively detected the Brigadier General's negative emotion and asked cautiously, "General."

"Nothing," Gessa replied expressionlessly, then sighed helplessly, "We've traversed mountains of blades and seas of fire, but I didn't expect to be stymied by a mere river."

"General, the River Shijian is no mere river," Mason instinctively corrected, "Even in the Two Mountains Narrow Land, it's one of the major rivers."

Gessa didn't respond.

Mason realized his blunder and hastily tried to remedy it: "Actually, there are many historical cases where a single river decided the victory or defeat. Not to mention, the Battle of the Great Wilderness ended with a river..."

Gessa sneered.

The Artillery Major abruptly shut his mouth, and everyone else in the command center fell silent as if caught in the cold.

After a moment, it was Gessa who broke the oppressive silence, gazing at Magit Island, and asked with a hint of impatience, "Why is it so quiet on the island? Have all the United Province folks died?"

"That's unlikely," Mason replied bravely, explaining earnestly, "The enemy on the island is at least at the scale of two battalions. Even in the most optimistic estimation, there are at least eight complete Hundred-Men Squads..."

Mason's voice grew smaller as he spoke.

This time, it was Gessa who sighed deeply. He crossed his arms and looked Richard Mason up and down, asking regretfully, "Major, how did an honest person like you get mixed up with Winters Montagne?"

"Well," Mason scratched his head, smiling a little embarrassed, "that's a long story."

Gessa, thoroughly worn out, took a deep breath, intending to change the topic.

Just then, the shout of a lookout reached the command center:

"Lights! They're signaling from the far shore!"

Upon hearing this, Gessa dashed to the parapet, with Mason and the other officers in the command center quickly following.

On Magit Island, a sudden spot of light appeared.

From afar, it looked like a small hole poked through a black canvas, with the light behind the canvas seeping through.

However, the signal light from the far shore did not flicker or move, entirely violating any pre-established signal protocols.

As the lookout tried desperately to decipher the signal, the spot on the black canvas suddenly multiplied, one into two, two into four, and in the blink of an eye, spread into a horizontal line.

Only then did the command center crowd realize—they weren't lights, they were fire.

And it wasn't fire burning on the surface, but fire burning in the trenches.

Soon after, a blazing figure jumped out of the "line," running towards the great river.

But a burst of red light flashed in the darkness as United Province Musketeers shot fatal lead bullets from the high slope, shooting the "firemen" down on the riverbank.

Yet it's hard to say if this act was cruel or if it granted the firemen relief.

For soon, several more firemen crawled out of the trenches, running towards the River Shijian.

They dashed into the river, but the water couldn't entirely extinguish the flames on them, and the eerie blue fire floated on the river surface, continuing to burn.

Crying in torment, the firemen were engulfed by the river's dark waters.

Mason watched all this, his heart clenched with pain.

Gessa Adonis broke the silence, spitting out a term venomously: "Alchemical Fire!"

On the floating bridge, the river dike, and the riverbank... the piercing screams from the far shore brought everyone to a standstill, gazing at the island where fire had spread into a wall, not knowing what to do.

"Get back to work," Gessa said coldly.

Mason hesitated but pursed his lips, repeating the brigadier's order, "Get back to work."

The orderlies burst out of the command center, snapping the stunned individuals back to reality, "Get back to work!"

Soon, everyone snapped out of it.

The engineers continued to carry materials onto the floating bridge, the artillerymen continued loading ammunition into the cannons, and the soldiers transporting the ferry resumed cracking the whip, herding the wagons with a piercing creak towards the upstream assault positions.

"Can your men handle it?" Gessa turned his head to ask Mason.

"They are our men, General," Mason corrected earnestly, "and our warriors have never disappointed us."

Gessa nodded and said no more.

Hurried footsteps approached, and Thomas came to Mason.

"Are you heading to the island?" Mason asked, "What about the west bank?"

"The west bank can do without me," Thomas replied resolutely, "They need me over there."