Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Where did the rebels get their new artillery?

Montekucoli had no idea.

A myriad of speculations flashed through his mind, but none could be verified at this moment, in this place.

As Montekucoli's mind was in turmoil, the battle on the riverbank was still ongoing.

In the sky, the flares exhausted their short-lived vigor, begrudgingly collapsing into a tiny red speck, and then disappeared into the night sky.

Both sides thus lost a primary source of illumination.

But the liquid fire thrown into the trench had not yet burned out, its light seeping through the veil-like smoke, faintly illuminating everything on the riverbank, casting frenzied shadows behind the Lodewick troops leaping out from the breastwork.

The timing of Lodewick troops' assault was well chosen; the rebels' artillery, having fired a round to cover their soldiers' landing, temporarily fell silent, leaving only the rebel musketeers still firing intensely.

The soldiers at the forefront of Lodewick troops dragged a white tail behind them, like a ship's wake on the water.

Under the gentle stir of the wind, the white tail quickly lost its form, spreading to the sides.

It was then that someone suddenly realized that the so-called "tail" was actually a trail of white smoke.

Montekucoli's understanding was a step above that of ordinary soldiers, and he immediately recognized the origin of the white smoke.

It was genuine alchemical smoke, fast and fierce, clinging to the ground, far surpassing the smoke produced by burning wet straw or damp clothing.

The smoke released by multiple Lodewick troop commandos merged, almost completely obscuring the charging route.

Now, neither side could see anything.

However, Montekucoli thought that using such precious alchemical smoke was indeed superfluous, as its cover meant little to Colonel Ludwick's men.

The advantage of the rebels lay in their pre-constructed artillery positions.

If Montekucoli himself were directing the rebel artillery, he would have measured the distance and calculated the angles in advance, achieving decent accuracy even without visual adjustment.

Instead of relying on smoke, it was better to count on the rebels' outdated siege cannons being too cumbersome, lacking wheeled carriages for precise repositioning.

Rebel musketeers might be disturbed by the smoke, but a human target two hundred meters away is no larger than half a thumb's nail when an arm is extended, making aiming difficult, let alone accurate shooting.

Conversely, allied musketeers, being closer, were more impacted.

Moreover, the smoke would hinder the commandos' actions, so in the artillery major's view, Colonel William Lodewick using alchemical smoke seemed like a desperate move.

The key was to disperse, ensure enough distance between soldiers, and not layer them, but to thin out the formation.

However, soldiers fighting individually would be at a disadvantage in melee combat, and dispersed assaults would struggle to be effective.

In essence, it was an unsolvable problem.

This problem was originally prepared by Raymond Montekucoli for the "cadets" serving the rebels.

But at this moment, on Magit Island—this tiny examination hall, the artillery major could only watch his allies tackle the problem.

Dragging white trails, the vanguard soldiers of the Lodewick troops had already reached the trench's edge.

What awaited him was the fire burst from a gun muzzle.

The soldier's breastplate from Lodewick was punctured with a hole; the immense impact froze him momentarily before he fell back dejectedly.

The canister branded with the Magic Combat Bureau emblem, slung over his back, was pressed under his body, still hissing out white smoke.

But there were too few muskets in the rebels' trench; a few sporadic shots were not enough to halt the Lodewick troops' charge.

More and more Lodewick soldiers burst out of the smoke, jumping into the trench.

The melee battle began.

Swords against swords, chests against chests, a narrow path with no retreat, the roars and screams intertwined, with musketeers on the slope and across the river firing away.

The iron canisters brought into the trench continued to spew alchemical smoke, billowing white smoke swirling downward, quickly filling the trench.

Nothing could be seen.

Yet Montekucoli still gave the order to load, without even specifying which type of shell to use.

The adjutant beside him could no longer wait, stepping towards the major, lips quivering as if to speak.

But Montekucoli merely gave a glare, making his student swallow back words already on the tip of his tongue.

After a suffocating pause, the rebels' cannons began to roar again.

Yet, it wasn't the few old heavy cannons, for the firing sounds were crisp and clear.

Montekucoli immediately twisted open the three hourglasses representing the six-pound cannon, emptying the remaining sand on the ground, swiftly retightening the hourglasses and inverting them.

"Load the cannon! Halve the powder!" Montekucoli shouted, "Load a canister shot!"

"Halve the powder! Load a canister shot!" The adjutant, as if awakened from a dream, shouted and ran toward the cannon positions.

The sergeants at each cannon repeated the order, the loaders filled half the powder, padded with a partition, and stuffed a lead-filled tin canister into the muzzle.

Montekucoli personally adjusted the firing angles, rotating the screw to raise the cannons pre-aimed at the rebel six-pounders, aiming almost at the sky.

"Do not waste cannon on destroying the enemy's cannon."

This was Montekucoli's lesson for every artillery cadet.

Because the opportunity to fire artillery was too precious and using cannon to destroy cannon was too inefficient.

Let alone this night, dark as pitch; even if a "cannon duel" was desired, accurate aiming was impossible, only rough targeting at flashes of light emanating from the opponent's position.

Moreover, if the rebel artillery commander had earnestly listened during artillery courses, he would have pre-prepared cover, moving barriers to seal gun ports after every shot.

In stark contrast, the artillery position where Montekucoli currently stood was hastily constructed, far from robust.

The enemy had cover, we had none, engaging in such conditions of direct fire at such close proximity was suicidal.

The enemy's artillery could even ignore Montekucoli's guns, focusing solely on annihilating the Southern Army's infantry.

The textbooks that most artillery officers graduating from the Alliance Army Academy learned from were authored by Montekucoli.

He knew exactly how his students would think, prepare, and respond.

And tonight, Montekucoli aimed to break his own teachings.

"Fire!" he commanded sternly.

The six-pound cannon's muzzle erupted in deadly red flames, the lead-filled tin canister was launched high into the air, disintegrating mid-flight to rain a lethal firestorm down onto the rebel artillery positions.