Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 520 - 96: The End (Part 2)

"Retake the Southern Highlands fortress tonight. Victory means life, defeat means death."

That was the general’s order.

The westerly wind cackled as it swept through the tent, a chill passing over everyone’s spines.

"Has the Southern Highlands fortress been retaken?"

No one answered; the fortress was still in the hands of the White Lion.

"Take a short rest." Sekler’s tone left no room for dispute, "Your mission remains to retake the Southern Highlands fortress."

With that, the general turned and left.

Colonel Laszlo had been shot in the right leg. He sat on a three-legged stool, expressionlessly packing his pipe as if the matter had nothing to do with him.

Lieutenant Colonels Robert and Castor had ashen faces, but neither of them spoke.

The tent was silent as death.

A hoarse voice rang out behind Sekler, "All the cannons have been destroyed; I destroyed them myself."

The general did not acknowledge, nor did he stop his steps, simply walking out.

So many men had thrown their lives away on the mountain, swarming the walls like ants under a hail of bullets, fighting hand-to-hand in corridors too narrow to turn around. Was it all vain because of a casual command from the high-ups?

"I used the Iron Melting Technique." Winters struggled to suppress his emotions, his body trembling, "The White Lion can’t even cram a cannonball in."

A military family background, ten years of military academy education, and a year and a half of military life had molded Winters Montagne into a "systemized" individual.

No one saw through it more clearly than Antonio Serviati: the military academies, structured after the Monastery, were ultimately churning out batch after batch of "Ascetic Monks" and "Zealots."

Winters hardly knew anything about the world outside the military. From the moment he was born, he was placed within this system.

Loyalty, duty, executing orders, respecting superiors... Obedience to authority was practically seared into his marrow.

This was why he fought so "ardently" for the Republic of Paratu—he wasn’t even aware of it himself.

A systemized individual actually doesn’t care who gives the orders, as long as there are orders to follow.

Being part of the greater whole—this subconscious act gave him an irreplaceable sense of security because it was the life he had always known.

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In fact, it was not that the Paratu military needed Winters Montagne; it was Winters Montagne who needed the military.

Like a young sapling, he had been fitted into a mold and tied with ropes from the start, guided to grow in a predetermined direction.

But humans have limits, even those who are systemized.

The tightly wound strings snapped one by one, and the faces of fallen soldiers emerged in front of Winters’s eyes.

They didn’t die for Paratu, let alone for Sekler. They trusted him, loved him, and it was for him that they fearlessly risked their lives against the barbarians—they died for him.

Winters drew his saber, charging towards the general’s retreating figure while shouting in grief and anger, "What exactly do you want me to do? All for that damned hill! My men have all to die there! All to die there!"

Lieutenant Colonel Robert immediately reached out to grab Winters. He had an injury on his tongue and couldn’t speak, letting out anxious mumbling sounds.

Lieutenant Colonel Castor also grabbed Winters’s other arm, "Insolence! You… you’re drunk!"

"Don’t be rash!" The voice of Lieutenant Colonel Jeska came from his cot in the darkness, futilely stretching out an arm trying to stop Winters.

Colonel Laszlo, using the oil lamp to light his pipe, hung his eyelids low, leisurely puffing smoke.

"Philpot! Mihali! Solt..." The names of the fallen soldiers were cried out one after another by Winters.

Sekler, with one leg already outside the tent, paused his steps. He stood silently for two or three seconds, then suddenly turned back towards Winters.

He looked straight into the lieutenant’s eyes, asking coldly, "Do I need to tell you my plan?"

"Go to hell!!!" Winters struggled frantically, anger burning in his eyes.

Castor and Robert stumbled as he pulled them, and Lieutenant Colonel Robert managed to wrest the saber from his hand.

"Winters! Don’t be impulsive! Don’t do this!" Lieutenant Colonel Jeska almost pleaded. No, he was begging.

Sekler slowly wiped the spittle from his face and dropped a bombshell, "The bridge, in fact, is already passable!"

Everyone in the tent, including Winters, was shocked.

"The bridge structure is less than thirty meters from the opposite riverbank. Lieutenant Colonel Alec (an engineer) has a plan to rigidly fix the first fifteen meters of the floating bridge to the foremost bridge piles. For the next ten meters, people are sent to the opposite bank to secure it with cables. The last five meters, they’ll just wade through the water," Seleuc explained, looking at everyone in the tent, speaking slowly and deliberately, "Besides me, Alpad, and Lieutenant Colonel Alec, you’re the only ones who know this."

Lieutenant Colonel Castor muttered softly, "If the bridge is already passable, why don’t we retreat?"

"Can we retreat?!" Sekler roared, "The Herders are guarding the camp’s outer ring; can we retreat?! The White Lion has brought at least thirty thousand reinforcements, three major divisions followed by numerous lesser tribes ’all putting forth their first-born sons’! Tell me, why hasn’t he launched the final assault yet?"

Sekler did not wait for his subordinates to answer, scolding sharply, "Because he is waiting for the very moment when the bridge is completed! With a way out in front and pursuers behind. Without the White Lion exerting any effort, we will collapse into a rout!"

The logic was too straightforward, and Winters couldn’t refute.

The bridge was a symbol of hope, the spiritual pillar of the Paratu People fighting with their backs to the river.

But if the bridge were truly completed, it would not be a final stand but "besieging Wei to rescue Zhao."