Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

It's necessary to mention a counterintuitive piece of knowledge: even in a future when humans begin to use lightweight polymers to make firearms, guns still weigh more than cold weapons. An unloaded assault rifle weighs at least five pounds, while Winters's Longsword weighs only three; let alone in this era where wooden stocks were still in use.

Therefore, in those days, using a firearm the wrong way around was essentially like using a hammer. Many musketeers who found themselves in close combat didn't even bother to draw their swords, preferring to swing the butt of their guns to strike their enemy instead.

The initial hit with the butt of the gun hadn't hurt Winters too much, but now a dull pain had begun to throb in his back.

"These assassins struck viciously." Bard smacked his lips as he lamented, pressing gently on the bruised area with his fingers: "Does it hurt when I press like this?"

"How can it not hurt? You'd feel pain if you were hit too," Winters said with a wry smile.

"I mean, do the bones hurt?"

"It's bearable, a bit painful, but I can hold on."

"That's good; the bones should be fine. You probably didn't get hit too hard because you were wrestling with him." Bard speculated about the situation and gave his medical advice: "In any case, even if the bones were broken, there's nothing to be done but to let them heal. Regardless, you should rest properly for a month without causing any trouble."

"That scoundrel was insufferable, secretly wearing a breastplate under his robe." The more Winters thought about it, the angrier he got, his impotent rage flaring: "If I had been wearing plate armor too, do you think he could have injured me?"

As Bard helped a grimacing Winters, who winced in pain when he lifted his arm, put his clothes back on, he casually remarked, "Really? I actually thought those black-robed men had pretty formidable swordsmanship."

That hit home for Winters. Reflecting on his fight with the assassin, he said earnestly, "Definitely formidable; the black-robed man who hit me with the butt of his gun had very precise control over the distance. And their swords had their center of balance at the hilt, making them extremely agile. In a true one-on-one duel, I probably wouldn't stand a chance against him; I'd have to call on Aike for a secure victory."

"I reckon you could search the whole bay and not find more than a few swordsmen as skilled as the master." Bard said with a smile.

"Ha-ha, that's just competition. After all, we've seen bloodshed. If it was a fight to the death, Aike might not be able to handle us now," Winters said, a smile creeping onto his face as he thought of Aike. He continued with enthusiasm, "I've reached a new understanding of swordsmanship. If I were to carry a short gun like those black-robed men... even against Aike, I wouldn't be afraid. Hmm, one might not be enough, carrying two would be safer."

"Then did you figure out how he managed to fire the musket without a match?" Bard had been unable to understand this point.

"I didn't catch it; it must be some special design." Winters shook his head. He had come into close contact with the black-robed man's musket and confirmed there was no match lit, but he had been unable to discern the specific mechanism.

However, Winters recalled subduing the black-robed man on the jetty and said cheerfully, "That guy carried a specially made firearm, and still I knocked him out with a kick. If his companion hadn't come to his rescue, I might have taken him alive. Once we're out of here, I'll reinforce my boot tips with metal plates. Next time I'll kick his jaw to pieces."

He bragged somewhat proudly, "I'm increasingly feeling that the battle we fought during boarding with pirates is very important. Aike truly might not handle the two of us now."

"What practical experience? It's merely the art of killing we've honed," Bard's sentiment didn't carry the same pride as Winters's; he was bittersweet: "I can't even imagine what my father and mother would think if they knew I had killed someone."

This statement struck a chord with Winters; what would his own family think if they knew he had taken several lives? His pride melted away instantly.

Winters tried to comfort Bard dryly, "Haven't we spent so many years at the military academy learning this very skill? Cough, it's a necessity. Don't overthink it. Like Andre said, 'just think of yourself as a tool,' that'll make it easier."

Just then, a startled yet elated voice came from the other end of the cell, "The major has woken up! He's awake!"

A few hours earlier, Winters and Major Moritz had jumped into the sea to avoid an explosion, but it wasn't until he had started choking on water that Winters remembered he couldn't swim.

As he panicked, flailed his limbs around, and was on the verge of drowning, a pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind and pulled him back to the surface.

Even now, when Winters recalled the feeling of nearly drowning, he couldn't help but shiver all over.

Winters initially thought it was the major who had saved him, but once he was dragged ashore, he realized it wasn't the major who had saved him but his old classmate, Benwei.

What about the major? There was no sign of the major on the sea surface; it turned out the major couldn't swim either!

Without the time to exchange pleasantries with Winters, Benwei dove back into the water.