Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Winters snorted lightly.

His words just now had been too presumptuous, and he knew his reasoning was flawed.

Moreover, the sudden solemnity of the old shaman made him feel as awkward as a naughty child caught in the act.

Truth be told, Winters was taken aback: Brother Reed's eyes seemed to see right through him.

The carriage became quiet, with only the snoring of Little Lion.

"Cough, but well, you know." The old man revealed a cunning smile, "If I told them bull dung could cure ailments, they might give it a try."

"Bang!"

The carriage door was kicked open.

Winters stormed off in anger.

The sleeping Little Lion was startled by the sound of the door being kicked, leaping up instantly from the seat, his mane bristling and his claws fully extended as he looked around warily.

"It's all right, it's all right." Reed soothed Little Lion gently, "Did you get startled into puffing up too?"

...

The first three battalions had already left the camp; it was Jeska's battalion's turn to depart.

Carriages passed through the camp, their grating "creak" echoing throughout.

Many people came out of their tents to watch the caravan leave the camp.

Vineta officers and several senior students from Paratu also came to see off Winters and his companions.

Lieutenant Mitch and Winters bumped fists, "See you at the next camp, Winters."

"See you at the next camp, squad leader," Winters replied.

When Winters had entered the Land Academy, Mitch, a third-year student, had truly been his squad leader and a predecessor in the way of spellcraft.

Taking one last look at Bianli, Winters put everything behind him and spurred his horse forward.

He'd come with nothing in his hands, but he was leaving with half a spell.

[Dissolution Spell], and the rudiment of another spell.

According to Winters' conjecture, the large spell that caused the downpour was likely powered not only by Shaman Hurd but also by the spellcasters of Paratu contributing their magic power.

The spell of Shaman Hurd had triggered a resonance with the spellcasters of the Alliance, their "magic power" being sucked away like ships caught in a whirlpool—if there really was such a thing as "magic power."

Following this principle, the first [Counter-Spell] in the history of Alliance Spellcasters was on the verge of emergence; Winters temporarily named it [Mana Vortex].

But thinking was not enough; Winters needed more resources for experimentation and practice.

"The 'Antoine-Laurent' award is mine," Winters thought, "The youngest recipient ever."

Watching Winters' figure fade into the distance, Lieutenant Mitch asked Lieutenant Matt who was still waving his hand desperately, "Do you think Winters Montagne is a frivolous person?"

"Eh?" Matt, wiping his tears, paused slightly at Mitch's question, "Winters... he's a pretty good kid, right? What's up?"

"Yes or no."

"...No."

"I don't think so either; I've had him for a year. He's a good kid, I know that very well," said Lieutenant Mitch thoughtfully, "But he deliberately hid something from us yesterday." Enjoy exclusive adventures from My Virtual Library Empire

"What?" Matt was still immersed in the sorrow of parting.

"Someone told me that Winters killed the Terdon Tribe's premier warrior with a single spear throw. Do you think he has that kind of arm strength?"

"That sounds like it got blown out of proportion to me..."

"No, it's true." Mitch stroked the stubble on his chin, "If I'm not mistaken, that was a specialized version of the Arrow Flying Spell."

Matt was puzzled, "So? Spellcasters all have their signature spells."

"I've tried, and I can't do it," Mitch said seriously, "Neither the precision nor the power can be replicated by me."

"You mean..."

"If a person who is not frivolous does something that seems frivolous, then the information he is hiding must be very important." Mitch stood up straight, looking toward the barely visible figure of Winters and shook his head with a wry smile, "What weakest? He's the strongest one."