Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 1016 - 60: Whirlpool (Part 2)
Chapter 1016 -60: Whirlpool (Part 2)
The hall of the White Eagle gradually filled with guests.
Those attending the meeting were mostly renowned workshop owners from the steel fortress, many of whom had burn scars from molten iron visible on their hands.
Of course, there were also some spotlessly clean, seemingly pampered “gentlemen.”
Although they varied in age, temperament, and conversation, the guests were from the same society and shared the same identity: Forge Masters.
Winters’ classmate—a mysterious middle-aged man missing two fingers—seemed to be highly respected by the Forge Masters. Wherever he went, people would stop talking and either nod or raise their glasses to greet him proactively.
The middle-aged man swaggered through the crowd directly towards the long table at the other end of the hall, with Winters following behind him composedly.
Caman, who was brooding over a drink by the long table, inadvertently caught sight of Winters approaching with a stranger. He put down his glass and slowly got up.
The Spellcasters and the clergyman watched each other across the crowd, and Caman inquired with his gaze— “Need help?”
Winters subtly tilted his head towards Anna’s direction— “Don’t worry about me, protect Anna.”
Caman nodded slightly and walked towards the salon where the ladies were gathered.
The middle-aged man picked up a bottle of liquor casually from the long table and turned to join a small conversation group nearby.
About a dozen guests were gathered around the long table, all of an older age, most with graying hair, and balding heads. No longer of the age to court ladies and unwilling to demean themselves by mingling with the younger generation, they naturally formed a small group.
Seeing the middle-aged man approaching, the robust elder leading the group nodded and greeted, “Colonel.”
“Mr. Schmid,” the middle-aged man responded courteously.
As he spoke, the middle-aged man stepped into the chatting circle.
Winters followed him, staying just outside the invisible boundary of the group, maintaining a suitable distance.
The other guests naturally treated Winters as the “Colonel’s” aide-de-camp, so they found nothing odd about it.
“Care for a drink?” the middle-aged man uncorked the bottle with his hands and asked the robust elder with a smile.
The robust elder protected his glass, “Distilled spirit? You want to take my life.”
“Distilled? Didn’t see the label.” The middle-aged man poured himself half a glass of clear liquid and handed the bottle and cork to Winters casually: “Who cares! As long as it’s liquor.”
The two conversed in a relaxed and friendly manner, apparently sharing a deep relationship.
Winters silently observed the robust elder—without exaggeration, when he first saw him, Winters thought it was a prank, as if someone had stuffed a bear into human clothes.
“A bear in a tight suit,” was the most accurate description of the robust elder.
His dense beard was as overgrown as weeds by a summer riverbank, and his dark skin seemed as if he had just crawled out of a charcoal kiln.
Every button from his chest to his belly was tightly stretched, clearly enduring a tension it was not meant to bear. The material was enough to make two coats for Winters, yet it seemed restrained on the robust elder.
Even though middle-aged spread and atrophied muscles meant the muscular elder was no longer as strong, one could imagine the thunderous clanging of his hammer in his youth.
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The other old men around him were also likely blacksmiths in earlier years—not today’s kind who bear the title of blacksmith but are actually businessmen and employers, but genuine blacksmiths who toiled beside the forge and anvil, drenched in sweat.
Their long and perilous careers each left some traces on them—swollen knees, deformed joints, ugly scars… these were the luckier ones.
The elder next to the robust elder had only one joint left on each finger of his left hand except for the thumb. Two people further on, another sturdy elder with an eye patch over his right eye had likely been in some accident.
Winters observed everything, keeping what he saw in mind, silently gathering information.
That the “Colonel found a common spirit with the aged blacksmiths before him” did not surprise Winters one bit.
“Why stop talking? Gentlemen?” the middle-aged man sniffed his glass, “Did I spoil your mood?”
The elderly blacksmiths exchanged glances, Schmid—the leading robust elder spoke gruffly, “What’s the use of us old fellows complaining more when the mayor himself doesn’t show up?”
Schmid emphasized “the mayor” with notable dissatisfaction.
“That lad Paulo Wuper must give us a straight answer today!” the fiery-tempered stout one-eyed blacksmith blurted out: “A nail hammered into wood still leaves a hole; if he dares to continue his deception, he can forget about getting this batch from me, [Angry Monta expletive]!”
“How do you view the trade embargo?” another elderly blacksmith asked hoarsely and courteously, “Colonel Berny?”
Winters blinked, finally learning the great elder’s name.
Colonel Berny sipped his distilled spirit, waving his hands repeatedly, “Don’t implicate me. The trade embargo is a matter between Solingen State’s government and the Grand Council, it has nothing to do with the military; what stance should I take?”
“Back when the Emperor was around, the legion was still under the state’s control. Your troops are stationed in Solingen, you are part of Solingen, so of course, you can take a stance.”
Colonel Berny shook his head with a bitter smile, unwilling to say more.
The impetuous one-eyed stout blacksmith immediately burst out again, shouting: “Colonel, you know best yourself, your soldiers’ food, clothing, accommodation, and wages…aren’t all these provided by our steel fortress? Over the years, haven’t we even once shortchanged you a grain of wheat or a silver coin? Now that the steel fortress is in trouble, you have to speak for us!”
