Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 1017 - 60: Vortex (Part 2)_2

“It’s easy to say for the folks in the city, as they are all idle,” old Schmid’s voice was rough and deep, yet had a comforting quality, “But what about those outside the city? As soon as it warms up, they have to start farming, and they’ll be very busy.”

Colonel Berny was prepared: “For this supplementary training, I won’t conscript ‘people from outside the city’. Frankly, I don’t even want to conscript ‘city people’.”

Old Schmid frowned and asked, “If you don’t conscript city folks or those from outside, who can you conscript?”

“Conscript who?” Colonel Berny paused for a moment, then said with a smile, “Whoever is starving will be conscripted.”

Having said that, the colonel finished the remaining distilled spirits in his cup in one gulp. Winters felt that drinking this way was harmful to one’s health, but still handed over the bottle of alcohol reluctantly.

The other old blacksmiths were still not catching on, but the elder who had just been pressing the colonel had figured it out, and in a hoarse voice, he asked, “You mean to conscript… the mule workers?”

The few other old blacksmiths heard this and couldn’t help but frown.

Mule workers were the lowest class of poor in the steel fortress; the vast majority of them were not natives of the fortress, but had migrated from other towns or even other states. They were not eligible for apprenticeship and could only work hard labour, toiling like mules in the mines, and were thus disdainfully called mule workers.

Winters also realized – those mule workers mentioned by the blacksmiths were the men shivering in the cold wind on the streets, waiting for employers.

“Mule workers are not from the fortress, many aren’t even from Solingen,” the one-eyed blacksmith glared, “Winter training includes meals, why give them bread for nothing?”

“Traditionally, winter training doesn’t conscript people from other states,” the elder with the raspy voice slowly added, “By law, winter training is a matter for the state, and cannot conscript people from other states either.”

“I know, I know all of it,” Colonel Berny said with indifferent expression, showing no sign of being swayed by the opposing opinions: “But there’s one more thing I know—people need to eat bread. If there isn’t any, we have to find a way to get it, otherwise, we’ll starve to death. The laborers in the stronghold are all out of work now, it’ll turn into a catastrophe sooner or later if we ignore this. You refuse to provide relief, so I have to step in. Gentlemen, mark my words, I am helping you… it’s just that you haven’t realized it yet.”

With a hint of threat in his demeanor, the Colonel surveyed the crowd, and the blacksmiths dared not meet his gaze.

Except for Schmid, the burly old blacksmith who laughed heartily, defusing the tension: “The Executive Committee has discussed your proposal, Colonel. However, with the election approaching, the Committee doesn’t have the authority anymore. At the end of the day, you’ll need to find a way to convince the next Executive Committee, and… the next mayor.”

“Exactly.” Colonel Berny spread his hands and sighed: “Otherwise, why would I bother coming here?”

Old Schmid patted the Colonel firmly on the shoulder, and the Colonel shook his head without saying anything more.

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“How did things get to this state?” the old man with the hoarse voice also sighed deeply: “When we were young, those were the days! As soon as the lakes and rivers froze, we’d work our hearts out all winter long. When it warmed up, and the ice melted, the ships, big and small, would carry our goods away, to Paratu, to The Federated Provinces, to Vineta. Alas, how did it become like this now?”

As he spoke, the old man’s eyes began to moisten, and he couldn’t help but sigh deeply once again.

The one-eyed old blacksmith grumbled and complained: “Back when the Emperor was still around, even though we had to muster troops every year, at least the legions were under state control. With military power, no one dared to treat us badly. And now? The legions have all been taken over by the Federation. They turn their backs and become unrecognizable, leaving us bare-assed! Everyone thinks they can squeeze us! [Expletive Montan profanity]!”

Winters listened silently. If memory were a notebook, he had just vigorously written down two lines:

“Old Smith the blacksmith is a member of the Executive Committee”;

“The conflict between Solingen State and the Monta Federation is sharper than expected, and it’s even possible that there are hostile sentiments not limited to just Solingen State.”

Winters caught the scent of opportunity, but for some reason, he could hardly feel joy, instead feeling somewhat disheartened.

If one were to witness the “great legacy” rot into something that increasingly leaves people dissatisfied and unable to change anything, any person with ideals would probably sooner or later end up like Colonel Berny, who drinks alcohol like water.

“What will my legacy be? What will it turn into?” Winters couldn’t help but wonder.

Winters even began to doubt: “Is there really a utopia? Is there truly a perfect system? Or is the pursuit of establishing a perfect system in itself a mistake?”

A few crisp sounds interrupted Winters’ thoughts, and the attentions of others were also drawn by the knocking.

After attracting everyone’s attention to himself, White Eagle put down the goblet and spoon in his hand, and walked elegantly to the center of the hall.

“Gentlemen, dear ladies,” White Eagle bowed extravagantly and dramatically to all sides, and announced with his distinctive magnetic voice: “Please allow me to introduce today’s most distinguished guest, the honorable public servant of the stronghold, a loyal husband and an honest blacksmith, my dear friend—Mayor Paulo Wuper.”

From somewhere, a sporadic applause arose. It quickly turned enthusiastic, and the atmosphere peaked.

Winters didn’t see the “mayor,” only a well-dressed, stiff-faced portly middle-aged man who managed a forced smile as he entered the hall.