Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Major Moritz's explanation was simple and easy to understand, and Winters had no trouble grasping it.

"So if I want to recover faster, I should sleep more?" Winters asked tentatively.

"If I'm not mistaken, that's correct," nodded Major Moritz.

"Then could you give me some more sleeping aid?" After all, sleeping was Winters's favorite sport.

"I'm out, I'm afraid, I only had a little of both sleeping aids left. They were originally for treating my insomnia, but now they've all been used up by you guys." Major Moritz spread his hands helplessly, "But..."

In any language of this world, whatever comes before "but" can generally be considered nonsense.

"But..." Major Moritz said with a smile, "I have another method that can approximate the effect of the sleeping drugs, you can try that."

"Uh... Thank you, senior," Winters thanked him, though unclear about the details.

"Don't thank me, you should thank the classmate who has been taking care of you these past few days. It was your classmate who stayed with you the whole time," Senior Moritz reminded Winters.

Winters quickly stood up and gave Andre a deep bow, "I really can't thank you enough."

"No, no, don't thank me..." Andre also stood up quickly, explaining embarrassingly, "I've only covered the shift for less than an hour. It's been Bard looking after you before. He has been up for an entire day and couldn't hold on anymore, so he just went to sleep."

"What? Bard?"

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The sky was clear and the waves high, as colorful flags fluttered atop the leading mast.

This fast ship, full of Sea Blue apprentice officers, had already sailed out of the rainy area. The students no longer had to be trapped in the gloomy and damp cabin and rushed to the upper deck for some fresh air.

Taking advantage of the good weather, Winters and Bard were also on the upper deck, enjoying the sea breeze and drying clothes. Winters was unconscious when they set off so Aike had packed his luggage for him, including washing his military clothing.

However, it rained the night of the fire rescue, so the clothes were not dried. Winters thought about throwing away the moldy-smelling military clothing, but he felt it would be disrespectful to Aike's kindness, hence he took advantage of the good weather to air it out on the deck.

"Did you know you drank back what you vomited into the cup last night?" Bard could barely contain his amusement.

"Stop, please, I feel like throwing up just thinking about it," complained Winters, the hangover making his head throb with pain, different from the "phantom limb pain" caused by using magic, but a straightforward headache.

After truly understanding Major Moritz's "alternative therapy," Winters realized how unreliable first impressions could be. The major's gentlemanly demeanor was just a facade; his true nature was that of a heavy drinker.

The thing Major Moritz suggested as a substitute for sleeping drugs was alcohol, and by approximating the effect of sleeping drugs he meant drinking until one blacked out.

Moreover, the Major didn't prefer wine or ale but rather rum, the strong liquor preferred by the lower classes of sailors.

Ever since sugarcane was introduced from the southern continent, the Gulf Region's outlying island chain saw a crop of sugarcane plantations spring up like mushrooms after rain.

Rum, a by-product of the sugar industry, started to become popular in the Gulf Region and somehow became Major Moritz's favorite at some point.

Under the pretense of treatment, the Major, who had no one else to drink with, got Winters so drunk that he passed out, indeed fulfilling his promise to help Winters "approximate the use of drugs to aid in sleep."

"So, how do you feel now?" Bard, curious about the effect of Major Moritz's therapy because Winters had almost drunk himself to death, asked.

"I have a headache, feel nauseous, and want to throw up," Winters replied weakly, leaning on the ship's railing.

"I'm asking about the magic side of things."

"Well, I think the Major's theory has some merit. Sleep does indeed seem to repair the third hand," Winters had to admit that the unexplained pain he felt upon waking from sleep was lessening each time, "By the way, have you gotten hold of any gunpowder?"

"Right here." Bard took out a small cow-horn container from his bag, "I asked the captain for some gunpowder, and he just handed me a whole hornful. I'll give it back to him after you've used it."

Winters took the gunpowder horn, popped the cork, and poured a bit of the powder onto the ship's railing. Then, remembering the sensation of casting fire-type spells and maintaining the casting gesture, he tried to ignite the small pile of gunpowder with a fire spell.

Using a fire spell to ignite gunpowder is a skill that spellcasters learn at the beginning of their training and is one of the simplest effects to achieve.

But the gunpowder did not ignite as Winters had expected; instead, the gradually subsiding phantom limb pain erupted once again.

Winters trembled with pain, feeling unstable on his feet, so he leaned against the railing, waiting for the pain to subside.

Bard quickly poured Winters a strong drink, "There's no need to rush to try magic. Relax, your magical abilities are definitely still there. Isn't the gradual disappearance of your phantom limb pain proof that your magical abilities are recovering?"

"I was just giving it a try; I wasn't deluding myself into thinking I'd recover so quickly." Winters took the drink in his hand but didn't drink it, "Looks like I'll just have to slowly heal."

"I think it's quite fitting how you guys refer to magical talent as the 'third hand' and the 'fifth limb,'" Bard said thoughtfully, "Look, isn't what you're experiencing now just like a muscle strain from overexertion?"