Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

A spellcaster attuned to such high levels of magic yet addicted to alcohol was like someone trampling on Winters' most treasured possessions, a piercing irony indeed.

But he was well aware that unsolicited advice was a big taboo. Drunkenness was the major's personal choice, and he had neither the position nor the right to say those 'I'm only saying this for your good' kind of words.

Seeing Major Moritz begin to grow tired, Winters helped the major lie down and watched as he fell back into a deep sleep.

——————

At the same time as Major Moritz slipped into dreams, still within the Customs Administration office, still in Hurd's office, the same few people, the same stifling atmosphere persisted.

The directors of Customs were still just burying their heads in smoke, and this time, Hurd joined the ranks of the haze creators.

The situation now was: everyone from the top to the bottom of Customs knew that these army officer trainees were innocent and had to be let go, but no one dared to be the first to propose it.

Whomever broached this solution, the customs leadership would immediately take the out offered, agree amicably, with a big fuss, see off this plague of the Vineta Army.

But the person who proposed the solution would be labeled as groveling to the Army, a disgrace to the customs' dignity. This label would be mentioned over and over again in later internal criticism, and the branded person would be stepped on by ten thousand feet.

The directors thought Hurd was waiting for his subordinates to step up and ease the leader's worries, the directors were waiting for Hurd to display his leadership qualities and take the thunder for his subordinates.

Meanwhile, the two chief regiments of the Vineta Standing Army were ready and waiting outside the city, awaiting the Throne's command to move out and snatch the people.

It was still the Director of Smuggling Prevention who first spoke up: "We can't just fall out with the Army over such a trivial matter."

Expressing weakness didn't mean he was a defeatist at heart.

"Afraid of what? Let them come! Who are they trying to scare with their big guns? As if we don't have big guns ourselves," the Tax Director roared as if spoiling for a fight.

The one starting with a high pitch wasn't necessarily a true hardliner.

"Can't make up your mind? Let's do a minority obeys the majority, how about an anonymous collective vote among the directors and above?"

Oh? Here was someone wanting a piece of the pie, attempting to overthrow the top administrator.

Hurd sat behind his desk, calmly enjoying his tobacco.

At fifty-eight, he was considered on in years for this time and age.

His thoughts were no longer sharp, his body no longer nimble, his temples were grizzled, and his cheeks began to show age spots.

But his mind was as clear as a mirror. He sat on the chief customs officer's chair, seeing through everyone's petty schemes with utmost clarity.

What was it to falsely capture a few army warrant officers? It was just that they saw he was about to retire, and so even the smallest of issues could make all hell break loose.

He had long had his decision in mind, he just wanted to calmly finish his tobacco pipe while assessing what his subordinates were really worth.

The next customs chief administrator, barring any accident, would be chosen by the fifteen-member finance committee from the current directors.

Hurd had to ensure that the place where he had devoted his life's work, the Vineta Republic Customs, would fall into the right hands.

"I'll handle it." This was a voice rarely heard at director meetings, forthright and calm.

Hurd gently tapped the tobacco ash out of the pipe bowl.

————I am the helmet-wearing dividing line————

Winters had acted as a "medical troublemaker," but this was by no means an encouragement for the readers to compete in medical knowledge against the doctors in the real world. It's just that in the alternate world where Winters was, compared to some doctors, barbers who treated wounded soldiers were closer to the truth, because practice is the only criterion for testing truth.

Furthermore, it may be hard to believe, but prior to the formation of modern medicine, ancient European physicians also used herbal remedies and pulse diagnosis techniques.

Herbs need no further mention, most of which were used by monks in monasteries and recorded by them.

As for pulse diagnosis, the first chapter of Italian Benvenuto Cellini's "Autobiography" mentions his father knowing some Latin and a little bit of medicine, diagnosing his pulse when he was sick, and even using it to assess his moods.

However, whether this technique was introduced to the Latin region from the Arab region, or if it was a long-standing diagnostic method of the Latin people, is something I don't know.

P.S. Thanks to Break-arm Stream and Social Justice Wang for their recommendation tickets, and thanks to Old Wang for his reward. It really pleases me that living people read the stories I write.