Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The early military organization of human civilization consisted of property owners who provided their own weapons, armor, and horses for military service. These politically empowered property owners were known as citizens in the Gumlu Empire and as nationals in the Gusalica Empire.

From this period on, the ability of a commander to inspire the morale of troops became extremely important.

In small-scale scuffles involving less than a dozen people, a silver-tongued leader was less useful than one who led from the front.

But when a thousand people were fighting desperately against another thousand, how to make soldiers willingly follow one into hell became a skill that could determine victory or defeat.

The crudest and simplest method was "money in place, men in place."

But money was not the problem; the lack of money was the problem.

Waging war was burning money, something that military strategists through the ages have repeatedly emphasized as an important consideration.

In wars, it's rare for money to be on time; it's the norm for it to be late.

Since ancient times, generals and kings who have lost their lives due to unpaid military salaries are as common as hairs on an ox.

Not to mention the distant past, let's just look at the recent events. A symbolic incident marking the full outbreak of the war for sovereignty occurred 38 years ago when Duke Arleans, dubbed "The Butcher," led his troops over the Sheltering Mountain Range to attack the rebels in the Duke of the Mountain Foothill Territories.

In later generations, historians from the Alliance would find thousands of metaphysical reasons, such as 'good always triumphs over evil,' to explain why Duke Arleans could initially crush the rebels but eventually ended up besieged in a lonely castle, defeated, and dead by his own hand.

But in this era, when this history was still a living memory and not just words in a book, every member of the Allied Army who had experienced the war for sovereignty knew why they could win: because Duke Arleans had run out of money.

If King Richard IV could have paid Duke Arleans his military salaries on time, the Federated Provinces Republic might still be the Mountain Foothill Duke's Territory of the Empire.

Duke Arleans, the Empire's most capable and combative land army commander in the past hundred years, did not die by his own sword but rather due to bankruptcy.

While money cannot buy true die-hard soldiers, in the feudal era, as long as one could ensure that his soldiers were well-fed, warmly clothed, and paid on time, one could be called a great general, inevitably reserving a spot in future history textbooks.

Most of the time in history, the biggest issue facing officers was not how to convince soldiers to go to battle, but how to persuade a group of soldiers who were hungry, cold, and underpaid to fight, and this was true for both sides of the conflict.

At this time, an inspiring pre-battle speech was the simplest and most effective method.

A capable officer, with just a few words, could make his soldiers red-eyed and howling with readiness to charge forward.

The brigadier general currently speaking at the podium clearly lacked such eloquence. He had earnestly written a speech, but when he spoke, it was in one dull tone with no modulation, like a wooden xylophone with only one string left.

As soon as the brigadier general opened his mouth, Winters could only feel his head swell and his eyelids begin to fight each other, blinking more and more frequently.

The sun was westward, and the warrant officers were sitting in pairs or threes in the stuffy little auditorium of the army headquarters, in a meeting.

This was an introductory session, originally intended to introduce internship positions within the various departments of the army to cadet officers.

But the person on the stage was so hypnotically boring that Winters struggled to concentrate and only heard some repetitive nonsense. If it weren't for Bard poking him secretly, he would have fallen asleep long ago.

One person after another came and went from the podium, each explaining their respective departments. Although a number of senior officers spoke, their prowess was about the same as that of the initial brigadier general.

Throughout the auditorium, there was a pervasive sense of dullness, and it wasn't just Winters— all the warrant officers were drowsy and wobbly.

Winters was really struggling to stay awake; his head gradually drooped, and his eyes closed. This time Bard didn't wake him up because Bard couldn't hold on either. As for Andre, he had completely let himself go, and if you listened carefully, you could even hear his quiet snoring.

Just as Winters was about to fall deeply asleep, a thunderous drum sound suddenly came from the podium.

According to legend, an ancient wise king, after killing a dragon, made a war drum with the dragon's hide as the drumhead and the dragon's bones as mallets. When this drum was played, it could be heard for a hundred miles around.

This myth was originally told by Selika to Winters as a bedtime story when he was a child, but Winters now felt that the drum might be right there on the podium.

That drumbeat startled him from his drowsiness, causing him to break out in a cold sweat, instantly dispelling all traces of sleepiness. All the cadet officers in the auditorium immediately perked up.

Winters looked towards the podium, but instead of seeing any legendary dragon drum, he only saw a smiling person in officer's uniform glancing around the auditorium.

This individual appeared to be just over thirty, with sharp eyebrows, deep-set eyes, a prominent nose, and thin lips. He stood at an average height among the tall military officers, yet his presence seemed to tower over everyone else.

Winters stared at the officer standing in front of the podium, and then there was another drum sound from that direction. This time, Winters saw it clearly.

There was no drum at all; it was just the officer snapping his fingers. A regular snap could not make such a loud sound, and the answer was obvious: this was a Spellcaster who had amplified the sound of his finger snap with a sonic spell.

However, Winters was puzzled; in his memory, the amplification spell only worked on the sound emitted by the Spellcasters' vocal cords. He had never seen Spellcasters amplify external sounds before.