Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The allure of wealth stirs the heart. Hearing old Majiya's words, not only was the coachman in front of the checkpoint drawn, but even the "rebels" soldiers on duty were attracted by the gold in old Majiya's hand.

Laor was utterly bewildered.

Though young Marcia knew in his heart that the trip to [Artemis] was to ransom someone, he was completely unaware of what price a father would be willing to pay to get his son back.

Beside young Marcia, the old servant Tasso instantly tensed up.

Old Tasso's brows unconsciously furrowed into a knot. He estimated the distance between the "rebel leader" in front and other "rebels." Silently, he sidestepped half a pace, using his "employer's" body to block the "rebel leader's" view, while slowly adjusting the dagger tucked in his belt with his left hand to a position where it could be drawn at any moment.

However, the "rebel leader's" keen perception exceeded old Tasso's imagination.

As soon as old Tasso made a move, the saber-bearing youth's gaze immediately pierced past old Majiya's shoulder, directly at the "horse-feeder servant" hidden behind the "master."

Clearly, the saber-bearing youth was already aware of the "horse-feeder servant's" dangerous actions.

Yet he did not immediately retreat a few steps, away from the threat. Instead, he turned his head, looking with interest at the "head of the household" in front.

Majiya Milock glanced sideways at old Tasso and slowly shook his head.

Old Tasso seemed to deflate instantly. He glared at the saber-bearing youth, roughly spat at the ground, then grumpily released the dagger and crossed his arms.

At this moment, the bewildered Laor finally realized that Tasso seemed to have had plans to seize the rebel leader.

Young Marcia suddenly felt his mouth turn dry; he forcibly suppressed his nervousness and panic, his Adam's apple rolling incessantly as he discreetly reached for his saber.

Nevertheless, the confrontation had already silently concluded, and old Tasso sighed, helplessly gesturing toward the young master.

Now that the victor had been decided, the three members of Majiya's family could only resign themselves to the other side's ruling.

The saber-bearing youth first glanced over the shattered ceramics on the table, then picked up a gold bar from the broken pieces to examine it. He glanced at the still noticeably heavy saddlebag and asked, "Is the rest in there too?"

"Yes," old Majiya answered bluntly.

"Take it out."

The saddlebag given to the husband by Lady Majiya before departure was emptied, and the ceramic rods were taken out one by one, smashed, and checked.

The gold bars were neatly arranged on a small table, seemingly just a small pile yet almost pressing down the table legs.

Outside the checkpoint, the crowd of coachmen attracted by the news grew larger, their eyes fixated.

Not to mention now, even in the "good times" of the past, carrying such a sum of money with you was akin to gambling with your life.

Moreover, those carrying all this gold were merely two old men and one young lad without a fully grown beard.

The gazes of the onlookers grew fervent—gold can weigh down not only table legs but also people's hearts.

Whether with goodwill or malice, people involuntarily sized up the isolated master and servants like horse thieves studying a fine horse, like butchers assessing a plump lamb.

Old Tasso too felt the surrounding eyes on him; he raised his brows and bared his teeth, fiercely glaring back with no intention of showing weakness.

Elsewhere, the saddlebag had been emptied. The gold bars and shattered ceramics were placed on the table in separate piles.

"Is this everything?" The saber-bearing youth frowned, casually knocking two gold bars together, his tone tinged with threat and insinuation: "If there's anything else to declare, now's your last chance."

Old Majiya calmly shook his head.

The saber-bearing youth's fingers brushed over the gold bars and shards, closely watching the three men for subtle changes in their expressions, yet he didn't get the reaction he sought.

He reined in his faint smile, adopted a solemn expression, steadied his saber, turned his back on the gold, and gestured toward the three in front, "Search them."

"Yes!" An older soldier, decorated with a white tassel on his helmet, snapped his boots together, saluted the saber-bearing youth who was far younger than him.

Once the salute was given, the old soldier fixated on the three men and blew a sharp whistle.

The checkpoint, previously permeated with a relaxed air, was instantly steeped in stern, murderous tension.

The "rebels" soldiers who had been listlessly baked by the scorching sun mere moments ago suddenly transformed:

Their lips remained sealed, brows furrowed, holding short spears and long halberds, silently surrounding the three peculiar travelers.

Old Tasso still attempted to resist, yet as soon as he raised his arm, the halberd's point pressed against his chest and back.

Without a user, a weapon is merely an object.

Just like the rebels' short spears and long halberds, neither exquisite nor novel, when placed diagonally at the corner of the checkpoint wall, even people passing by, approaching their edges, or seeing mottled blood marks at the sockets, would not fear them.

But when held in the hands of the "rebels" soldiers, a frostiness arose in the hearts of every civilian present—a primal fear akin to an animal sensing a threat capable of its own demise.

Old Tasso lifted his head to meet the icy gaze of the "rebels" soldiers; looked down, he saw the motionless arms and poised knees of the "rebels" soldiers.

Despite the absence of shouting or threatening gestures, cold sweat soaked through old Tasso's clothes.

Old Tasso swallowed hard, refraining from any action that might be misunderstood by the other side.