The second phase of enlistment for Border Town's defense forces flowed with surprising ease compared to the first. After all, in the dead of winter, the rations had been resized to ensure the troops received plentiful, top-quality food.
On weekly days off, it wasn't uncommon to see soldiers smuggling pieces of meat and bread—which they had saved during the week—to their families.
Due to William's absence from the Town, Arthur had expressly instructed Carter and Iron Axe to turn a blind eye to these minor infractions. In his strategic vision, when those families feasted on the unexpected food in the comfort of their homes, they would inevitably spread the news to the neighborhood.
And it was exactly this organic "word of mouth" tactic that worked perfectly.
The excited chatter among the residents proved to be infinitely more persuasive than any official decree nailed to notice boards.
In a short time, the rumor consolidated as an irrefutable fact throughout the city: serving in His Highness's militia, Arthur, not only guaranteed a generous salary but also three hearty meals a day. Furthermore, the circulating stories made the threat of demonic beasts seem much less terrifying than the legends claimed. As a result, the line of candidates for this second phase exceeded all expectations, attracting even individuals from the wealthier districts who wanted to secure their share.
Faced with such a large pool of fit candidates, Arthur decided to absorb two hundred new recruits, who would be molded by Carter's discipline on weekdays. The rule was clear: at the sound of the trumpets, these rookies would march to the walls acting as a standby and support force.
Obviously, this decision did not pass without friction.
The Chief Knight and the Assistant Minister soon came with their reservations. Barov complained about the financial impact, arguing that increasing salary and food expenses for a troop more than double the original size would drain the coffers without immediate need. Carter, in turn, pointed out that these raw recruits were nowhere near prepared to face the creatures of winter on equal footing.
Even in the face of harsh criticism, Arthur remained adamant. The lack of immediate preparation against the monsters did not worry him.
What he couldn't reveal to the extras was the true purpose behind that growing army.
No one besides him and William knew that Roland was already mentally designing a direct attack on Duke Ryan's stronghold. If he exposed this audacious plan now to Barov and Carter, they would probably brand him a madman, and the idea would be vetoed out of absolute panic.
The disparity in strength between Border Town and Longsong Stronghold was monumental.
As the main border barrier of the Kingdom of Graycastle, the Stronghold boasted colossal three-meter-high walls, meticulously erected by experienced stonemasons.
Combining the Duke's private troops, the contingents of the six noble families, and the regular guard, they could easily mobilize more than a thousand well-trained soldiers.
In terms of classic military tactics, trying to win a siege relying solely on an army of three hundred men—even if armed with weapons from a future era—sounded like a mathematical impossibility.
And if anyone suggested using magical abilities to even the odds, Arthur had already discarded that route. Will had confirmed with Nightingale that witches could not act as a lethal infiltration squad. Duke Ryan and Longsong's elite had swept the market, acquiring all available God's Stones of Retaliation—obviously, all properly masked as generous "donations" to the Church.
The magic-nullifying radius of these stones was the ultimate weapon against the "devil's servants," and, ironically, the Church's own annual golden goose.
The only real chance of victory, strictly following the story, lay in an open-field confrontation.
Fortunately, the military logistics of that era required the majority of soldiers to be hastily summoned before a clash. To avoid mass desertions midway, the lords were forced to march closely with their troops.
This heavy movement would be the perfect window of opportunity for Arthur's total annihilation plan.
The problem was that, being honest with himself, he was no genius of war. His entire tactical repertoire derived from movies, series, his own light novels, and history books from his past life; he lacked the raw, naked experience of the battlefield.
Accepting his own tactical limitations, Arthur decided to follow a basic premise: focus his energies on what he truly mastered.
Needing to stretch his legs and clear his mind, he left the papers in his room and walked to the backyard.
There, majestic and silent, rested Steam Engine Version II.
Visually, the leap in quality compared to the first prototype was evident. The machine was much more polished, and the previously grotesque and rustic welds were now almost imperceptible.
All this refinement was due to Anna's newly enhanced abilities, as her controlled green flames managed to penetrate the smallest metallic fissures, fusing the pieces uniformly and perfectly.
However, the true crown jewel of Version II wasn't its aesthetics, but the implementation of a centrifugal governor.
The first automatic feedback control system in the history of that world was a monumental milestone. The structure designed by Roland was simple yet genius; it consisted of two heavy iron spheres connected by articulated rods to a rotating central axis.
It closely resembled those propeller toys that children spin between their hands to make them fly. The engineering principle worked as follows:
Acceleration Control: When the steam engine started running, the central axis rotated. If the power increased too much, the centrifugal force pushed the metal spheres upward and outward. This lifting movement triggered a rod that gradually closed the steam valve, slowing the machine down.
Deceleration Control: When the speed dropped, gravity pulled the spheres back down, reopening the valve and injecting more power into the system.
This self-adjusting cycle ensured that the steam engine operated uninterruptedly at a constant and safe pace.
With this rotational stability, Version II was ready to take on much more sophisticated industrial machining tasks.
In a corner protected by a shed, rested the newly forged gears made by local blacksmiths. Although Arthur wasn't an expert in modern engineering, to someone who had seen modern parts, those could be considered defective trash, ready to be melted down. But, by the artisanal standards of that era, they were rare works of art. The involute gears displayed impressive symmetry, bathed in animal oil that gave them a dark metallic sheen and protected them from corrosion.
Next to the gears, the carpenters had already prepared the heavy wooden bases and structural supports. Arthur waved to the guards at the gate, instructing them to call Anna.
It was time to assemble the first steam-powered industrial drill in history.
This machinery represented the heart of Roland's plan in the original work for the mass production of rifles.
Until then, manufacturing firearms depended on the brute strength and patience of blacksmiths, who had to manually hammer and grind long iron bars around a mandrel to form the barrel—an excruciating, time-consuming task prone to failure. Now, the logic was reversed: all they had to do was fix a solid iron cylinder in the machine and let the steam-powered rotary drill pierce the core cleanly and directly.
With this method, Roland would manufacture over a dozen perfect barrels a day.
More than that, by swapping the drilling head for a specialized cutting tool, the machine could carve grooves inside the barrels. Rifled flintlock muskets would bring a gigantic leap in the accuracy and lethality of the shots.
Following this pace, Arthur was fully convinced that, before the snow melted at the end of winter, three hundred militiamen would be fully equipped with modern rifles.
However, Arthur was pragmatic. As someone who knew the unfolding of the original story, he was absolutely certain that, under normal circumstances, those peasants would manage to hold the formation against an onslaught of heavy knights. The script was already written, and he knew they would emerge victorious.
His only real concern, however, was the unforeseen variable that had established itself.
William's presence.
His influence behind the scenes and in the routine had inflated the troop's morale to such a point that the militiamen had become dangerously relaxed.
They lacked a sense of urgency, replaced by complacent optimism and a blind faith that nothing could touch them. In the time of chaos, of loading gunpowder and shooting with mechanical coldness, this immature overconfidence could become a fatal mistake.
To ensure this complacency didn't turn into the ruin of his defensive line, Arthur needed to bring to the battlefield a deterrent force so overwhelming that it would dictate the pace of the confrontation before the first physical clash even occurred.
He needed artillery.
Revered as the "God of War," the systematic destruction and absolute terror caused by cannons could not be mimicked by infantry rifles.
A six-pounder field artillery piece had plenty of range to bombard enemy formations while they were still trying to organize on the horizon.
The chaotic and superstitious armies of that era would never maintain discipline under a ceaseless bombardment.
The plan was laid out like a mechanical map: with the manual milling machines already finished, he would refine the steering parts; with these parts, he would ensure the flawless operation of the steam engine with the governor (Version II); and with the power of this machine, the drill would mold the barrels for rifles and the breeches for the cannons.
Amidst these martial and logistical calculations, Arthur's mind inevitably wandered far beyond those snowy walls.
Time was ticking, and William's prolonged absence was beginning to become a slight note of anxiety in his mechanical symphony. When will he finally return? he asked himself silently, watching Anna's green flames dance over the metal.
The promise of contacting the Witch Cooperation Association was an intangible yet vital pillar. He knew that, if everything went well, William would bring at least Lightning and Wendy back. Just the two of them would already represent an immeasurable strategic leap—Lightning with her aerial reconnaissance capability played an important role in Duke Ryan's defeat, and Wendy with her winds would assist the first boats.
But, deep down in his pragmatism, Arthur nurtured a hungrier hope. Did he manage to convince any more of them to follow him? he thought.
With every gear that came to life there in the courtyard, it became glaringly obvious that the true industrial revolution of that world would not be achieved solely by coal and steel, but by merging his modern engineering with the magical powers of those women. If William brought a larger contingent, with diverse abilities, Border Town's production and defense capacity would cease to be merely a bold resistance. It would become something absolutely unstoppable.
There were still about two months of thick snow and biting cold until the end of the Months of Demons. As long as the smoke from the chimneys didn't stop rising and the gears kept turning, the Border Town militia would have not only the preparation, but the absolute military power to crush the Duke in an unprecedented war.