Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 677 - 387: Steam Tank (Part 4)

"I possess ample funds and rail lines. Set up maintenance depots at every train station and ship it straight to the front via rail."

Louis's tone grew exceptionally resolute, "Even should one blow up, it won't pain me. Merely six hundred Gold Coins—same as earnings from two spice wagonloads."

"Yet losing a Knight such as Lambert, or a hundred lads like Grey, that loss the Red Tide simply can't endure."

All concerns now settled, Louis scanned the gathered faces.

"Kosa, how many years have you trained with spears?"

"Fourteen years, Lord."

Louis gestured toward the driver emerging from the war chariot, an oil-smeared apprentice, scrawny as a monkey.

"That's Bill. Two months back, he farmed fields. Yet moments ago, he could've riddled you with holes in a single strike."

These remarks utterly crushed the remaining arrogance of the youthful Knights.

Numerous Knights there displayed intricate emotions in their gazes.

Thrill over the Red Tide's godly arms, yet deeper lingered an unspoken sorrow.

Without being Exceptional like Lambert, typical Knights' splendor appeared meaningless before this steel onslaught.

Lambert drew a profound breath and dropped to one knee.

The commander harbored no sorrow; as a warrior, he grasped clearly how, amid the Empire's dire straits and escalating southern peril, such ruthless power formed the Red Tide's safeguard.

"Lord," Lambert spoke with resolve, "The times have shifted."

For youths like Grey and Kosa, steeped in Martial Techniques since childhood, staring at the smoke-belching contraption, their inner void couldn't be patched by mere rallying cries.

When a decade of spear drills fell short to a peasant yanking a handle, what value held all that toil?

Louis sharply sensed these feelings. Rather than depart at once, he descended the viewing platform, sloshing through muck toward the war chariot.

His hand extended to slap the scorching plating, sensing its gritty shudder.

"What, nursing grievances?"

Louis spun about, eyes gliding across the dejected young Knights, settling on Lambert freshly risen.

"Raise your heads," Louis commanded steadily, authority ringing clear.

He indicated the massive bulk nearby: "Examine it closely. Tough as nails, firepower fierce indeed. But Hamilton, inform them: how much time to ready it for that ten-minute dash here?"

Hamilton promptly cleared grease and perspiration from his features, grinning bitterly: "Fully two days, Lord. Preheating the boiler, inspecting two hundred-plus valves, plus a special team hauling water and coal.

Those recent blasts felt great, yet they scorched coin. That premium coal alone could purchase stacks of spears."

"Hear that?"

Louis eyed the Knights, "Blind as a bat, deaf as stone, fussy as a gourmet. It misses Death Warriors sneaking from flanks, ignores bow twangs under night cover.

Tracks snap or fuel depletes, and it's mere roadside scrap metal. Solo in combat, a swift killer boasts endless tricks to end it."

Louis approached Kosa, eyeing the hulking Barbarian.

"Kosa, it topples walls, yet scale cliffs? Sneak into foe camps for head-taking? Duel blades amid urban wreckage?"

Kosa hesitated briefly, head shaking on reflex: "No, Lord. Far too bulky."

Scattered chuckles arose nearby, easing the tension a touch.

Louis pivoted, "Crafting this isn't to replace you—it's to free you."

"Recall old battles. Elite Knights alike faced arrow storms, bodies crashing foe spear walls. Pure slaughter, squandering gifts."

Louis jabbed toward the war chariot at his back.

"Now, hand the filthy toil, the grueling labor, to it."

"It draws volleys, breaches lines, chews mud head-on."

Louis neared Lambert, straightening the leader's askew pauldron.

"You... shift from ’disposables’ to ’scalpel edges’."

"As it tears formations apart, you'll slice sideways, blades reaping rattled leaders, pursuing routed stragglers."

"War chariot as hammer, battering barriers; Knight as blade, stabbing true to core."

Louis's words rang crisp through dawn winds into all ears: "While war persists, human instinct, speed, valor stay eternal. It requires your guard on sides, as you crave its shield against frontal shafts."

Final glumness fled Lambert's gaze.

He regarded the crude device, then Louis. Only now did he fully grasp the young Lord's design: no replacement, pure synergy.

"Mutual arms," Lambert murmured, delivering crisp salute, brimming now with sheer combat fire, "I get it, sir."

Climbing sun breached the lofty barrier, gilding the sloppy field in amber glow.

One flank held the puffing, crude, unwieldy factory beast; opposite stood Knights' ranks in gleaming plate, gripping keen edges.

These mismatched powers now blended seamlessly.

"Enough dawdling," Louis gestured dismissively en route to the gate, "Scrub this beast spotless. Hamilton, add some vent ports for firing—Bill emerged nearly blue-faced."

"Yes, Lord!"

Laughter erupted across the grounds at last. No scorn tinged it now, only eager hope for tomorrow.