Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

```

"Who are you?"

The frail man put the cup aside, seemed tired from standing, and dragged a chair to sit in front of Benwei: "I am Bal's son."

Benwei was silent for a moment before saying, "Believe it or not, your father's death had nothing to do with me."

"I've said it doesn't matter whether it was you or not. Bal's death is actually a good thing. Your death will be the same. These are all inevitable bloodshed."

"I don't understand what you're talking about." Benwei shook his head in confusion.

Propping his chin with one hand, the frail man said, "You can understand. Your family has been at the docks for many years; you know better than anyone what it was like in the early days. Chaotic competition, violent scrambles for work, and as a result, no one had enough to eat. Only after our three factions took over the docks did we first establish rules, and life got a bit better for everyone. But the struggle between us continued, costing so much blood. Every year, the docks saw a few more widows, a few more beggars."

"So what?"

"There's no need to split into three groups; having just one group at Sea Blue Port's docks is enough. I'm not trying to drive you and the Paratu People out of the docks; I want to turn you into my people. Only by uniting the three factions can we truly eliminate internal strife. I will establish a dockworkers' guild like the blacksmiths, and when the dockworkers are united, then we will have a say..."

Benwei interrupted him: "Wait a minute... What did you say? You will? The Montan are listening to you now."

"Yes," the frail man nodded. "Now it's just the Montan, but soon it will be all the dockworkers."

"What if the Vaughan People and the Paratu People don't want to listen to you?" Benwei asked with a cold laugh.

"That's why we need some people who can use force, whose purpose is to make everyone listen to me," the frail man replied softly.

Benvenuto spoke with disdain: "So your thugs are your military aristocracy, and you still want to be the emperor on this tiny dock, huh?"

The pupils of the frail man dilated, and he said excitedly, "You don't understand, Benvenuto, this is for the benefit of all dockworkers! Have you ever seen a fifty-year-old dockworker? No! Because they're either dead or their bodies have been worn down. Dockworkers are trading their lives for money, and the money they earn is getting less and less! In ten years, the price of food has increased by twenty percent, yet the wages for dockworkers have barely changed. Due to the devaluation of currency, their earnings have actually dropped by ten percent. Without a voice, we will never have bargaining power! The docks don't lack workers; they'll chew us all up and drain us of blood and flesh, spitting out only the dregs!"

This passionate speech seemed to exhaust the frail man's strength; his chest heaved as he gasped for breath.

Benvenuto was left speechless by the rebuke; it took him a while before he asked again, "You aren't a dockworker either, are you?"

"I am not, but I was born in a dockworker's family just like you and have seen their suffering," the frail man replied through gritted teeth.

"Have you shared your grand ambitions and your 'military aristocrats' with them?"

The frail man shook his head: "They don't understand yet; what drives them now is hatred. They only want to avenge Bal and some are after territory. I will guide them step by step. Eventually, they will understand; in the end, everyone will."

Benwei asked with a smile, "Then what's the use of telling me all this?"

The frail man lowered his eyes to Benwei's feet and replied softly, "Because you're going to die soon, I want you to die with some understanding, to let you know your death isn't in vain."

Suddenly, the wooden door behind the frail man was pushed open. Before the frail man could turn around, a flash of cold light streaked by, and the frail man's body stiffened unexpectedly.

The next second, the frail man who had been speaking eloquently slid powerlessly off the chair and fell to the ground. Something had penetrated his skull from behind, and a pointed tip emerged from his mouth.

A bloodied, masked figure in black clothes immediately entered the room.

Everything happened so abruptly that before Benwei could cry out in shock, the masked figure rushed over to cover his mouth: "Don't shout, it's me."

Hearing the familiar voice of the masked figure, Benvenuto's eyes widened in disbelief, and a muffled sound emerged from his covered mouth: "Winters?"

The masked figure nodded, let go of his hand, and quickly began to check the entire room. After confirming there were no other living people in the room, he hastened back to Benwei's side.

"It's me, you're still here, thank goodness! I was afraid they had moved you..." Winters removed the black cloth covering his face, revealing his own visage. Winters' eyes were surrounded by splattered blood, but the area below his eyes was clean, giving off a bizarre appearance.

The initial surprise faded from Winters' face, replaced by anger and sorrow: "What have they done to you, what happened to your eyes?"

"What? What do you mean?" Benwei didn't understand what Winters was talking about.

"Never mind that now." Winters drew his dagger and swiftly cut through the ropes binding Benwei's limbs and body.

Benvenuto, freed at last, attempted to stand using the chair but fell back down, his arms and legs too weak after being tied for nearly three days without proper circulation.

Now with only his eyes able to move, Benwei watched in astonishment as Winters grabbed the frail man's hair with one hand, and with the other, took a dagger and smeared the corpse's neck again.

```