Magic? My Iron Torrent will sweep it all away!

Chapter 160 The Engine of Holy Light - Brian

The tavern was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

After hearing this, Thorin suddenly realized that the thing called a tank had wheels.

That's more like it; otherwise, pushing a mountain of steel would be too outrageous.

However, he still felt speechless.

Those knights... are they out of their minds?

Pushing a tank along? And you call that a race?

This is no longer a question of whether the weapons are good or bad; this is a bunch of madmen fighting a war!

The bard continued his "creation":

"After this battle, the Bryan Cavaliers' fame has spread far and wide! Those who like to stir things up have already given him a resounding nickname—"

He deliberately dragged out his words, looked around, and then roared with all his might:

"Engine of Holy Light - Brian!!!"

"Holy Light Engine! Holy Light Engine!"

The drunkards in the tavern seemed to be set ablaze, raising their glasses and shouting enthusiastically at the newly created title.

Thorin: "..."

He silently picked up his glass and drank the rest of the wine in one gulp.

He grabbed a slightly more sober young knight beside him and asked in a gruff voice:

"Hey kid. Where did this 'Great Xia people' you're talking about come from?"

The young knight had clearly drunk quite a bit, but he still recognized the dwarven master blacksmith and replied respectfully:

"Master Steelbeard! They are visitors from another world, reinforcements invited by the elves!"

"Some time ago, His Holiness the Pope personally ordered the opening of an astral portal for them in the City of Emerald Leaves!"

"What do they look like?" Thorin pressed.

"I heard it has black hair, black eyes, and yellow skin," the knight gestured, indicating the name.

"They look completely different from our blond hair and blue eyes, they're very easy to tell apart!"

Black hair...black eyes...

Thorin's mind went blank for a moment, and a scene he had forgotten suddenly became clear.

About ten days ago, a young man with black hair and black eyes walked into his blacksmith shop.

The man was neither as reverent towards weapons as a knight, nor as particular about ornamentation as a nobleman.

They also questioned his technique, saying that relying on forging, experience, and feel was too slow, using strange terms like "standardized assembly line."

Thorin thought he was just a fool who pretended to know everything and wanted to woo the elf girl following him around.

What a joke! If weapons aren't forged, what are they made of? Chewed?

Now that I think about it... wasn't that person a Great Xia person?

"Their weapons..." Thorin's eyes gleamed.

"Is it really that amazing?"

"That's more than just amazing!" the young knight exclaimed, his face filled with admiration.

"Master, that's a miracle!"

"According to the knights we selected for training, even a regular soldier like us could easily take down a second-tier lesser demon with that weapon called a 'rifle'!"

"That's unimaginable!"

Thorin remained silent.

He can choose not to believe those ridiculous stories about pushing tanks in a race.

But he could not deny the facts before him—a resounding victory and the jubilation throughout the City of Holy Light.

The dwarves are renowned for their unparalleled forging skills.

This is a pride etched into the very bones of every dwarf.

But now, a group of visitors from another world, using some "iron lumps" that he couldn't understand, achieved a glorious victory that even the dwarves might not be able to achieve with all their might.

This gave him an unprecedented... sense of absurdity?

He slammed down his glass, turned away without a word, and once again pushed his way through the revelry like a wedge.

He had to figure out what was going on!

Thorin strode through the bustling streets, heading straight for the inner district of the City of Light.

The person he was looking for was Earl Drummond, the head of the Holy Humans' Logistics Department, who was in charge of logistics procurement.

As the representative of the dwarven delegation and the master blacksmith, Thorin had known him for half his life, and their relationship was quite familiar.

The guards at the Earl's mansion recognized Thorin and let him in without announcing him.

Thorin barged into Drummond's study, the air thick with the smell of parchment and ink.

The count, well past fifty, was buried in a pile of documents, the wrinkles between his brows deep enough to trap a fly.

"Drummond!" Thorin's voice boomed in the quiet study.

Drummond was startled. He looked up and saw Thorin. His displeasure turned into helplessness.

"Master Steelbeard, my friend, could you please have a servant announce our arrival next time? I thought the demons had invaded."

"Stop talking nonsense." Thorin walked to the desk, placed his hands on the surface, and leaned forward.

"Tell me, are the battle reports from the front lines true?"

Drummond sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Of course it's true, the whole city is celebrating."

"I'm asking about weapons!" Thorin emphasized, enunciating each word clearly.

"Are those things called 'Great Xia Technology' really as sinister as the bards sang about?"

"Something's fishy?" Drummond gave a wry smile. He pulled a battle damage report from a pile of documents and pushed it in front of Thorin.

"Take a look for yourself. This is the preliminary statistic sent back by Sir Kane."

Sorin grabbed the report.

He was too lazy to read the complicated text and went straight to the most crucial thing—the numbers.

The report clearly listed the comparison between our own casualties and the estimated number of enemies killed by the demons.

That ratio of one to ten stung Thorin's eyes.

More detailed entries are below.

"The 'rifle' has an effective range of 300 meters. After being blessed and enchanted, it can inflict fatal damage on demons below the second rank."

"The 'tank's' main gun power... severely damaged a fifth-tier demon."

"Casualty statistics: Tech Legion, 37 dead, 121 seriously wounded..."

Thorin's fingers trembled slightly.

These cold, hard numbers are more impactful than any exaggerated boasting in a pub.

He was a craftsman, and he understood what those numbers represented.

"This is impossible..." he muttered to himself.

"What kind of iron rod could allow an ordinary person to kill a second-tier demon? What is it made of? What kind of enchantment was used on it?"

"I don't know," Drummond said, spreading his hands.

"The report is accurate. Sir Kane mentioned in the report that we have absolutely no idea how that thing works."

Thorin: "..."

He continued reading and then came to the part that he found most incomprehensible.

"...When the tank ran out of fuel, Sir Brian single-handedly powered it, with remarkable results. This method has been adopted throughout the army..."

Thorin: "???"

He looked up and stared intently at Drummond.

"Is this statement also true?"

Drummond nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Of course, His Holiness the Pope is already aware of this matter and has highly praised Sir Brian's resourcefulness."

The count paused, then added in a calculating tone.

"And do you know what that means, Master Steelbeard?"

"This means we can save a lot of money on that 'diesel' fuel and use it to buy more 'rifles' and 'tanks'!"

"This is such a great deal!"