It was a green tent that was more than ten square meters in size. There were many rare things on both sides of the tent, such as a small red tree in a flowerpot, a metal frame hanging in mid-air with pearls attached to it, a grayish-brown bear skin, and a wooden sculpture of a soaring eagle... In short, Locke recognised some of them as very valuable, but he didn't recognise the others, so they were probably not ordinary.
In front of the tent was an orange-red wooden table with an oily sheen, and on the right was a huge screen that blocked the view behind it. Locke guessed that was where Solon slept.
A tall young man with light red pupils, black hair, and a straight figure stood in front of the desk. He looked at the grey-haired officer in front of him with a curious expression. The red-eyed young man was Solon. This iconic feature showed that he had the blood of the noble De Sandro family in the royal capital.
Solon recognised Locke, who was now in front of him with two bottles of ale. It had to be said that Locke's messy grey hair matched with his tattered leather armour and the two bottles of ale he was carrying looked very comical.
Yes, it was comical. Solon, who had a deep noble upbringing, evaluated Locke as comical at this moment. However, after considering that Locke was an ordinary civilian, Solon was relieved and became a little interested in him.
This grey-haired squad jarl, who was even stronger than him, had been constantly appearing in his ears for the past two days. The troops were about to set off, but the third and fourth platoons still needed two platoons jarls. The recruits at the rear had already arrived, but the platoons' jarls had yet to be decided.
After several discussions, the candidates for the platoons' jarls had yet to be decided. Firstly, there were several people who met the criteria, but there were only two positions. Who knew how many people were eyeing such positions with real power? Secondly, the first two people in the camp had yet to be appointed: his father, Baron Cardoj, and his teacher, Jarl Wyr. If the two of them didn't say anything, anything else would be a waste of breath.
Locke was also one of the more popular people. There were actually two platoons' jarls who recommended him, even though they were the jarls and vice-jarls of his platoons. After all, these people were all commoners and did not know how to weigh the pros and cons between nobles. The two platoon jarls were both guiding their own men. Such a crude way of leading them made Young Master Solon grin.
Of course, Locke's strength and qualifications were up to standard, and he even had a good reputation in the camp. Reputation was especially important in the camp. Not only could it stabilize your position, but it could also enhance the combat ability of the team. As for age, Young Master Solon was annoyed by this.
He was 19 years old this year, but wasn't he still the vice-captain of the cavalry platoon in the army camp? Although he had only joined the army last year, because he was a cavalryman, he did not enter the most dangerous battle during the Battle of Felmo Grand Canyon, so he did not experience the two meat mills.
Locke, on the other hand, had been in the army for four years and had fought in all kinds of battles. Who did the recruits respect the most? So, overall, Locke had a fifty-fifty chance of advancing. Seeing that Locke was holding the ale and looking at him nervously, Solon understood what was going on. This kid is pretty smart, he thought.
"My Lord, I'm Locke from the second platoon. I just got two bottles of good ale a few days ago. Have a taste. "Locke was curious at first, but after a few seconds of nervousness, he immediately adjusted himself and bowed respectfully, showing the two bottles of ale.
"Oh, not bad. Put it there..." Young Master Solon pointed to the shelf on the side. Locke carefully placed the ale on the shelf and quickly glanced at the treasures on the shelf. He was very curious about these things.
After that, Locke returned to the center of the tent and lowered his eyes. Seeing Locke so respectful, Solon's impression of Locke increased a lot. "Which town are you from?" Solon asked casually. "My lord, I'm from Quarryton, how old are you?"
"My Lord, I'm 18 this year." Solon's interest was piqued. Everyone said that Locke was too young to be a platoon jarl. Solon didn't know that Locke was even younger than him by a year. He looked at Locke, who had a beard and a mature face. His first impression was that he was in his twenties.
"I heard that you participated in the Battle of Gordon Heights?" Solon asked with interest. "Yes, my Lord." That battle could be said to be a battle of national fate between Shalor and Faustian. Solon had heard a lot from the veterans around him, but they were all experienced veterans. Solon didn't believe them when they described how brave they were and how they killed the enemy.
His teacher, Wyr, a high-rank Knecht, had told him that even he was seriously injured in that battle. His bravery was useless in a battle of flesh and blood with more than a hundred thousand people. Not to mention that he was a high-rank Knecht, even a peak-rank Knecht couldn't do it. A peak-rank Knecht was equivalent to a corps jarl, while a high-rank Knecht was equivalent to a corps jarl. It had to be said that Cardoj was indeed not to be underestimated for being able to cultivate a high-rank Knecht with just a barony.
"Can you tell me about it? Just tell me about yourself. " Solon couldn't wait and invited Locke to sit on the left side of the tent. "This is a sofa. The Shalorians really know how to enjoy themselves. They seized it from the castellan's mansion when they attacked Fergor," Solon introduced.
"Thank you, my Lord." Locke thanked him and sat on the sofa cautiously. Seeing Solon's thirst for knowledge, Locke thought that his chance had come.
Locke was not a storyteller. He only described what he had seen and heard mechanically. Although there was no passion or passion in his narration, it was still vivid. Solon was tired of hearing exaggerated descriptions. This kind of ordinary people's experience of war, which was like a small bridge and flowing water, attracted him.
Locke told of the bloody battle that took place in the late autumn of his third year in the army. He told Solon about what he had seen and heard as a lancer fighting under Yoshk. Huge fireballs slid down from the sky, cold icicles pierced through the hardest armour, and a strong man in heavy armour on a warhorse slashed out with his sword and cut down an entire squad of men and horses.
The more Solon listened, the more interested he became. The stories he heard from different people were completely different. Obviously, he liked listening to Locke's story more than Wyr. He put himself in Locke's shoes, and the danger and excitement made him unable to extricate himself.
Solon knew a little about the supernatural attacks such as fireballs and icicles that Locke mentioned, but he wasn't qualified to come into contact with them yet. He would have to wait until he inherited the title to see for himself. Therefore, he was more concerned about the powerhouse that Locke mentioned. He also practiced impetus and knew that to be able to kill more than ten people with a single sword strike, one had to be at least a mid-rank Knecht. He was only a beginner-rank Knecht until now, and he had started practicing impetus since he was nine years old.
"Does that kind of powerhouse sweep everything away?" Solon asked.
Locke shook his head. "I've only seen a master of that level once. I don't know if the others could sweep through everything, but that knight was immediately drowned by the surrounding soldiers after he cut down a squad. After triggering a three-foot-tall splash of blood, there was no more movement."
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