Translator: Cinder Translations
...
Markalov stood stiffly behind a cross, enduring agonizingly. "What use does this training have for fighting pirates? What exactly is going on!" He had complained countless times in his mind.
He wanted to glance at the person next to him, but the thought was suppressed immediately. Several unlucky fellows had been severely punished by Major Claude for fidgeting during attention drill, and were now forbidden from eating. Markalov certainly didn't want to go hungry.
"The new lord is truly eccentric," Markalov continued to grumble inwardly. "He's fixated on all sorts of weird things—standing at attention, marching in step—even the knightly officers are forced to train like this."
Oh, best not to mention it. Just thinking about marching in step made Markalov feel overwhelmingly embarrassed. That strange posture still made his face flush. Thankfully, they weren't training in town, or the villagers would have had a good laugh.
The young lord probably suffered from severe OCD. His demands for "neatness" and "uniformity" had reached bizarre levels. Requiring blankets to be folded into perfect squares was just too much.
If it weren't for the young lord personally demonstrating how to fold them and painstakingly guiding the soldiers through the correct method, Markalov would have suspected the lord of intentionally amusing himself at their expense.
The only normal aspect was the assassination training conducted every morning or afternoon, personally instructed by Major Claude. From Markalov's perspective, this was the only training directly beneficial for staying alive in combat. He listened earnestly to the major's explanations and practiced diligently.
Of course, despite his various complaints, Markalov deeply respected and even felt grateful to the young lord. Not only had he eaten meat twice this week, which was rare enough, but there was an even more significant reason—the lord had actually taught them how to read!
Literacy was something most commoners never had the opportunity or financial means to systematically learn. Certainly, there were quite a few literate commoners, such as merchants, minstrels, and servants of nobles, who could read many words. However, compared to the vast population of commoners, they were extremely rare.
In some remote areas, literacy was regarded almost like magic in people's minds, something only nobles and servants of the gods could attain. Many commoners' literacy levels were limited to recognizing their own names, and most couldn't even achieve that.
Not only in human kingdoms, but it was said that many orcish tribes on the great plains used knotted ropes to record events.
Markalov could still vividly recall the incredulous expressions on everyone's faces when the young lord announced the "literacy class" to be held at night to teach everyone how to read, and Major Claude's mouth gaping wide enough to fit a goose egg from sheer surprise.
However, many soldiers actually believed that as mere soldiers living off rations, they didn't need to learn to read—what a bunch of resigned fools, Markalov secretly sneered. He was different; he didn't want to spend his life in a haze of ignorance.
Suddenly, a whistle sounded, followed by the loud command of Major Claude, "Everyone, assemble!"
Markalov immediately dropped all thoughts and moved toward the "standard-bearer" in front of Major Claude, standing shoulder to shoulder in line with the rest of his rank. After a week of training, this had become almost a reflex action.
"Stand at ease!" Major Claude continued to command.
Next, the young lord walked over and began to speak.
"Soldiers, over this past week, your progress has been remarkable, which fills me with great satisfaction. Your military posture now meets the standards I require. Therefore, I announce that from now on, you don't need to wear the cross when standing at attention."
Pausing for a moment and seeing no cheers erupting, he nodded satisfactorily.
"However, there are still shortcomings, as reported by Captain Claude. Many of you still lack the essential skills for assassination, making it impossible to combat the most vicious criminals. In the future, you must continue to practice diligently. Sweat more in peacetime, bleed less in wartime!"
"It's all because, my lord, you've wasted half of our training time on standing at attention and marching in step," many quietly grumbled to themselves.
"And your personal hygiene. I've emphasized this every time I speak. This is the last warning. If I find any rubbish or disorder in any tent again, I swear I'll have the whole squad running around the camp until they drop dead."
"Now, I have good news to announce. Previously, I had Butler Philip customize uniform attire for us. Today, they've arrived, and you will receive them immediately to change into."
Following the arrangements of various officers, everyone stepped forward to receive their uniforms.
The uniforms were based on those of the Eight Route Army from a previous life, but in dark green. In addition to jackets and trousers, there were hats, leather belts, shoes, leg wrappings, and leggings. Also included were shoulder patches with insignia from their previous military ranks, which could be fastened with buttons onto their shoulders.
After each soldier received two sets of uniforms, they promptly changed clothes. Since everyone present was used to such changes, there were no reservations.
These uniforms had been hastily made, tailored in larger sizes to ensure the entire army could be outfitted. As a result, many found them somewhat baggy compared to their patched and ragged previous attire. Nevertheless, just replacing their old, worn-out clothes immediately lifted their morale.
After changing clothes and reforming the ranks, although no one spoke due to discipline, the soldiers' excitement was palpable. Apparently, the new uniforms had significantly boosted morale.
Claude watched the reformed formation with profound emotion.
Just a week ago, these people had been a group of undisciplined peasants, with some unable to distinguish left from right. Now, they stood with order and discipline, commanding respect.
If this had been before, disregarding other aspects, just assembling so quickly would have been unimaginable. Now, this unit already had a faint aura of a regular army just from their appearance.
No, even the kingdom's regular army couldn't match this level of uniformity. With the new uniforms, in terms of neatness and uniformity alone, only the royal guard that he had never seen before could compare. He was beginning to understand why the count had invested so much time in what he had previously considered meaningless training.
Claude thought to himself, "The only downside now is that nearly half of them haven't seen blood yet."
Paul instructed Claude to continue training according to today's schedule, then led the servants delivering the uniforms into a tent guarded by inner guards.
"My lord, everything you requested is here. This is the first batch; Butler Philip is still gathering the rest, which will take some time."
"Excellent, these will suffice for current needs. However, we must expedite the rest."
Boxes were laid out on the ground, and the tent smelled of sulfur. Satisfied, he observed everything, then asked, "Where are the people I requested?"
The servant replied respectfully, "They are waiting in the adjacent tent, my lord."
"How are they? Are they reliable?"
"Please rest assured, my lord. They are loyal and devoted individuals who have served your family for generations, like myself. Butler Philip personally vetted each one."
"Very well, Ron. From now on, you'll be in charge of supplying here. I won't mistreat you. But remember, no one is to be informed of what happens here. Understood? I mean no one, understood?"
"I understand, my lord. I swear by the Lord of Light that I will keep silent. Even if it means damnation, not a word will escape my lips." Ron immediately swore, pointing to the sky.
"Good, you may go now. Remember what I said."
(End of the chapter)