Translator: Cinder Translations
...
"Ah—ah—ah—!!!"
Fergus screamed in pain.
The red-hot branding iron was suddenly pressed against his taut skin.
Gray-white smoke rose between the iron and his flesh, accompanied by a "sizzle, sizzle, sizzle" sound that made one's scalp tingle.
A burnt meat smell began to waft through the air.
Doug, standing not far away, couldn't help but cover his nose.
After a moment, the guard responsible for the branding decided it was enough and removed the iron.
"Hmm!" At the moment the iron separated from his skin, Fergus let out a heavy groan.
He tightly shut his eyes, gritting his teeth, his cheeks bulging as beads of sweat the size of soybeans flowed down from his forehead, trickling down his cheeks and dripping to the ground.
A dark red mark appeared on Fergus's robust arm, surrounded by reddened skin. The mark consisted of two parts: a vividly depicted dragon head pattern above and the initials of the Grayman family in the local language below.
Another person in a white coat scooped a spoonful of sticky substance from a jar and applied it to Fergus's arm.
Fergus immediately felt a cool sensation spreading across his previously burning arm, and it was slightly numb; this must be some kind of burn ointment.
However, it did not completely eliminate the pain; it still hurt.
"Gulp!" Doug, who had witnessed the entire process, swallowed hard, feeling weak. He knew he was next.
As a mercenary in the Horns Bay, he had tortured enemies, including using the beloved method of branding, but he had never imagined it would be used on himself.
The guard returned the branding iron to the red-hot furnace to heat it again and then beckoned Doug over. "Come on, Doug, you can't escape this one."
Doug cursed inwardly. He had previously suggested using tattoos instead, but Elvin had flatly rejected the idea.
He walked over with heavy steps, resigned to his fate.
Doug pulled out a wooden stick, preparing to bite down hard on it to withstand the pain; he didn't want to scream like Fergus, losing all dignity.
The guard asked expressionlessly, "Where do you want it branded?"
Major Elvin allowed them to choose the location of the brand, but it had to be visible.
Fergus had chosen his arm, easily covered by clothing, and could be shown with a simple roll of the sleeve.
"I'll have mine here too," Doug pointed to the outer side of his right arm with his left hand, then bit down hard on the prepared stick, his teeth embedding deeply into the wood.
The guard grasped the handle and pulled out the re-heated branding iron from the furnace. The iron was bright red, appearing to Doug like the sun emitting a scorching glow.
Getting too close to the sun will cause burns... it's going to hurt, it's definitely going to hurt...
His mind unexpectedly recalled several painful experiences of being burned in his life, causing him to break into a cold sweat even before the branding iron touched him.
The guard held the branding iron up to Doug's shoulder, and Doug's body instinctively flinched a few times.
"Haha! A coward from the Black Dog group."
Fergus was timely with his taunts, gloating with a "you should taste it too" expression.
Doug bit down harder, feeling like his teeth were about to fall out. He gave the guard a look indicating he could start, then closed his eyes.
The guard quickly and accurately pressed the iron onto the outer skin of Doug's arm.
The sizzling sound rang out again, and the same burnt smell filled the air.
"Waaahhhh!"
Doug's eyes widened in an instant, as if his eyeballs were about to pop out, with visible blood vessels in the whites of his eyes.
A few seconds later, the guard pulled back the branding iron, and as it separated, Doug felt as if his skin had stuck to the iron, the fiery pain immediately mingling with a tearing anguish.
He slightly bent over, the wooden stick clattering to the ground, and a stream of saliva flowed from his mouth, mixing with sweat and dropping to the floor.
"Ha—ha—ha—"
He gasped for breath vigorously, as if that could make him feel better.
The person in the white coat also applied ointment to him.
"Alright, you two can head back to the dormitory to rest now."
The guard, who was heating the branding iron again, turned his head to signal them to leave quickly.
"There are still many people behind!"
The two looked outside, where a long line of people from the Black Dog and Rhino mercenary groups were waiting to receive the brand that would give them a degree of freedom.
All the mercenaries made the same choice as their leader.
......
"Lord Grayman!"
In the lord's office, Chief of Staff Schroder handed a thick stack of documents to Paul.
"The mercenaries have been selected. Please review them."
Paul flipped through a few pages of the documents. "So, all the mercenary prisoners are to be sent back to Horns Bay?"
"Indeed," Schroder replied. "Major Elvin tested them. They could stand in the sun for an hour and maintain formation; no one rested or fainted, and their physical condition met the standards. This exceeded our expectations, significantly shortening the training time required before they can be deployed for combat missions in Horns Bay. Of course, this is thanks to the military management in our labor camp and relatively good food."
"Alright!" Paul nodded. "The more, the better. According to the original plan, we'll provide them with a batch of armor and weapons, plus some money, and then the rest is up to them."
"Hey!" He noticed something interesting. "Fergus? Haha, Fergus, Fergus, Fergus, Fergus. Schroder, do you remember I have a knight named Fergus too?"
"I remember," Schroder confirmed. "That name is quite common, whether in Horns Bay or Aldor."
He quickly returned to the main topic. "Sir, I believe we should send a group of our own people to accompany them. We can't let these mercenaries do whatever they want; they should follow the instructions from Northwest Horns Bay."
"Oh, of course!" Paul agreed enthusiastically. "That's only natural. I've already asked the training department to select a group of excellent instructors to accompany them back to Horns Bay. They need to be monitored, managed, and ensured to follow orders. They must not commit acts like robbery or disrespecting women; otherwise, they would tarnish our honor."
"In that case," Schroder further proposed, "should we select a group of officers and students from the military academy to go along? Let them experience real warfare up close and observe how armies outside of Alden fight, summarize experiences and patterns, compile them into a book, and enrich our database to provide valuable material for our army."
"Ha! I was just thinking the same thing."
Paul said excitedly.
In terms of scale and quality, the war in Horns Bay is incomparable to the earlier usurper wars; this war is a precious observation opportunity that allows the Alden army to understand every aspect of warfare in this era.
He ordered, "Schroder, please arrange this as soon as possible."
(End of the Chapter)
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Translated 4 Series, 1.65K+ Chapters and 2.01M+ Words.