During the entire examination, Jefferson was in a dazed state, but that didn't mean he was completely unconscious. He could hear everything being said around him, his awakened bloodline making his hearing exceptionally sharp. The speculation about his identity threw his mind into turmoil. Anyone would be extremely shocked to hear that their father might not be their biological parent, especially a fifteen-year-old like Jefferson. He refused to believe that his mother would betray his father, have an affair, and give birth to him. His family had always been warm and harmonious, nearly perfect.
Jefferson's mind was in such chaos that he even forgot about the murder he had just committed. Similarly, he didn't realize when he had regained consciousness until a blinding ray of sunlight hit his face. Jefferson quickly raised his hand to shield his face and realized he was fully conscious. He also noticed an officer standing by his bed. The officer, dressed in a blue-gray wool military coat, had a shaved head and a small mustache, looking about twenty-five or twenty-six years old.
"You're finally awake. Get up from the bed," the officer said, pulling a chair over and sitting down, crossing his left leg over his right.
Jefferson sat up and found himself wearing a patient's gown, with nothing underneath, and no shoes by the bed, so he sat on the edge of the bed. The officer didn't mind, lighting a cigarette and taking a puff before speaking.
"You killed someone, but we've investigated and found that those people were specifically causing you trouble. You were just acting in self-defense."
Jefferson sighed in relief, only to hear the officer continue, "But killing is still killing. According to wartime laws, a murderer has two choices: the gallows or military service."
"Do I even have a choice?" Jefferson retorted sarcastically.
"Don't try to act tough with me, kid," the officer said, pointing his cigarette at Jefferson's nose, the burning end making Jefferson's cheek tingle.
"You're lucky. Those people wanted you dead but didn't expect you to have knightly blood. The drug they injected didn't kill you; instead, it awakened your bloodline." The officer pulled out a document. "This is a draft notice. Sign it."
Jefferson had no other choice, as he had anticipated. Although going to the battlefield was dangerous, it was better than the gallows. He signed the document and asked, "Do my parents know about this?"
"Do you want them to?" the officer countered.
Jefferson shook his head.
"In that case, I'll write in the transfer order that you're assigned to the Knight Corps as a laborer," the officer said.
Jefferson had no response; it was probably the best option. Otherwise, he would have to explain the origin of his bloodline. He could easily imagine that once this matter was exposed, he would face a completely broken family and the scorn and gossip of those around him.
"I'll have someone bring your clothes. Get dressed quickly; I'll be waiting outside," the officer said, leaving the room. Soon, a nurse brought a complete set of clothes, including underwear, clearly tailored for him.
For the first time, Jefferson doubted the notion of the army's inefficiency because this was quite efficient. Unlike the slightly loose blue-gray uniforms of other soldiers, his uniform was red, very eye-catching and form-fitting, with a tight belt and a double row of closely spaced buttons. He also wore high boots like an officer.
Stepping out of the room, Jefferson saw that it had stopped raining, and the ground was dry, indicating he had been unconscious for a while. A two-wheeled carriage pulled by a single horse was parked outside, with the officer sitting on it. Jefferson obediently got on the carriage and sat beside him.
The carriage exited the old town, which housed tens of thousands of civilians, making it very crowded. The army could only be stationed in other areas, where there were plenty of empty houses. The carriage passed through Gem Street, Grandon Square, and Sisster Street, once the busiest commercial streets, now filled only with soldiers in uniform.
After about a quarter of an hour, the carriage stopped at Star Square, formerly a commercial area Jefferson rarely visited due to the high prices and strict security. Now, the area looked nothing like before, with shop windows bricked up and iron railings dismantled and melted down. Star Square was now enclosed, with shops around its perimeter acting as entry points, all but one blocked, the remaining one guarded by wooden barriers.
Like all military camps, there was a sentry post, manned by a woman. She was slender, her uniform highlighting her curves, with a heart-shaped face and large eyes, slightly squinting as if sleepy. Her red hair was messy, matching her red knight's uniform, creating a fiery image.
This stunning woman surprised Jefferson as she effortlessly moved the heavy wooden barriers, which even five or six strong men might struggle with, using just one hand.
"Is this the new guy?" the woman asked, glancing at Jefferson.
The officer, showing great respect, quickly handed her a transfer order from his pocket.
Jefferson was ushered off the carriage, and the officer left immediately, as the officer had no clearance to enter the area.
For the first time, Jefferson entered the legendary Knight Corps. The thought of becoming a member excited him, but also brought a tinge of fear, a natural reaction for a low-rank knight facing higher ranks. On the battlefield, high-ranking knights often used this psychological pressure against lower ranks.
The woman at the gate gave Jefferson an immense sense of pressure, and he realized she must have hidden her true aura.
"Looks like you're newly awakened," she shook her head and sighed. "What are the higher-ups thinking? Turning this place into a nursery?"
"Follow me. You better adapt quickly, or you'll die miserably on the battlefield," she said, leading Jefferson inside after repositioning the barrier.
Surrounded by powerful auras, Jefferson felt a sharp pain in his muscles. Suddenly, a particularly strong aura enveloped him. Looking up, he saw another female knight, resting on her sword, staring at him from ten meters away. This tall, golden-haired knight had a tight uniform, as if about to burst from her muscular frame.
Jefferson recognized her as the one who had knocked him unconscious. Just as he hesitated to greet her, a chilling, terrifying aura approached. Another woman, as cold as her aura, appeared. "Cold beauty" was the perfect term for her, with a chiseled face adding a touch of severity to her beauty. Her hair shone silver, and her gray eyes were icy.
Jefferson felt his blood freeze. The cold beauty glanced at him and then addressed the golden-haired knight, "Eileen, you were the first to meet him. You train him."
"Why not let me do it? I've always wanted an apprentice," the red-haired beauty protested.
Without looking at her, the cold beauty walked away, saying, "Save your energy. He's just a kid."
"Come with me. I'll show you around and introduce you to everyone," said the knight designated as Jefferson's mentor.
The camp was large but sparsely populated. Jefferson was astonished to find only eight people in the entire camp, all women. This was an all-female knight squad.
The cold, aloof female knight was the leader of this squad. Jefferson's mentor, Miss Eileen, was one of the two deputy leaders, while the other deputy leader, Monica, was a very gentle female knight.
Monica was the only person in the entire camp who didn't make him feel pressured. Her aura was gentle and comforting, like a spring breeze. Monica was also very beautiful, with a maternal and classical charm. She had large, soft eyes, lightly arched eyebrows, and chestnut hair neatly cut to shoulder length.