Derek didn't let them off, nor did the knights spare the newcomers. The quickest way to integrate into the group was, of course, through strength. Every newcomer experienced the same treatment Virut had. It wasn't a matter of being neglected, but whether you could endure it. After a grueling day of training that left some crying out in pain, it became clear who had the stronger will.
To Derek, talent was secondary—willpower was far more crucial. But it wasn't over yet. Soon enough, the new knight apprentices would understand why there were no geniuses in the Augusta family. Everyone was trained to the brink of exhaustion. Why were there so many soldiers, yet only a few became knights? When Derek selected people, aside from loyalty, he looked for willpower. As long as they didn't die from the training, they would keep pushing forward. Not only did the new knight apprentices have to train, but the full-fledged knights did as well, and so did Derek.
They shared the same food, the same lodging, and endured the same hardships. Derek had learned the value of leading by example in his past life. That evening, Derek walked into the apprentices' dormitory, carrying a bottle of medicinal wine. The sparse furnishings of the knight quarters reflected the Augusta family's style: rough wooden beams, with some splinters still unpolished, and thick bedding covered in coarse linen. Dinner was hearty enough, but the taste was far from pleasing. To an outsider, it might have seemed like the apprentices were being punished rather than trained to be knights.
Which of these young noblemen had ever suffered like this? The training was harsh enough, but to have such austere living conditions was too much for many. Some were already regretting their decision, even contemplating sneaking away. Although they knew that getting close to Viscount Derek was a family strategy, knowing and doing were two different things. Virut, in particular, lay collapsed on his bed, his entire body in so much pain that he questioned his very life choices. He had pursued the life of a Northern Knight, enamored by the grandeur, but never had he imagined that the process would be so excruciating.
The once-proud training he had undergone now seemed insignificant. The pain was overwhelming, leaving him with no energy to think about anything else. Of course, to say he harbored no resentment would be a lie. The image of Viscount Derek was slowly shattering in his mind.
"Virut, do you think Viscount Derek is deliberately torturing us?" someone whispered, quickly attracting the attention of many disgruntled apprentices. Virut glanced over but said nothing. Nobles weren't always kind-hearted; who knew if this person was trying to get him to say something incriminating, only to turn around and betray him later?
"I think so too. If this keeps up, we should just leave. If hard training alone could make us titled knights, there wouldn't be so few of them," another grumbled. Everyone knew that talent determined one's limits, and they doubted they had the talent to become titled knights. This comment was like a spark that ignited a barrel of discontent. The apprentices began complaining in earnest, criticizing everything that seemed unfair.
Even Virut started to wonder if he had made the wrong choice.
"The Viscount is here," someone suddenly shouted. The lively discussion fell silent in an instant, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Complaining was one thing, but very few had the courage to actually leave. Their families hadn't sent them here without making some sacrifices, and getting caught by Viscount Derek was far from a pleasant prospect. Many braced themselves, expecting the Viscount to unleash another tirade like he had during the day.
But instead, they were met with a smiling Derek. Derek knew very well when to be strict and when to be approachable. Blowing up at them now would do nothing but vent his own frustrations. Pushing them too hard might even backfire. So he cheerfully walked through the crowd, even making light of the situation: "No worries, keep talking. When I was in the knight's order, I liked to complain about Earl Pereira with the others too. I'm strict with you during training because it's a matter of your life. The more sweat you shed in training, the less blood you'll spill on the battlefield. I want to be tough now so that when you're on the battlefield, you'll all make it back alive. But once training is over, we're all friends and comrades—no need to be so serious."
Whether they believed him or not, the tension in the room eased. Derek moved through the crowd and gently pushed Virut, who had risen, back down onto the bed. "Stay down. You've been through a lot today. If you don't take care of it, you won't be able to get up tomorrow."
Virut, bewildered, protested, "Viscount, I'm fine."
"Stop pretending," Derek said, slapping Virut's shoulder, making him yelp in pain.
"Ha! And here I thought you were a tough guy who didn't feel pain. Guess I was wrong," Derek teased, making Virut flush with embarrassment. Then Derek's tone turned serious: "Don't take what I said earlier to heart. You've got talent, but you lack training. However, your willpower is strong. I have high hopes for you. Now stay still and don't move."
Virut lay back down as Derek applied the medicinal wine and massaged him. The experience was painful, yet oddly soothing. The other apprentices watched in stunned silence; they had never heard of such a thing. The Viscount himself, personally tending to an apprentice? Somehow, a warm feeling surged in everyone's chest.
If Derek could treat Virut this way, what about the rest of them? Virut was so moved that he nearly cried. All his resentment and dissatisfaction melted away with each kind word and each stroke of Derek's hands. Only one thought kept echoing in his mind: he would follow Viscount Derek for the rest of his life. Who else would treat him like this? No one. And the Viscount was right—the more they sweated now, the less they would bleed in battle.
Virut was too choked up to speak. Derek wasn't just putting on a show. After he finished massaging Virut, he moved on to another apprentice who had also pushed through the day's grueling training. The other knights didn't just stand by either; they helped with the massages, teaching the apprentices how to care for their bodies after training and how to recover faster.
Wasn't this how camaraderie was built? With a combination of emotion and discipline, there were no insurmountable barriers. By the next morning, the apprentices, though still sore, were more motivated than ever as they began a new day of training. During a break, Derek opened up his interface. It was time to allocate some points. Even those who had initially harbored ill intentions were now appearing on his panel.
It just goes to show, Derek thought with a smile, that even enemies can be turned into friends. And when these apprentices returned home, wouldn't they, in turn, influence their families?
Derek chuckled. You plot against me, but I can plot against you too. Let's see if your promises can outweigh the bonds I'm forging.Derek didn't let them off, nor did the knights spare the newcomers. The quickest way to integrate into the group was, of course, through strength. Every newcomer experienced the same treatment Virut had. It wasn't a matter of being neglected, but whether you could endure it. After a grueling day of training that left some crying out in pain, it became clear who had the stronger will.
To Derek, talent was secondary—willpower was far more crucial. But it wasn't over yet. Soon enough, the new knight apprentices would understand why there were no geniuses in the Augusta family. Everyone was trained to the brink of exhaustion. Why were there so many soldiers, yet only a few became knights? When Derek selected people, aside from loyalty, he looked for willpower. As long as they didn't die from the training, they would keep pushing forward. Not only did the new knight apprentices have to train, but the full-fledged knights did as well, and so did Derek.
They shared the same food, the same lodging, and endured the same hardships. Derek had learned the value of leading by example in his past life. That evening, Derek walked into the apprentices' dormitory, carrying a bottle of medicinal wine. The sparse furnishings of the knight quarters reflected the Augusta family's style: rough wooden beams, with some splinters still unpolished, and thick bedding covered in coarse linen. Dinner was hearty enough, but the taste was far from pleasing. To an outsider, it might have seemed like the apprentices were being punished rather than trained to be knights.
Which of these young noblemen had ever suffered like this? The training was harsh enough, but to have such austere living conditions was too much for many. Some were already regretting their decision, even contemplating sneaking away. Although they knew that getting close to Viscount Derek was a family strategy, knowing and doing were two different things. Virut, in particular, lay collapsed on his bed, his entire body in so much pain that he questioned his very life choices. He had pursued the life of a Northern Knight, enamored by the grandeur, but never had he imagined that the process would be so excruciating.
The once-proud training he had undergone now seemed insignificant. The pain was overwhelming, leaving him with no energy to think about anything else. Of course, to say he harbored no resentment would be a lie. The image of Viscount Derek was slowly shattering in his mind.
"Virut, do you think Viscount Derek is deliberately torturing us?" someone whispered, quickly attracting the attention of many disgruntled apprentices. Virut glanced over but said nothing. Nobles weren't always kind-hearted; who knew if this person was trying to get him to say something incriminating, only to turn around and betray him later?
"I think so too. If this keeps up, we should just leave. If hard training alone could make us titled knights, there wouldn't be so few of them," another grumbled. Everyone knew that talent determined one's limits, and they doubted they had the talent to become titled knights. This comment was like a spark that ignited a barrel of discontent. The apprentices began complaining in earnest, criticizing everything that seemed unfair.
Even Virut started to wonder if he had made the wrong choice.
"The Viscount is here," someone suddenly shouted. The lively discussion fell silent in an instant, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Complaining was one thing, but very few had the courage to actually leave. Their families hadn't sent them here without making some sacrifices, and getting caught by Viscount Derek was far from a pleasant prospect. Many braced themselves, expecting the Viscount to unleash another tirade like he had during the day.
But instead, they were met with a smiling Derek. Derek knew very well when to be strict and when to be approachable. Blowing up at them now would do nothing but vent his own frustrations. Pushing them too hard might even backfire. So he cheerfully walked through the crowd, even making light of the situation: "No worries, keep talking. When I was in the knight's order, I liked to complain about Earl Pereira with the others too. I'm strict with you during training because it's a matter of your life. The more sweat you shed in training, the less blood you'll spill on the battlefield. I want to be tough now so that when you're on the battlefield, you'll all make it back alive. But once training is over, we're all friends and comrades—no need to be so serious."
Whether they believed him or not, the tension in the room eased. Derek moved through the crowd and gently pushed Virut, who had risen, back down onto the bed. "Stay down. You've been through a lot today. If you don't take care of it, you won't be able to get up tomorrow."
Virut, bewildered, protested, "Viscount, I'm fine."
"Stop pretending," Derek said, slapping Virut's shoulder, making him yelp in pain.
"Ha! And here I thought you were a tough guy who didn't feel pain. Guess I was wrong," Derek teased, making Virut flush with embarrassment. Then Derek's tone turned serious: "Don't take what I said earlier to heart. You've got talent, but you lack training. However, your willpower is strong. I have high hopes for you. Now stay still and don't move."
Virut lay back down as Derek applied the medicinal wine and massaged him. The experience was painful, yet oddly soothing. The other apprentices watched in stunned silence; they had never heard of such a thing. The Viscount himself, personally tending to an apprentice? Somehow, a warm feeling surged in everyone's chest.
If Derek could treat Virut this way, what about the rest of them? Virut was so moved that he nearly cried. All his resentment and dissatisfaction melted away with each kind word and each stroke of Derek's hands. Only one thought kept echoing in his mind: he would follow Viscount Derek for the rest of his life. Who else would treat him like this? No one. And the Viscount was right—the more they sweated now, the less they would bleed in battle.
Virut was too choked up to speak. Derek wasn't just putting on a show. After he finished massaging Virut, he moved on to another apprentice who had also pushed through the day's grueling training. The other knights didn't just stand by either; they helped with the massages, teaching the apprentices how to care for their bodies after training and how to recover faster.
Wasn't this how camaraderie was built? With a combination of emotion and discipline, there were no insurmountable barriers. By the next morning, the apprentices, though still sore, were more motivated than ever as they began a new day of training. During a break, Derek opened up his interface. It was time to allocate some points. Even those who had initially harbored ill intentions were now appearing on his panel.
It just goes to show, Derek thought with a smile, that even enemies can be turned into friends. And when these apprentices returned home, wouldn't they, in turn, influence their families?
Derek chuckled. You plot against me, but I can plot against you too. Let's see if your promises can outweigh the bonds I'm forging.