...
"Take your positions..."
"Ready..."
"Attack—!"
In the valley, the shouts of men training could be heard every day as the male residents took turns joining the militia training on the open ground.
Everyone was filled with confusion, including the guards around Kent.
They were just a group of ignorant commoners without any combat training—well, Kent had recently banned the term "commoner" in favor of "residents." These were merely ordinary residents. The last time they fought the Tiger Clan, it became clear that, aside from barely accurate archery, they were a mess in close combat, clumsily stabbing with spears.
Kent intended to train these people for what exactly?
When the training began, Splitting Blade finally understood: they were being trained to throw firebombs.
The men lined up, listening to commands:
When the shout "Take your positions!" echoed, each man held a wooden stick in his left hand, stretched forward, and lifted a stone with his right hand, raising it in front of the stick as if simulating the act of lighting it.
At the shout of "Ready," they took a big step back with their right leg, leaned back, and raised their right hand, ready to throw the stone.
When the "Attack" command was given, everyone threw the stone forward with all their might. Anyone who managed to hit the designated spot three times in a row passed training and could be promoted to militia squad leader.
While Splitting Blade understood the grenade training, another exercise completely baffled him.
It involved a long iron tube wrapped in several layers of straw rope for easy left-hand gripping. The right hand held a wooden rod sticking out of the tube. They would submerge the front end of the iron tube in water, pull the wooden rod back, filling the tube with water.
Then, upon command, another person would extend a wooden stick in front of the iron tube, seemingly simulating the act of lighting it.
Next, the person holding the tube would push the wooden rod forcefully, spraying water from the tube as far as six or seven meters. Several grass dummies tied with straw were placed there as training targets.
Kent called them training dummies.
Even on the plateau, no one had ever seen this kind of training. How did Kent come up with it?
...
After just a few days, the valley's natives—now Kent's residents—had taken a liking to this down-to-earth lord.
They even began to speculate that the new lord might be a wizard.
The first batch of craftsmen was recruited, and a workshop was set up on the southern bank of the Hunting Spear River that very day.
Some even saw steam billowing from the workshop. A bold young boy sneaked over, peeking through the open door before quickly darting away.
"You wouldn't believe it! I saw parchment, a whole stack of parchment made with magic!" The boy, skinny and tall with defined arm muscles, looked about thirteen or fourteen.
"Magic?" The crowd was abuzz. In this remote place, no one had ever seen real magic, let alone a wizard.
The "crowd" was merely three or four dozen people loosely seated around the large open space on the hillside.
This space was typically used for tribal gatherings, like autumn hunting displays by children or ancestor worship ceremonies. When there was nothing scheduled, it served as a communal rest area.
There was no snow, the winter sun was warm, and the weather was pleasant. The lord had canceled the hunting tax, allowing the hunters to relax. Aside from the young men on the plateau, nearly everyone gathered here, tanning hides, airing out damp blankets, mending clothing, and repairing hunting and gathering tools.
"Nonsense! The lord didn't use magic against the Tiger Clan, did he?" another boy retorted.
"How do you think that giant bear died?" asked a girl with dark red hair and bright amber eyes, her star-like gaze shining. Her long ponytail was casually tied at the back. Despite looking about the same age as the boys, her body had begun to mature.
It was Udo.
"Wasn't that… the lord's… fiery thing?" the boy tried to argue.
"Think about it—could you make such a thing? Could I?" the red-haired girl scoffed. "If he isn't a wizard, what else could he be?"
"But the Plateau Alliance said… wizards wouldn't appear here…" the boy's voice trailed off.
"Maybe he has foreign blood. Isn't the Plateau's shaman elder of foreign descent?" someone else chimed in.
"Shut up! Skinny Stick, tell us exactly what you saw," Udo shot a glare at one of them before turning to the boy.
"I'm telling you, it's magic. The lord had this big sieve and dragged it through the water…" Skinny Stick gestured with his hands, mimicking Kent's actions. "Then he lifted it, placed it on a stone slab, and pressed it down, making a sheet of parchment."
"In front of you? Were there others around? What about the bearded uncle?" Udo asked.
"Beard Uncle was right there..." Skinny Stick said. "Helping out, cutting… cutting parchment. There was already a whole stack next to him." He held out his hands to show the size.
Since the workshop was built, Greybeard had taken a keen interest in the foot-operated stone beater that pulped wood for Kent's first batch of crude paper. He had eagerly volunteered.
"Then it's certain. He must be an alchemist," affirmed an old hunter, nodding with certainty.
"An alchemist? What's that?" Udo's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"An alchemist is someone who can use magic to turn water into gold. It's a powerful skill," explained the old man, as elders often relished answering children's questions, using the opportunity to showcase their knowledge.
"Turning water into gold? But he made parchment. So, he's a paper-making alchemist?" Skinny Stick asked, puzzled.
"Idiot! Parchment's valuable too! What's the difference?" Udo rolled her eyes at him, knocking him lightly on the head with her bow.
"I suppose…" Skinny Stick rubbed his head. Although Udo was a few months younger than him, he wouldn't dare resist such affectionate scolding, especially since she was the tribe's top young hunter.
"Wait, so is an alchemist the same as a wizard?" Udo continued.
"Uh..." The old hunter stroked his chin, trying to hide his uncertainty. He exaggeratedly examined his arrow quiver. "Oh! Looks like I need a couple more arrows…"
"Maybe we should ask the merchants or storytellers when they come." This suggestion came from a stocky boy nearby, munching on jerky with a pocket stuffed full of it, who had been on the receiving end of Udo's glare earlier.
"Right, Fatty Bull, the storytellers know a lot. I wonder if they'll come this year," Skinny Stick agreed.
"Of course they will. If it doesn't snow heavily, they'll arrive before the end of the year," Fatty Bull replied confidently.
"Yes, they'll definitely come," Udo said.
The girl's eyes sparkled with excitement, filled with anticipation.