Unreturned Whistle

In the barracks, most of the soldiers who had been immersed in sleep were awakened by the sudden terrifying sound.

Many sat up abruptly, bewildered. In the darkness, there was a cacophony of collisions and low curses.

"What's going on?"

"Enemy attack?"

"Assemble? What are we assembling for in the middle of the night?"

They were groggy. Even after hearing Karl's command, they didn't know what to do for a moment.

An emergency night assembly was unheard of for them.

They couldn't find their clothes, fumbled for their leather armor, put on their shoes backward, and were in complete disarray.

Just then, the role of the junior officers and non-commissioned officers became undeniably apparent!

Brendan, Roland, and Richter sprang up almost the instant they heard Karl's voice and the whistle.

Without the slightest hesitation, they immediately began roaring at their subordinates in their respective areas, urging them on:

"Get up! Everyone get up! Emergency assembly! Hurry!"

"Grab your weapons! Armor! Assemble outside!"

"Hurry up! Don't dawdle! Do you want to be punished!"

Someone subconsciously tried to light an oil lamp to see the situation clearly, but Karl's cold, stern shout immediately came from outside: "Put out the lights! No light sources allowed! Do you want to be target practice!"

Crash!

Immediately, a non-commissioned officer roughly knocked over the oil lamp that had just been lit. After the sound of shattering glass and a brief gasp, the camp plunged back into darkness, with only the faint moonlight and the light from distant braziers providing some illumination.

Soon, people began to scramble out of the barracks.

Some were only wearing shirts and holding weapons, others had their armor straps not properly fastened, making clanking noises, and some were even barefoot.

The ranks were sparse, like a disturbed ant colony, with people constantly emerging from various doorways and running towards the indistinct figure in the center of the training ground.

There were no neat formations, only chaotic running and the officers' hoarse shouts guiding the way.

Under the scolding and near-brutal discipline of Brendan, Richter, and Roland, the chaotic crowd gradually, albeit barely, took shape.

The soldiers stood panting, their bodies still swaying involuntarily, their equipment askew, and many still had sleep lines and fear on their faces.

But regardless, everyone was finally present and had managed to maintain a semblance of silence, with only the heavy panting clearly audible in the night wind.

Brendan was the first to organize the combat soldier squad he was responsible for. He quickly ran to Karl, pounded his right fist on his chest, and reported in a steady voice, "Sir! Combat squad, twenty-four present, twenty-four accounted for! Assembly complete!"

Roland followed closely. Although still a bit nervous, he also followed suit, "Sir! Support squad, twelve present, twelve accounted for! Assembly complete!"

Richter was last. The veteran city guards he led had the highest quality. Although they were also caught off guard by the sudden attack, they recovered the fastest, "Sir! City Guard, thirty present, thirty accounted for! Assembly complete!"

Karl's gaze swept over the somewhat disheveled, poorly equipped, but undeniably present and capable of restoring initial order in a short time, the assembled troops in the darkness. He was actually quite satisfied.

After all, this was an unprecedented exercise, and the results far exceeded his expectations.

This proved that the funds he invested, the discipline he established, and the officers he selected had all played a role at this critical moment.

He showed no outward satisfaction, maintaining his stern demeanor, and said in a deep voice, "This was just an exercise, but remember the chaos tonight! The enemy will not give you time to light lamps, nor will they wait for you to put on your armor! After tonight, emergency night assembly will be included in regular training! Now, dismiss! Go back and continue resting, and double the sentries' vigilance!"

The soldiers were relieved, but also carried a sense of lingering fear and shame. They muttered amongst themselves and returned to their barracks in small groups.

The officers remained, quietly discussing the recent chaos and areas that needed improvement.

Charlotte, who had been observing quietly from the side, finally walked forward slowly.

Her gaze shifted from the retreating figures of the dismissed troops to Karl. Her eyes, still bright in the night, held clear admiration.

Charlotte spoke, her voice softer than before, "Although it was chaotic, to have everyone assemble on time without any prior notice, with the officers reacting swiftly and controlling the situation, Karl von Schmidt, it seems I may need to revise my expectations. I believe you might indeed be able to hold out in the Northern Border for a while longer, or perhaps even, truly manage to defend it."

She paused, then asked casually, "Your territory is in Carnford, correct?"

"Yes, Carnford," Karl replied affirmatively, a ripple of emotion stirring within him due to the subtle shift in her words.

Charlotte nodded, her tone calm but seemingly containing some kind of promise, "Good, I've noted it. If there's an opportunity to tour that area in the future, I will visit."

With that, she turned decisively without waiting for Karl's response, strode away with long legs, and her figure quickly merged into the night outside the camp, disappearing from view.

Karl instinctively wanted to step forward to see her off, but the words caught in his throat.

He gazed blankly in the direction she had disappeared, a faint scent of her hair seeming to linger in the night breeze.

Suddenly, he remembered something. He raised his hand and touched his pocket, his fingertips brushing against the cold metal whistle.

He hadn't returned the whistle to her yet...

He looked at the empty street and smiled helplessly.

Just as Karl was lost in thought, someone suddenly leaned in beside him, startling him.

"Truly a dazzling yet thorny pearl of the Northern Border." Richter had appeared beside Karl at some point, also looking at the dark street, his voice filled with undisguised admiration.

Karl shot him an annoyed glance, "You scared me. What, do you know her?"

He felt a mix of curiosity and inexplicable nervousness, as if one of his secrets had been spied upon.

Richter turned his head, his expression one of "Are you kidding me?": "What! Sir, Miss Charlotte Rochefort! The Earl's daughter! Who doesn't know her in Fran City? I've seen her several times in my years of service, either riding a tall horse leading a patrol out of the city or in military attire practicing sword fighting on the training ground. It's hard not to notice her."

Karl's curiosity piqued further at the mention. "Which child is she in the Earl's line-up? Was she born to his legal wife, or a mistress?"

Richter scratched his head, trying to recall. "She should be the Earl's second child, I think? I remember she has an older brother. As for whether she was born to his legal wife..."

He lowered his voice. "That's hard to say for sure. The Earl's romantic entanglements aren't exactly a secret in Fran City; he has quite a few mistresses. No one dares to discuss who Miss Charlotte's mother is in public. Regardless, the Earl dotes on this daughter immensely. Otherwise, why would he let a girl constantly practice swordsmanship like a boy and even manage a portion of the city's defense patrols?"

Karl nodded thoughtfully upon hearing this.

Suddenly, Richter seemed to realize something and looked at Karl in surprise. "Wait... Sir, how many days have you been in the Northern Border? How do you already know about the Earl's mistresses? Did the news spread that fast?"

Karl couldn't help but chuckle. "What's so hard to guess about that? What nobleman doesn't have a few mistresses? My father, Old Schmidt, has at least three or four regular mistresses that I know of. As for how many illegitimate siblings I have, he probably can't even count them himself. Otherwise, why do you think I got the reputation as 'the most useless son'? There's only so much resource to go around. It's barely enough for the legitimate heirs, let alone someone like me."