Morning Training

The next day, just after six in the morning, the sky was still gray, and Fran City remained buried in a cold sleep.

Karl had already climbed out of his crude camp bed and washed up with bone-chilling cold water, driving away the last traces of drowsiness.

Without hesitation, he woke the two knights, Brendan and Roland.

"Wake everyone up. Assemble at the drill ground." His voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable command.

A flicker of surprise crossed Brendan's eyes, but he immediately obeyed. Roland, meanwhile, seemed somewhat excited and briskly began slapping the tents of the still-sleeping soldiers.

Before long, thirty militiamen and six Knight Squires—a total of thirty-six men—had assembled on the cold open ground of the drill field, bleary-eyed and full of complaints.

Despite their heavy clothing, the morning chill still sliced across their freshly awakened bodies like knives. Quite a few of them shivered uncontrollably from the cold.

Karl stood before them, his gaze sweeping across the low-morale, poorly equipped group.

He knew that empty promises alone would be useless. He had to give them the most direct motivation.

"From today onward, you are no longer just cannon fodder sent by the family to die alongside me." Karl's voice carried clearly through the silent morning, drawing everyone's attention. "You are the first army under me, Karl von Schmidt, the future Lord of Carnford!"

"Now, I will announce your pay." Without wasting words, he went straight to the point. "Everyone will be divided into combat soldiers and auxiliary soldiers. Combat soldiers will receive one silver coin and an additional fifty copper coins in military pay each month! Auxiliary soldiers will receive one silver coin per month!"

The words were like a red-hot iron thrown into icy water, instantly evaporating every trace of sleepiness and cold!

The soldiers abruptly raised their heads, their eyes shining with disbelief.

They had been sent here by their families and had assumed that a settlement allowance would be all they received. They had never expected this young lord to promise regular military pay as well.

One silver coin plus fifty copper coins was even slightly better than the pay of some standing troops in the Royal Capital!

Karl did not give them much time to process the surprise before continuing. "At present, we have thirty-six men, divided into three squads of twelve. Two squads, twenty-four men, will be combat soldiers! The remaining twelve will be auxiliary soldiers, responsible for baggage, provisions, and miscellaneous duties!"

His sharp gaze settled on them. "Combat soldiers and auxiliary soldiers are not fixed positions! There will be an assessment every month. Those who excel in physical fitness, discipline, and combat skills may be promoted from auxiliary soldiers to combat soldiers and enjoy higher pay! Those who fail the assessment, slack off, or shrink back will be demoted from combat soldiers to auxiliary soldiers!"

"And this first month's pay," Karl stressed, "will be issued together in three days, after we successfully complete the mission of escorting the transport convoy! Furthermore, rewards will be granted according to your performance in battle!"

Clear rules, definite rewards, and a payment date close at hand instantly ignited a fire in the soldiers' eyes!

Their previous lifelessness was replaced by a mixture of desire, nervousness, and faint excitement. Voices of gratitude rose one after another.

Karl raised a hand to stop them. "The way you thank me is not with your mouths! It is with your actions! Make use of every moment to train. Become my sharpest sword and my strongest shield! Training begins now!"

First: morning run!

Karl knew very well that for an army—especially one in the age of cold weapons—physical fitness and discipline mattered far more than individual bravery.

In an actual war, direct combat made up only a small part of the time. Most of it was spent marching.

Long marches, battlefield standoffs, and maintaining formations all required abundant stamina and absolute obedience to orders.

He had no time to polish their combat skills now, but he had to establish the most basic foundation as quickly as possible.

"Run around the drill ground! Without orders, no stopping!" Karl commanded.

The formation began to jog.

At first, they could barely maintain their formation, but the problems soon became obvious. Their steps were chaotic, their breathing ragged, and many could not even tell left from right. People constantly fell behind or ran into one another.

The so-called "basic military training" they had received before had probably consisted more of learning how to stand in line and swing weapons. As for basic physical conditioning and discipline, they were almost completely lacking.

"Faster! Keep up! Maintain the formation!" Young and hot-blooded, Roland shouted at the top of his lungs.

Brendan was more direct. He picked up a prepared Military Staff, and whenever he saw someone slowing down or running in the wrong direction, he gave them a strike. It was not hard, but it was painful and humiliating enough.

"Tell left from right, idiots! Follow the person in front of you!"

Karl himself ran alongside the formation, barking corrections with a stern voice.

The cracks of the Military Staff, heavy panting, shouted reprimands, and disorderly footsteps sounded especially harsh in the silence of dawn.

The enormous commotion quickly woke the other City Defense Army soldiers who were still asleep in the barracks.

"Damn it! Which bastard is making such a racket this early?"

"Are we supposed to sleep or not? What time is it?"

"Fuck! I only just got to sleep after standing watch all night!"

A group of soldiers stormed out of the barracks, cursing as they glared furiously toward the drill ground.

When they saw that it was a group of "outsiders" in mismatched clothing, running in a crooked mess as they trained, their anger grew even worse.

But when their eyes swept over Karl supervising from the edge of the field, the two young yet clearly legitimate knights beside him—Roland and Brendan—and the sizable group of soldiers, messy though they were, the curses on their lips were swallowed back down.

They did not know Karl, but they recognized knights, and they understood numbers.

This group was a Guest Army, a united bloc in itself, and that young noble looked like he was serious.

Picking a quarrel with a group of men who might soon be marching off to die and were currently burning with pent-up energy was simply not worth it.

"Pah! A bunch of idiots rushing to their deaths!"

"Keep training, keep training. Let's see how many days you last!"

Several Veteran Soldiers grumbled a few resentful curses before finally rubbing their eyes and returning to the barracks to continue sleeping. Though after being woken up, it was difficult for them to fall asleep again.

At around eight in the morning, the Fasted Cardio finally ended.

Every soldier was drenched in sweat, sprawled on the ground and gasping for breath. Yet there was something different in their eyes now: exhaustion born of being pushed to their limits, along with a faint sense of unity.

After a simple breakfast and a brief rest, formation drills and Combat Training began.

For combat formations, Karl directly brought out one of the formations in his memory that was most suitable for small-scale forces.

A simplified variation of the Mandarin Duck Formation—or rather, something akin to the Small Three Talents Formation.

He had only three squads and too few men, so he had to make the most of them.

He quickly rearranged the personnel. Within each squad, the front row consisted of Swordsmen and Shieldbearers, responsible for cover and close-quarters fighting. The middle provided ranged support, though at the moment they had only a few crude Hunting Bows and lacked firearms. The rear row consisted of Spearmen, responsible for mid-range thrusting and forming a spear wall.

He personally stepped in to explain the role of every position, how they should coordinate, and how to change formations according to orders.

Watching Karl skillfully and clearly organize this seemingly simple yet highly practical formation, the two knights were once again stunned.

Especially Brendan, the experienced old knight. The way he looked at Karl was filled with shock and scrutiny.

This formation was definitely not something taught in noble knight academies. It was simpler, placed greater emphasis on squad coordination and practical killing power, and carried the air of a battlefield tempered by real blood and fire.

For a moment, he even wondered whether this young master, always rumored to be the "most useless," was actually a Veteran Soldier who had fought in real wars disguised as someone else.

"Brendan, what do you think of this formation?" Karl noticed his gaze and asked.

Brendan composed himself and answered solemnly, "My lord, it is extremely practical! It is especially suited to our current situation, with few men and mixed equipment. It can maximize the power of coordinated combat and make up for the lack of individual strength." He paused, then added, "This... does not seem like a formation an ordinary noble would understand."

Karl smiled but offered no explanation. "As long as it works."

Soon, the drill ground became noisy again. This time, the shouts were stronger, wooden weapons clashed, and Karl and the knights constantly called out corrections.

The sustained, energetic sounds of drilling even carried through the bedroom windows of the Governor's Office, which was not far from the drill ground.

Inside the bedroom, Earl Rochefort was sleeping soundly with his smooth-skinned mistress from the south in his arms.

Last night's passion had put him in a fine mood, and he had specifically ordered the Scribe not to disturb him that morning.

Yet the faint but continuous sounds of battle cries and commands still stubbornly reached his ears, dragging him out of his pleasant dream.

"Mmm... what is that sound... it's so noisy..." his mistress muttered unhappily, curling further into his arms.

Rochfort irritably opened his eyes, listened carefully, and furrowed his brow tightly.

"Which Damn It bastard is drilling troops so early in the morning? Can't a man have any peace and quiet?" His good mood thoroughly ruined, he angrily threw off the warm down blanket and got up.

His mistress hurriedly rose and attentively draped a robe over him.

Rochfort left the bedroom with a face full of waking irritation and happened to encounter Guard Captain Richter hurrying over.

"Richter! What is going on? Which unit has gone mad today? Training this diligently, and at this hour?" Rochfort demanded in displeasure.

An awkward look appeared on Richter's face as he bowed and replied, "Governor, it is not our City Defense Army... It is, it is Sir Karl von Schmidt, who arrived yesterday. He began training his men at the drill ground before dawn and has not stopped since."

"Karl? That Schmidt boy?" Rochfort paused, then recalled the young man from yesterday who had drawn his attention with strange intelligence and chosen the tough bone that was Carnford.

He walked to the window and looked toward the drill ground in the distance.

Though he could not make out the details, he could see a group of figures moving and shouting in an orderly manner. Their seriousness and commitment stood in stark contrast to the other young nobles he remembered, who spent their days drinking themselves senseless in taverns.

The anger on his face gradually faded, replaced by a complicated expression carrying a hint of amusement and curiosity.

"Interesting..." Rochfort stroked his chin and muttered. "This boy may not be entirely putting on an act. Is he truly planning to accomplish something in the Northern Territory... or is he merely cramming at the last minute for the mission three days from now?"

He watched silently for a while before turning to Richter and ordering, "Let him be. Also, Richter, when you send troops out with him in two days, pick a few sharp ones. Have them watch carefully and see just how capable this boy truly is. Whether he is a mule or a horse, we will know once he is put through his paces."

"Yes, my lord!" Richter answered solemnly.

Rochfort looked once more toward the drill ground before yawning and deciding to return for another nap.

Though he had been woken up, it seemed he had discovered something that might prove rather interesting.