Pleasant to the Ear

Amid the overlapping commands of the junior officers and the sharp blasts of copper whistles, the massive square formation began advancing slowly but resolutely as one.

However, these men had only been training for less than two months, so disorder in the ranks was unavoidable.

Some soldiers were a little slow-footed and, before they knew it, had fallen half an arm's length behind their comrades in front. They hurriedly jogged a few steps to catch up. Others were too eager, taking strides that were too large and too quick and forcing their way into gaps in the front row, drawing quiet complaints from those beside them.

The spring wind swept across the drill field with the scent of fresh grass. It made the hems of the recruits' cloaks flutter loudly and threw their already uneven steps further out of rhythm.

Still, this somewhat immature formation had experienced veteran Sergeant Majors holding the line.

Most of them were weathered veterans with faces carved by wind and frost. They marched steadily through the middle of the formation, occasionally reaching out to tap the shoulders of recruits whose steps had fallen out of rhythm while barking short, forceful reprimands.

Beside the formation stood many officers in immaculate uniforms. They gripped brass whistles in their hands, puffed out their cheeks, and sent one sharp whistle after another slicing through the air. Like invisible metronomes, they forcibly adjusted the recruits' uneven footsteps to a single rhythm.

Thus, after passing through that initial period of flustered chaos, the formation gradually grew orderly.

At first, the footfalls sounded like tangled hemp rope, slowly shifting from a rustling clamor to a light, rapid patter, and finally merging into a deep, heavy rumble like distant thunder. The earth beneath their feet trembled faintly.

With every step, boot soles struck