Slogan

Oliver mounted a docile steed, his knees unable to withstand the horse's jolting, and, holding his Command Baton, followed at a leisurely pace to the side and rear of the main force.

His eyes, like those of the most discerning overseer, were fixed on the every soldier's steps and posture.

"Your steps are all messed up! Keep up with the rhythm! You, I'm talking to you! Straighten your back!" Whenever he noticed someone's steps were disordered, their posture was distorted, or their face showed an excessively painful expression, Oliver would ride closer and mercilessly lash out with his Command Baton, the force just right to cause excruciating pain but not serious injury.

"Pain? Just remember it! On the battlefield, if your formation is disrupted, you won't just lose sweat, you'll lose your head!"

Led by officers, the group chanted slogans and began running along the planned route.

To boost morale and unite the troops, and also to subtly instill ideology, the platoon Platoon Leader, while running, led the chanting of slogans in a hoarse voice—a common practice in the Carnford New Army training.

"Who gave us the life we have now?!" the Platoon Leader roared.

"It's Lord Karl!" the soldiers shouted in unison as if by reflex, despite being out of breath.

"Whose soldiers are we?!"

"They are Lord Karl's soldiers!"

"For whom are we fighting?!"

"For Lord Karl! For Carnford!"

The slogans echoed across the open fields, carrying a slightly mechanical yet powerful rhythm.

Oliver listened to the deafening slogans. The shouts of "Loyalty to the Lord! Defend the Northern Territory!" were uniform and powerful, but they had long since become tiresome to him.

His weathered face remained expressionless, his eyes still holding their usual coldness, as if he were indifferent to everything. But deep down, a few feelings he himself was unaware of were quietly rising within him.

This method of shouting slogans was devised by his old comrade-in-arms, Tommy, who now heads the territory's Culture and Propaganda Department.

A month ago, Tommy proposed this idea to the superintendent Edgar, which seemed somewhat impractical to others: that the recruits must line up and shout slogans before and after training every day.

Tommy said that slogans, though seemingly useless, are actually used to silently etch loyalty to the Lord and a sense of belonging to the land into the bones of every soldier through repeated use.

After all, most of these new recruits were refugees who had fled from the south. They had nothing, and it was the Northern Territory that gave them food and shelter. Shouting slogans was to make them understand that they were no longer rootless drifters, but guardians of the Northern Territory and a part of this land.

Oliver initially looked down on this approach. In his view, loyalty was something that could never be shouted out, but rather earned through tangible benefits.

He believed that what could win over a soldier's heart was never an empty slogan, but rather the land he was allocated, the heavy Silver coin, and the tangible guarantee that his family would be well-fed and clothed.

He joined Lord Karl's army in the first place precisely because the Lord promised them, the veterans, high pay and land grants, allowing them to settle down and build a life in the Northern Territory.

So when Tommy proposed the idea, Oliver immediately poured cold water on it, saying it was a waste of effort. Did he really think that shouting a few slogans would make these recruits willingly risk their lives for the Northern Territory?

But as the days went by, Oliver listened to the slogans gradually change from being uneven and weak at first to becoming loud, clear, and full of confidence. His thoughts also quietly changed.

He looked at the new recruits. When they first arrived, they were all emaciated and pale, their eyes filled with timidity and confusion, like a flock of lambs lost in the wilderness. Even the strength to pick up a rifle seemed to be strained.

Back then, when they shouted slogans, they just mechanically opened their mouths, their voices were so soft they were like a mosquito's hum, and their faces were devoid of any expression.

But after several months, Oliver keenly noticed that these recruits were different.

Their backs straightened, and their eyes shone with a newfound determination. Although they groaned before training, they no longer hesitated once training began. Even when braving the biting cold winds of the Northern Territory and enduring hardships, they rarely complained.

More importantly, when they looked at the Lord's banner flying over the camp, their eyes held a newfound reverence and respect; when they gathered together during rest, they no longer talked about the suffering of their homeland, but about the future of the Northern Territory and how to follow their Lord to defend this homeland.

Oliver couldn't quite put his finger on what had changed. Was it the daily training that had worn away their timidity, or had the repeated chants truly planted a seed of belonging in their hearts?

All he knew was that those refugees who once had no hope for the future had now taken on the appearance of soldiers and had the awareness to protect their community.

The wind blew across the training ground, stirring up a cloud of dust and scattering the continuous chants.

Oliver narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the young figures sweating profusely in the sunlight, and a faint smile unconsciously appeared on his lips.

He had to admit that Tommy, that old fox, actually had some skills; those seemingly useless slogans actually had some effect.