Enlisting as a Recruit

"Uncle Peyton, you're robbing me!"

"Hey, brat! Is that any way to talk to your own uncle?"

Watching the uncle and nephew argue before him, Roland sighed helplessly.

He had thought his impression of mercenaries as people who never rose early without profit was already stereotyped enough, but he had never expected Peyton to charge even his own nephew.

Good thing I came prepared.

Secretly rejoicing, Roland pulled the red-faced Sean aside and whispered a few words to him.

A moment later, Sean reluctantly entered the inner room and brought out the iron sword he had hidden earlier.

Taking the iron sword, Roland stepped forward with a gentle smile.

"Uncle Peyton, Sean has actually been worried about your urgent need for a weapon. So, he specially bought this iron sword from Mister Hawk at a low price."

As he spoke, he respectfully offered the iron sword with both hands.

"Oh?"

Peyton's gaze was instantly drawn to the iron sword. Upon hearing Hawk's name, he eagerly snatched it up.

Yet after examining it for only a moment, the excitement in his eyes gradually faded. Smacking his lips, he looked up and asked,

"Was an iron sword of this quality really forged by Hawk himself?"

"Of course not."

Roland shook his head.

"It was made by his apprentice. Otherwise, how could Sean afford it?"

"Fine, since the kid meant well."

Peyton's gaze passed over Roland and landed on Sean behind him, who still wore an unconvinced expression. His brow rose slightly.

"You two."

He waved the iron sword in his hand.

"Come with me to the open space in the backyard."

With that, he turned and strode away, his boots thudding dully against the wooden floor.

"This guy!"

Sean was deeply resentful toward his uncle right now.

"Roland, the iron sword you made would sell for at least several silver coins outside! And he actually—"

"Forget it, Sean."

Unlike Sean, who only mourned the loss of silver coins, Roland had already made his calculations.

As long as he could pass the assessment two months from now and become a Blacksmith Apprentice, with the advantages of the Profession Panel, he would sooner or later become a highly skilled blacksmith.

By then, forging as many iron swords of this quality as he wanted would be no problem.

Besides, to him right now, an iron sword that barely passed muster was insignificant.

What truly mattered was awakening new skills and activating a new profession!

That would improve his attributes and ability to protect himself.

He had heard it clearly just now: learning swordsmanship at the Training Ground cost ten silver coins a month!

Though he had not verified it yet, Roland believed Peyton would not lie about something like that.

Compared to that, using an iron sword of barely acceptable quality to learn swordsmanship was an exceptionally worthwhile deal.

After offering a few comforting words, Roland pulled Sean to the open space in the backyard.

At some point, Peyton had found two wooden swords and casually tossed one to each of them.

"Since neither of you has ever learned to use a weapon, we'll start with the most basic swordsmanship."

After saying that, he walked to the center of the clearing. The iron sword in his hand cut a sharp arc beneath the sunlight.

The moves of Basic Swordsmanship were not complicated. Its core was nothing more than chopping, slashing, and thrusting, supplemented by techniques for blocking and deflecting force.

The real difficulty lay in how to exert force and shift one's footwork accordingly.

To Roland's surprise, although Peyton was stingy over money, he was remarkably patient when teaching.

"Lower your wrist a little more."

Peyton gently lifted Roland's trembling elbow with his wooden sword.

"Yes, that's it. Keep it steady."

Roland held his breath, and his wooden sword traced a slightly awkward arc through the air.

Sweat slid down from his temples, but his sword grip was already far more proper than at the beginning.

"Don't rush to put force into it."

Peyton circled behind him and suddenly tapped Roland's knee with the flat of his sword.

"Lower your center of gravity! Do you think you're chopping firewood?"

Sean snorted with laughter from the side, only to receive a sharp glare at once.

"What are you laughing at?"

Peyton said without turning his head.

"Your thrust is flimsier than a noodle. Do it fifty more times!"

Roland adjusted his breathing and assumed his stance again.

This time, he deliberately slowed his movements, feeling the force rise from his heels and travel through his waist and back into his arms.

"Good!"

Peyton suddenly raised his voice, startling Roland so badly that he nearly threw away his sword.

"That's the feeling! Remember how you're exerting force right now."

"Uncle Peyton."

Roland wiped away his sweat and hesitantly spoke.

"Why do I always feel unsteady when I withdraw my sword?"

Peyton snorted and suddenly stepped forward.

Roland hurriedly raised his sword to block, only to see Peyton use the tip of his sword to draw a circle beside Roland's feet.

"Look at your stance. Your feet are practically pressed together like a Wooden Stake!"

As he spoke, he demonstrated a standard closing posture, his boots grinding a clear semicircle into the sand.

"Be like a tree with roots, not a drifting leaf."

Roland nodded thoughtfully.

"And another thing."

Under Peyton's tireless guidance, Roland gradually grasped the essentials of Basic Swordsmanship.

Before he knew it, the sun had set, and twilight slowly enveloped the courtyard.

Sean had long since slipped away to prepare dinner, while Peyton had found a patch of shade to nap in.

In the empty courtyard, only Roland remained, tirelessly swinging his wooden sword as though he meant to squeeze out every last bit of strength from his body.

"Chop! Slash! Thrust!"

He muttered the names of the moves under his breath, his sweat-soaked clothes clinging tightly to his back.

The sound of the wooden sword cutting through the air was especially clear in the silent courtyard.

The instant he completed the final move and withdrew his sword, a line of dazzling golden words suddenly appeared before his eyes.

[Basic Swordsmanship learned. Current Level: Lv.1]

[Detected: eligible to enlist in the basic profession Recruit]

[Requirements: Strength 2, Agility 1, any Lv.1 combat-related skill]

[Enlist?]

"Just as I expected."

Roland looked at the flashing golden words before him, a weary smile rising on his lips.

As that thought passed through his mind, his body, which had been holding on by force of will, finally reached its limit. His legs gave way, and he collapsed heavily into the dust-filled courtyard.

"Awakening combat skills really can unlock related professions."

He thought to himself as sweat slowly dripped from his chin.

Though his entire body ached terribly, the light in his eyes was brighter than ever.

Hearing the sound, Peyton, who was half-reclining nearby, slightly opened his eyes and muttered,

"Has he finally given up? That kid really does have perseverance."

He had never thought highly of Roland's sword practice.

It was not because Roland did not work hard, but because he had an innate disadvantage in physique.

Compared to his sturdy nephew, Roland looked like a reed that could be snapped by the wind at any moment.

His many years as a mercenary had shown him far too many similar cases.

No matter how exquisite one's swordsmanship was, it would be useless before an absolute gap in strength.

With a build like Roland's, rather than forcing himself to practice the sword, it would be better to—

"Swinging a wooden sword for one day is already this difficult. Swinging a hammer must be even harder."

Peyton muttered inwardly.

"The Blacksmith Apprentice assessment is probably hopeless. Tomorrow, I should ask that old drunk Lauren whether his shop still needs a helper."

Although he showed nothing on the surface, Peyton knew perfectly well.

The idea of giving him an iron sword could never have come from his foolish nephew, who only knew how to use brute force.

He might be greedy and miserly, but he had his own principles.

He would not ask where the iron sword had come from.

But since he had accepted their gift, he naturally had to return the favor.

He had always disliked owing others anything.

Meanwhile, Roland in the courtyard knew nothing of Peyton's thoughts.

He was bracing himself on his knees and gulping for air. Only after his breathing gradually steadied did he silently say in his heart,

Enlist as a Recruit!