The Royal Commissioner Press-Ganging Recruits

An argument was underway.

"Earl, I still think this is inappropriate..." Captain Holman, formerly a family knight and now leading his company here for rotational training, said.

"Don't try to persuade me, Holman. This has been going on for some time already. How can we give up halfway through?"

"But I still have to say it: teaching soldiers to read is completely unnecessary. They only need to understand orders."

"No, I want to build an army unlike any other. The first difference is that its soldiers will be knowledgeable and capable of thought."

"Fine, let's not discuss whether they are qualified to receive an education. But have you considered that once they gain knowledge, will they still be willing to serve as soldiers? Will they still willingly submit to your command?"

"I will make soldiering an honorable profession. Of course, I do not mean the kind of military profession found among the nobility, but a genuine profession for the common people. If, even then, they still wish to leave my command, that can only mean I was not qualified to lead them."

"What? That's absurd. Ah, please forgive me, Earl. I was disrespectful. But you are their Lord. What does qualification have to do with it? Ruling them is both your right and your duty, as natural as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west."

"That's enough, Holman. My mind is made up. We've been doing this for so long already—do you expect me to take back my own order? Wouldn't that be slapping my own face?"

Seeing that Holman was about to continue arguing, Paul raised one hand. "That's settled. I need to return to town immediately to meet the envoy from the Royal Capital, and I'll probably be there for several days. By the time I return, I hope that aside from meeting physical fitness standards, the soldiers of the Second Battalion will also be able to read and write their own names."

After personally filling in as an "elementary teacher," Paul no longer dared set his expectations too high. With that, he turned and walked out of the tent.

Holman turned to Claude beside him. "Are the Earl and you really teaching the soldiers to read?" He still found it unbelievable.

Claude spread his hands and gave a wry smile. "When I first heard his plan, I practically thought I was dreaming. Our young Earl is always doing things beyond all reason!"

Paul arrived at the blacksmiths' tent. "How is the progress on the firearms?"

The blacksmith Herman had been tinkering with something alongside several fellow craftsmen. Seeing Paul enter, he immediately rose and bowed. "Earl, we are trying to improve the trigger mechanism of the Flintlock Gun. Since we are not artificers, it is rather difficult."

He admitted honestly, "The trigger mechanism I have now will probably result in a very high misfire rate."

Paul nodded. On Earth, when flintlock guns had first been invented, limitations in steel quality and spring manufacturing meant that the flint often failed to strike sparks, or produced sparks too weak to ignite the powder. This led to an extremely high misfire rate, which was understandable.

"Looks like technological development really cannot be achieved overnight."

He picked up a completed Matchlock Gun from nearby and examined it carefully. Its structure was extremely crude. It had no front sight or rear sight at all, only a barrel, stock, Powder Pan, and trigger. Yet it was indeed a real firearm. Though broadly similar to a Flintlock Gun, the matchlock's firing mechanism was much simpler.

The lock consisted of a serpentine arm and a trigger. A slow match was clamped into the serpentine arm. When firing, pulling the trigger used leverage to push down the arm, bringing the burning match into contact with the Powder Pan at the rear of the barrel. The flame then traveled through the touch hole into the chamber. This kind of lock was much easier to make.

As for the barrels, the blacksmiths used a wrapping method. They wrapped sheets of Wrought Iron around a mandrel and slowly hammered them into shape, using grooves in the anvil to correct the form bit by bit until they became iron tubes. Until they could make good drills, this was their only option.

"How about this? Suspend work on improving the Flintlock Gun for now and concentrate all your efforts on producing Matchlock Guns. Starting from scratch, how long would it take you to make one?" After thinking it over, he decided he needed a batch of usable firearms immediately. Rather than slowly researching improvements to the Flintlock Gun, it would be better to mass-produce the simple, mature Matchlock Gun and get the soldiers accustomed to gunpowder weapons as quickly as possible.

"One blacksmith and one apprentice helper could do it in roughly two weeks, if all goes smoothly."

"Two weeks? That's a little long... Fine, it will do. But the barrel quality must be good. Once the design is finalized, there must never be another barrel explosion like the ones during earlier experiments."

"Please rest assured, Earl. We have conducted many experiments and have basically figured out the relationship between powder charges and explosive force. We will be extremely careful with the quality of the barrels."

"Very good. I need these firearms urgently, so production must increase. Later, I will assign you a group of apprentices and carpenters specifically responsible for making stocks. You must teach them the skills of firearm production carefully. Do not hold anything back. Whoever trains a qualified craftsman will receive a reward equal to two months' wages."

The blacksmiths' eyes widened at this. It was a highly tempting offer.

The Earl continued, "Also, once you have more hands, I suggest you divide up the work. Each person should make only one component. Those making barrels should make only barrels, those making locks should make only locks, and those responsible for assembly should only assemble. Assign more people to complicated parts and fewer to simple ones. But firearm parts must be interchangeable. You need to appoint someone specifically responsible for measuring and inspecting the dimensions of components. Only then can they be assembled, and it will also make future maintenance easier once the army is equipped with them."

Since the Matchlock Gun's structure was fairly simple and did not require great precision, he decided to let the craftsmen try this new method of work.

Everyone nodded repeatedly, then immediately began flattering the Earl for his farsightedness.

"Gentlemen, I will send someone to track your completion rates and defective rates. This will affect your wages. If the defective rate is too high, there may be some 'minor punishments,'" the Earl said sternly.

Everyone broke into a cold sweat. Since they were in the military camp, they had already witnessed the "minor punishments" endured by the recruits.

A little after two in the afternoon, Lakeheart Town welcomed a strange army.

After crossing the pontoon bridge in disorder, the army marched along Central Avenue toward the Lord's Manor in steps so orderly they seemed unbelievable.

"Once inside the town, stay focused. Maintain formation strictly. No looking around, no whispering to each other," Company Commander Davydov shouted. Then he resumed calling out the cadence, "Left, right, left!"

Curious townspeople lined both sides of the street. They dared stand so close because they saw that the man leading the force was their Lord—Paul Greiman. They realized these were the recruits the young Earl had led out of town for training some time ago.

"Hey? Isn't that so-and-so from such-and-such a family? Good heavens, I hardly recognize him after not seeing him for a while. He used to be all shriveled up. How did he become so sturdy?"

"Yes, my neighbor's youngest son is in there too. He used to be frail and delicate, but look at his spirit now. He seems like a completely different person."

"They march so neatly. The old guards can't compare at all..."

Similar remarks continuously came from the crowd. Makarov, marching among the ranks, secretly felt smug. Getting stronger is nothing. I can read now too! It would scare you to death if I told you. But strict military discipline kept his face rigid, and he did not dare show any reaction.

The formation marched up the small hill north of the island and finally stopped before the gates of the Lord's castle.

"Halt! At ease!" Company Commander Davydov shouted. "The Lord appreciates your hard training and has given you the afternoon off. You may move about freely in town, but gather at the gate of the old camp in town before sunset. Remember every rule of discipline. If any of you get caught by the patrol, I'll make sure you regret it."

"Long Live the Lord!" After cheering, everyone scattered off in groups. Their pay had been issued not long ago, and many who had no habit of saving money had been itching to spend it. At last, they had somewhere to do so.

After the soldiers had all dispersed, Paul rode through the castle gates. The Old Chief Steward, having received notice, immediately came out to greet him. "Young Master, the envoys are already waiting for you in the hall."

"Good. I'll see them at once."

Upon arriving in the castle hall, he discovered that besides the envoy from the Royal Capital, Chief Steward Ford and Battalion Commander Bryce were also present. When the three saw the Lord enter, they all stood and bowed to him.

"Earl, this is the envoy from the Royal Capital, Baron Hansel Abbott."

"Baron Abbott, this is the new Lord of our Alarda Territory, Earl Paul Greiman."

Chief Steward Ford introduced the two sides.

The new Lord was even younger than he had imagined. Hansel gave a slight bow.

"Honored Earl Greiman, I have come to this place on the Royal Family's orders. On one hand, I am here to convey His Majesty the King's decree and congratulate you. You are now the officially recognized Lord of Alarda Territory under the Kingdom's government. On the other hand, I will remain stationed in your territory as the Royal Commissioner. I assume you have heard of the recent situation. Many royal representatives have therefore been assigned throughout the realm to strengthen communication and unity among loyal subjects such as yourself."

Paul briefly studied Hansel. He was of average height and slender build, dressed with great refinement. His gray-white hair was impeccably groomed, and his clean-shaven face held a pair of eyes that seemed exceedingly shrewd, carrying a faint, barely perceptible arrogance.

He said gratefully, "I thank His Majesty the King for his trust. I will certainly not fail Your Majesty's expectations."

Since everyone had been waiting for the Lord's return, none of them had eaten lunch. The host and guests therefore took their seats in the dining room and talked while they ate.

But an argument soon broke out.

"But my Lord, forgive my presumption, but I took the liberty of making a tour of your territory. Based on my observations, the threat posed by pirates is not as serious as imagined. I believe the most urgent matter is to organize a force to Aid the King and join Her Highness the Grand Princess's army suppressing the rebellion. Although Her Highness has specially exempted you from sending troops, defending the Royal Family is still the basic duty of a subject."

"What are you saying, Envoy? Our Old Earl died fighting pirates. How can that not be serious? We absolutely cannot agree!" Bryce protested loudly from the side.

"Forgive my bluntness, but if the Old Earl had not provoked the pirates, nothing would have happened." A mere commoner warrior dared interrupt at will. Letting him dine at the same table as nobles was already contrary to etiquette. Hansel felt slightly displeased.

"Then what about the safety of the towns and the people?"

Hansel said with mild disdain, "Even if the pirates were given ten times the courage, they would not dare attack Lakeheart Town, where the Lord resides. That would incur the collective wrath of the surrounding nobles. As for the lives of the lowborn wretches in the borderlands, why should anyone care so much?"

"This..." Bryce flushed red and wanted to retort, but there were things he did not dare say. In the other man's eyes, and deep in his own heart, he was still merely a commoner. The immense gap in status quickly calmed him and forced him to restrain himself.

What a vivid lesson in class hierarchy, the Earl, who had not yet developed the self-awareness of a ruling class, lamented inwardly.

He tried to smooth things over. "The previous campaign against the pirates ended in heavy casualties. We recruited new soldiers to replenish the army, but at their current level of training, they cannot do anything. We can discuss everything after the recruits finish their training."

Hansel was extremely displeased. He had come to trick them into serving as cannon fodder. What was the point of training? In the end, they simply did not want to go.

"My Lord, allow me to remind you of a vassal's foremost duty to his sovereign. The pirates are merely an itch beneath your boot, while Giles's rebel army is the Kingdom's greatest threat."

Still unwilling to give up, he put on the airs of a Royal Capital noble as he looked at the childish Lord seated at the head of the table. His tone became stern.

Damn it, not only had this man failed to bow before me, the protagonist, he even wanted to order me around. Time for my King's Aura.

"Then allow me to remind you that I am the Lord here! And I have an irreconcilable blood feud with the pirates." The young Earl slapped the table and fixed him with an equally stern expression. A staring contest? He knew that game well.

"Yes, Earl."

After a long while, Hansel slightly lowered his head, seemingly yielding. Then he silently lowered his head and continued eating.

The banquet continued in an awkward atmosphere...