Recruit Training 2

Makarov stood ramrod-straight with a cross strapped to his back, suffering miserably. What use is this kind of training against pirates? What the hell are they trying to do? He had complained about it in his heart countless times.

He wanted to turn his head and see how the people beside him were doing, but the moment that thought arose, he suppressed it. Several unlucky fellows had already been harshly dealt with by Knight Claude—no, Major Claude—for making small movements while standing at attention. They had even been punished by being denied food. He did not want to go hungry.

The new Lord was truly an oddball. Makarov continued grumbling inwardly. He was always coming up with strange things—standing at attention, goose-stepping. Even those Military Officers who had once been knights were forced to train like this.

Oh, he should not have thought of it. The very mention of goose-stepping made Makarov's embarrassment explode. That bizarre posture still made him blush. Fortunately, they were not training in town, or the townsfolk would have laughed their heads off.

The young Lord was probably a severe obsessive-compulsive patient. His demands for "orderliness" and "uniformity" had reached a ridiculous level. It was one thing to demand that they stay in formation while goose-stepping and running, with synchronized paces and neat movements, but requiring even their blankets to be folded into square blocks was simply too much.

If the young Lord had not personally demonstrated how to fold them and corrected soldiers who did it wrong step by step, Makarov would once have suspected that the young Lord was deliberately making fun of them.

The only normal thing was the bayonet training held every morning or afternoon, personally instructed by Major Claude. In Makarov's view, only that would help him kill enemies and save his life on the battlefield. Each time, he listened very carefully as the Major explained the techniques and practiced desperately.

Of course, despite all his complaints, Makarov still deeply, deeply, deeply respected—and was even grateful to—the young Lord. It was not merely because they had eaten meat twice in the past week. There was an even more important reason: Lord Paul was actually teaching them to read! Most commoners had neither the opportunity nor the money to systematically learn writing in their entire lives. Naturally, there were still quite a few commoners who knew many words, such as merchants, bards, and noble servants, but compared to the vast total population of commoners, such people were as rare as phoenix feathers.

In some remote regions, writing was viewed as no different from the magic of legends. Only nobles and servants of the gods could learn it. Many commoners spent their lives knowing only enough characters to recognize their own names, while even more could not reach even that level.

Nor was this limited to human lands. He had heard that on the Great Prairie, many orc tribes recorded events by tying knots in ropes.

Makarov could still clearly remember the incredulous expressions on everyone's faces, as well as Major Claude's mouth hanging wide enough to fit an egg, when the young Lord announced that he would hold a "Literacy Class" and use the evenings to teach them to read.

Yet quite a few soldiers actually believed that since they were merely soldiers earning rations, they had no need to learn to read. What a bunch of fools, content with degradation and unwilling to improve themselves. Makarov secretly looked down on them. He was different. He did not want to muddle through life like that.

Suddenly, a whistle sounded, followed by Battalion Commander Major Claude's loud command: "All troops, assemble!!!"

Makarov immediately cast aside all his thoughts and moved toward the "guide" directly in front of the Major. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the others in his row, forming a straight line. After a week of training, it had practically become a conditioned reflex.

"At ease!" the Major continued.

Then the young Lord walked over and began speaking.

"Soldiers, over the past week, you have improved greatly, and I am very pleased. Your posture at attention has now reached the standard I require. I hereby announce that from now on, you will no longer need to strap crosses to your backs when standing at attention."

He paused. Seeing that no one cheered or made a fuss, he nodded in satisfaction.

"However, you still have shortcomings. According to Battalion Commander Claude, many of you have yet to grasp the essentials of bayonet fighting. In that state, you will be unable to fight vicious criminals. You must continue to practice diligently. Sweat more in peacetime, bleed less in wartime!"

Isn't it because Lord Paul wasted half our training time on standing at attention and goose-stepping? Quite a few people grumbled inwardly.

"And your camp discipline. Every time I speak, I emphasize personal and collective hygiene. This is the last time. If I find trash being thrown about in any squad's tent again, I swear I'll make the entire squad run around the camp until they drop dead."

"Now, I have good news to announce. Earlier, I had Butler Philip custom-make standardized uniforms for us. They arrived today. They will now be issued to everyone, and you are to change into them immediately."

Then, under the arrangements of the Military Officers at every level, everyone stepped forward in turn to collect their uniforms.

The uniforms had been designed based on the uniforms of the Eighth Route Army from his previous life, though they were dark green. Besides jackets and trousers, they included caps, leather belts, shoes, footwraps, and puttees. A batch of epaulets bearing Military Rank insignia from his previous life had also arrived, which could be fastened onto the shoulders with buttons.

After each soldier received two sets, they began changing clothes. They were all grown men, after all, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

This batch of uniforms had been rushed out in haste. To ensure the entire army could wear them, they had been made in larger sizes, so quite a few people found them loose. Still, compared with the patched-up rags they had worn before, the uniforms immediately raised their appearance and spirit by more than a level.

After changing, they formed up again. Although no one spoke due to discipline, the soldiers' excitement was still obvious. It seemed the new clothes had greatly boosted morale.

Claude looked at the newly formed ranks and felt deeply moved.

A week ago, the people before him had been a group of undisciplined farmers. Some of them could not even tell left from right. Yet now, they stood properly, sat properly, and obeyed commands without fail.

Before, setting up in formation this quickly alone would have been unimaginable, never mind anything else. Now, this force already faintly possessed the bearing of a regular army, at least on the surface.

No, not even the kingdom's regular army could reach this standard. After changing into their new uniforms, in terms of sheer neatness and uniformity, perhaps only the Royal Family's ceremonial guard—which he had never seen—could compare. He was gradually beginning to understand why the Earl had spent so much time on training that he had once considered meaningless.

Claude thought to himself, The only remaining shortcoming is that nearly half of them have never seen blood.

Paul instructed Claude to continue training according to the day's schedule, then led the servants who had delivered the uniforms into a tent guarded by Inner Guard Soldiers.

"Earl, everything you asked for is here. This is the first batch. Butler Philip is still gathering the rest, and it will take some more time."

"Excellent. These are enough for our current needs, but the rest must still be expedited."

Boxes were arranged across the ground, while the tent was filled with the smell of Sulfur. He looked over everything in satisfaction, then asked, "Where are the people I asked for?"

The servant answered respectfully, "They are waiting in the tent next door."

"How are they? Are they reliable?"

"Please rest assured. Like me, they are loyal people whose families have served your family for generations. Butler Philip personally tested them."

"Very good, Ron. You will continue to be responsible for transporting supplies here in the future. I will not treat you poorly. But remember, you are not to reveal anything happening here to anyone. Do you hear me? Anyone. Do you understand?"

"I understand, I understand. I swear by the Lord of Light that I will keep my mouth shut. Even if I reveal a single word, may I be cast into hell." Ron immediately pointed to the sky and swore.

"Good. You may return now. Remember what I said."