The old man immediately beamed.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Marcello."
Baron Marcello looked kind and didn't seem angry. The old man felt greatly relieved. It seemed the other man probably hadn't heard what he'd said.
"Sir, what's your name?"
"Me? I'm Kao, from Pasgi Village. Just call me Kao."
Kao took off his hat and answered in trepidation. Marcello was a nobleman and an imperial official, while he was nothing but an old vagabond. The deep-rooted fear of nobles and officials wasn't something he could fake.
"Are you satisfied with the food in our camp? Have you gotten used to life here?"
Baron Marcello continued to ask in a kindly manner. Kao glanced at the crowd gathering around them and, plucking up his courage, said, "Mr. Marcello, all we eat day in and day out is either beans or pasta. How are we supposed to have the strength to fight? And every day, you have us either repair bridges or mend roads. You're treating us like laborers! How is this anything like an army?"
In truth, Kao's words echoed what many people were wondering. They had clearly joined the Austrian Empire's army, yet every day they either trained or did backbreaking work like repairing bridges and roads.
This was a far cry from the army they'd imagined. Some even suspected that unscrupulous merchants were using the imperial government's name to force them into labor.
But before long, everyone ruled out that possibility. In the Milan region—or even all of Northern Italy—there wasn't a single family capable of mobilizing so many officials and soldiers, much less setting up dozens of barracks that could house tens of thousands of people.
Franz had these people work on postwar reconstruction mainly to improve its efficiency. After all, the military was far more organized than ordinary