Every March and September, the Elite Camp went out for another round of field training.
In other words, actual combat—capturing pirates.
No matter how grueling training at the base was, it was hard to get a taste of blood.
After all, aside from a few extreme individuals, who would face their classmates with the mindset of "if you don't die, I will"?
So, to avoid raising soldiers who were nothing more than children with guns, field training had been introduced.
Hearing this, Randall narrowed his eyes and said,
"Oh, it's already September. All right, sir. I'll get to Headquarters ahead of time!"
Zephyr laughed heartily at his response.
"Haha, come to think of it, you shot up through the ranks so fast back then that you never even got to join the field training.
This time, you can experience it for yourself and make up for what you missed.
Ahem, and set an example for your juniors, too.
If those kids knew you were coming, they'd probably explode with excitement."
By now, Randall's standing among the recruits, especially those in the Elite Camp, was approaching mythical proportions.
After chatting with Zephyr a little longer, Randall hung up.
Then he looked into the distance, a flash of murderous intent passing through his eyes.
Whitebeard II... it should be this time, right?
He remembered Zephyr's Arm-Loss Incident quite clearly.
During a field training voyage in Sea Circle Calendar 1508, Zephyr had run into Whitebeard II.
But because of his age and his asthma, he had ultimately lost an arm to Whitebeard II.
Of the entire ship full of students, only two had survived.
That had been the second cruel joke fate played on Zephyr after his family was murdered.
But since Randall knew about it, he would not let it happen.
In