Border, Imperial Vanguard, Viscount's Barracks.
A sound of horses' hooves approached, followed by the sound of barricades being moved and the camp gates being opened, and then a cacophony of cheers gradually rose.
In a military tent in the corner of the camp, the Imperial centurion, who had been sleeping on a wooden plank bed, turned over, frowned, and faced away from the door.
His chest heaved, as if he were enduring some kind of pain.
Upon closer inspection, this man was one of the trusted centurions who had accompanied the Viscount to recruit soldiers near the capital that day, along with [ Practice More If You're Bad ]. However, he did not seem to be in a good mood at the moment... or rather, he seemed to be in a very bad mood.
The cheers grew louder and louder. The centurion tossed and turned in bed a few more times, then sat up abruptly as if waking from a nightmare, his face contorted with rage as he looked toward the tent entrance.
"Centurion, what are your orders?"
The soldiers waiting at the entrance of the military tent heard the commotion inside and asked with concern.
"Come in."
"Yes!"
The Imperial soldiers guarding the door dared not delay, lifted the curtain and went inside, where they saw the sullen-looking centurion asking:
What's going on outside?
Before the soldier could answer, the centurion began to speak to himself:
"Is it that new guy again? Did he manage to get some credit again?"
Hearing this unfriendly tone, the guard thought to himself, "So you knew," but outwardly he appeared somewhat embarrassed.
"... Yes, I just heard that they caught some kind of the Alliance spy..."
"Damn it!"
Before he could finish speaking, the centurion's anger flared up, and he slammed his fist on the bed beneath him.
The makeshift wooden bed was obviously no match for such force; one leg was instantly smashed to pieces, and the centurion immediately lost his balance.
He tilted his entire body to one side, turned half a circle, and then fell sprawled on the ground in a very unseemly posture.
The guard's expression instantly betrayed his true thoughts, but his desire to live suppressed the urge to move his muscles.
His body trembled almost imperceptibly, then he lowered his head, pretending not to see the farce unfolding before him.
"He's just a quartermaster..."
The centurion, who had gotten up from the ground, said angrily:
"What's there to be so arrogant about?"
Was he really that arrogant?
The guard thought back carefully and couldn't recall anything particularly outrageous about [ Howling Pothos ].
As for the boasting upon returning to camp normally?
That's what you call outrageous?
If I were him, I'd already be riding on the centurion's head, defecating and urinating.
The enraged centurion looked at the guards before him:
"I instructed you to inquire about his symbiotic animals. Has anyone gotten any results?"
The guard thought for a moment and said:
"Few people know about this, but I overheard people talking about it this morning while I was eating. However, it's so outrageous that I can't verify its authenticity."
"Indeed, I can distinguish between truth and falsehood!"
The centurion urged impatiently.
"Yes..."
The guard bowed and agreed, then began to embellish his intelligence source, as if this would allow him to avoid responsibility for inaccurate information.
"I asked many people but to no avail. This morning at breakfast, I overheard a nearby soldier say that he had heard the younger brother of one of the Viscount's personal guards mention it briefly—"
"That one called [ Howling Pothos ] seems to be a border resident near the Theocracy, which is why it uses symbiotic plants instead of animals."
The guard finished speaking cautiously and then looked at the centurion, waiting for his response.
Unexpectedly, a smile appeared on the other person's face.
"Ha, still a barbarian!"
The centurion, as if he had seized upon something, instantly became excited. He jumped up from the lower part of the bed and paced back and forth on the floor:
"A newcomer, and a barbarian at that. No wonder he's so ignorant of etiquette..."
He looked at his trusted guards:
"Do you think there's any way to teach him a lesson and stop this savage from the mountains from being so arrogant?"
The guard was taken aback for a moment upon hearing this.
To mess with him?
You, a centurion, are trying to trip up a demerit officer from another hundred-man squad?
Isn't this a slap in the face to another centurion?
Isn't this kicking the centurion viscount's ass?
Thinking of this, he quickly tried to dissuade him:
"My lord, even if that [ Howling Pothos ] is a savage, he's still a soldier under Lord [ Practice More If You're Bad ], and he was even personally received by the Viscount a couple of days ago..."
In an instant, a murderous gaze swept over the guards:
"So what?"
The guard lowered his head and whispered:
Even though [ the Practice More If You're Bad ] hasn't been in the army for very long, the Viscount's influence...
"What face could a mere kid like him possibly have?"
The centurion scoffed dismissively:
"[ Practice More If You're Bad ] Who is this stray dog? He's just a smooth talker; in terms of seniority, he's not even as good as you! It would be a disgrace to be a centurion alongside him!"
The guard said softly:
"But Viscount..."
Saying this would have been better left unsaid; it only made things worse, like adding fuel to the fire.
"Are you really deaf? What kind of 'Viscount' nonsense is this?"
"When I was serving the Marquis on the frontier, he was still being breastfed at home!"
"A second son who can only change his surname and separate from the family, what kind of viscount is he?"
"I am under his father's command, not his servant!"
As he spoke, he looked at the guard:
"You did a good job on this. Now help me think of an idea, let me think of my requirements..."
"We need to teach that barbarian a lesson, but we can't make too much of a fuss. Ideally, we should make him tuck his tail between his legs and behave himself from now on."
"But we can't be too direct; we still need to give the Viscount face..."
The guard was still making his final appeals:
He's just a savage...
"Isn't this a bit too hurtful to him?"
A murderous intent surged through the guard, who jerked his head back. A large food bowl grazed his head, struck a pillar supporting the tent, and shattered into pieces with a loud crash.
"I'll hurt your mother's head!"
The angry shout rang in his ears. The guard really wanted to run away, but he hadn't answered the centurion's question yet, and the other man clearly wasn't going to let him off so easily.
Including the last time, I've already advised them three times. As their subordinate, I've done more than enough.
Since nothing I said worked, I guess I'd better not come looking for trouble later...
Thinking of this, he steeled himself and whispered:
"My lord, I have a plan."
Tell me about it.
The centurion immediately perked up, and the guard took two steps closer and whispered:
"[ Howling Pothos ] and his barbarian companions followed the path of plants, much like the commoners of the Theocracy."
"I've heard that those vegetative patients in the Theocracy are most afraid of fire. Within the Theocracy, the control over fire is on par with that of weaponry. Except for certain specific individuals, no one else is allowed to even control a source of fire; otherwise, it's a violation of the law."