Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Preparations for the Leap (2)
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“The foundation of all weapons is the spear. So today, we'll start by learning how to handle spears. Grip the part farthest from the spear tip with your right hand, and hold the section about the width of your torso from there with your left hand!”
The serfs heard this and clumsily gripped the spears placed in front of them.
I had thought at first that the spears would be too heavy for the serfs, that they'd drop them or struggle with the weight. But surprisingly, not a single one seemed fatigued just from lifting them.
Once Helmut confirmed that all the serfs had picked up their spears, he pointed to the mercenary standing in front of him and spoke.
“Good. Now, follow that mark over there. Don't hold it flat like you are now—tilt it like that guy. Then, on one, thrust forward. On two, pull the spear back. And be careful not to stab the guy in front of you!”
The serfs gripping their spears tilted them about fifteen degrees upon hearing this.
The mercenary named Mark, seeing this, extended his right arm wide out to the side away from his body while twisting his waist to the right, still holding his spear.
Then, with a swift twist to the left, he thrust his right arm forward.
The long spear, over four meters in length, shot forward as swiftly as a bird in flight.
Even the serfs with their listless expressions couldn't help but think it looked cool; a few let out admiring “oohs.”
“Now, follow along. One!”
Hearing this, the serfs twisted their waists just like Mark had done so impressively moments ago.
Next, they were supposed to swing their arms to the right into position, but...
A few had twisted their waists too far and toppled over, while the rest flailed about desperately to keep from falling.
The sight was so comical for a moment that I nearly burst out laughing, but I barely managed to hold it back.
Helmut looked at the soldiers' bungled attempts and spoke again with a stern expression.
“Back to starting position!”
The serfs returned to their original spear grips upon hearing this.
“Your enthusiasm to mimic Mark is good, but you're still fledglings! Don't try to fly yet. Just slowly match the motion, even if it's a bit larger. Watch me closely!”
With that, Helmut snatched the long spear from the serf at the front, then assumed the ready stance.
Slowly, he extended his right arm outward while twisting his waist, then gradually thrust forward.
He maintained the fifteen-degree angle precisely, and even to me—who knew nothing about spears—the motion against an imagined foe looked impressive.
Finishing the thrust, Helmut planted the butt of the spear on the ground and said,
“Try it at this pace, slowly. One!”
In time with his words, the serfs twisted into thrusting position. This time, none toppled over; all aimed their spear tips at imaginary enemies.
“Two! Thrust!”
Imagining they were driving the tips into foes, the serfs extended toward the unseen enemies.
There was no whoosh of air being cut, and their thrusting arcs were terribly messy, but everyone successfully completed the spear thrust without mishap.
The serfs looked somewhat praiseworthy, having at least managed to stab at the enemy, however sloppily.
“Baldt, what do you think? Not bad at this stage, right?”
“Yes, it's decent enough. Showing the fast thrust first, then drilling slowly—it looks good. Once they're proficient, demonstrating it like this helps them spot their own mistakes while thrusting.”
“I see. So, how long to make them war-ready?”
Baldt pondered at my question before replying.
“To match those mercenaries, you'd need one or two years daily at minimum. To be worth their keep on the battlefield, about four months at once a week. Otherwise, even good gear won't make them useful.”
That raised a question in my mind.
No matter how untrained the soldiers, I'd read in histories like Romance of the Three Kingdoms or Joseon annals that arming them roughly was still far better than nothing.
Especially in battles like the Imjin War, even untrained militias repelled Japanese forces.
Still, Baldt—with his battlefield experience—surely knew far better than I.
Wanting to learn the harsh realities of war I didn't know, I asked Baldt.
“Why is that? Wouldn't more numbers always be an advantage? Even elites should lose to ten serfs.”
“As you say, ten serfs would usually beat an elite. But... better to show you directly.”
With that, Baldt went to Helmut, conferred, and Helmut halted training.
“All rest!”
After just tens of minutes—or barely an hour—of swinging spears, the serfs collapsed, spears down, faces pale as death.
“Ugh, I'm dying.”
“Tell me about it... Ow... What kind of fate is this? Hours more ahead...”
“Still, training days come with meals. Young Master said something tasty...”
“Wonder what—bread?”
“Meat, maybe? He's always fed us well when he orders stuff.”
After ten minutes of chatter and rest, Helmut ordered assembly.
Dreading punishment, the serfs rushed to line up swiftly.
Once aligned, Helmut commanded again.
“Attention! Spears up, ready for training!”
As the serfs irritably gripped spears and posed, Helmut suddenly grinned.
“I was going to, but I've changed my mind! So, we'll end today's training with a mock battle!”
Hearing training was over, their faces brightened.
“Hate training, huh? Fine! Beat me and two mercenaries with your thirty, and we're done for today! Lose, and two extra hours from now on. Deal?”
“We'll do it!!”
Helmut gave a meaningful smile.
“Good. Front three rows, step forward!!”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Moments later, the matchup of thirty serfs versus Helmut and two mercenaries was set.
The two mercenaries and Helmut held short wooden swords and shields; twenty serfs had long spears, ten wooden swords and shields.
Both sides brimmed with overconfidence, as if thinking, “No way they'll beat us.”
They roughly formed up, and Baldt beside me raised his flag to start.
After a brief standoff, the serfs advanced slowly, spears raised, planning to overwhelm with numbers.
Even their clumsy thirty-man advance tricked the eye from afar into seeing a wall of spears advancing.
In response, Helmut and the mercenaries huddled tight, shields forward.
“Mark, Smith!! Lower shields a bit, knock their spears aside, then bash with wooden swords!! Just beat down three first—no faces!!”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Call me Sir Helmut!”
As distance closed, serfs narrowed the gap steadily.
Spear tips ten paces, five, three... As they neared, Helmut suddenly shielded himself, batted a spear aside, and charged.
The serfs panicked at the mercenary plunging inside their spear reach; even sword-and-shield serfs froze in confusion.
Seizing the gap, Helmut cracked a serf in cloth armor hard with his wooden sword.
Then the flanking mercenaries pummeled dazed serfs with fists, feet, swords—even shields.
After five minutes of whirlwind thrashing to stun them senseless, the thirty serfs surrendered, combat will shattered.
The watching serfs stared blankly at Helmut and the mercenaries.
Even knowing it was trained pros versus raw serfs, I hadn't imagined a ten-to-one rout this easy...
As I pondered, Helmut turned sternly to the others.
“See that?”
Frustrated at losing despite ten-to-one odds—even to war pros—no one replied.
Helmut chuckled.
“Ridiculous, right? But if this were a battlefield, you'd all be dead. Isn't that so?”
The serfs reluctantly nodded.
“That's why you train. Or you die. You could ask me—or Young Master—why such harsh training.”
Helmut posed his own question, then answered.
“To protect this territory, your families. You're already eating better than city folk, living richly. 'Barley Hill' famine is gone even from your kids' memories. And everyone around covets, wants to plunder this bounty. That's why. Anyone still dissatisfied, step forward.”
Time passed, but none spoke.
As Helmut continued, I interjected.
“Helmut said step up if dissatisfied, but honestly, who would after that? Right? Even if Count Nant asked me, I'd hide complaints. Same for you?”
They nodded in agreement.
“But endure a bit. To guard your property, families, survive war—even one more—you need this training to last. Fail, and your wives, kids get plundered.”
The mood sobered; resolve flickered back in their eyes.
Seeing the reaction I wanted, I smiled at them.
“Effort to protect your property looks good. It's loyalty to me too, so as thanks, today's meal is special. Training days ahead, I'll ensure food—no complaints, just follow diligently.”
I passed through the standing serfs, back to Baldt's spot.
Soon, wagons laden with serfs' dinner arrived.
Inside: cheap beer to pair with their meal.
As serfs enjoyed food and beer, they griped about training—but thankfully, my persuasion worked; no blame toward me.
Relieved convincing serfs for war was easier than thought.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The next day, shocking news arrived from Kroitel Barony.