Chapter 32: Recruitment (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 32: Recruitment (5)
This was nothing like the social gatherings of the past.
The Roman of those days had been a flashy, meticulously groomed peacock of an aristocrat. Now, he was fully armed, looking ready to march onto a battlefield at a moment's notice. His aura alone was extraordinary. The crowd instinctively parted to make way for him, splitting to either side. They dared not meet his eyes, bowing their heads instead.
The gazes of the crowd.
Their terrified reactions.
Roman accepted them as a matter of course.
Even in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, where he had been crowned the new Heavenly Demon.
Even when he slaughtered the Righteous Faction martial artists who rushed at him like a tidal wave and conquered the Murim.
Roman—no, Baek Joong-hyuk—had lived as an absolute ruler. He knew exactly how to carry himself.
Step. Step.
He walked forward. The people exchanged nervous glances, completely unable to understand the situation.
Drawn by the rumors surrounding Roman Dmitry, they had applied for the private soldier recruitment. Some had even arrogantly believed they were overqualified for the role. However, upon meeting Roman in the flesh, all those preconceived notions shattered. The aura he naturally exuded and his attitude of taking their reverence for granted proved he was a being entirely set apart from ordinary men. Even the men who had been boisterously chattering just moments ago were now utterly speechless.
A heavy silence hung in the air.
Finally, Roman came to a halt before the crowd. Looking out over the five hundred people bowing their heads toward him, Roman spoke in a calm, flat tone.
"Raise your heads."
It was an absolute command.
The crowd obeyed. Roman hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, yet they were already swept up in his overwhelming presence.
"As stated in the announcement, I will use this opportunity to select thirty soldiers to fight for me. But before the test begins, there is something you must know. I, Roman Dmitry, have no intention of idling my life away in some backwater territory. I will constantly fight to seize a higher position, and risking our lives in battle along that path is an inescapable destiny. Therefore, if any of you intend to follow me with a half-hearted attitude, turn back now. When your head is severed on the battlefield, your final regret won't be resentment toward me for leading you there. It will be the sorrow of no longer being able to stand by my side as I rise to become the greatest on the continent."
"...!"
The crowd gasped in shock.
Roman's declaration was pure arrogance. Forget being the greatest on the continent; Roman Dmitry's position as the successor within his own family was precarious at best. Yet, here he was, speaking of conquering the continent in front of hundreds of witnesses.
The problem was, no one could bring themselves to laugh. The sheer charisma he exuded and the unwavering conviction in his voice created the terrifying illusion that such a thing might actually happen.
They knew his words were nonsense. Yet, those who had come chasing rumors and ideals found themselves unable to turn away.
Roman spoke once more.
"If you pass this test and become my men, you will live the life of a predator—one who dictates their own destiny. I, Roman Dmitry, promise you at least that much."
That was all.
Roman Dmitry took a step back. The curtain had finally risen on the test.
* * *
There was no cheering. Only a suffocating tension.
As the crowd remained unable to tear their eyes away from Roman, Chris stepped forward.
"I will now explain how the first test will be conducted."
Five hundred applicants.
Lucas thought the caliber of the men was higher than expected, but by Roman's standards, they were nothing more than a ragtag mob. Most of them probably couldn't withstand a single strike from Chris's sword. However, for now, this was the most efficient way to recruit soldiers. Besides, starting from the absolute bottom was hardly an unfamiliar situation for Roman.
After emerging from the 12th Cave, Baek Joong-hyuk had formed his very first group. Back then, he was also surrounded by ragtag underlings, but Baek Joong-hyuk had looked for only one specific quality.
'What I desire is an unbreakable will. Those born with the Heart of a Beast will grow rapidly, even if they start from the absolute bottom. Only such people are fit to walk alongside me.'
The Heart of a Beast.
It was an innate talent. Kevin, who had raised his blade without hesitation at the command to sever his own arm. Chris, who had begged his conqueror to teach him how to become stronger even after a devastating defeat. These were the types born with the Heart of a Beast. No matter how physically strong a faint-hearted person might be, they could never guarantee victory against someone who was fundamentally built differently.
Thirty men. There were no prerequisites. Even if they didn't know how to swing a sword, he wanted the kind of ruthless talent that would grab an enemy's blade with their bare hands for the sake of victory.
Chris spoke up.
"The rules of the test are simple. Once an applicant stands in the designated spot, our archer will fire three arrows at them. The arrows might pierce your body and inflict a fatal wound, or they might narrowly miss and embed themselves in the target board behind you. What is certain is this: only those who do not flinch even an inch while all three arrows are fired will pass the first test."
The first test. It was a pure measure of courage.
* * *
The test began.
As the first applicant stepped forward, Morrison, who was second in line, couldn't hide his mounting anxiety.
'What kind of sick test is this? They've all lost their damn minds!'
Morrison was a commoner. An iron miner by trade, he felt that a life covered in dirt and coal dust was beneath him. He had always dreamed of becoming a splendid knight like Chris. Knowing absolutely nothing of the blood and sweat knights shed to reach their positions, he had merely indulged in childish delusions while admiring armor gleaming in the sunlight.
To someone like him, this private soldier recruitment was a golden opportunity. At the thought of learning martial arts while earning an attractive salary of eight silver, he had immediately quit his job and applied.
Naturally, Morrison had absolutely no intention of actually risking his life.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'
He trembled uncontrollably, thoroughly terrified. Watching the archer nock an arrow, he desperately wanted to deny the reality unfolding before him.
'How the hell am I supposed to trust that archer? No matter how much of a crack shot he is, he can't be perfect all the time! The price of a single mistake is my life! I don't want to die here. I applied to train as a soldier and get a chance to become a knight, not to die a meaningless death!'
Pant, pant.
He breathed heavily. The first applicant stood in the designated spot. Seeing the man looking just as tense as he felt, Morrison stole a glance at Roman's face.
Roman was perfectly calm, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Seeing him completely unconcerned about any potential accidents, Morrison began to spin a comforting narrative in his own head.
'Right. This is just a test. No matter how much Roman Dmitry wants brave soldiers, he wouldn't want a disaster where someone actually dies. The archer conducting the test must be incredibly skilled. He'll never make a mistake. That has to be it. Common sense dictates that no one would follow a murderer who drives people to their deaths during a simple recruitment test.'
He clenched and unclenched his fists. His palms were drenched in sweat.
When he first heard the testing method, his mind had jumped to the worst-case scenario. But thinking about it carefully, he realized Chris had probably driven them into a panic on purpose. Fear stemmed from imagination. Even if the archer possessed flawless marksmanship, the moment Chris warned them they might lose their lives, the applicants had no choice but to face the test in sheer terror.
It was a battle of mental strength.
If he just held his ground, believing that nothing would happen, he was certain the arrows would miss.
'Surely they wouldn't be so barbaric as to actually draw blood during a test, right?'
He finally felt a wave of relief.
But the moment he calmly caught his breath—
Thwack!
"Argh!"
The first applicant collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony.
The first shot had cleanly embedded itself in the board behind him. However, the second arrow veered off course and ruthlessly pierced his thigh.
The heavily built man writhed on the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs as blood spurted from the wound like a fountain. Crimson droplets splattered the dirt. Although Chris and the standby troops immediately rushed in to treat him, the moment the crowd saw blood, Morrison and the remaining applicants turned deathly pale.
They had all seen it. The arrow piercing flesh.
The archer was no master marksman. If the arrow had struck his head instead of his thigh, the applicant would have died on the spot.
"...Crazy."
"Did they really mean we have to be prepared to get shot?"
"This is insane."
The crowd erupted into an uproar. As they shrank back, exchanging terrified glances, Chris, who was busy treating the applicant, smiled inwardly.
'Just as expected.'
The first turn had been entirely staged. The archer was actually a renowned marksman in the region, and the first applicant had known beforehand that he would be shot in the thigh. Even so, he had braced himself and stepped forward. They had agreed in advance to target a non-fatal area, and Roman had paid him a massive reward in return.
It was a lucrative deal. Screaming and thrashing on the ground was simply part of the performance Roman had demanded.
Chris checked the man's condition and confirmed that, just as planned, it wasn't a major injury. However, he deliberately put on a grave expression. He treated the wound with frantic, urgent hands, acting as if the man's life were in imminent danger.
'It is exactly as my lord said. We cannot find the kind of people we want with mere verbal threats. We need to show them that they must truly risk their lives. A single accident. Even if it only happens once in a hundred shots, the applicants will be paralyzed by that one percent chance.'
And this was not the end of the psychological warfare. One in a hundred. There were four more staged victims waiting in line, ensuring the applicants' tension remained at its absolute peak until the very end.
The injured man was moved. Blood dripped onto the dirt as he was carried away on a stretcher. Morrison, who had been steeling his resolve just moments ago, looked like a ghost. He desperately hoped that since such a gruesome accident had occurred on the very first turn, they might implement safety measures or change the testing method.
However, reality was harsh.
"Next."
Chris's cold voice rang out. Seeing the knight wipe the fresh blood from his hands and call for the next applicant, Morrison squeezed his eyes shut.
He declared his forfeit, immediately throwing in the towel.
At that sight, Chris clicked his tongue. It seemed that those not born with the Heart of a Beast would find it impossible to even pass the first test.
"The second applicant has forfeited! Those of you who fear getting pierced by an arrow, give up now. Even if an arrow tears through your flesh, if you grit your teeth and endure it, you will proudly earn the right to pass. So, cowards, get the hell out of this testing ground right now!"
The first test.
The crucible had only just begun.