Chapter 75: Southern Training Camp (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 75: Southern Training Camp (1)
Ten days had passed since they left Dmitry.
Roman finally arrived at the last staging ground before the Southern Front.
It was a lordless territory, a town that had naturally sprung up around opportunistic merchants looking to profit off those marching to the battlefield. To wash away the fatigue of their long journey before entering the Southern Training Camp, Roman secured an inn.
"We will rest here today and head to the Southern Training Camp at first light tomorrow."
"Yes, sir!"
Everyone's expressions brightened.
In truth, they hadn't expected such luxurious accommodations. Most nobles would relegate their soldiers to shabby quarters or stables while keeping the best rooms for themselves. But Roman had rented out an entire large, pristine inn just to ensure his men got proper rest. Loyalty naturally welled up within their chests. The soldiers lugging the baggage inside moved with brisk, excited steps.
Meanwhile, Roman headed to his room to unpack.
Settling into a chair, he pulled out and reread a letter he had received a month ago.
[I have heard the news that you intend to fulfill your military duty. If you were to say the word and become my man, I would resolve this matter immediately. However, knowing your stubborn resolve to dedicate yourself to the country, I will not stop you. Still, I cannot allow someone who might become my man to ruin his health in the harsh environment of the front lines. I have pulled some strings to have you stationed on the Southern Front. Always keep this in mind: whenever you feel the need for help, the Benedict Family will be waiting right by your side.]
For the past few months, Roman had been the target of Marquis Benedict's relentless overtures.
As the leader of the Noble Faction, the Marquis desperately wanted to recruit fresh talent to counter the Royal Knights. Roman's emergence had struck him like a stroke of destiny. The youngest ranker in the Cairo Kingdom. Marquis Benedict couldn't help but feel a burning anxiety to secure him. Despite Roman's repeated rejections, the Marquis had continuously tried to win him over with endless favors.
And now, thanks to Marquis Benedict's connections, Roman had been assigned to the Southern Front.
Just as the Marquis had claimed, compared to the Western Front—which was in direct conflict with the Kronos Empire—the Southern Front was considered a peaceful resort with little danger. However, Roman’s own intelligence painted a very different picture. Mackin of the Valhalla Intelligence Bureau had described the Southern Front as a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. At the time, Roman hadn't even known he would be stationed there, but to prepare for any contingency, he had ordered Lucas to investigate the region thoroughly.
'In the end, I'll only know for sure once I see it for myself.'
If the intelligence was accurate, he hadn't been assigned to some idle vacation spot.
Knowing he might have a grueling schedule ahead, Roman decided to get some sleep.
However, his eyes didn't stay closed for long.
Crash!
From directly below, the raucous shouting of brawling men echoed through the floorboards. When Roman stepped downstairs, he found a chaotic scene unfolding in the main hall.
Thud!
"You worthless scum! Do you have any idea who I am? I am Henry Albert, the second son of the Albert Family! A descendant of a prestigious family of the Cairo Kingdom wishes to use this inn, and you rootless bastards dare to stand in my way? Get the hell out of here right now!"
The situation was obvious.
His men were being unilaterally harassed.
Still, to confirm the facts, Roman spoke up as he descended the stairs. "What is going on here?"
"My lord!"
Chris looked visibly relieved. Having been on the absolute verge of exploding just moments ago, he reported the situation with a flushed face.
"Well, it's like this..."
The situation was exactly as it appeared.
While the soldiers were resting comfortably thanks to Roman's consideration, this fellow claiming to be the second son of the Albert Family had barged in with his troops. He immediately started screaming at everyone to get out. He clearly wanted to monopolize the inn since it was the largest and cleanest in the area, but regardless of his petty desires, Roman's men had no reason to vacate.
Furthermore...
'The Albert Family is hardly what one would call prestigious.'
They weren't completely nameless. They had once enjoyed fleeting fame by producing a few outstanding talents, but after recklessly overextending their influence, they had been beaten down by surrounding factions. They were a family clinging to the illusions of their past glory. By the standards of the Northeast region, they might still be considered a formidable power. But truthfully, even if the opponent had hailed from a genuinely prestigious family, Roman's reaction would have been exactly the same.
"Why should we leave?" Roman asked, stepping forward.
Instantly, Henry's fierce gaze snapped toward him. "Are you the master of these punks?"
"I am."
"Then read the damn room. I don't know what backwater estate you crawled out of, but I, Henry Albert, need to use this inn. Since we're both heading to the Southern Training Camp anyway, you should know very well that making an enemy out of me won't do you any favors. I'll give you exactly ten minutes. Clear all this trash out of my sight."
He was brimming with arrogant confidence.
The crest of the Dmitry Family was something he had never seen before in his life. Henry Albert had simply judged his opponent to be an easy target, leading to his current tyrannical behavior.
'Is this the reality of Dmitry?'
A frog in a well.
Dmitry was a powerhouse, but only within the Northeast region. Naturally, families from other territories had no reason to recognize their crest, and among nobles, there was no obligation to show respect to an unknown house. Most of the families stationed on the Southern Front were influential figures within the Cairo Kingdom, so conventional wisdom dictated backing down to avoid unnecessary trouble.
However, Roman found the way Henry was glaring down his nose at him highly irritating.
"I have no intention of vacating this inn. But there is a very simple way to resolve a situation like this."
His demeanor shifted completely.
Dropping any pretense of politeness, Roman drew his sword for all to see.
"Draw your sword. If you defeat me, I will gladly hand over the inn."
It was a blatant provocation.
Henry's face flushed a furious red. How dare he. Not only did this countryside bastard speak down to him, but he also dared to show open hostility. It was utterly unforgivable.
But just as Henry reached for his hilt, the knight standing beside him turned deathly pale and grabbed his arm.
"My lord, you must stop immediately! That is Roman Dmitry! He is the swordsman who recently became the youngest ranker!"
At those words, Henry's body froze solid.
In that instant, a terrifying chill ran down his spine. Still locked in his stance to draw his sword, Henry's eyebrows began to tremble.
'...That bastard is Roman Dmitry?'
The youngest ranker of Cairo.
There wasn't a single person in the kingdom who didn't know that name. It was natural not to recognize the crest of Dmitry, a peripheral family, but Roman's fame for defeating Homeros at the mere age of twenty-five was immense. The fact that he was still an unofficial ranker didn't matter. If the Temple of Valhalla had acknowledged Roman's ranking, he was certainly not a man who was all talk.
"Draw your sword." Roman urged him once again.
Seeing Roman waiting with a maddeningly relaxed expression, Henry swallowed hard.
'If I draw my sword, I'll die.'
There were certain dark rumors surrounding Roman.
During the war with Barco, Roman Dmitry hadn't been satisfied with merely cornering his opponents. He had personally marched into Barco territory and slaughtered the eldest son of the family. That incident had cemented his notoriety. A bloodless, tearless devil who wiped out his enemies root and branch. Along with his reputation as a ranker, the terrifying, ruthless nature of Roman Dmitry's character had spread far and wide.
Because of that, Henry quietly averted his gaze.
His pride was deeply wounded. As a son of the Albert Family, he had never been taught to bow his head. But he had no intention of letting his pride get him killed. If the man standing before him was truly the protagonist of those bloody rumors, pride meant absolutely nothing; escaping this immediate, life-threatening danger was the only priority.
His overbearing confidence vanished without a trace.
Henry took a cautious step back and muttered in a tiny, trembling voice, "I... I just remembered I have an urgent appointment. Let's consider this matter settled with my apology. Count yourself lucky. If it were up to me, anyone who dared to insult the Albert Family would... Eek!"
Tap.
Roman took a single step forward. Henry shrieked in sheer terror and bolted out the inn's front doors.
Left without their leader, the Albert troops had no other choice. They scrambled out of the inn in a chaotic, humiliating rush.
Watching them flee, Roman let out a dry chuckle.
'Is this the reality of the Southern Front?'
The Southern Front.
A glorified resort for spoiled noble children.
That reality was unfolding right before his very eyes. And the incident with Henry was not a one-time occurrence. That same day, similar altercations happened three more times. Every single one of them retreated in a panicked hurry the moment they heard the name "Roman Dmitry."
Watching the pathetic displays, the innkeeper finally spoke up.
"This is a common sight around here, my lord. Unlike the Western Front, which faces the constant threat of the Kronos Empire, the Southern Front maintains amicable relations with the Hector Kingdom. There is no major danger. That's why noble children who can't dodge the draft pull every string they can to get stationed here. There's a reason it's called a resort for young masters. The training is lax, and there's no need to risk one's life, making it the perfect place to safely coast through their military service."
The West and the South.
Even though they belonged to the exact same kingdom, the circumstances were like night and day.
While the forces drafted to the Western Front literally put their lives on the line in brutal combat, the forces on the Southern Front were mostly idle playboys. Consequently, petty conflicts constantly erupted at this final staging ground before the Southern Training Camp. Just like Henry, these nobles had lived their entire lives without ever being denied anything in their own territories. Even if someone else had booked an inn first, they would recklessly throw tantrums to get their way.
It was a laughable situation.
Even before entering the training camp, the pathetic reality of the Southern Front was already crystal clear.
Rustle.
Roman unfolded a map.
It was a comprehensive intelligence report regarding the Southern Front, packed with detailed data on every subdivided zone.
'Forty-eight days ago, scouts from the Hector Kingdom crossed the border. They returned to their country after observing the movements of the Southern Front, but even after that, they showed up to probe our defenses no less than three times. It is still uncertain whether they truly have a clear intention of starting a war. However, even with the fragmentary information I have gathered, the Southern Front is by no means a safe haven.'
Wars always had warning signs.
The ominous warning from the Valhalla Intelligence Bureau. The unusual movements of the Hector Kingdom monitoring the border. While these did not guarantee an immediate outbreak of war, the signs were glaringly obvious based on his own investigations.
It was for this exact reason that Roman had been ruthlessly training his soldiers.
If war did not break out during his two-year stint on the Southern Front, he would simply spend his time in peace. However, regardless of the probability, a true warrior always prepared for the worst-case scenario. The pampered nobles who came to the Southern Front did not prepare for war, neither mentally nor physically. But unlike those idle forces who made no preparations whatsoever, Roman and his men had spent the past few months enduring a truly hellish training regimen.
If war were to break out, he had no intention of relying on the trash of the Southern Front who had come here for a vacation.
He would survive on his own power and lay the groundwork for his future ambitions.
"War, is it?"
At the tip of his nose, he could already smell the familiar, metallic scent of blood.