Chapter 76: Southern Training Camp (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 76: Southern Training Camp (2)
The next day.
Roman entered the Southern Training Camp as scheduled.
It was a mandatory basic course required before deployment to the battlefield. Various nobles, including Roman, arrived leading their private soldiers. The nobles' expressions were universally grim. Not a single one had enlisted voluntarily. If their loyalty to the country had truly been that great, they would have headed to the Western Front, where help was desperately needed, instead of using loopholes to scurry off to the Southern Front.
When the enlistment ceremony began, a man who appeared to be the commander stepped forward.
"I am Viscount Veil Frank, commander of the Southern Training Camp. As you all know, this camp is where basic military training is provided to soldiers deploying to the Southern Front. You will receive three weeks of training here, after which you will be assigned to a Reserve Unit to serve out the remainder of your enlistment."
Basic training, followed by assignment to a Reserve Unit.
The process was identical for both the West and the South.
However, while Southern forces had absolutely no reason to step onto a battlefield once assigned to a Reserve Unit, Western forces faced constant warfare, rendering the very concept of a "Reserve Unit" meaningless. Thus, a saying circulated among the soldiers: A soldier who meets a good master and goes South will return fat and plump, but a soldier who leaves for the West will never return in one piece.
They were polar opposites.
One could tell just by looking at the atmosphere of the enlistment ceremony.
Devoid of any battlefield solemnity, the nobles yawned widely, clearly bored by Viscount Veil's speech.
"There is one thing you must keep in mind during your stay at the Southern Training Camp," Veil continued. "No matter what your status was before you entered, here, you are merely soldiers performing your military duty. Anyone who violates the rules of the Southern Training Camp and acts without authorization will be sent to the Western Front as punishment."
It was a laughable statement.
To think that deployment to the Western Front was used as a punishment.
The absurd part was that the threat actually worked.
Being transferred from the Southern Front to the Western Front was a nightmare ordinary nobles hated to even imagine. Unsurprisingly, they began to pay a bit more attention to the ceremony.
The speech was short.
Having said his piece, Viscount Veil dismissed the troops.
"Everyone, unpack your bags in your assigned quarters. The training schedule will be announced separately this evening."
Enlistment was complete.
From this moment on, they belonged to the Southern Training Camp.
As Roman prepared to head to his quarters with the others, a soldier approached and spoke to him quietly.
"The commander wishes to see you privately."
Viscount Veil.
Roman’s suspicion that their eyes had kept meeting throughout the speech hadn't been a mere illusion.
*
Upon entering the commander's office, Roman was immediately welcomed by a bright smile from Viscount Veil—an expression that had been nowhere to be seen during the enlistment ceremony.
"Welcome! Was the journey to the South too exhausting?"
"No. There were no issues."
"Please, sit here."
Scrape.
Viscount Veil personally pulled out a chair for him.
It was an awkward level of hospitality.
Even though this was the first time they had ever met, the Viscount acted as if they were old friends.
"Do you know how thrilled I was when I heard you were being deployed to the Southern Front? Roman Dmitry, the youngest Ranker in the Cairo Kingdom! Ah, I was overjoyed to hear that a Hidden Dragon had been born in Dmitry. Oh, right, would you like some coffee?"
"Yes, thank you."
Viscount Veil hummed as he brewed the coffee.
Normally, this was an aide's job.
Yet, he moved personally, making a cup for both himself and Roman. The office was quickly filled with the rich aroma of coffee. He placed a cup in front of Roman with a gentle smile.
Clink.
"Drink up and listen. Actually, the reason I called you here privately is to ask you one thing. Rumor has it that Marquis Benedict exerted his influence to have you deployed to the Southern Front. Is that true?"
Unilateral goodwill always had an underlying purpose.
Though Viscount Veil drank his coffee calmly as if it were nothing, his eyes burned with ambition as he looked at Roman.
Whatever the intention behind the question, Roman, who pursued neutrality, had no reason to hide the truth.
"Yes. I did not make a personal request, but I heard that Marquis Benedict arranged it."
"Is that so?"
Viscount Veil's face lit up.
In truth, he had already verified the rumors to some extent.
Still, he wanted to confirm it directly through Roman, and upon receiving the answer he wanted, he couldn't hide his joy.
"I see. I'll get straight to the point. I want to get on Marquis Benedict's good side. The Southern Training Camp isn't a bad place, but it can't compare to a luxurious life in the Central Government. Therefore, I will accommodate you to the absolute best of my ability during your stay here. You, whom Marquis Benedict cherishes so much, will want for nothing. I don't intend to ask for much in return. Just one thing. When you meet Marquis Benedict later, simply tell him that a man named Viscount Veil Frank took good care of you at the Southern Training Camp. That is all I ask."
It was a remarkably blatant proposition.
Veil Frank.
Like the Dmitry family, he hailed from the fringes, but he harbored a grand dream of one day entering the Central Government.
However, until now, no matter how much he struggled, he had found no path forward.
While the Southern Training Camp was in a position to receive favors from numerous noble families, Marquis Benedict was not someone a man of his level could easily approach. The core of the Central Government was a realm Viscount Veil dared not even look up to. For someone with absolutely no connections to establish a foothold there, he needed a master key.
Specifically, a master key named Roman Dmitry.
'Marquis Benedict is putting considerable effort into Roman Dmitry. If Roman ever swears loyalty to the Marquis, he could pull me into the Central Government since we formed a connection at the Southern Training Camp. This is an opportunity. A golden opportunity to enter the Central Government that won't come around again.'
He had no intention of hiding his motives.
This was a transaction.
A deal where Roman only had to say a single word in exchange for a comfortable life at the Southern Training Camp.
The Southern Front.
It was a place where even the commander was corrupt.
Even as he openly requested an illicit favor, not a shred of shame could be seen on Viscount Veil's face.
'Amusing.'
Roman suppressed a smirk.
Marquis Benedict and Viscount Veil.
They were not people he intended to walk alongside for the rest of his life.
But at least for now, there was no reason to refuse the goodwill being offered to him.
Roman spoke.
"Understood. I will not forget your kindness, Viscount."
Just that much.
Roman maintained his boundaries while accepting the favor.
*
Leaving the commander's office, Roman was about to return to his quarters when he ran into a familiar face along the way.
"There you are!"
It was Henry Albert.
The fool who had caused a scene at the inn.
Unlike when he had fled in a hurry, Henry now wore a triumphant look on his face.
"I've been thinking about it carefully. No matter how I look at it, I don't think I did anything wrong enough to warrant apologizing to you. Frankly speaking, Dmitry is just a baron family from the fringes. I, the second son of the Albert Family, simply wanted to use the inn. It makes no sense for you to rush in and start a fight just because you found that offensive, does it?"
Last night, Henry had been unable to sleep.
He was too furious.
Having been raised as the precious golden child of his family, he could not accept being humiliated by someone from a mere baron family. The fact that Roman was the youngest Ranker didn't matter to him. From what he had heard, the Dmitry family was of commoner origin, a vulgar household that, unlike his own, couldn't even be considered true nobles.
His stomach had boiled with rage all night.
He had only been waiting for tomorrow.
He firmly believed that once they entered the Southern Training Camp, even Roman wouldn't dare treat him lightly.
Yet, seeing Roman's completely indifferent reaction, Henry flared up and pressed him.
"You messed with the wrong person. Do you know what family my mother originally came from? The Frank Family. Now you're starting to realize what kind of mistake you made, aren't you? That's right, Viscount Veil Frank, the commander of the Southern Training Camp, is my maternal uncle! So apologize right now. If you admit your mistake in front of my soldiers, I will make a special exception and keep this from my uncle."
The mighty background he relied on was none other than Viscount Veil.
No matter if Roman Dmitry was the youngest Ranker, as long as he was in the Southern Training Camp, he couldn't possibly ignore the commander's authority.
Henry Albert was confident.
This time, at least, he was absolutely certain of his victory.
However...
"So?"
"...Huh?"
"Your uncle is the commander of the Southern Training Camp. What of it?"
"Y-You, can't you grasp the situation? My uncle clearly said during the enlistment ceremony that anyone who violates the rules of the camp will be sent to the Western Front. Those rules don't just refer to a soldier's duties. Those who fall out of my uncle's favor—for example, bastards like you—are also included in that scope!"
He was flustered.
To think Roman would react so brazenly even after learning his uncle's identity.
A cold sweat broke out on Henry's back.
At the terrifying thought that Roman might draw his sword again, Henry slunk backward.
"You don't seem to know what kind of state you'll end up in if you get sent to the Western Front! Even if you are a 3-Star Aura Swordsman, dying takes only an instant. You, stay right here. I'm going to bring my uncle, so let's see if you can still be as confident then as you are now!"
It was one step back to take two steps forward.
Even then, Henry Albert firmly believed that his uncle would solve all of his problems.
*
"Uncle!"
At Henry's appearance, Viscount Veil smiled brightly.
"Oh, my nephew is here?"
Henry Albert.
To ordinary people, he might be an arrogant piece of trash, but to Viscount Veil, he was a beloved nephew and the absolute apple of his eye. He closely resembled Henry's mother, Viscount Veil's younger sister. Seeing his brown hair and mischievous appearance made Viscount Veil's eyes practically drip with honey as he looked affectionately at his nephew.
"But why does my nephew look so miserable?" he asked, belatedly noticing Henry's expression.
At Viscount Veil's question, Henry poured out his grievances as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Uncle. What would you do if my life was threatened by someone from a mere baron family?"
"What?! What son of a bitch threatened you?"
Viscount Veil sprang up from his seat.
Someone dared threaten his precious nephew?
He didn't need to hear any more explanations.
With a flushed face, he grabbed the scabbard hanging on the wall and urged Henry forward.
"Take me to that bastard right now. How dare anyone touch my nephew at the Southern Training Camp? Your uncle will crush him completely."
"Really?!"
Henry's face brightened.
If his uncle personally stepped in, this matter was as good as settled.
As long as they were in the Southern Training Camp, the commander's power was absolute, wasn't it?
He hurried his steps.
Fearing that Roman might have run away, Henry rushed ahead and arrived at the spot before Viscount Veil did.
"That's him."
He pointed his finger at the target.
Roman Dmitry.
The fool hadn't run away.
Seeing that he had actually waited just because he was told to, Henry curled the corners of his mouth in triumph.
Viscount Veil arrived a moment later.
Instantly, his expression froze.
He closed and opened his eyes.
He looked back and forth between Henry's and Roman's faces.
He desperately wanted to deny that the "bastard" in question was Roman, but there was no one else at the scene.
And Henry's expression was practically begging him to punish Roman right away.
Viscount Veil suddenly felt dizzy.
'This crazy bastard is trying to block my path to the Central Government!'
His judgment was swift.
Before Henry could utter a single word, Viscount Veil's large palm swung out, slapping Henry hard across the cheek.
Slap!
A crisp sound rang out.
Henry's triumphant face was violently whipped to the side.