Chapter 79: Southern Training Camp (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 79: Southern Training Camp (5)
The day he saw the recruitment notice for private soldiers, Henderson made up his mind.
‘I want to become Roman Dmitry's man.’
Lawrence Square.
He could never forget what had happened there.
Henderson and the other townspeople had been going about their ordinary lives when Roman Dmitry shattered the peace. People gasped, covering their mouths in shock. The heinous criminal, Ben Miles, was dragged along by his hair, clutched tightly in Roman's grasp, leaving a trail of blood dripping onto the cobblestones with every step.
And then, Roman executed Ben Miles.
Declaring that he would never forgive Blood Fang for sucking the lifeblood out of Dmitry's people, Roman had willingly stained his own hands with blood.
Henderson had been utterly captivated by that sight.
And so, Henderson, who had been just another face in the crowd at Lawrence Square, applied to become a private soldier.
‘A private soldier probably doesn't need any grand qualifications.’
That was his initial thought.
Since he wasn't applying to a prestigious noble house's knightly order, but rather to be part of Roman Dmitry's personal retinue, he assumed the barrier to entry wouldn't be high.
But to his surprise, the reality Henderson faced after barely scraping through the selection process was entirely different.
His peers were far from ordinary.
Chris and Kevin were experts who could wield Aura, as they had proven in the Great Warrior Battle. Then there were veteran mercenaries like Lucas and Puki. Out of everyone, Henderson was the only one who could be considered a completely ordinary person.
It must have started then.
As the training progressed, Henderson fell into a spiral of self-doubt.
‘...Can I really be of any help here?’
For the first few weeks, Henderson felt entirely lost.
Watching the other soldiers keep up with the grueling training so easily, he felt like he didn't belong.
To be completely honest, unlike those strong-hearted men who hadn't even blinked during the test where arrows were fired right at their faces, hadn't he been trembling so hard he felt like he would wet himself? Even now, his heart pounded just thinking about it. In a den teeming with wild beasts, he felt like a lone herbivore.
He agonized over it for a while.
In the end, Henderson sought out Chris and confessed,
"...I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm qualified to serve Lord Roman Dmitry."
It was a realistic judgment. For the sake of the unit, he believed stepping down was the right thing to do.
Chris asked,
"What makes you think that?"
"You know the reason well, sir. Unlike the others, I'm a novice who doesn't even know how to swing a sword properly. I can't keep up with the training, nor do I excel at anything else. For someone like me, who has done nothing but farm his entire life, to step forward and swear to follow Lord Roman Dmitry... I think it was sheer arrogance on my part."
"Are you saying you want to give up simply because your skill level is lower than the rest?"
"Yes."
Had this been before he met Roman, Chris would have agreed with Henderson.
But now, things were different.
"When I first saw Kevin, he was nothing but a greenhorn with venom in his eyes. Honestly, I couldn't understand why our Lord would take in a young boy from the slums. But does Kevin still look weak to you now? No. In a short span of time, Kevin has grown into a warrior no one can ignore."
"...Is that really true?"
"Yeah. And the funny thing is, I was the same. When I first met our Lord, I foolishly challenged him and got all my front teeth knocked out for it. Back then, I was just a frog in a well. But just as the Kevin of the past and the Kevin of today are completely different, the me of the past and the me of today have also transformed under our Lord's teachings. So what on earth are you worried about? Our Lord judged that you were worth accepting as a private soldier. You might be pathetic right now, but just like Kevin and me, you have the potential to grow. Roman Dmitry—the master we serve—is someone who can make that a reality."
Thump, thump.
Henderson's heart pounded.
Kevin was a tenacious bastard acknowledged by everyone in the unit.
Yet even someone like him had been nothing but a worthless slum boy before meeting Roman.
‘Could I become like that too?’
He couldn't be sure.
But hearing those stories made his chest burn with newfound heat.
"...To be honest, I still don't trust myself. I can't even imagine a simple farmer becoming strong like the rest of you. But as you said, Sir Chris, I will trust our Lord's eye. The fact that he chose me out of so many applicants must mean there's a reason. I will devote myself to my training. And from now on, I won't ever bother you with this kind of nonsense again."
That day, Henderson changed his mindset.
And from then on, his life began to change.
* * *
For the past few months, Henderson had clung to his training as if his life depended on it.
All to avoid being a disgrace as Roman's man.
Even if he threw up after training every day, or fainted right in the middle of it, Henderson pushed forward with sheer spite just to catch up to his comrades. Through that hell, he had finally managed to forge the body he possessed today.
That was exactly why, looking at the conscripts who had been given a whole year to prepare, Henderson raised his voice in anger.
"What do you bastards think war is? When you're thrown onto the boundary of life and death, where you have to kill others just to survive, are you going to tell the enemy you couldn't fight because your preparation time was too short? Pathetic bastards. A year is enough time to sow a crop and harvest it! You lived complacently all this time, and now you're making pathetic excuses about not having enough time, or how you couldn't help it because you're just conscripts!"
When war begins, you have to protect your own life.
Even if you were dragged here as a conscript, you could at least make a difference depending on how hard you pushed yourself.
But what about the soldiers of the other nobles?
They didn't even possess the bare minimum qualifications.
Seeing those soldiers grumbling at him, Henderson sneered.
"Today's training might have been tough for you lot who spent the last year living without a single thought in your heads. But listen closely. If you realize you're lacking, shouldn't the normal reaction be to try and catch up, rather than whining to us? Why on earth are you making the ridiculous request for us to drop down to your level?"
Roman had ordered them to prepare for war during this deployment to the Southern Front.
Henderson and Roman's other soldiers had trained as if they were already in active combat. While they couldn't call themselves perfect, they were ready to face war the moment it broke out. That was why they found the other soldiers' reactions so utterly incomprehensible. Despite standing on the exact same military base, these men were pathetically optimistic about reality.
Henderson's words were viciously sharp.
The other nobles' soldiers snapped their mouths shut.
Knowing that Henderson's own preparation period hadn't even been half a year, they had absolutely nothing to say in return.
"Idiots."
Henderson turned on his heel.
Even after today, those men probably wouldn't change. But Henderson would continue to train passionately tomorrow, and the day after that.
Because it was the will of their master, Roman Dmitry.
In their hearts, Roman's soldiers were already fighting a war.
* * *
The training continued.
It was extreme physical conditioning.
Even as the intensity ramped up day by day, Roman's soldiers gritted their teeth and pushed through to the bitter end.
The gap between them and the other soldiers was vast.
Perhaps because their pride was wounded by this overwhelming difference, the spectating nobles began to voice their complaints.
"I don't understand why they're overdoing it like that."
"I know, right? If this were the Western Front where battles break out constantly, I'd understand, but the Southern Front is practically a world away from war. Honestly, because of try-hards like them, our boys are the ones suffering."
"Well, those of vulgar birth always waste their energy on meaningless things. If they don't do at least that much, how else would the Dmitry family ever get any recognition?"
"Exactly! Hahaha!"
They openly mocked Roman.
To them, it was ridiculous.
The Southern Training Camp was famous in noble society as a place to spend a two-year vacation, so why on earth were they training so desperately here? It would make sense if it were the Western Training Camp. There, if you achieved merit, you would be rewarded accordingly. But the Southern Training Camp didn't even force nobles to train in the first place.
Under the scorching sun, Roman's face was flushed red with heat.
Watching him undergo the grueling training right alongside his soldiers, the nobles couldn't help but think he was a fool.
Among the nobles resting in the shade was Henry Albert.
Unlike the others who openly mocked Roman, Henry only grew more anxious the longer he watched him.
‘...How on earth am I supposed to win over a guy like that?’
He was truly a bizarre character.
If Roman had any interest in hedonism like the other nobles, Henry could have at least used that to strike up a conversation. But here he was, sweating uselessly and training on the Southern Front. Their mindsets were fundamentally different. Honestly, if it weren't for the strict orders of his maternal uncle, Viscount Veil, Henry would have gladly joined the other nobles in mocking him.
But he couldn't.
Just thinking about being assigned to the same unit as a guy like that in the future was already giving him a headache.
‘Seriously, does he have some kind of safety obsession? Since we're at the Southern Training Camp, wouldn't it be nice to just chat and socialize with fellow nobles? Sigh, those with commoner blood really don't know how to relax. Ah, whatever. I'm sure it'll work out somehow.’
He sprawled out in the shade.
The sun was sweltering.
Though he could hear the distant, rhythmic shouts of the soldiers chanting, he closed his eyes, basking in the cool shade.
By the time he woke up from a sweet nap, this tedious training would probably be over.
* * *
At that same hour, at the Southern Front's 1st Defense Line.
Atop the high stone walls, Cairo's soldiers kept watch over the border.
"Ugh, I'm exhausted."
"Did something happen yesterday?"
"Don't even ask. I was up all night playing cards with the guys from the 2nd Unit. I barely got two hours of sleep."
The soldier's face was etched with fatigue.
He wasn't even looking at the border properly.
After a quick, lazy glance to see if anyone was below the wall, he unclipped the canteen from his waist and unscrewed the cap.
Pop.
The sharp scent of alcohol tickled his nose.
The soldier next to him asked in surprise,
"Did you seriously bring booze on duty?"
"What do you mean, 'seriously'? It's not like this is the first time someone's snuck alcohol in their canteen. You need to loosen up a bit. Who's ever going to attack here anyway? What's the harm in having a little drink? Besides, this actually helps with efficiency. It's better to have a sip to wake up than to miss something on the border because you're dozing off."
"But..."
"If you don't want any, suit yourself. More for me."
Gulp, gulp.
The soldier chugged the alcohol.
A burning sensation rushed down his throat.
Watching his companion let out a satisfied sigh, the other soldier on duty finally couldn't resist the temptation.
"Give me a sip too."
"I knew you'd cave."
The Southern Front.
This was a common sight here.
A long peace had bred deep complacency, and in all the years they had served like this, no major trouble had ever occurred.
However, they failed to notice the danger lurking just beyond the walls.
In the dense thicket near the border, while they were busy drinking, the bushes had visibly rustled.