Practical Training
"Huff! Heave...! Damn it all, is this a training ground or a slaughterhouse for humans?!"
"If you've got the breath to complain, move those legs! You need stamina to handle the weight of a steel sword!"
An impromptu training ground had been set up on the outskirts of Wintervalt Grand Duchy Castle. From early morning, cries of agony echoed across the drill field amid the biting winds.
Some two hundred locals, who'd spent their lives wielding axes and sickles, were on the verge of foaming at the mouth from the grueling physical regimen typically reserved for imperial knight orders.
The only reason they could keep up without collapsing was their rugged upbringing in the harsh north.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
"Your form is too slow! A wolf's claws won't wait for your sluggish excuses! Swing harder if you don't want to die!"
The one-eyed knight, now promoted to inaugural guild master—Walter Knight—demonstrated with fierce swings of his wooden sword, his single eye blazing with intensity.
That eye burned with passion. He'd lost one eye and resigned himself to a life as a forgotten old man in the corner.
He'd thought he'd spend his remaining days wallowing in powerlessness—until His Grace the Grand Duke pulled him back into the light.
And not just that. He'd been entrusted with the heavy task of turning the northern locals into warriors.
'Ah, for my lord's boundless mercy, I'll remake these fools into one-man armies!'
His overflowing loyalty meant innocent locals endured hellish Spartan training.
Group log carries around the parade ground. Rolling in frozen mud. Wooden sword drills.
"I'm losing my mind. Life as a lumberjack was a hundred times happier..."
Some trainees swung their wooden swords with trembling arms, tears streaming down their faces—physiological reactions they couldn't even explain.
"When the hell do we get a break...?"
"We'll drop dead before we even see any monster meat!"
A few hot-blooded trainees huddled, seriously plotting an escape from the training ground.
"Training halt! Everyone, stand by!"
As someone entered the field, the guild master bolted over, leaving the trainees behind.
A group appeared in the exhausted locals' blurred vision.
Leading them was a woman with platinum blonde hair fluttering brilliantly in the wind.
The empire's Fourth Imperial Princess and the north's new power player: Eleanor von Waldemar, Minister of Finance.
Behind her trailed servants pulling carts loaded with massive cauldrons.
"We greet Your Highness!"
Walter dropped to one knee in haste, and the locals scrambled to follow.
The princess nodded gracefully and spoke.
"Sir Walter. The trainees look quite suffering. Is everything all right?"
"We are humbled, Your Highness! But to survive real combat, they must endure this much!"
"I spoke out of turn. You're the expert on training, so we'll just leave this gift and be on our way."
The servants lifted the cauldron lids, and the savory, rich aroma of meat stew exploded across the training ground.
"Gasp...!"
"M-meat! That's meat smell!"
"For real!? I've never smelled meat before!"
Northern locals, who'd subsisted on hard bread their whole lives, rose drooling, ready to plunge their bare hands into the pots if given permission.
Moments later, servings of creamy pork-laden stew and steaming bread began distribution to the trainees.
Thanks to the solar mana shunned by the imperial court as ominous, hundreds of portions stayed piping hot despite the subzero chill.
The bread, which should have been rock-hard, remained moist as if enchanted—which it was, courtesy of the princess and her servants' magic.
"Everyone, eat up!"
"Your Highness! Thank you!"
At Walter's command, the trainees pounced like beasts.
"Water! Water! Gulp...! Sob sob!"
"Lord almighty! Half the stew is straight meat!"
"The bread melts in my mouth...!"
Sobs erupted everywhere. The combo of scorching meat stew and carbs after brutal labor seared an unforgettable memory into their brains.
They could never return to their old livelihoods.
Fearing someone might snatch it, they chugged the broth straight from their bowls, oblivious to their scalded tongues.
"Even if I logged for life, I'd never eat like this again..."
"The princess is our true goddess...!"
Just one bowl of stew. But that hot meal was enough to turn the locals into the princess's fanatic devotees.
"Long live Grand Duke Kailan! Long live Princess Eleanooor!"
"We'll endure any training!!!"
Their soul-selling cheers threatened to tear through the overcast northern sky.
Eleanor smiled contentedly at the sight.
'As expected, Her Highness's wisdom is unparalleled.'
Even Walter admitted to himself that today's training had been overly zealous.
With massive budgets sunk into recruitment, deserters spreading bad rumors could be disastrous.
She'd nipped it in the bud with one meal.
"Hee hee."
The smiling princess seemed filled only with thoughts of praise from the northern duke.
Five weeks after formal training began.
Thanks to two daily meat stew meals and systematic drills from Expert-level knight Walter, the trainees were unrecognizable.
Their bodies, optimized for rough labor, now boasted knight-like combat muscle. Their wooden swords whistled sharply through the air.
"All members, check weapons! As announced, real combat training starts outside the wall today!"
At the guild master's order, the sealed Northern Wall gate creaked open.
Two hundred prospective guild members, armed with dwarf-forged steel swords and shields, stepped tensely onto the snow-blanketed northern tundra.
Bringing up the rear rode Grand Duke Kailan Wintervalt on his black steed.
"Sir Walter. What do you think? Wouldn't you be better at the front?"
"No issue, Your Grace! We fed them pricey meat to hammer in stamina and basics!!"
"Hm... I'll trust you then."
He said that, but Kailan fretted like a parent by the water's edge.
One slip, and he'd be the tyrant who'd led peasants to slaughter.
He'd faced frost giants spewing breath attacks, yet today—for the first time on a battlefield—he swallowed hard.
Kailan kept tension coiled, ready to leap from his horse, advancing slowly.
Less than an hour into the march.
Kisss. Kississ.
From the snow-draped forest emerged a pack of blue-skinned figures, emitting eerie hisses.
Some twenty Ice Goblins. Far bulkier and tougher-skinned than central continent kin, these northern pests.
Intelligent enough to swarm a Dire Wolf in seconds if united.
"Kisisik! Humans! Humans!"
"Strong!?"
"Humans! Strong! No mana! Weak!!"
"Weak!! Weak!!"
"Human meat! Tasty!"
Spotting the front trainees as easy prey, the goblins closed in slowly, clutching crude bone spears.
"D-don't freak out! Remember what we learned! Right!? Hans!? Tom!? Right!?"
The formation shook visibly. Their first real fight—terror was inevitable, even against pint-sized monsters.
As monsters advanced and trainees began scattering...
"Don't you freak, dumbass."
Massive shield leader Hans stepped forward calmly.
"Kisik!"
An Ice Goblin screeched horrifically, leaping at Hans.
Hans gripped his steel sword two-handed.
To Kailan, it was flawless form.
Hans's thick forearms bulged massively.
Bwoom!
"......Huh?"
Hans himself was most stunned.
His sword cleaved empty air—then diagonally from the goblin's shoulder to waist, slicing tough hide and bone like butter.
Thud.
One strike halved the goblin, dumping it into the snow.
Silence blanketed the tundra.
Walter shrugged. Kailan finally relaxed his shoulders a bit.
"The brave shield unit of Wintervalt Direct Guild takes point! Push!"
"Just weak little runts!"
A recent lumberjack had bisected an Ice Goblin in one stroke.
Even Kailan, who'd proposed not wasting northern men as mere loggers, hadn't expected this.
'A happy miscalculation.'
Northern men were different, alright.
"What the hell! Is it His Grace's gifted sword, or are these bastards just soft? Slicing easier than frozen logs by a mile."
As goblins fell, trainees' eyes gleamed—not with fear now, but greed.
"H-how much for one magic stone? One gold?"
"Idiot. Goblin stones worth that much?"
Fear stems from ignorance. Realizing goblin hunts were easier than daily drudgery turned the "monsters" into mere coins on the ground.
"Outta the way! That's mine!"
"Hands off my wife's coat moneyyy!"
Chattering excitedly, they methodically reformed and swept the goblins.
Rear trainees fidgeted, itching for their turn.
"Kiiik?!"
"Kiggit!?"
The goblins bolted in panic, but two hundred trained soldiers left no escape.
"Hey! Didn't you hear Grand Duke!? No stabbing in frenzy! Aim for the magic stones!"
"Whaddya want when the tiny shits keep dodging!"
Thud! Stab! Crunch!
It took under five minutes to send the pack to hell.
Front fighters harvested stones safely, laughing with comrades about purchases, future homes as tycoons—lost in happy delusions.
Kailan joined the delusions, grinning villainously.
'At this rate, no workers' comp payouts. Mwahah! Guild medical fund goes straight to the castle coffers!'
All thanks to the princess's policy.
'Gotta hug her tight when I get back.'
No need to say Eleanor was just as thrilled when she heard later.