Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Diet (3)
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The problem was bigger than he'd thought.
Andrew, the captain commanding the refugee camp's guards in Setia, let out a sigh. The refugee representative had lodged a formal protest, claiming he was showing too much favoritism to his guards. And honestly, it wasn't entirely wrong.
For instance, the best supplies went first to the soldiers who needed them most. Food rations were distributed to the troops before the sick, excluding them from the initial round. In a way, it only made sense.
Because the soldiers were always the ones risking their lives. They were out there right now, receiving supplies on the front lines, hunting, scouting—putting their necks on the line every day.
But if he didn't cut them some slack like this, their resentment would inevitably boil over. That's why he'd bent the rules as far as he could without crossing the line.
At the same time, he'd always drilled it into them: if they abused their privileges too much, they'd lose even these small favors. He just hadn't expected someone to cause such a blatant incident.
"Was I too complacent?"
He didn't recruit just anyone, of course. Resources were tight, sure, but he'd picked men with some character at least—ones he could control.
Yet the soldier who'd stirred up this mess, Rowell, turned out to be slyer than expected. Around those stronger than him, he always smiled and gave his all.
But with the weak? His true colors showed. And the victims were usually the powerless sick or kids. That's why it had taken so long to notice the damage.
"What about Rowell?"
"Just as you ordered. We've locked him in the jail."
"Good. After consulting the refugee rep, we'll hold a trial right away."
"Yes, sir!"
"The real issue is who fills his spot..."
Maintaining troop numbers was the top priority. Even one absence piled extra strain on the rest. But after this fiasco—and with trust already fraying—he had to choose even more carefully.
If another screw-up happened now, who knew what might unfold. In the worst case, it could splinter the whole camp.
With monsters swarming right outside, internal division would be as good as suicide. Knowing that full well made the decision weigh heavy.
"No helping it. The answer's basically set."
"...Shall I fetch him?"
"No need to go far. He's probably at the training grounds right now."
"Understood."
Moments later, the soldier who'd left on orders returned with the man in tow. He'd put on some solid bulk, and his hair was a wild mess. Not the type to win any popularity contests, that was for sure.
But Andrew ignored the looks. For a soldier, it wasn't about appearance—it was skill and reliability. He'd had his eye on this guy for about two weeks now.
Ugly Hans. Pathetic Hans.
That was the nickname folks in the camp tossed around for him. And it wasn't off-base. Looks aside, his behavior had been utterly pitiful and worthless.
Everyone else pulled their weight, divvying up tasks and grinding away. Meanwhile, he lounged around doing nothing, gorging himself into that pudgy frame. People mocked him for it. Still, Andrew had wondered.
Hans skipped work, so his rations should've been minimal. How the hell did he keep that hefty build? Andrew clicked his tongue.
'Not the point right now.'
Suspicious, yeah. But investigations turned up no theft. And maybe some change of heart hit him—two weeks back, he'd started hitting the training grounds.
Andrew hadn't paid much mind at first. Figured he'd quit soon enough. But the guy showed up steadily every day. He'd even shed some noticeable fat.
And crucially, a week ago, he'd been the one to stop Rowell from handing out rotten food to the weaklings. Without Hans, they might never have known.
"Tougher than he looks."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. More importantly, I've got a proposition for you."
"Uh, sure. Go ahead."
He'd stood up to a high-handed guard for the kids' sake. Digging into reports, he'd even shared his own rations with them. Clear change in behavior.
But what really stood out was his skill. Rowell? Personality aside, the guy had top-tier talent and prowess in the guards. And Hans had blocked him effortlessly.
After just a week of training, no less. That's when it clicked: Hans had insane potential too. Still pudgy, sure.
But compared to his old self? Night and day. And above all, he'd stood tall against a stronger foe for the kids. The answer was obvious.
"How about joining the guards?"
I was floored.
Just training at the grounds like usual, and suddenly a guard calls me over? I'd been sweating bullets, thinking it was another arrest.
Never expected an offer like this.
Not a bad one, either.
In peacetime, it'd just be grunt work. But wartime? Guards held real authority—and perks to match. Not all upsides, though.
They were the ones venturing out for food, after all. Swarms of monsters lurked just beyond the barricades, hungry for human blood.
"One request."
"What is it? Speak."
"I want to train under you directly, Captain. Sword and all."
"From me personally? Interesting request."
So I made my counteroffer: direct training from Guard Captain Andrew. Even a has-been knight like him outclassed regular grunts.
Training under him straight-up? I'd level faster for sure. He accepted readily, and just like that, I was guard material.
"Twice a week. Sound good?"
"Perfect."
"Excellent. I'll assign you a senior tomorrow."
"Got it."
Guards operated in pairs. I'd be the junior; tomorrow's vet would be my senior. Meant today was my last free ride. But no complaints.
Cheap armor and weapons issued. Direct monster scraps outside. And people's stares would shift once I pulled my weight.
Plus personal sessions with Andrew. Pure win. After our chat, I headed out from the grounds. Sure enough, the kid was waiting.
"You're late today, Uncle!"
"Guard captain summoned me."
"The captain?"
"Yeah. Starting tomorrow, I'm a guard."
"Whoa! Like the Royal Knights!"
"...Not quite that elite."
The kid's eyes sparkled as she gushed. I gave a wry smile. Royal Knights were basically fantasy Avengers—heroes handpicked from each race's best.
Monster hordes hit, nations buckled. Folks realized no single kingdom could win alone. So top heroes united: the Royal Knights.
Post-formation, humanity pushed back. But for some reason, most got wiped out—save a few. Protagonist takes over as new captain, rebuilds with fresh talent. That's the game's plot. Erotic twist and all.
"Wonder why the Royal Knights got annihilated."
"Huh?"
"Never mind. Hide-and-seek today?"
"Yay! You're it, Uncle!"
The old Knights' downfall stayed a mystery. Curious, but irrelevant now. Not like I could stop it anyway.
After goofing with the kid, I dove into serious training. Thumb met middle finger—surroundings grayed out. Everything froze.
"Let's get to it."
Straight into push-ups. A week since I started using Time Stop for training. Short time, huge gains.
The massive stamina drain amped the intensity way beyond normal workouts. Like sandbags strapped to every limb.
First day? Passed out cold. Now? I could endure. Proof training under Time Stop accelerated growth big-time.
Just a week in, and the fat was melting off visibly. Face still ugly as sin, but who cared? Strength mattered more.
"You bastard. Just wait."
I'll survive and come back for you. For real.