TL: Etude
Makarov, with a cross tied to his back, stood in agony, internally complaining countless times, “What’s the use of this training against pirates? What on earth is this for!”
He wanted to turn his head to see the state of the person next to him, but suppressed the thought immediately. Several unfortunate souls had already been severely reprimanded by Major Claude for making small movements while standing at attention, and were even denied their meals. Makarov certainly didn’t want to go hungry.
The new lord really was an oddity. Makarov continued his internal rant, perplexed by the strange exercises like standing at attention and marching. Even the officers of knightly origin were forced into such training.
Oh, and the marching… Makarov felt utterly embarrassed just thinking about it. The bizarre posture still made him blush. He was grateful that they weren’t training in the town, or else the locals would have had a good laugh.
He guessed the young lord suffered from a severe case of OCD. His demands for “uniformity” and “order” seemed to have reached a perverted level. It was one thing to require unison and coordination in marching and running, but insisting on blankets being folded into perfect squares was over the top.
If the young lord hadn’t demonstrated how to fold them himself and personally guided those who did it wrong, Makarov would have suspected this was all a cruel joke.
The only sane part of the training was the daily morning or afternoon drills, personally instructed by Major Claude. Makarov felt this was the only part beneficial for surviving and fighting in battles. He listened intently and practiced with all his might.
Despite his complaints, Makarov held a great deal of respect, even gratitude, towards the young lord. Not just because they had eaten meat twice this week, but for a more significant reason — the lord was teaching them to read!
For most commoners, literacy was a lifelong unattainable skill due to lack of opportunity and resources. Of course, there were literate commoners, like merchants, minstrels, or noble servants, but they were rare compared to the vast majority of the populace.
In some remote areas, literacy was as mythical as magic, believed to be accessible only to nobles and divine servants. Many commoners only recognized their names, and a larger number couldn’t even do that.
Even in human realms, Makarov heard that many beastman tribes in the great plains used knots on ropes to record events.
He vividly recalled the moment the young lord announced the ‘literacy class,’ using evening time to teach everyone to read. The incredulous expressions of the soldiers and Major Claude’s shocked face, wide enough to fit a goose egg, was unforgettable.
However, many soldiers thought being a soldier and eating the lord’s grain didn’t require literacy. They were fools content with their ignorance, in Makarov’s view. He didn’t want to live his life in such a dazed state.
Suddenly, a whistle sounded, followed by Major Claude’s loud command: “All troops, assemble!!!”
Makarov immediately dropped his thoughts and moved toward the “standard-bearer” in front of Claude, standing shoulder to shoulder in a line with his row. After a week’s training, this had almost become a reflex.
“Stand at ease!” commanded the Major.
Then, the young lord approached and began to speak.
“Soldiers, I am very pleased with your progress this past week. You have met my standards in military posture, so I announce that from now on, you won’t need to tie the crosses while standing at attention.”
He paused, noting the absence of cheers, and nodded in satisfaction.
“However, there are still deficiencies. According to Major Claude, many of you are still struggling with fighting techniques. This won’t do in a fight against ruthless criminals. You must continue to practice diligently. Remember, more sweat in training, less blood in battle!”
“Not because Lord Paul wasted half the training time on standing at attention and marching,” many soldiers grumbled internally.
“Also, your internal affairs,” the lord continued. “I’ve emphasized personal and collective hygiene every time I speak. This is the last time I’ll say this: if I find any tent with littering again, I swear I’ll have the entire squad run around the camp until they drop.”
“Now, I have good news. I had steward Philip order uniforms for everyone, and they’ve arrived today. Let’s distribute them now and change into them immediately.”
Under the direction of their officers, the soldiers received their new uniforms in turn.
The uniforms were designed based on the attire of the Eighth Route Army from Paul’s previous world, but in dark green. They included jackets, trousers, hats, leather belts, shoes, leg wraps, and puttees. Additionally, there were shoulder boards with military ranks from his previous world, attachable with buttons.
After receiving two sets each, the soldiers changed clothes without hesitation — after all, they were all men and had no reservations.
The uniforms, made in haste and in larger sizes to fit all, were a bit loose on many soldiers. However, compared to their patch-ridden old clothes, these uniforms significantly boosted their spirit and appearance.
Once changed, they reformed ranks. Despite the discipline preventing them from speaking, their excitement was evident. The new uniforms seemed to have greatly lifted their morale.
Major Claude looked at the reassembled formation, his heart filled with emotion.
A week ago, these men were disorganized farmers, some even unable to distinguish left from right. Now, they stood and sat with proper military bearing, following orders promptly.
Previously, just assembling them swiftly was unimaginable. Now, the troop almost had the air of a regular army.
No, even the kingdom’s regular army couldn’t match this level of uniformity. Only the royal guard, unseen by Claude, might compare. He began to understand why the count spent so much time on what seemed like meaningless training.
“The only deficiency now,” Claude thought, “is that nearly half of them have never seen blood.”
Paul instructed Claude to continue with the day’s planned training, then entered a tent guarded by the inner guard with the servant who brought the uniforms.
“Count, everything you requested is here. This is the first batch; steward Philip is still gathering the rest, which will take some time.”
“Excellent, these will suffice for now, but hurry with the rest.”
The tent was filled with boxes and a sulfuric smell. Satisfied, Paul asked, “And the people I requested?”
“They are waiting in the next tent, my lord.”
“Are they reliable?”
“Rest assured, they are as loyal to your family as I am, personally vetted by steward Philip.”
“Good, Ron. You’ll continue to handle supplies here. I won’t forget your service. Remember, not a word of this to anyone, understood? Anyone.”
“I understand. I swear to the Lord of Light to keep silent, or may I be cast into hell for even a single slip,” Ron vowed.
“Good, you may go back. Remember my words.”
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