Chapter 77: Southern Training Camp (3)

Henry held his cheek.

A numbing shock.

With a shocked expression, Henry blinked his large eyes and looked up at Viscount Vale.

"…Uncle?"

In Henry's memory,

Viscount Vale was a kind uncle.

He had watched over Henry's growth from a young age and granted any request Henry made.

Because of this, there was a time when he liked his uncle more than his parents.

To Henry, he was that important, and he never imagined that he would be slapped by him.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

It was more difficult to accept mentally that he had been hit by his uncle than to feel the shock from his cheek.

Even in response to Henry's reaction,

Viscount Vale did not spare him a glance, but instead looked at Roman and smiled awkwardly.

"Well, I'm sorry. I should have instilled better discipline in my nephew, but he grew up so carelessly from a young age that I made a mistake. I'll apologize on his behalf. Please overlook this incident for my sake."

The other party was Roman Dmitri.

In the future,

an existence whose potential was unknown.

Moreover, he was favored by Viscount Benedict, so Viscount Vale quickly decided to apologize.

It was a very rational decision.

No matter how much he cherished his nephew, it wasn't enough to trade his own future for.

To be blunt, even Henry's parents would have slapped him.

The situation was settled.

The shocked Henry and the apologetic Viscount Vale.

There was no need to escalate the issue.

Henry's actions, in Roman's world, were more like children's play and couldn't be considered hostility.

Of course,

if it weren't for Viscount Vale's wise judgment,

the situation might not have ended so simply.

"I'll let it go for Viscount Vale's sake. I'll be going now."

"Thank you."

Viscount Vale, forcing a smile,

looked at Henry with a glare as Roman left.

"Henry, do you know what you did?"

"…How could you hit me, Uncle?"

"Stupid boy! Roman Dmitri is a talent that Viscount Benedict is keeping an eye on. To recruit Roman, they would do anything. What benefit do you think you'll gain by making an enemy of such a talent?! Henry, when will you grow up? In the Albert family, you might act as if you own the world without any problems, but if you act the same way here, the family won't be able to protect you like they do at home."

It was a harsh reality.

If the Albert family were truly great,

Henry would have been exempted from military service altogether, rather than being assigned to the southern front.

That was the reality.

Ambiguous power.

Henry didn't understand the reality and failed to recognize the rising power.

Suddenly,

a good idea came to Viscount Vale.

"Roman Dmitri might have a bad impression of us because of today's incident. So, Henry, from now on, you will be paired with Roman in all training and reserve unit formations. Try to build a close relationship with Roman Dmitri. Remember, if you don't follow your uncle's advice, I'll send you to the western front, even if it means facing your mother's wrath. Understand?"

At those words,

Henry realized that

one mistake had completely ended his comfortable military life.

* * *

After the commotion settled down,

Roman headed to his quarters.

The quarters were assigned arbitrarily at the Southern Training Camp, and upon arrival, it was clear that he had received some special treatment.

'Viscount Vale must have pulled some strings.'

On the way here,

he saw other nobles unpacking in old, dilapidated buildings.

Considering the conditions of the Southern Training Camp, it was understandable, but the building assigned to Roman was a clean, modern structure.

A single-story building designed for one team.

It was a clear indication of Viscount Vale's ambition.

'Ambitious people are easy to handle. Life at the Southern Training Camp won't be too bad.'

As Viscount Vale requested,

there was no need for Roman to pull him into the central government.

However,

for now, it was necessary to take advantage of their mutual interests.

Creak.

He opened the door to his quarters.

Inside, the soldiers had almost finished unpacking.

Seeing Roman, they were about to salute, but he lightly rang a bell hanging by the door.

Ding dong.

Instantly,

the soldiers' actions froze.

The meaning of the bell.

Over the past few months of training, one command was deeply ingrained in their minds.

"Emergency situation!"

"Everyone, prepare for combat!"

The neatly organized space became chaotic in an instant.

The soldiers dumped their belongings on the floor,

stuffed them into small packs, and 30 soldiers moved in unison.

Roman stepped outside.

As if he had dropped a nuclear bomb on the quarters,

he watched the door with a relaxed expression, as if it had nothing to do with him.

How much time had passed?

Soldiers began pouring out of the quarters.

Thud.

Thud.

They lined up in a row in front of Roman as they came out.

Quick and orderly.

Even as they panted, they stood straight to maintain their formation.

Roman said,

"2 minutes and 39 seconds. Even though you were in the middle of unpacking, taking more than 2 minutes to prepare for combat is too slow. I've told you repeatedly that the enemy won't wait for us to be perfectly prepared. In a situation where we don't know when, where, or who will attack us, we must be ready in the shortest time possible to survive a war that could last indefinitely. If the next emergency signal takes more than 2 minutes, be prepared for the appropriate punishment."

"Understood!"

"We will remember!"

The soldiers answered with determination.

It was a truly unique scene.

Among all the soldiers at the Southern Training Camp, none were as disciplined as those following Roman.

A resort for nobles.

The Southern Training Camp was far from a place of military discipline.

Yet, both Roman, who gave the orders,

and the soldiers, who followed them,

accepted the current situation as normal.

* * *

At that moment,

MacBurney, the head instructor of the Southern Training Camp, couldn't suppress a sigh as he prepared for the training.

"I'm preparing for this kind of training."

Once,

he was a veteran warrior who fought on the western front.

He volunteered for the western front out of loyalty to the country and defended the Cairo Kingdom through countless battles over about ten years.

Recognized for his efforts, he was promoted to centurion.

Starting as a commoner, he rose to a position commanding a hundred men, but his fall was swift.

Three years ago,

the Chronos Empire deliberately crossed the border.

They attacked the Cairo Kingdom as a warning, and many soldiers defending the western front lost their lives.

MacBurney was no different.

Although he managed to prevent the fall of the western front after a brutal battle, he lost his right arm, which he used to wield a sword.

The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the realization that his life as a warrior was over.

As expected,

there was no place for the disabled on the battlefield.

MacBurney was stripped of his centurion position, but fortunately, the Cairo Kingdom did not abandon him completely.

"MacBurney, in recognition of your service on the battlefield, I will appoint you as the training instructor at the Southern Training Camp. Although you will leave the battlefield, I hope you will continue to serve the Cairo Kingdom in this capacity."

MacBurney's reality changed.

At the time,

he still believed he had a role to play for Cairo.

But the reality was bleak.

The awareness of war in the southern front was far lower than in the western front, and most of the soldiers entering the Southern Training Camp were not truly prepared for war but rather intended to pass the time and return home.

As a result, the training system at the Southern Training Camp was a mess.

While the western training camp required even nobles to train alongside regular soldiers, the southern camp exempted nobles from training.

While training was conducted in the scorching sun,

the nobles took naps in the shade.

The commander of the Southern Training Camp tolerated this to some extent, so the instructors preparing the training were frustrated.

"What's the point of this?"

With a despondent look,

he glanced at the training schedule.

He had planned a rigorous training system for three weeks, but it was meaningless if the nobles, who were supposed to command the soldiers, did not participate in the training.

War, in the end, is a battle of wits.

Commanders are not just authority figures but must also understand the soldiers' capabilities and have the stamina to move in sync with them.

Those who have not experienced war do not understand this.

Most of them think that giving orders is enough to win a war.

"Huff."

He sighed.

Three years at the Southern Training Camp.

His enthusiasm had hit rock bottom, but he couldn't ignore reality.

"…At least I should do my duty."

This time would be no different.

While the nobles enjoyed their leisure,

MacBurney intended to teach the soldiers properly.

On the battlefield,

he had experienced the terrifying consequences of the word "if" firsthand.

* * *

As expected.

The next day,

the nobles who arrived at the training ground gathered under the shade of trees before the training even began.

"Is that true?"

"Of course. When you visit my estate, I'll show you what luxury truly is."

"I'll definitely visit, brother! I trust you!"

"Your visit will always be welcome!"

They had already introduced themselves.

Connected by the common bond of serving their national duty, they chatted excitedly like old friends.

In contrast,

the soldiers waited for the training in the scorching sun.

Unlike the soldiers Roman brought, these were troops assigned by their families to fulfill their national duty.

They were far from elite soldiers.

The noble families had no reason to care about the quality of the troops that would be tied up in the southern front for two years, so they filled their quotas with conscripts who had never received proper military training.

The soldiers couldn't even form a proper line.

Sweating profusely and loosening their armor, their appearance was far from impressive, and MacBurney's expression was grim from the start.

'As expected.'

He had hoped this time might be different.

Guiding dedicated soldiers like those on the western front would have given him a sense of pride, but as always, he saw soldiers who were a disgrace to their title.

If such a ragtag group were to defend the western front, they wouldn't last a day before the defense line collapsed.

'How can the same war nation be so different?'

He suppressed his emotions.

As the head instructor of the Southern Training Camp,

he had to fulfill his role.

Even if it lowered his professional pride, he had lost his past life when he lost his arm.

Then,

'…?'

The soldiers lined up by their respective groups.

But among them,

one group stood out, forming a neat line.

Not only that,

at the front of the group,

Roman Dmitri stood with the soldiers, despite the scorching sun.

MacBurney's expectations were wrong.

This year,

a mutant of the Dmitri family, different from the usual trash, had entered the Southern Training Camp.