Chapter 6

When I finally managed to stand up from the ground, panting heavily, I found myself blocked again.

"Pretty good, for someone with your build, you can still run so fast..."

The man with the long sword gestured and said,

"You could make a good soldier, maybe even a cook..."

Looking at the weapons and the empty quiver on his saddle, and feeling the emptiness in my stomach, I hesitated for a moment and gave up on the idea of resisting or escaping immediately.

When I could finally stop to catch my breath and ease the burning in my chest, I found myself in a makeshift camp in the open field by the roadside. The camp was roughly enclosed by a row of cut tree branches, crudely tied together.

Although the camp was built hastily, a rough glance showed that there were about a thousand people. Their weapons were a chaotic mix, and most were without armor, just wearing a few extra layers that made them look bulky. As more people joined, the camp became even more chaotic.

The selection process was simple: dig a trench, and if you could jump over it or lift a round stone with your hands, you passed. During this process, those who were clearly too young or too small, or who were trying to sneak in, were removed. No matter how they begged or cried, they received no mercy, and were kicked and pushed to the side of the road like corpses.

The remaining people were given uneven, roughly sharpened wooden sticks. After a bunch of empty promises about achieving fame and fortune, they became part of this "righteous army."

Yes, a "righteous army," even worse than regular soldiers or local militia, somewhere between rebels, bandits, and fortress guards. I don't know why, but that thought came to my mind. As the best performer, or perhaps the leader, I was given the task of distributing food. Several baskets of cold items were placed in front of me, and I started distributing them according to the number of people.

This time, the food wasn't suspicious black lumps but gray cakes that looked somewhat like food. Alright, it was a bit better. There was also a spoonful of porridge made from bran and wild vegetables. There were no containers, so people had to use their hands, tiles, or anything they could find to catch the food. Occasionally, someone would yelp from the heat but wouldn't let go or spit out the food.

After distributing the food to over a hundred people, I, who had been hungry for a long time, grabbed a cake with a decent shape and bit into it. I couldn't help but spit it out heavily. It was filled with too much bran and other impurities, and the gritty texture between my teeth and tongue made me lose my appetite completely.

Seemingly, I had made too much noise, which drew attention.

"Filthy dog..."

A headman with a cloth-wrapped head strode over and raised his scabbard to strike.

"Still complaining..."

Suddenly, he was stopped by a powerful arm. Another man with a beard like weeds, who seemed to have some authority, stepped in. The headman, without even a word of protest, quickly retreated to the side.

"Your teeth are good..."

He squinted and examined me closely before speaking.

I noticed that while everyone else looked dirty and disheveled, their teeth, mostly worn and black, were a stark contrast to my well-maintained teeth.

"Want better food?"

"..."

"Follow me..."

At first glance, he seemed like a weathered old soldier. He wore a rare, old chainmail vest, with many rings broken, and was wrapped in large, ragged pieces of cloth. Only his boots looked decent, but the suspicious bloodstains on them were unsettling. His half-peeled scabbard and bow wrapped in cloth, along with the wrinkles on his face, indicated that he was no longer young. In short, he was a dangerous old man.

The crowded camp wasn't large, and I could see from the outside to the inside. After passing a few broken huts and dispersing a group of soldiers blocking the way, we didn't walk far before I heard:

"The 'righteous army' isn't a charity..."

"Let them go wherever they want..."

"We don't have extra food. If they're capable, they can go to the fortresses and get it themselves."

An unidentified object almost hit my nose and rolled into the dust. A figure pounced like a hunting dog to retrieve it, followed by curses.

"Damn it, pick it up quickly. It's hard to get meat."

Under a grass hut surrounded by cloth, I met the so-called leader of this unidentified armed group:

A middle-aged man sitting cross-legged on a faded mat, with long hair and a cloth band around his forehead. He was open-chested, sweating, and focused on eating a leg of an unidentified animal. The smell of the grilled, dripping meat made my mouth water and my stomach rumble, even though it was covered in dust and sand.

I temporarily ignored the other menacing-looking people nearby. My body had been hungry for over 24 hours.

Unlike in other novels where the protagonist can easily hunt wild chickens and rabbits in the forest or trick animals into their stomachs, gaining a super pet with max loyalty, I had no such luck.

The old soldier walked up and whispered a few words. They then discussed in hushed tones.

"This guy is much cleaner than those bandits on the road. He doesn't have a single callus on his hands, feet, or back..."

The murmurs reached my ears, making me shiver and lose my appetite, reminding me of the legendary habits of certain characters like those from Water Margin or Bear Grylls.

"That man, the one sitting there is the leader, Jiang An. You must answer him respectfully..."

Finally, a voice called out. It was the young boy who had pounced to retrieve the object, standing next to the leader, trying to sound fierce.

His immature voice, however, somewhat ruined the intimidating and solemn atmosphere.

"What is your name and where are you from?"

The leader, Jiang An, wiped the oil from his chin with his sleeve and asked sternly.

"Do you have any skills?"

"Um, my name is Xia Ya, and my courtesy name is Youde..."

At that moment, I couldn't help but think of a certain cold, masked man with a blood feud, who constantly had girls falling for him, making people envious and jealous.

"Youde, that's a good name..."

The flattery seemed to please him, and his tone softened slightly.

"That accent..."

However, one of the others frowned, making my heart race.

"It sounds like the islands in the southeastern sea..."

"That makes him a sea-born, with no connection to the northern dogs or the western invaders..."

Another voice chimed in.

"So, you're a sea-born..."

I felt his eyes flicker and his tone become more enthusiastic.

"Are you from the Xinghua Party or the Reform Party?"

"Are you a Respect the Emperor and Expel the Barbarians supporter or a Royalist?"

"From the East Sea or the South Sea?"

"From the Yizhou Fief or the Fusan Fief?"

"..."

I remained silent, feeling utterly shocked. What was all this about? How could it even involve the Reform Party?

"Reporting to the general..."

Finally, I touched the swollen bump on my head, still bleeding, and stammered,

"I was ambushed and chased, and I hit my head hard when I fell off a cliff. I've forgotten many things..."

"What use are you then?"

My response made Jiang An's face fall, and he waved me away in disappointment, like swatting a fly. The old soldier then whispered a few words to him, and he turned back to me.

"Can you read, write, and do basic accounting?"

Hearing this, I breathed a sigh of relief. I glanced at the swords and knives on their belts, knowing I had passed this test.

Seeing me eagerly writing a few large characters and symbols on the table with a charcoal stick, the leader, Jiang An, muttered hesitantly,

"Shorthand and hard-pen writing... somewhat useful..."

I was surprised but relieved. Did these things exist in this world? Later, I learned that there were two types of writing: the more complex ancient script (traditional characters?), used by officials and scholars, and the simplified script (simplified characters?), invented by Liang Gong for the convenience of soldiers and common people.

"Starting today, you'll be a bookkeeper."

With a few twisted and messy account books thrown into my arms, I had my first place to stay: a three-sided leaky shack in the camp. Although it was precarious and unreliable, it was better than nothing.

Although I hadn't studied accounting, I had chosen a general law course to prepare for the judicial exam, which didn't work out. However, I could at least understand basic ledger entries for a small shop.

I carefully copied the characters and symbols with a fine charcoal stick onto crumpled paper, then bound them with thick hemp string.

Thus,

Dinner included a bowl of vegetable soup with no meat, which I could soak with two extra, hard cakes, and a separate straw mat in the shack, where I didn't have to sleep with the former refugees in the open, in a stinky, crowded space.

However, away from the wind, rain, and the threatening scavengers, I lay on the straw, which was meant for livestock, and couldn't sleep. It wasn't just the pungent smell of the animals or the constant rustling of rodents, or the prickly dry straw.

As I drifted off, barely closing my eyes, I ended my first day in the camp.

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End of Chapter