When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 786 - 738 Recruitment and Stone Bridge_2

The black smoke pierced straight into the crimson purple sky, signaling the army's call to return.

Old Laver touched the money pouch at his waist, which once held twenty-seven dinars but was now empty, with nine shepherds behind him looking forlorn.

"Don't make such a sad face." Walking alongside these drafted men, Old Laver comforted them, "You're in luck, not only do you get meals, but you also get paid.

Here, it's not just nobles who can become officers. Look at me, I've become Captain Ten."

Saying this, Old Laver untied the wine pouch from his waist and handed the acorn wine to the group of drafted men.

These drafted men looked at each other, each taking a sip of the wine, their faces turning a bit rosier.

Perhaps it was the alcohol dispersing their fear, their trembling bodies steadied a bit.

However, they were still half-doubting Old Laver's words.

Getting paid was true, but becoming an officer was uncertain.

Aside from that, just thinking about becoming an officer made many shepherds find it absurd and laughable.

After reassuring this group of new draftees, Old Laver finally felt relieved as he led them back to the camp.

Walking through the golden grass, their shoes squeezed the muddy ground.

Every step they took felt as if the earth was tugging at their soles, more stringy than cheese.

Looking at the hardened clumps of mud on his pant legs, Old Laver smiled bitterly.

Five days ago, he had escorted the stragglers back to Feldheim, without even having time for dinner, when he was summoned by the City Guard.

In less than five minutes, he was promoted to the official Captain Ten, but the cost was being assigned to the newly structured infantry regiment under Junior General Bether of Moliat.

His first task, along with Bether, was to transport a newly arrived 12-pound Griffin Cannon, four 3-pound Falcon Cannons originally from Bear Chomping Castle, and a batch of supplies recruited from Feldheim, to Ladan Castle.

Although his pay increased by ten dinars, Old Laver still found it hard to alleviate his troubled mood.

He had transitioned from the Defense Army to the Field Army!

Unlike Kaler, he was just a farmer turned soldier. Was he really supposed to confront those knights at Shattered Stone Plain?

Going up against knights, really?

Such feelings were prevalent in the army; they were not the well-trained Salvation Army, nor did they have an abundance of Holy Gunmen like the Salvation Army.

In an infantry regiment of five hundred, it was fortunate to replenish even a hundred Holy Gunmen.

These feelings, however, must not be shown in front of the drafted men, let alone exposed in front of Bether and other higher-ranking officers.

Though Bether did not embezzle, he was indeed harsh with punishment.

Old Laver led the newly recruited men through knee-deep mud and over fallen trees, where a newly established camp appeared before them.

Cart wagons were haphazardly arranged on the muddy grassland, with streams of people passing by on either side.

The Holy Gunmen from Langsande County, holding their spring guns, sat by the fires, calmly brewing blue sap coffee.

Old Laver couldn't help but show a look of envy, these Blessed individuals were indeed elite, the treasured members of Captain Bether.

Many of the hard and strenuous tasks fell on Old Laver and his men, while these individuals could comfortably sit by the fire and enjoy.

After handing over the drafted men to the service chief, Old Laver, along with Algernon, headed towards the river to report to Captain Bether.

Before they approached, a roar could already be heard.

"At this time, are the carts still not ready?"

"Mr. Bether, the hubs and axles are broken, we have to wait for the tools to arrive later..."

"How long will that take? I don't care about this or that, it must be fixed before the moon rises."

The young infantry commander, with a whip in hand, was raging beside the wagon.

The service soldier in charge of engineering stood there dumbfounded and helpless, letting the spittle rain down on his head.

In front of them, eight wagons were stuck in the mud, the pack horses snorting white foam, futilely scraping the ground with their hooves.

Dozens of soldiers surrounded these wagons, cursing as they pried at the wheels with wooden poles.

The corner of a covering tarpaulin, blown by the wind, revealed beneath it the spring cannon brought from Bear Chomping Castle.

They were as heavy as tombstones.

Under normal circumstances, the weight of the spring cannon wouldn't cause such a predicament.

But Bether was unlucky, an unforeseen downpour had softened the ground, causing the wagons to sink into the mud.

"Mr. Bether..."

"Speak!" Bether responded tersely.

"Nine laborers have been recruited, costing twenty-seven dinars in total, and they've now been placed under the service soldiers..."

"Don't tell me all that useless information." Bether's tone softened a bit, "Anyone who still has some strength, come help lift the wagons. This damned Griffin Cannon, I wonder if we'll make it in time..."

Looking at the wagons stuck in the mud pit, Old Laver couldn't help but furrow his brow.

They originally planned to cross the shallow riverbank by tomorrow noon, but this sudden rain disrupted all schedules.

If delayed, with the rising water levels, the previously shallow path would likely become impassable.

Thus, Bether was so anxious to command the soldiers to lift the wagons and move forward as soon as possible.

With Old Laver's years as a Hunter, he instinctively felt that even if the wagons were repaired, it would be too late.

Look at the humidity on the triangular hats, with such moist air accompanied by the cold wind seeping through the Roaring Corridor, it's likely to rain again tomorrow.

But Old Laver was mistaken.

Because before midnight, the rain came pouring down.