When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 834 - 785: New Recruit Training (Part 2)

The morning mist had not yet dissipated. Horn stood by the observation window on the third floor of the brick building, watching the new recruits lined up in formation below like ants.

A copper spyglass extended from the window, reflecting Instructor Kolman marking stride points on the ground with a tape measure.

"There was another deserter yesterday," Jeanne reported, holding the roster behind Horn. "A mountain man from Kurdran County."

"Far lower desertion rate compared to the plain farmers, only three have fled in three weeks," Horn maintained his spying posture. "Inform the Military Police—hang them, and give compensation."

The spyglass turned towards the eastern training ground where three hundred recruits gritted their teeth, standing naked to the waist, wearing only shorts on the grass.

Opposite them, dozens of skilled Kush knights charged back and forth repeatedly.

Should they dare move, the instructor's stick would thrash their arms, calves, or buttocks.

Beside the grass, a queue of offending recruits waited to have their buttocks thrashed.

Some bit their teeth hard, while others let out wanton cries of pain.

Amidst the cries, the other recruits clutching long guns and practicing regular step commands pursed their lips.

Even through their peripheral vision, they dared not glance towards the fence.

On the other side of the large training ground, the Norn people who were darting around like wild goats three weeks ago, were now mechanically raising legs and arms to commands.

When a thousand pairs of boots simultaneously struck the concrete ground, even the ink bottles inside the brick building trembled slightly.

After three weeks of training, Horn had to admit the Norn recruits had made substantial progress.

Daily fourteen-hour routines of drills, housekeeping, ideological education, and formation practice had nurtured a commendable spirit in these recruits.

Indeed, these Norn mountain men were superb recruits.

Previously, recruiting new soldiers from the plains required conditioning them first, then teaching them battle formations and gunmanship drills.

A month's training might suffice, but the results were dismal.

Ordinary civilians lacked the vigor of civilians trained on Autumn Dusk Island, who had participated in the Battle of the Long Bridge.

Most times, it required three to four months to develop combat capabilities.

However, these Norn mountain men were different. Raised as mercenaries from an early age.

Initially, training involved ten-meter charges at straw dummies, maneuvering in columns, close-quarters tactics, and the like, all which they knew.

They already had a foundation in gunmanship drills and formation changes, merely requiring refresher training to adapt to the Gallar Array.

Most notably, the majority of Norn mountain men could distinguish left from right.

This was an advantage far beyond ordinary farmers.

"Holy Father above!" The cry of Military Chaplain Modie echoed in Horn's ear.

Setting down the spyglass, Horn looked down to see this new priest preaching to resting soldiers in Norn language.

This Priest Modie stood under the eaves, while hundreds of Norn recruits sat hugging their legs on the ground.

With firm theoretical grounding from a major debate in the "Truth Newspaper," it was just his style of preaching...

"...Then someone asked me, why don't you look into your own problems when you're broke?"

"Your house got demolished by knights, so should you find your own problems, okay?"

"You wander outside, selling sons and daughters, so should you find your own problems, okay?"

"Why do priests bully you? Why are you farming daily but still not enough food? Is it all your own problems, okay?"

"Damn your neighbor, always finding your own problems, finding your own problems..."

"Knights demolished my house, priests sold my children, so my problem is finding you, damn, what problems should I find!"

"Driving people insane and starving, then the King says, oh, why don't you look into your own problems more, what a shit..."

Horn's mouth twitched slightly.

The internal missionary strategies of the Holy Path varied according to people and regions.

For the citizenry, missionaries would present life as the Holy Father's will.

For farmer and artisan classes, missionaries would focus on labor being core to faith.

Facing citizens, the language would tend to be precise and elegant; facing farmers, straightforward and colloquial.

Even Horn, with his poor grasp of Norn language, sensed Priest Modie's excessive colloquialism.

If he could understand it, there couldn't be much sophistication?

However, the content was appropriate, so Horn didn't concern himself further.

With boots scraping across a woodchip-strewn floor, he stood before the training schedule drawn in a Gantt chart, marking a check on the last day of the third week.

Thinking of Xia Lvcheng still under siege, Horn's heart sank.

A two-month, total eight-week training plan, Moliat must hold until then.

Against Griffin Cannons weighing 12 pounds and Xia Lvcheng's robust fortifications, the Leia men struggled to make progress.

Nonetheless, as Leia's forces and primary knights gradually consolidated, they began progressing towards Lvwa Village, attempting to sever Xia Lvcheng's connections with other areas.

This was pressuring Horn into attacking.

The only thing bringing solace was that both the Norn mountain men and recruits conscripted from North County had good foundations, advancing training quickly.

"Starting tomorrow, move to the second phase, learn Leia language commands and memorize flag signals." Horn placed the charcoal pencil aside. "Select suitable drummers and flag bearers, eliminate those failing to memorize for service soldier roles."

The staff monks exchanged glances.

One monk couldn't help asking quietly, "Isn't it too late to have them learn Leia language now?"

"It's just commands, numbering less than fifty phrases, and all are short sentences of five to six words." Horn donned his overcoat. "If they can't be taught, they'll be beaten until they learn."

"And they need to learn flag signals too..."

"Think it's too harsh?" Fastening the collar's holy emblem button, Horn commented indifferently, "When they face the heavy cavalry charge of the decree company, they'll realize forgetting flag signals is more frightening than forgetting to swing a sword."

......

On the fourth week dawn, Dieterbert opened his eyes before the reveille.

His palm unconsciously gestured flag signal actions as he quickly washed his face and rinsed his mouth.

Over three weeks, such days had become routine.

He almost forgot how life was before.

Or rather, he had become numb from the beatings.

"Third squadron, assemble!"

Dieterbert followed the squadron name, lining up behind Captain Bai to form a hundred troop square.

The recruits inside the camp silently watched the gate slowly open.

Transport carts gradually rolled in, and porters tossed down packages wrapped in oilcloth.

"Stinky boys, wearing these good clothes is a steal for you." Kolman unveiled an oilcloth package, revealing the black-blue military uniforms.

As Kolman unfolded the uniforms, gasps rippled through the ranks—the elbows and knees sewn with double-layer canvas, buttons engraved with sun insignias.

"This isn't burlap!" Grover buried his face in the collar, taking a deep breath, "I smell... woolen fabric—why does it smell sour?"

"That's a potion, treated for pests." The Quartermaster kicked him. "These are the same fabric as the Imperial Guard uniform, worth a sheep from your mountains per yard!"

Standing before the recruits, Kolman rarely smiled, watching the Norn mountain men clumsily buttoning their uniforms.

These once animal-hide-clad bodies were being reshaped by fabric, as the cross belt and copper fasteners clicked together.

They straightened their frames, looking at each other, everyone dressed alike, showing identical smiles.

An odd feeling surged in everyone—a bond beyond blood seemed to be forming.

"Rest half a day today. Warm water will be available in the afternoon for bathing, extra meals for dinner, and those late for evening muster will get three lashes!"

As night fell, tardy recruits outside the food shed loudly sang the "Salvation Army March."

Across, Grover scraped the bowl bottom with his spoon, while Dieterbert stared at the military saber.

Grover kicked Dieterbert's shin, "What are you looking at?"

Dieterbert said nothing, just lowered his head.

On the sword sheath, a line of small Ael text was engraved.

If it were other texts, he wouldn't recognize them, but this sentence was etched on church pillars, often recited by priests.

"Protect your brothers," Dieterbert murmured.