The garrison barracks operated in layers at this hour. Formation drills filled the main floor, companies rotating through because the grounds could not hold all of them at once. The place itself had been built for a full military complement before either Beorn or Godric had been born.

At twenty-one hundred soldiers, it was closer to its intended capacity than it had been in decades, though it was not big enough to let every company drill simultaneously.

At the far end of the yard, another rhythm existed beneath the command calls, of the repetitive percussion of blank-fire sequence. The rhythm fit between shouted orders without disrupting them, thin traces of black powder drifting across the air from that direction.

Beorn had the ledger open before he fully stopped near the ground. His quill moved immediately across the margin.

Instead of individual soldiers, he was reading the formations themselves, tracking where cohesion maintained and where it broke briefly before the soldiers corrected the problem. Hundreds of men trying to execute a repeatable motion together created a doctrine. He was mapping that military doctrine against the intended drill structure, looking for places where the theory broke under physical reality.

Godric stepped beside him without warning.

"The second company has a problem during the rank transition."

Godric said while his attention stayed on the formation. "They don’t have the initiative and are waiting for the call before stepping forward. The other companies are reading the first rank’s movement and adjusting automatically."

Beorn watched the drill for another moment before answering.

"Is it the designated officers lacking initiative, or the entire rank?"

"The designated officers." Godric folded his arms. "The rank takes its timing from them."

That changed the problem completely.

If the entire rank hesitated, the issue was mechanical, and repetition solved mechanical hesitation. Enough drilling taught the body the sequence before the mind could interfere with it.

But designated officers had the authority over timing for the entire formation. If they were hesitating, then they misunderstood the role itself, as in they thought the position was something to occupy rather than a responsibility that drove the company around them. More repetitions alone would not fix that, they needed to understand the purpose of the position.

"Is that a recurrent issue?" Beorn asked.

"Yes, since we started these types of drills."

Beorn wrote it down. It would take time to correct the bad habits, but the problem was still recoverable.

He added another note beneath it. The designated officers in the second company needed instruction on positional responsibility. That responsibility belonged to Godric or the company captain, not himself to manage.

Godric continued without prompting. "Eight hundred and forty soldiers completed the blank fire exercise this week through rotation. The misfires on blanks are still happening higher than the rates we saw with live charges during the operations."

He glanced toward the firing line. "The captains recognized the issue was in loading the flintlock pistols. They’re drilling the entire preparation sequence separately before each rotation cycle.’

"Current number?"

"One in twelve."

Beorn wrote that down as well.

One misfire in twelve was still unacceptable, but the important factor was trend direction. The solution already existed and would produce measurable improvement. There was no need for Beorn to intervene, as it would only interrupt the chain of command working as intended.

The two of them walked toward the far end of the ground together.

The blank rotation operated through a two-rank sequence. First rank loaded and fired, the percussion flatter than the live-fire reports from the avenue or the plaza. Then they stepped back while the second rank moved forward and presented themselves to fire.

When executed correctly, the sequence matched the rhythm of the high quarter doctrine. It was compressed, disciplined, every movement reinforcing the next until instruction became instinct.

Once, while Beorn watched, the exercise failed.

A soldier on the right flank fumbled his pan priming. The pan cover snapped down before the powder seated correctly and the second rank fired without him.

For multiple seconds the squad lost cohesion before the leader corrected it with a sharp command call and forced the rhythm back into place.

Beorn marked the failure in the ledger margin. He did not approach the firing line.

The correction belonged with the captain and with additional repetition. That was the point of the command structure he had built.

If the system required him standing beside every squad to work properly, then the system itself had failed.

"The next firearm design from the foundry will need more drilling than the pistol."

Beorn said. "It’s a different instrument with a different effective range. This doctrine will adapt to a hundred feet engagements."

Godric stayed silent for several moments before asking.

"Is there a reason to not keep employing crossbows for long range engagements?"

"Multiple, of course."

Beorn said immediately. "The weapon is more effective at range, has a higher penetration power and can be used in mass volley tactics."

He tapped the ledger once. "The crossbow already has the range, but it lacks the power to be a differential. More important, training a crossbowman who maintains accuracy under battlefield pressure requires four months of dedicated drilling. There’s only so much exiled veterans we can find through Ashmark slums."

Godric nodded once, treating the statement as a logistical constraint instead of an argument.

"How many can the foundry produce in a season?"

Beorn gave him an idea of a number.

The ongoing casting standardization at the foundry were built into that estimate without needing explanation. The quality issue was being worked on, but the process was not finished yet.

The available production capacity reflected the foundry as it existed now, not as it would exist later, with new technology and potentially the benefits of Sinbound abilities.

The figure was lower than he wanted.

It was still the real figure.

Godric did not ask for a better one. He simply folded the number into whatever thought he was mulling over.

"The army current headcount is two thousand and one hundred men."

Godric started to report. "Four companies remain below full strength."

He looked across the gathered formations.

"The refugee intake is still supplying candidates but we kept the screening standards strict."

"Good." Beorn kept watching the firing line as the next rotation cycled forward.

"This current pace is acceptable."

He had already said that more than once. There was no need to repeat the reasoning behind it.

Godric ended the morning drills with a single signal.

The blank-fire sequence stopped first. Across the main ground, formations completed their current movements and held position.

The noise of the yard changed immediately but not with silence. An army never truly became silent, instead the noise shifted into the form of equipment being put down, boots adjusting, tired breathing, hundreds of men flexing their bodies while waiting for the next order.

The command calls disappeared.

What remained was the presence of discipline in place.

Beorn closed the ledger.

"Have them form a rank and call them forward," he said. "Harr. Sig. Wulfgar. Col. Ulf."

Godric raised his voice across the ground. It went through with the flat projection of a stern command tone, loud enough to reach the formations without straining.

The five names echoed across the yard.