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.
