"Your Highness, what are you doing?" Carter had once thought the Fourth Prince was just a bit overbearing, but now he considered it pure fantasy.
When it comes to training a warrior, Chief Knight believes no one is more skilled than himself. His family has a complete training system that, from age ten to fifteen, can cultivate a warrior proficient in all weapons in just five years. With an additional five years, the trainee becomes a Knight well-versed in high-level etiquette—provided they are not of common origin.
Look at these idiots in front of you—they only care about food! And eggs are so expensive, you know!
Roland gently cleaned his ears. "Just keep this in mind. The training regimen for the next few days must follow this plan. There will be some minor adjustments, but I'll document them all on paper." The idea of training a squad of competent warriors in just two or three months during the cold weapon era? Roland had no such plans. Nor did he need Spartan warriors who could tear beasts apart with nothing but their underwear. While individual combat effectiveness might be lacking, the army must maintain strict discipline and enforce orders without exception.
The collective power of a team often surpasses that of individuals, a principle rooted in human social nature. To achieve this swiftly, applying military training methodologies and adapting them to current conditions could be an effective approach. His firsthand experience demonstrates that within just half a month, students from across the country can be seamlessly integrated into a cohesive unit. Regardless of the process, the results are remarkably evident.
Roland could only proceed with the next phase of the plan once these individuals had fully grasped the essence of discipline.
Vanessa did not get the second egg.
This time, the standing duration was more than twice as long as the previous time, until someone's legs went weak and they could no longer endure the swaying back and forth before it ended.
The Fourth Prince announced a general recess and instructed his attendants to serve lunch. This clever diversion shifted the crowd's anger from the offenders to the food, but it also made Fanna suspect that Your Royal Highness might not have intended to give them a second reward after all.
The lunch was packed into four large earthen jars and transported by several horse-drawn carts to the outskirts of the town. The carts carried not only the food but also numerous wooden basins and spoons.
As Fan Na was about to rush forward with a smacking of lips, Chief Knight stepped in front of the group.
Your Royal Highness ordered everyone to form four vertical lines and take their tableware one by one. Anyone who disrupted the order would be forced to receive the last portion of food.
The crowd surged into four chaotic lines, and he was lucky enough to be at the front of the outermost column. Naturally, some were furious, and the ranks erupted in a commotion. Soon, Knight and a few guards charged into the crowd, driving the troublemakers out.
The fool, Fan Na glanced at the troublemaker—the most belligerent 'Mad Fist' in town. Usually he'd cause trouble with brute force, but now he was crouching obediently with a sword pressed against his chest. What a pitiful sight!
He felt he had probably figured out Your Royal Highness's preferences.
That is uniformity.
Stand straight and keep the line perfectly aligned—even when eating, queue up without breaking the order... Vanne once heard a well-informed merchant from a major town say that some Nobles had a peculiar obsession: everything had to be arranged flawlessly, and any slight misalignment would compel them to tidy up.
In Vanna's view, such people are utterly idle and bored, deliberately seeking trouble to torment themselves.
I never knew Your Royal Highness was like that too.
When the clay pot lid was lifted, Fan Na caught a whiff of a rich fragrance.
The alluring aroma spreading in all directions nearly carried him away. A stir rose in the crowd, and ahead came Lord Knight's roar.' Another queue,' he thought.
True to expectations, the Fourth Prince had everyone line up to collect their food in the same order they'd used to get the wooden bowl and spoon.
Despite everyone's drooling and stomach growling, they still lined up obediently, inspired by the example of the mad boxer.
The earthenware vessel contained steaming hot wheat porridge. To Fan Na's astonishment, the porridge actually contained dried meat! Although only a thin slice was found in the wooden basin, it was still meat! After serving the porridge, he was also granted an extra egg as desired.
Fan Na devoured his lunch almost like a wolf, licking the rim of the bowl. He even swallowed the egg whole without taking a bite, accidentally causing a blister on his tongue due to the excessive speed of eating.
He set down the wooden bowl, patted his belly, and let out a hearty hiccup. It had been ages since he'd tasted such exquisite food. What was even more astonishing was the overwhelming sense of fullness he felt. The savory sweetness of the meat porridge paled in comparison to the black bread. He even mused that if he could enjoy such meals daily, what difference would it make fighting the evil beasts on the front lines?
After the meal, a long break followed. Everyone was escorted back to the city walls and walked to the camp where the town's patrol soldiers were stationed. A burly man from another tribe emerged from the group and began instructing them on how to set up tents.
Vanna knew him—few in the old town were unfamiliar with Iron Axe. His masterful archery left even the town's most seasoned hunters in awe. Wait, Iron Axe is now working for the Fourth Prince? It seemed he'd been staying close to Knight all along. Vanna frowned. What was Your Highness thinking? After all, he was a Shamin.
"Do you really intend to appoint a Sandfolk as captain?" Carter asked with equal skepticism. "He doesn't belong to Graycastle, not even to the Continent Kingdom." "Witches don't belong to Graycastle either," Roland retorted dismissively. "But they all belong to Border Town. Besides, aren't you watching this place?" "But, Your Highness..." "Don't worry," Roland patted Knight's shoulder. "Border Town doesn't care about origins. As long as they don't violate the Kingdom's laws, they remain my subjects. If you're truly concerned, you could select two more outstanding candidates. The team will expand soon, so it's wise to cultivate potential members now. By the way, I've drafted the training regulations. I think you should focus more on this than the Sandfolk." Carter took the parchment from Roland's hand and scanned it thoroughly. The training regimen was utterly unconventional—like leading everyone in a round-the-clock relay around Border Town from dusk (2 PM) until sunset. The rules mandated completion of this task, allowing mutual assistance along the way. Those who persisted would receive an extra egg for dinner. Another example was the assembly whistle that sounded immediately after the wolf hour, requiring everyone to dress and assemble as quickly as possible. Such rigorous drills would likely disband the team within days.
While the first few points were somewhat understandable, the final one left Carter utterly baffled.
"Every evening after dinner, everyone heads to Mr.Karl's academy for cultural training." "Your Highness... What do you mean by' cultural training '? Are you expecting them to learn to read and write?" "I'd love to, but the time is too short. At most, we can teach basic words and numbers—just enough to read and write commands. I'll explain this to Karl myself, and you just need to take them there." "But why would you do that? It's of no use in fighting the evil beasts!" "Who said that?" Roland yawned. "History has shown that a well-trained fighting force must be a cultured one—that's the lesson we've learned."