Joining the military as a commoner or as a slave were two entirely different matters, and the Bi family enforced this distinction without exception. Commoners who willingly enlisted in the private army enjoyed tangible benefits: decent pay, quality equipment, sufficient food, and even access to respectable-grade martial techniques and legacies in accordance with their contributions on the battlefield.
For slaves, it was the complete opposite.
The Dead Banner Battalion was composed of slaves and disgraced soldiers. They served as shock troops, sent first to shatter enemy formations, absorb arrow volleys, trigger hidden traps, or storm fortified positions. Their survival rate was low. Promotion existed, but it was rare enough to be whispered about rather than witnessed.
As for the initiative to join?
Some clung to the fleeting dream of earning freedom one day by making a decisive difference on the battlefield. Such miracles occurred perhaps once in a thousand cases.
Others joined for simpler reasons. The food alone was a significant upgrade from the miserable rice ball diet of the normal slaves. As for privacy, having only one roommate could already be considered a luxury. And although the martial techniques and legacies offered to slaves were usually the worst of the lot, discarded arts no one else desired, they were still better than nothing.
If one's goal was simply to die, then the Death Banner Battalion was the perfect place.
Unlike commoners who entered the recruitment camp through the main gates, slave recruitment was processed through the rear compound. There was no ceremony, no recording of lineage, no promise of rank beyond what could be clawed from blood and bone. That was why it was widely believed that only madmen among slaves volunteered for the Death Banner Battalion.
What the world had yet to understand was that within this seemingly suicidal force, Si would lay the foundation of his undying horde.
This system would prove fatal in an event which was termed the "rallying call of the crowned slave." After he became king of Yunhe, to herald his revolt against the empire, he called upon all slaves serving in the death banner battalions of various noble families across the kingdoms, luring them with promises of a future where slaves would rise as the ruling class of the Gan Dynasty.
The notion was deemed amusing, even laughable, by the noble class and the royalties of the time. Yet their laughter soon withered and fell silent beneath the thunder of the great revolt of their slaves, and not merely the death banner battalions alone. From every corner of the empire, slaves answered Si's call, converging into a staggering force three hundred thousand strong that shook the central plains to their very core. The death banner generals bent the knee and became his generals. Their elite troops, hardened by countless suicidal missions and forged in the crucible of despair, became teachers to the swelling ranks of slaves who aspired to join the war effort.
Thus it was that the weakest kingdom within the control of the Gan Dynasty ignited a revolt that consumed all five kingdoms and nearly set the royal capital itself to the torch.
"Are you going to stand there or come here?!"
A disgruntled voice pulled Si from his thoughts.
It came from a recruiter seated within a boxed wooden station. Si could understand the man's irritation. When he approached, there were no games or theatrics. He stated his name, the recruiter located his slave documentation, upgraded it to volunteer slave soldier, prepared a new identity tag, and then pointed lazily toward an old rack of weapons.
Cracked swords, splintered spears, chipped shields, and blades destined to betray their wielders at the most critical moment on the battlefield.
Si did not spare them a glance. He simply turned and walked away, heading toward the Death Banner Battalion camp.
The slave camp was not situated within the main military compound. It lay along the outer perimeter of the primary barracks, close enough for rapid mobilization yet distant enough to preserve hierarchy.
Upon arrival, Si presented his identity tag and entered without incident. Without seeking guidance, he made his way directly to the central training ground to meet the instructor.
The sight that greeted him was refreshing. Men stood in tight formations, cracked shields raised and locked into disciplined defensive lines. Elsewhere across the yard, others sparred with wooden swords, spears, and bare fists, the sounds of impact echoing across the packed earth.
Within the Death Banner Battalion, only one unit existed: the infantry. They were expendable cannon fodder, used to trigger enemy traps, launch suicidal assaults, or cover retreats. No one expected them to survive, so why waste fine bows, arrows, or horses on them?
Amidst these observations, Si spotted a familiar figure, a man he had deeply respected in his previous life. The instructor of the Bi family Death Banner Battalion, the general under whom all three thousand slave soldiers answered, Weijie.
Among all noble family Death Banner Battalions, that of the Bi family stood at the top for its relatively low casualty rate and battlefield efficiency, and the reason was this man.
"Si from the burial grounds greets Instructor!"
Si stepped forward, clasped his fists, and bowed lightly to the man who had saved his life countless times in his past existence, allowing him to live long enough to cultivate the Supreme Art of Death to profound heights.
With his head lowered, his thoughts drifted. In his final moments in his previous life, he had believed he departed the world without regret. Yet only months into this new life, he had already encountered three faces he deeply regretted losing.
Those faces stirred emotions within him, and the foremost rule of the Supreme Art of Death was to abandon oneself. One must abandon identity and all attachments bound to it. Only then could one shoulder the burden that accompanied the supreme art. If he succumbed to these emotions, they might become a bottleneck in his cultivation.
Meanwhile, Instructor Weijie regarded the pretty-faced youth with mild surprise. Most who arrived here emphasized the word "slave" before their names, as they possessed no surnames. It had become so common that nearly everyone did it. Yet this youth had simply called himself by his name.
"Si… Are you not a slave?" he asked, intrigue flickering in his eyes.
Si lifted his head to meet the instructor's gaze, recalling the first time he had stood here. Back then, he had referred to himself as "Slave Si," and Instructor Weijie had rebuked him.
"How can a warrior be a slave?"
Si repeated those very words. The entire training ground fell silent, every eye turning toward them. The dull gazes of the soldiers ignited with a spark of untapped passion.
Weijie studied the youth before him, his heart stirred by such boldness. A broad smile spread across his face as he patted Si's shoulder, his presence as steady and imposing as a towering mountain capable of blocking out the sun.
Beneath that seemingly gentle grip, Si sensed a concealed force powerful enough to snap his tempered bones like twigs. This was the strength of a True Martial expert.
"Well said, boy… well said!" Weijie laughed, patting him again.
Then his expression shifted slightly as he noticed Si carried no weapon. Confusion surfaced in his eyes.
"Did you forget to pick out a weapon from the registration officer?" he asked.
Si casually shook his head.
"I will find an appropriate weapon on the battlefield. Until then, my fists are sufficient!"