Chapter 35: Improving Training

Early March in the early spring, the weather had begun to warm.

By the stream in front of the wooden fortress in the valley, Tuba and two soldiers arrived with heavy, dragging steps. He bent down, buried his head into the stream, and frantically gulped the cool water into his parched throat. Only when his stomach was full did he slowly lift his head and collapse onto the grassy bank. Beside him, the two soldiers were too exhausted to even crawl to the water's edge.

Not long after, several more figures came stumbling along the bank toward them.

"Tu~ba~, tell me~ why does the Lord~ torture us so? I’ve~ run until I’m coughing blood~ If I had known~ I would have gone to join the cavalry under little Officer Roan..." The red-faced man who had once sipped fruit wine at the Tieniec free market spat out a glob of bloody phlegm and tried to crawl toward the stream.

Tuba panted heavily and replied, "Colin~~ didn’t you hear~ Lord Otto? Last year~ they were chased by a gang of bandits in the woods for an entire afternoon~ We~ run a bit more now~ so that in the future, if we can't win a fight~ at least we can run away. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen how ruthlessly Officer Roan trains that guy Jason."

"That’s true~ little Officer Roan~ is even harder on himself~"

Yate followed behind the fleeing group with Otto and a few others. Each carried a large wooden club, and any soldier they caught up to immediately received a thwack.

Otto and the others were also winded. Since after lunch, they had been chasing the soldiers back and forth between the fortress and the edge of the northern forest until the sun began to dip in the west. Several of the weaker soldiers had collapsed along the way, and a hungry night without food awaited them.

Otto slowed his pace and approached Yate, panting, "My Lord, I fear the soldiers cannot endure such training. Furthermore, will we really be chased for an entire afternoon by someone again?"

Ever since the heavy losses suffered during the skirmish at the Winchester estate, Yate had been searching for a better tactical formation. He hadn't found one perfectly suited for the current patrol squad, but he was certain that this was an era where combat relied on physical stamina. Their victory last time was largely due to his men being hardworking, long-suffering fellows; their skills were poor, but their endurance far surpassed their opponents.

However, Yate knew this punishing training method was too extreme. He intended to improve it with a tiered, progressive approach.

"Otto, do you think I am truly training them just to run for their lives? I am using this method to build their stamina and endurance. We must make up for our lack of individual combat skills with superior physical strength. Besides, we only do this kind of training once every three days. I have already told Emma to add more meat to dinner so everyone can eat well."

Yate looked back at the men collapsed on the ground and sighed. "Your concerns are not without merit. We will lower the intensity next time and increase it gradually."

...

On a pile of timber in the open space of the wooden fortress, seven or eight round oak shields, painted black and waiting to dry, were neatly arranged. The old carpenter, Bard, was working with the steward, Cooper, to craft them. They took well-seasoned oak, elm, and other quality woods, using hand axes, saws, chisels, and planes to create planks about an inch and a half thick. They fastened these to two crossbeams with rivets, trimmed the edges into circles two feet in diameter, applied black dye, and finally added wooden handles and adjustable leather straps between the crossbeams.

This batch of shields was sturdier than the last, but because there were so few men skilled in woodworking, the two old men could produce at most one shield a day. Even this speed was only possible because a lot of timber had been left over from road repairs, saving them the effort of gathering wood.

As Bard chiseled holes into a crossbeam, he asked Cooper, who was trimming the edges of a shield, "Old Steward, why doesn't the Lord make square shields? They are much faster to produce and can cover the entire body."

Cooper put down his plane, picked up a half-finished shield, and felt the rough edges. He looked up and replied, "The Lord said that square shields are too cumbersome and their corners hinder the use of thrusting weapons. These round shields don't have that problem. If these riveted shields were inlaid with a metal boss in the center, reinforced with metal strips on the edges, and covered in leather, they would be even stronger. But we don't have the capability for that yet; we can only stick to rivets and wooden crossbeams for now."

In Cooper's small cabin within the fortress courtyard, the hammering, sawing, and planing outside woke Simon, who was lying on a wooden bed. He struggled to sit up, leaning against the wooden wall, and squeezed his empty left sleeve with his right hand. Having lain in this bed for over twenty days, Simon felt hopeless. All these years, he had survived solely on his strength and his reckless, fearless bravery. Following this patrol officer north was meant to be a way to escape disaster and perhaps find a future. But now, all of that was gone. Without an arm, Simon felt like a waste—he couldn't farm, nor could he trade. He felt that only expulsion and vagrancy awaited him...

Camille, Roan's sister, ran from the courtyard to the open space in front of the main cabin, clutching a handful of grass for the goats. "Grandpa Steward, Uncle Simon is out of bed again."

"That troublesome fellow!" Cooper dropped his tools and followed Camille into the small courtyard. Seeing Simon, whose wounds had just begun to heal, out and risking his life, he hurried over to support the one-armed man. "Simon, why are you out of bed again? Your wounds have finally scabbed over; if you move like this, they will tear open."

"Old Steward, I truly cannot stand days like this. What is the difference between lying in bed all day and being dead?"

"Old Steward, just let me go. Rather than staying here like a beggar waiting for handouts, I would rather go out and be eaten by wild wolves." Simon pleaded with a choked voice.

Cooper’s face darkened, and he shouted, "Are you still a man? Whining like a common harlot all day! So what if you have no arm? Did you starve or freeze to death because of it? Dying is easy; living is what’s hard. You coward, and to think my Lord was planning to put you to good use!"

"Use me?" Simon, head bowed, thought he had misheard.

...

"Yes, use you." Yate sat on a wooden stool in front of the bed and said to Simon.

"The old steward has likely already told you that I intend to station a few soldiers at the border between Tieniec and Provence to set up a checkpoint. Firstly, it will help us control the security of the border region. Secondly, it is to collect entry taxes from passing caravans and peddlers, and to acquire cheap goods from them. Additionally, merchants and travelers are the most well-informed; we can gather news from the north and south through this checkpoint. However, this is not urgent. With the southern wars and the rampant bandits in the north, no merchants are willing to trade in the north. Plus, your wounds have not fully healed, and my squad lacks soldiers, so we must wait for some time."

"For now, stay in the fortress and recuperate. Once you have healed, help the old steward with some tasks. When the time is ripe, I will arrange this matter."

"Furthermore, I will retain your pay and status as a combat squad leader..."

The frown on Simon's face finally smoothed out. He struggled off the bed, choking back tears, "My Lord—"

Yate stopped Simon from kneeling. "Simon, I have said that I will not treat those who have bled for me unfairly..."

While the two spoke inside, in the large open space outside, Otto was brandishing a wooden club, supervising the patrol soldiers' improved formation training. He strode up to a man who had drifted ahead of the line and brought the club down on his head and shoulders.

"Coordination, coordination, coordination! You are in a battle line, damn it! Who told you to run so fast? Are you in such a hurry to die? Get back there and do it again!"

The beaten soldier scrambled up, rubbing the sore spot, and returned to the shield wall.

"Close formation!"

"Roar!"

All soldiers lowered their round shields, stood their short spears upright in front of them, and pulled into a single line.

"Turn!"

"Roar! Roar!"

They turned backward in unison.

"Form line!"

"Roar!"

"Advance!"

"Roar, roar, roar, roar!"

The movement of the spear-and-shield line was finally becoming more uniform and tight. Otto corrected a few obvious errors, explained the key points, and then ordered each squad to train individually. "Alright, each squad disperse and practice the spear-and-shield formation and individual combat skills."

"First and Second Squads, follow me." Bass and Kazak left the formation, leading their soldiers to either side of the open space.

Lawrence, having completed basic training, had to return to the valley to continue organizing the farmers to till the land. Roan also left with his only soldier for separate training.

Seeing the Third Squad's dedicated training ground cleared, Otto unhooked the round shield from his back and stepped into the ranks, standing beside two soldiers.

"Spear-and-shield line, form up!"

"Roar!" The six soldiers of the Third Squad's two combat teams stood in a line, two fists' width apart.

"Defensive charge!"

"Roar!" The six soldiers raised their round shields to their chests, leaned forward, and braced their right legs against the ground, their short spears resting on the upper-right edge of their shields.

"Attack!"

"Roar! Roar! Roar!" The six soldiers thrust their spears forward repeatedly.

"Close formation!"

"Roar!" The six soldiers withdrew their spears, lowered their shields, and returned to a standing position.

"Defend against arrows!"

"Roar!" The six soldiers split into two tight combat teams. The team leaders half-crouched to protect their chests, while the others stood and crouched to shield the front, top, and bottom. From the front, this looked like two rows of shields with three shields per row.

"End defense, prepare to engage!"

"Roar!" The two teams returned to a single line, reverting to the defensive charge stance.

"Fill the gap!" Otto stepped out of the formation, acting as if he had been killed, creating a gap in the tight line.

"Roar—" As soon as Otto stepped out, the soldiers on either side closed toward the empty space, filling the gap.

Otto left the squad, walked to the front of the group, and nodded with satisfaction. "After twenty-some days of training, you bastards finally look like something. Alright, next we will practice individual combat skills. Today, I’ll teach you how to hack an enemy in two with a battle axe~"

On either side of the open space, the sounds of the First and Second Squads' formation training continued...

...

Half a mile north of the wooden fortress, on the unfinished carriage road, Roan was under Jason's guidance, smoking his horn bow with dried horse manure.

Roan was so blinded by the thick, pungent smoke that he couldn't keep his eyes open. "Cough, cough, Jason, will this method really work?"

"Officer Roan, these two captured bows haven't been used in who knows how many years. The bowstring and the bow itself have gone soft; they must be smoked with horse manure to regain their tension." Jason turned the bow in his hands, ensuring it was smoked evenly.

"To think your cavalry formation skills are so poor, yet you are so familiar with bows and arrows. The Lord said that from now on, you will serve as our archer, and the Lord will also take time to train you and me personally."

Jason was the soldier who had been kicked out of the three squads. He had luckily stabbed an enemy at the Winchester estate, but in the subsequent formation, he panicked and forgot the coordination they had practiced. Because he failed to cover the main attacker in time, Bass's right leg was pierced by a serf with a wooden pitchfork. Afterward, at Bass's strong insistence, Jason was replaced during the new soldier assignments. None of the other officers, having witnessed Jason's clumsy performance, were willing to take in this "hazard." However, Yate remembered that this young man was a hunter's son and should have some foundation in archery, so after some shuffling, Jason ended up back with Roan, becoming Yate's guard and being trained as an archer.

Ever since missing out on becoming a squad leader, Roan had been pushing himself hard. He trained his individual combat skills and horsemanship relentlessly every day. As Yate's direct guard, and with Yate busy supervising training and managing the fortress, Roan could only find time during the gaps in group training to ask Yate to teach him archery, swordsmanship, and shield work, then practice bitterly on his own. The warhorses in the fortress were used for basic cavalry training for the soldiers, and the workhorses and mules were taken away to plow the fields, so Roan had to use a large donkey he had begged for to practice his riding.

Thus, every day, the others could see Roan and Jason, having finished their basic training, riding donkeys on the carriage road, swinging long swords and short spears to hack and thrust at straw dummies set up along the sides of the road. And the slow-witted Jason, who fell off the donkey again and again, only to climb back on under Roan's cursing...

The warm spring in the valley had quietly arrived, amidst the hard work and bitter training of everyone in the wooden fortress.