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John approached the military department in the royal capital with a heart full of anticipation and a hint of nervousness. After completing a series of formalities, he finally set off on the road to the barracks.
As he walked, images of the brave soldiers from Courage who had fought valiantly flashed through his mind. He thought to himself, Surely the barracks in the royal capital must be better? With such hopeful expectations, John quickly arrived at the barracks.
However, the moment he stepped through the gates, his disappointment was palpable. The soldiers on guard were disheveled; some wore their hats askew while others had their uniforms unbuttoned, showing a complete lack of military discipline.
What shocked him even more was the deafening sound of gambling shouts coming from within the barracks. The noise echoed as if this place were not a military camp but a chaotic gambling den.
Suppressing his dissatisfaction, John followed the guide through the noisy and disorderly camp until they finally reached the main tent. Here, he finally met the commanding officer of the troops he was to train.
The officer was a thin, middle-aged man with sparse mustache whiskers and a face lined with deep wrinkles that made him resemble a dried walnut. He sat comfortably in his chair, holding a glass of blood-red wine, while a young and beautiful girl playfully teased him beside him.
Seeing this scene, John felt a surge of disdain. Could this seemingly frail man truly be capable of leading an army? Looking at him, John even had the illusion that if he pushed just a little harder, this man might collapse and head straight for the afterlife.
Despite his doubts about the man before him, John took a deep breath out of courtesy and responsibility and stepped forward to introduce himself: "Hello, I am John Stephen, appointed by Your Majesty as the instructor for this army."
Upon hearing this, the officer blinked in surprise and then broke into a sycophantic smile. He quickly stood up and exclaimed, "Ah! It’s Count John! What an honor! Please have a seat! You lot, what are you standing around for? Hurry up and serve Count John some fine tea!"
As he spoke, he kicked one of his guards nearby, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling.
John glared at him with a dark expression, filled with displeasure and confusion. Furrowing his brow tightly, he asked stiffly, "Excuse me, Commander, may I ask who you are?"
The middle-aged man smirked slightly and displayed an insufferable grin. He casually raised his hand and slapped the ample backside of the girl beside him while letting out an unrestrained laugh: "Hahaha! My apologies for not introducing myself sooner. I am Tustin Mujian, Legion Commander of the Royal Capital Guard's Third Legion."
Hearing this name made John's eyes widen in disbelief as he shook his head in shock: "Tustin? Commander? How could the troops in the royal capital have fallen to such a state?"
He recalled that those soldiers he had encountered earlier were nothing like this; they were all courageous and fearless, exuding strong military spirit and ironclad will. The people before him were completely different.
In response to John's inquiry, Tustin chuckled dismissively before slowly explaining: "You may not know this, but our troops in the royal capital are actually divided into two groups. One is us—the Royal Capital Guard; the other is the Royal Guard."
After a brief exchange of words, John finally understood the situation. He was about to take over training what had become a decayed and chaotic Royal Capital Guard.
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