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墨書 Inktalez
Feeling somewhat helpless, John looked at his companion. "Boss, your topic change is just too awkward," he remarked with a chuckle.
Ignoring the awkward laughter from Redman, John pulled out a small device he always carried with him.
Only thirty-seven people had survived, and the injured had already been sent home. Over the past few days, I recruited two hundred from the refugees, exchanged some gemstones for weapons, and was currently training them in formation.
"Haha, John, I trust you to handle this. Just focus on training the Militia; this is our last bit of money," Redman replied.
"Yeah, if we want to achieve something in this border counteroffensive, it all depends on these Militia. They are our last troops."
"Boss, I'll take care of the training, but our food supplies are running low. You need to negotiate for that; I can't deal with the Quartermaster."
"If the Quartermaster of the Third Legion is still around when we get to Iron Will Fortress, remember that the Quartermaster here was personally appointed by Marquis Duvas. He's a Baron; someone like John, who isn't even a Knight Attendant, wouldn't even catch his eye."
Redman directly took on the responsibility. "Alright, I'll handle it. It's a small matter."
With a noble involved, securing some rations shouldn't be too difficult.
After that, there was little left for the two of them to discuss. Redman could still enjoy himself with the nobles stationed at Iron Wema while John had to stay in the barracks every day, facing over two hundred male soldiers and teaching them about battlefield combat.
"One... three... four... one three four! Come on, straighten your backs!"
"Johnny! Kick that coward over there! What’s wrong? Are you not a man?"
"Haven't eaten? Get moving! Stab with your spears!"
"What you don't put effort into today will have you lying on the boards tomorrow!"
Under the sun, more than two hundred men sweated together as John let the veterans lead the new recruits. He drew from everything he had seen in novels and TV shows and combined it with his military training experience and imagination to give these guys special training.
He even thought of a name for this unit: Wolf Fang. It was a tribute to his childhood TV show, though he wasn't sure what nickname to give it—Siberian Wolf or Big-Tailed Wolf?
"John, looks like you're living quite well these days," Redman said as he appeared out of nowhere.
"Unlike you," John shot back. "You’re out dining every day. What’s up? No dinner parties outside? Come here to mooch off me?"
Hearing John's sarcastic tone made Redman feel a chill run down his spine; his brother had quite an opinion about him.
"Cough cough! What's wrong? Are you turning into a nagging wife? Look what I brought you—authentic Kodo Beast milk liquor from the Orc tribe."
John snatched it away and poured himself a glass. "Now that's more like it."
Redman pulled a chair aside and sat down. "How's your injury?"
John lazily stretched his legs and replied, "It's getting better. My physical condition is strong, so I recover quickly. It's mostly fine now, except I can't move my right hand."
"That's good to hear. I heard the situation at the front lines isn't as we initially thought. The enemy's counterattacks have been too fierce; everyone is stuck at Garon Pass."
John understood. "So, does that mean we might still earn some merit, or are we just going to lose more of our men?"
Redman shook his head and smiled. "Not this time. This time we're just going up to add numbers, to gain some experience. I heard the Governor is personally getting involved."
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