When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 767 - 722 Barracks and Wind-Powered Torsion Machine

"Ah, damn it! Constans's son!"

Watching the blood oozing from his finger, Old Laver quickly shoved his bread-crusted finger into his mouth.

Several recruits around burst into mocking laughter.

Old Laver glared, "What's so funny?"

Three days had passed since the little altercation, and Old Laver had mingled well with the recruits in this barrack.

Sitting in front of the only fireplace, the briquettes radiated rolling heat, cooking the peas, sausage bits, and bread soup into a steaming, sticky mush.

With cloth strips barely bandaging his wound, Old Laver continued chiseling away at the black bread with his fingers embedded with ironwood splinters.

The bread crumbled like wood chips into the soup, with crumbs mixed with drops of frostbite's yellow ooze falling into the pot.

Sitting on a straw mat laid with animal skins, ten pairs of green, hungry eyes fixated on the pot.

It's understood that before the spring thaw, supplies at Bear Chomping Castle would be quite tight, even for recruit training, conditions weren't good.

Sitting by the bed, Old Laver surveyed the barracks before him, the low and somber wooden building with ten bunks lined along the walls.

Snores echoed under the beams, fermented into a rancid mix of foot odor, armpit odor, and hanging stink.

Old Laver wasn't killing for the first time, but for some reason, the fight three days ago with that knight lingered in his mind.

On that extraordinarily skilled sheep thief, he felt a long-lost sense of danger, like when he was previously surrounded by wolves.

Just as Old Laver was lost in thought, the clanking of iron greaves startled the crows on the beam and brought Old Laver back.

Drillmaster Donovan of the recruits' centuria burst in at mealtime, and the recruits who were sprawled across the beds with blankets immediately rose to greet him.

Donovan grasped the military judge's roster scroll with his iron gloves, his sinister gaze sweeping over the ten present: "Who's Laver Hunter?"

"I am," Old Laver stepped forward immediately, keeping his head down, avoiding Donovan's gaze, "What does the drillmaster want with me?"

"Don't call me sir, do you want the military chaplain to have a talk with me?" Donovan impatiently flipped a page on the roster scroll, "You killed a sheep thief?"

"Uh, yes." Old Laver turned and pointed to Kaler, "He can testify..."

"No need for that hassle; how do you think this list came to my hands?" Donovan checked off a mark next to Old Laver's name with his pen, then pulled out an iron badge and tossed it to him, "You're now the captain of the new recruits' decuria, lead them to the ground tomorrow."

Taking the iron badge, Old Laver didn't feel much joy.

Though Captain Ten's wage was higher with better promotion prospects, one needs to stay alive to enjoy those benefits.

Old Laver rubbed the edge of the badge, feeling a tightness in his throat. He thought it over but still called out to Donovan: "Drillmaster, I have something to report."

Donovan slammed his boot heel into the ground; as he turned, his eyes squinted slightly, "Three sentences."

"My opponent the other day seems to be an Extraordinary Knight, his strength and extraordinary martial skills are unparalleled."

"Perhaps a runaway retainer knight, it's not uncommon." Donovan replied impatiently, ready to leave.

Being a former Mountain Knight, he detested the bureaucratic regulations of the new army.

"Drillmaster..." Gritting his teeth, Old Laver spoke again, having no room for regret once the words were out, "I think we should report it to the City Guard."

"Are you asking me to disturb the City Guard with such a trivial matter? Hm?" Had he the authority, Donovan would've revoked Old Laver's Captain Ten post on the spot.

"Previously, our army subjugated the nobility of the Shattered Stone Plain; I support an offensive against them and wish they would provoke us.

Though I don't understand why, Her Highness Moliat has a reason for forbidding a rash attack.

If they dare provoke us, aren't they afraid we might really retaliate?

I'm sure, with Her Highness Moliat's capability, and our Thousand River Valley's new army's strength, we can make them submit within half a year!"

"But..."

"Alright, maybe he really has Innate Divine Power." Donovan stayed half-shadowed in the corridor, "Bear Chomping Castle is underpopulated, times are tough, I understand, but don't exaggerate.

Last week, someone claimed to have seen Two-headed Ogres, but guess what? It was a ham hanging under the eaves!"

Without waiting for Old Laver's response, Donovan walked out of the room and headed to the next barrack.

"Maybe it was just a runaway retainer knight," Kaler stepped forward to comfort.

Old Laver's intuition told him otherwise, but thinking it over, he figured he wasn't the City Guard, if the sky fell, it would be their responsibility.

Just have to be cautious, so when the sky does fall, he doesn't get crushed beneath its fragments.

Carrying inexplicable worries, Old Laver woke all the recruits on time the next morning.

They changed into woolen jackets, shivering in the cold wind, crossing the obtuse-angled walls, over the ironwood trestle on the moat.

The windlass overhead cast rotating shadows.

Talking wasn't allowed, but a recruit couldn't resist, sneaking forward: "Captain Ten, why can they use windlass?"

Old Laver surely didn't know why, but Kaler unexpectedly blurted out, "Because their brass springs are thinner."

"Thinner?" Even Old Laver turned, looking at Kaler ahead.

Kaler seemed nervous: "For the same weight, the thinner the brass spring, the less force is needed to wind it, but it takes more time."

"Won't that delay the firing time?"

"I don't know." Kaler shook his head, "Seems it uses gears to accelerate, you know, with Mithril making gears and springs lighter, it might have something to do with that."

Several people's eyes revealed a hint of greed immediately, Old Laver immediately scolded: "Put away your little schemes!"

"How do you know this?" Turning his head, Old Laver grew more curious, "Isn't this supposed to be engineers' knowledge?"

"Before I set off, my brother-in-law forced me to study 'Introduction to Mechanics' for a month, he originally intended to send me to be an artilleryman." Thinking of his brother-in-law's despairing expression, Kaler smiled wryly, "But later found out, artillery requires math and astrology..."

"Sounds like your brother-in-law is quite a figure?" Old Laver perked up.

Kaler shyly smiled, "He's just a small merchant, living on fresh fish orders from the Battle Group."

Old Laver wanted to inquire more but saw Donovan approaching with a scowl, so he immediately fell silent.

"Did I allow you to chatter? Three days and you still haven't chatted enough? Get to your positions and stand firm!"

Shamed-faced, yet Old Laver guided the decuria to stand accordingly to the ground markers.

From the bastion's shadow emerged two quartermasters, their wooden carts laden with oil-cloth-wrapped long objects.

Donovan unveiled the oil cloth, revealing hundreds of steel spears and swords gleaming with a cold, grey-blue in the morning light.

"You're eating the Autocratic Duke's bread; you work for the Autocratic Duke. What does working mean? Train well, fight well!"

"Alright, farmers!" The iron gate clamped shut with a click, the bastion's shadow bisected the phalanx, "Your first lesson is—to become more than just farmers!"