Chapter 532: Militia Training 2

Chapter 532: Militia Training 2


TL: Rui88


“Reporting, sir! Tata Town, one hundred and twenty men expected, one hundred and twenty men present. Awaiting your inspection!”


Zane stood ramrod straight, head and chest held high, as he reported to the officer before him.


An officer with the insignia of a second lieutenant silently counted the men.


He praised them loudly, “Not bad. I can see that your usual training is very strict. Your military posture is very standard.”


Hearing the second lieutenant’s praise, Zane felt very pleased. It seemed the few days of intensive training before they left had not been in vain.


“But!”


The second lieutenant’s tone suddenly rose, and he adopted a stern voice. “In Lakeheart Town, you will undergo even stricter training. All requirements must be on par with active-duty soldiers.”


“By the way, let me introduce myself. I am Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe, and I will be in charge of your command and training for the next week. Now I will announce a few rules of discipline.”

“One, no one is allowed to leave the barracks without permission!”

“Two, except for using the lavatory, no one is allowed to act alone. You must only act as a group!”


“Three, except for carrying out orders that have been given, you must report anything else in advance, including using the lavatory!”


“Oh, right, and a fourth rule! No urinating or defecating wherever you please.”


“Any violation of the four rules I just mentioned will result in severe punishment. Do you all understand?”


“Yes, sir!” the militiamen responded.


Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe’s face hardened as he shouted, “Louder! Have none of you eaten?”


“Yes! Sir!!!”


Led by Zane, the militiamen mustered all their strength and shouted their response in unison once more.


Only then did Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe nod in satisfaction and continue, “Good. Now I will take you to your barracks! You are very lucky. The Lakeheart Town garrison has just left for field exercises, so you can stay in their quarters temporarily instead of sleeping in tents outside.”


“Now, listen to my command! To the right…turn! At the quick…march!”


The commands given by Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe were also common in the militia’s training, so they posed no difficulty.


The militiamen of Tata Town marched in neat steps, following Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe to the barracks.


After being assigned bunks in the barracks and stowing their luggage, the second lieutenant led them to the front of the armoury.


“This time you have come to Lakeheart Town, you will receive firearms training!”


Yay! If not for the discipline holding them back, the militiamen, thrilled by the word “firearms,” would have cheered loudly.


Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe saw the excitement that suddenly flashed in their eyes and continued, “Now, follow me inside to draw your muskets. One musket per group of four. There is a number on the stock. Then, register the names of everyone in your group and the number of the firearm you’ve been issued. When you return, they will be handed back in, and the armoury administration will check them one by one against the registration information. If even one is lost or shows signs of deliberate damage, the entire group, and even the entire contingent, will be punished.”


Only one musket for four men! The militiamen were a little disappointed to hear that; they had thought it would be one per person.


However, they did not dare to complain. They followed the order of their ranks, dutifully entering four by four to receive their weapons.


Seto’s hands trembled as he received a musket from the clerk. From the stock, he could tell it was not newly made, but it was very well maintained. The metal barrel was polished with animal grease, shining brightly.


He happily cradled the musket and was about to go out.


“Hey, hey, you still need to register!”


His three companions, assigned to the same group, tugged at his clothes to remind him.


After they arrived at the registration desk, the armoury clerk in charge of registration pointed to a thick ledger on the table. “Sign your names on it one by one, and write the firearm’s number on the last line.”


When it was McKee’s turn, he looked troubled. “I… I don’t know how to write my name.”


“Didn’t they teach you in school?”


McKee scratched his head in embarrassment. “School? You mean night school? I… I was too busy dozing off.”


Hahaha! A wave of mocking laughter rose from the surroundings.


“What’s so funny?” The clerk glared at the crowd. He asked, “What is your name?”


“McKee, McKee Centurion.”


The clerk wrote the name for him and said, “Dip your thumb in some ink and put your thumbprint here.”


McKee did as he was told, and then it was the next person’s turn.


When all the groups had received their muskets, Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe had them form up again.


“Alright, now, you must master the steps and essentials of firing within one and a half days…that is, by tomorrow evening!”


Compared to the still-excited militiamen, a hint of impatience showed in the captain’s eyes.



“Bang!”


A loud gunshot echoed through the woods, startling a flock of birds into the sky.


A hundred yards away, an unlucky goat fell to the ground.


“Lord Grayman, what fine archer… fine marksmanship.”


Fergus, standing beside him, gave him a thumbs-up and praised him repeatedly.


“Hahahaha!” Paul laughed heartily. “Not at all, not at all. It’s thanks to this fine musket, and… a little bit of luck.”


In truth, it was mostly luck. Even if the rifled musket in his hand was incredibly accurate, with Paul’s level of shooting proficiency, hitting the target on the first shot was too much of a stretch.


‘Don’t let this one shot use up all my good luck,’ Paul silently prayed in his heart.


Today was the second day he had been here. Paul had attended the banquet Fergus held for him yesterday to welcome him. At the banquet, Fergus had introduced him to Warren, Eldo, Shank, and others, all local squires of considerable repute.


Especially that Old Warren; when Paul asked, it turned out he was the father of his own head of the training section, Second Lieutenant Burgan.


“You’ve truly raised a fine son!”


Paul had shaken his hand at the time and said, “My commanders all speak highly of Burgan. He is conscientious, responsible, and courageous in taking on tasks…a good soldier devoted to his duty.”


“Lord Grayman, you are far too kind.”


Although he was modest with his words, Paul still remembered the flicker of pride in Old Warren’s eyes when he looked at him, and the faint smile at the corners of his mouth.


During the banquet, Paul had indirectly brought up the matter of tax reform, taking the opportunity to sound out these old landed proprietors. As expected, a layer of awkwardness immediately fell over the banquet, and the old squires’ enthusiasm for him instantly cooled by a third.


However, in Paul’s mind, this was normal. It would have been strange if, after he brought up tax reform, these people had still sung his praises and flattered him endlessly.


In fact, when the customs union was established, following Hansel’s suggestion of “take two steps forward, one step back,” Paul had mentioned tax reform back then, but it was merely a bargaining chip at the time and was eventually discarded. Now that Paul was bringing up the old matter again, he was undoubtedly slapping them in the face.


The host of the banquet, Fergus, seeing that the atmosphere was not right, immediately changed the subject. Everyone resumed their drinking and merriment, and no one mentioned anything that would spoil the mood again.


After the banquet, Paul rested for a night at the manor. The next day, accompanied by Fergus, he went to the forest grounds and began the real hunt.