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墨書 Inktalez
If it weren't for the recruitment requirements regarding troop numbers, the Barony would at least bring a hundred armored soldiers and four hundred Serfs, with knights leading thirty armored soldiers and a hundred Serfs. As for knights like Ao Ao, they would have five armored soldiers each. Redman wanted to go light, taking only his elite troops.
"Come on, John, just agree. It will benefit you too," Redman urged. Hearing Redman’s encouragement, John pretended to be troubled and nodded reluctantly.
"However, I can't manage the rations for these Serfs; that responsibility falls on you," he replied.
"Don't worry about the rations; we'll give you some extra money as a management fee," the others quickly assured him, even offering to chip in for some peace and quiet.
John wore a reluctant expression as he glanced at the other groups of Serf Soldiers in the distance, but inside he was already overjoyed.
"Don't underestimate these Serf Soldiers. Even if they seem weak, there are nearly two thousand of them here. If I train my men well during these days, their numbers could multiply significantly." He wasn’t worried about those nobles taking his Serf Soldiers away after training; after all, he looked down on them. They were just reckless chargers with no sense of command. In the end, it would still be him leading the troops.
Once war broke out, John felt secure commanding from the center; staying back and not charging into battle was far better than anything else.
Since John decided to take on this responsibility, he wasn't going to just muddle through. He started by organizing the numbers. The first thing that made him laugh was how unreliable most of these nobles were. Only Redman seemed dependable; he knew exactly how many Serf Soldiers he had. The others just grabbed people directly from their farms, issuing some rudimentary weapons without caring about proper numbers.
The Knight Lords didn’t bother to check, and the soldiers below wouldn’t count beyond a few hundred; they could only estimate and grab more strong-looking individuals just in case.
This led John to discover that there were more people than he initially thought. But that was fine; the more people there were, the better, as he had plenty of capable individuals under his command.
To check the numbers, he sent Mozart with fifty seasoned veterans to divide the Serfs into squads of forty each. The veterans would lead and train them according to military drills.
They started with formations; no matter what happened, as long as they maintained formation, they could intimidate their opponents. If enemies saw a group of soldiers standing in neat lines, they would recognize them as elite troops and lose some of their courage.
Then they would shout some synchronized slogans; an ordinary mob might even drop their weapons and flee in fear.
Addressing the already divided Serf Soldiers, John began his speech.
"From today onward, no matter what you do, you must report to your squad leader—even if it's just going to the restroom; you need permission from your leader first. Everything must be done collectively—sleeping and eating included."
"Keep your eyes sharp! If anything goes wrong, Captain will whip you! If one person misbehaves, ten lashes for them! If one person gets into trouble, the whole squad will be punished."
"When we march out, keep your formation! If anyone strays from the line, it’s treated as desertion—your relatives in your village will face execution."
John had no intention of training them gently; he had never been civilized himself. From start to finish, all his soldiers came from Serf backgrounds—uneducated individuals who didn’t even know how to pick up a fallen stick properly.
He intended to use the Whip to instill discipline into these Serf Soldiers, embedding it deep within their bones. Only then, when faced with the enemy, would their ingrained instincts drive them to charge forward, even in fear.
Perhaps it was the power of the Whip, combined with John's ability to organize troops, but by the third day, this group of Serf Soldiers had begun to take shape. They may not have been perfectly aligned, but at the very least, they resembled a proper army rather than a mere band of fleeing refugees.
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