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墨書 Inktalez
"Move it! Put in some effort! Hurry up and get running! Don't you want to stay in the army?" Kuiradi shouted, riding a tall and powerful steed as he galloped between the formations. He wielded a long whip, mercilessly cracking it against the lazy soldiers who were trying to slack off. These guys were just a bunch of stubborn old hands; if he didn't whip them hard, they wouldn't budge an inch.
"Get moving now! Anyone who dares to continue slacking off will be kicked out of my camp immediately!" Kuiradi bellowed. Meanwhile, up on the high platform, John sat leisurely. He took a gentle sip of fragrant green tea and then casually picked up a few dried fruits to chew on. In front of him lay several exquisite and delicious snacks.
Below, the formations were neatly arranged, but there were only forty-seven left. Each formation consisted of elite soldiers, and this scale had significantly changed compared to the initial numbers. Remembering how things had started just half a month ago, John couldn't help but shake his head with a wry smile. After careful counting back then, he was astonished to find that the army, which was supposed to number ten thousand, actually had as many as three thousand eight hundred ghost soldiers reported falsely. Even more unbelievable was that, aside from these ghost soldiers, there were over a thousand elderly and infirm individuals nearing fifty mixed in among them.
Faced with such chaos, John did not rush into training on his first day; instead, he conducted a thorough reorganization of the entire army. He divided the soldiers into small teams of ten, with five small teams forming one larger unit. This meticulous grouping allowed for better organization during training and improved management efficiency.
As for the instructors responsible for training, there was no need to look elsewhere. Every soldier under John's command was capable of acting as a Captain and guiding new recruits in their training. This was the result of ten years of careful cultivation by John.
During the past half month, John had not conducted any weapon training activities at all. The reason was simple: he understood that the urgent task at hand was to thoroughly instill a sense of servitude in these soldiers. If this could not be achieved, no amount of whipping or punishment would suffice; if one day someone suddenly rose up in rebellion and ignited that spark of anger, he would find it difficult to cope himself! After all, why had almost no one dared to shout such a deafening slogan as "Do nobles have any true worth?" in the past?
The root cause lay in the deeply ingrained education of servitude received since childhood and the portrayal of a supposedly beautiful and comfortable living environment in various forms of information.
John himself operated similarly; every morning at seven o'clock sharp, he would blow the whistle to signal the start of a tense and rigorous training schedule for the day. Aside from a brief two-hour break at noon, these soldiers would be tightly bound within the camp until nightfall when the streetlights first flickered on at seven o'clock.
This high-intensity training regimen—seven days a week from seven in the morning until seven at night—left these soldiers with no time to attend to anything else, not even a moment's space for independent thought.
At the same time, John constantly emphasized to them how miserable their lives would be once they were separated from the Royal Capital Guard. This instilled an endless sense of anxiety deep within these soldiers' hearts. As they say: if there is no anxiety present, then one must find ways to artificially create it.
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