CHAPTER 532.3 - 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, his head 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 your usual training is very strict. Your military posture is very standard.”

Hearing the second lieutenant’s praise, Zane felt very pleased. The few days of surprise training before their departure had not been in vain.

“But!”

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

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

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

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

“Three, apart from carrying out orders already given, you must report anything else in advance, including using the latrine!”

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

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

“Yes, sir!” the militiamen responded.

Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe’s face hardened as he barked, “Louder! Haven’t you eaten?”

“YES, SIR!!!”

Led by Zane, the militiamen mustered their strength and shouted their response in unison again.

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 for now and won’t have to sleep in tents outside.”

“Now, on my command! To the right…turn! Forward…march!”

The commands given by Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe were common in militia training, so they posed no difficulty for them.

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

After they had been assigned bunks and had put away their luggage in the barracks, the second lieutenant led them to the front of the armory.

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

Yes! If not for the discipline holding them back, the militiamen, who were thrilled at the word “firearms,” would have cheered loudly.

Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe saw the excitement that suddenly flashed in their eyes and continued, “Now, you will follow me inside to receive your guns. One gun will be issued to each group of four. There is a serial number on the stock. You will then register the names of everyone in the group and the serial number of the gun you’ve received. When you return, they will be handed in together, and the armory administration will check them one by one against the registration information. If even one is lost or shows signs of intentional damage, the entire group, and even the entire unit, will be punished.”

Only one gun for four men! The militiamen were a bit displeased to hear this; they had thought it would be one per person.

But they dared not complain. Following the order of their units, they obediently went in, four by four, to get their guns.

Seto’s hands trembled as he received a musket from the administrator. From the stock, it was clear that it was not newly made, but it was very well-maintained. The metal barrel was polished with animal grease and gleamed brightly.

He happily cradled the gun and was about to leave.

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

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

After arriving at the registration area, the armory administrator in charge of registration pointed to a thick ledger on the table. “Sign your names one by one on it, and write the gun’s serial number on the last line.”

When it was McKee’s turn, he was in a bit of a predicament. “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 are you laughing at?” The administrator glared at the crowd. He asked, “What’s your name?”

“McKee, McKee Centurion.”

The administrator wrote his name for him and said, “Dip your thumb in some ink and press your print on it.”

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

Once all the groups had received their guns, Second Lieutenant Hohenlohe had them form up in ranks again.

“Alright, now, you must master the steps and essentials of firing a gun 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 excellent arrow… excellent marksmanship.”

Ferguson, standing beside him, gave a thumbs-up, praising him repeatedly.

“Hahahaha!” Paul laughed heartily. “Not at all, not at all. It’s thanks to this good gun, 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 in one shot was too absurd.

I hope this one shot didn’t use up all my good luck, Paul silently mused.

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

Especially that old Warren; when Paul asked, he turned out to be the father of his own training section head, Lieutenant Burgan.

“You’ve truly raised a fine son!”

Paul had said at the time, grasping his hand. “My generals have nothing but praise for Burgan. He is responsible, courageous, and a good soldier loyal to his duty.”

“Lord Grayman, you are 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 gentry. As expected, an awkward atmosphere immediately fell over the banquet, and the old squires’ enthusiasm for him instantly cooled by a third.

But in Paul’s mind, this was normal. If they had still sung his praises and flattered him endlessly after he brought up tax reform, that would have been truly bizarre.

In fact, when the customs union was being formed, following Hansel’s suggestion of “two steps forward, one step back,” Paul had mentioned tax reform back then. But that time, it was merely a bargaining chip to be discarded. Now that Paul was bringing up the old matter again, it was undoubtedly a slap in their faces.

Seeing that the atmosphere was off, Ferguson, the host of the banquet, 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 Ferguson, he came to the forest reserve and began the real hunt.