CHAPTER 551: CHAPTER 529: SERVICE SOLDIER MCGOWAN

Although the water level and flow rate of the canal decreased significantly after entering winter, the fleet departing from Joan of Arc Castle still moved swiftly, entering the tributary of the South Nao’an River by evening.

Amidst the curling smoke from the fishing village by the riverside town, the fleet gently sailed into the designated docking point.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t travel at night, but there were bridges set up by the local lord to collect taxes on the river surface.

These bridges were still important land routes and couldn’t be dismantled, so they had to be changed over, conveniently taking a break at the same time.

The local villagers had already prepared a temporary camp in advance. Under the golden-red glow of the sunset, rows of small cabins with firwood roofs stood along the riverbank.

Surrounded by the cabins was a small square that could accommodate two to three hundred people, with the black and red bicolor banner fluttering in the evening breeze.

The middle school students from Frick Middle School, acting as service soldiers, carried basins-sized wooden boxes, walking past the bicolor flag.

Sunlight sprinkled on their shoulders, as if embroidering a layer of golden fringe on their silhouettes, shimmering along their movements at the edges.

Biting his teeth, face flushed, placing the wooden box under the eaves, McGowan freed his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

Not just him, several teenagers around had wisps of steam coming off their heads.

Half of these boxes were filled with straw, but inside them were arranged several heavy balls, along with the wooden box itself, still quite heavy.

Several teenagers plopped down on the steps beside them, mournfully realizing they had already become familiar with the irritating chaken coat.

The chaken is a kind of coarse knee-length tight garment, somewhat like a vest, buttoned in the middle, with a belt around the waist to prevent the hem from catching the wind.

This relatively tight garment is usually exclusive to commoners, something they’ve never worn growing up.

As soon as the teenagers sat down, they saw a skinny teenager stepping towards the dock again.

"Where are you going?"

"There’s just a little left, let me carry it."

"Take a rest, no need to rush."

"I’ll rest after I carry it."

"Brown-noser." Watching the back of the commoner teenager, McGowan snorted disdainfully.

After snorting, smelling the aroma of sauerkraut pork soup wafting from afar and feeling his gurgling stomach, the knight teenagers from Jinhe Town could not help but feel a bit resentful.

They could never understand why His Majesty Saint Sun had them serve as service soldiers?

Even if they couldn’t be officers, they could at least go to the battlefield as soldiers; what was up with being servants?

If only servants of the commander, it might be fine, but they ended up as crude servants whom anyone in the entire corps could command.

Was this deliberately to humiliate them?

But this was a question they could never voice out; the reverent infusion of discipline by veteran instructors during Frick Middle School’s military lessons had taught them to keep silent.

The muscle aches gradually faded, and the distant aroma of meat became more intense.

Seeing the commoner student struggling with a wooden box, several Kush youths couldn’t continue standing idle.

"McGowan, let’s keep moving; the sooner we finish, the sooner we can eat."

"I’m not moving." McGowan loosened his collar, stretched his neck, "Even if we eat first, it’s just leftovers, what’s the difference... Forget it, I’m going to take a leak, I’ll be back soon."

Telling the other teenagers, he bypassed those boxes and went behind the cabin to relieve himself freely.

Having just buckled his belt, he turned around and saw a stout, middle-aged man unbuckling his belt.

They exchanged glances, both silently agreeing not to reveal each other’s breach of military regulations.

"Can I have a sip?"

Seching was startled by the words of the youth before realizing he was referring to the wine pouch on his waist.

"The wine’s strong, can you handle it?" Seching flinched as if electrocuted, casually wiped his hands on his pants, and handed the wine pouch to McGowan.

Frick Middle School had a Prohibition Order, and drinking was strictly forbidden during wartime in the army, something he had long craved: "I’ve been drinking since I was five, how strong could it be... cough, cough, cough!"

"Hahahaha." Seching couldn’t help but burst out laughing, though he froze when reaching to take back the wine pouch.

"I think I’ve seen you at a banquet before. How are you related to the Knight of La Lufa?"

"The Knight of La Lufa is my father. My name is McGowan Trasiva, and you are?"

"Hahaha, so you’re the son of La Lufa." Seching pounded his chest, "Two years ago I went hunting with your father. I’m Seching, the lord of Hawkfall Castle. How is your father?"

"He died in battle at Black Mountain Castle, and now my mother manages the family affairs." McGowan’s mother is from the Alco Clan, but his father was a Falan Knight.

After his father’s death, he suddenly became one of the Kush people and was even sent to Frick Middle School to study.

Seching opened his mouth, momentarily unsure of what to say, and could only sigh, "May his soul find peace in heaven. What are you going to do now? If you have time, we can have dinner together."

"I’m afraid there won’t be a chance." McGowan shook his head, "I have to go on guard duty next."

As a service soldier, the first lesson is to learn how to stand guard.

Of course, it’s impossible for them to stand guard independently at the start. Instead, a sentry post is composed of one veteran, two new soldiers, and one service soldier.

Each time, they ensure that two people are awake, with the four of them taking turns sleeping.

"You’re drinking while on duty? Aren’t you afraid of getting caught by those damn military police?" This morning, Seching was fined twenty dinars for relieving himself on the ship.

"I’m on duty in the second half of the night." McGowan complained, "Those with good grades in swordsmanship have to stand guard, while those with poor grades just do chores. How does that make sense?"

Besides reading, writing, arithmetic, and decrees, Frick Middle School also offers sports courses like swordsmanship and horseback riding.

Since the Kush youths come from knightly families, they often have inherent advantages and usually outperform the commoners in sports courses.

This time, however, it was the commoners who excelled in cultural subjects that took on roles like recording military achievements and writing documents, while the sons of knights served tea, stood guard, and kept watch.

Seching, seeing McGowan’s face turning red, cautiously reminded him, "Your Saint Sun Pope, I can speak with him. He’s a magnanimous and kind person, and he won’t discriminate."

"He only appears magnanimous and kind." As the acorn wine took effect, McGowan’s words became unrestrained. "Without his permission, do you think those Cheka could hang nobles and throw people into jail at will?

He put all the blame on the Cheka and military police, while he stands high and dry, without a stain on him."

Seching shook his head, "You seem a bit extreme."

"Extreme? Do you know why he does this?

The Empire has brave popes, wise popes, cruel popes, and even greedy and lascivious popes, yet it’s missing the most common kind—a kind pope.

Everyone hopes for a kind pope, hoping for a compassionate father, so that’s the role he plays."

"Why do you think it’s an act?" Seching had quite a good impression of Horn, and McGowan’s statements made him even find it amusing.

Perceptively sensing Seching’s mistrust, McGowan blushed as he said, "Don’t disbelieve me. Have you seen how he treats soldiers?

Three days a week, he stays in the barracks, serving soldiers meals, bandaging their wounds, expressing concern, and carrying sick soldiers to the doctor... He’s more doting than a knight courting a noblewoman.

He eats the same meals as the soldiers, wears the same clothes, walks the same roads. Is that normal? Isn’t it obviously a way to win them over?

Although these soldiers are older than him, they treat him like a father, even calling him ’our little pope.’"

"Isn’t that a good thing?" Seeing McGowan’s stubbornness, Seching began to get a little angry, "I would actually hope for such a little pope!"

"But their little pope," McGowan continued, "abandons them on the battlefield in a heartbeat to lure the enemy, and they still feel honored to die for him.

In the Battle of Rapids City, the Black Hat Seventh and Eighth Corps were half slaughtered by knights, rivers of blood flowed, and their little pope was leisurely looping around from the rear.

What mercy, what compassion, what love for soldiers as if they were his own sons; he only wants victory."

"If he’s as bad as you say, why do the Kush people still follow him?" Seching glared at the cynical young chubby.

"Because he always wins... hic... it’s just that simple..."

The cold wind blew through, and the alley fell silent for a moment.

Blown by this cold wind, McGowan’s drunkenness turned into a fine cold sweat on his forehead, "This wine of yours is indeed strong. Cough, cough, I still have to move things, may I leave?"

"You can go... And, I’m on boat number 3, so if anything, you can find me."

With a flushed red face, McGowan staggered away on unsteady feet.

In the winter’s cold wind, the anger on Seching’s face gradually faded. He stood in place, caught between contemplation and astonishment.