Chapter 90: Chapter 90

Ten hours of training wasn't a long time for soldiers, especially for units active on the front lines.

"Training complete! Everyone back to the barracks!"

Yet Dandel Klaus's training methods-density aside-operated on an entirely different level.

"Simulated battle results: full unit declared dead, defense failed. Tonight we eat emergency rations. Disperse to the mess hall and rest for the next session."

"Emergency rations two days in a row-seriously?!"

"Hey! After you eat, regroup! We'll redo the tactics!"

Four hours of drills, then four more of outdoor mock combat.

Simulated rounds made with real guns and Loren's help.

In under half a month this virtual battle-run by ten instructors of the 87th Independent Company-was forging them into real soldiers.

"Anyone get hit this time?"

"None, sir. We're not idiots."

"Out of twenty, only two found our positions. Their return fire didn't even have the right direction."

Brushing dust from their combat suits, the company members spoke up.

"Blank rounds are fine, but the guns keep jamming..."

"When am I supposed to clean all this?"

"Just spray and pray. Bet the jam on poker later."

"Poker my ass. I'd rather run another mock battle than lose to you at cards."

"Think you'll win a mock battle? Wanna spar right now?"

"Hey! Looks like the brat's been holed up in the territory?"

While the chatter broke out and the soldiers headed to the mess, one trooper spoke to Dandel, who was watching them go.

"They're better than regular troops, but at this rate..."

"They're not our unit-they're the territory garrison. We need quick, low-profile training."

Saying that, Dandel began skimming the roster for the next batch of convicts.

Those he trained were light offenders with no ties elsewhere, easy to settle.

They fell short for a Penal Corps that was sent to every hotspot day by day.

"So the reinforcements for our company...?"

When the trooper asked, Dandel gave a wry smile and pointed at the ground with his index finger.

"The company commander personally selects and trains them. You remember, right?"

At those words every company member's face paled.

Since the unit's founding, Yaan had almost never drilled the soldiers himself.

Partly because he was often on the battlefield in a colossus, but mainly because anyone who took his training couldn't move for three days.

"The rookies are scum like us; they need breaking, but..."

"Ugh, just thinking about training makes me lose my appetite..."

"Can you even call that training? It's abuse-torture."

While the soldiers shuddered at Dandel's words, Yaan-accompanied by two troopers-headed for the underground detention block beneath the keep.

"Huh, not bad-half of 'em look decent."

"Lord~ How scared must we have been that you never showed your face~?"

Between the iron bars, coarse curses and jeers poured from the inmates.

"Haven't these bastards heard the rumors about the Lord?"

"If they tucked tail at rumors, I wouldn't've locked them up here."

Forty vicious felons, hand-picked from the five hundred new convicts in Verkut territory.

Rumors from distant borders couldn't control men like these.

Several prisoners with vacant eyes pressed their faces to the bars. Ordinary folk would recoil at their savage looks, yet Yaan regarded them without the slightest twitch.

As if choosing goods on display, Yaan said to the troopers behind him; they nodded and fanned out left and right.

"What the hell. Shit, what's this about?"

Glaring from under a pulled-down cap, one convict snarled.

"Inmate 27, Havok. Ten counts of murder, seven of robbery; court ruled death. Any special notes?"

The prison rang with the curses of convicts locked one to a cell.

Despite the din, the trooper's calm question was answered when Havok spat and sneered.

"What, scouting me now?"

"Depends on your answer."

"Pfft! Hey! You hear that?!"

The short affirmative drew laughter from cells all around.

"You idiots? I'd rather eat the slop here than be the Empire's dog...!"

The trooper comparing the roster with the prisoner's face nodded, reached to his waist.

"Number 27. Disqualified."

With the words, the trooper's pistol flashed from his belt and roared.

The gunshot echoed in the sealed prison, smothering the curses and jeers in an instant.

"Hold on. Did you... really kill him...?"

No verdict, no last words-just a corpse sprawled on the floor. The remaining convicts could say nothing.

"Now it's finally quiet."

With the silence, Yaan's calm voice reached the inmates.

A number dropped without warning. Unease rippled through the prisoners.

"Except for ten chosen by the 'interviewer,' everyone dies. So-how can you help me? What skills do you have? Speak wisely."

After saying that, Yaan nodded for them to continue.

"Inmate 82. Offense-"

"W-wait! This is insane! We've had our sentences confirmed by Imperial court! Treating us -"

The convict's protest was cut short.

A second shot turned another prisoner into a corpse.

"I-I get it! I'll do anything you say! Whatever you want, I'll do it! That's fine, right?!"

When No. 71 realized the situation and spoke, the interviewer nodded and opened his mouth.

"Tell us your special note."

While the man hesitated, the interviewer had already judged.

Another corpse joined the pile; the remaining convicts' minds raced frantically.

'Three down, twenty-seven left...!'

"No, I don't want this!"

Thus began the induction exam for the 87th Independent Company-the Greyhounds.

"I was a doctor! I can handle medicines and surgery to some extent...!"

"Recite Article 1 of the Imperial medical code."

"F-for His Imperial Majesty's subjects, dedicate your skills and knowledge!"

"I can kill people better than anyone...!"

"H-hey, hey, I'm not good at this kinda thing~."

"Disqualified as well."

Those with medical skills or knowledge of explosives survived.

Those who fabricated answers were unable to respond to sudden questions and were killed, while among them, pleasure-seeking murderers, the mentally ill, and those with exceptional records were all culled without exception.

A hellish process where life and death were determined by a threshold.

The initial competitive spirit or defiance they had vanished in an instant, drowned out by the screams and gunshots of fellow convicts.

"This is the last one."

"The tenth... No need to fill the quota; if they fall below the threshold, kill them."

As Yaan-who had secured nine new company recruits-spoke, a frantic voice burst from within the dungeon.

"Inmate number 13. Marek Starling."

"I have knowledge of pharmacology. And in unarmed combat, I don't lose to anyone."

The young man's voice. A voice brimming with murderous intent, like a wild beast.

"To anyone? Can you prove it?"

"Any one of you, step forward and try."

The company members, sensing something off in the voice full of confidence, looked to Yaan.

Having said so, Yaan approached the cell and stood facing the last inmate, Marek.

At Yaan's single remark, a company member nodded and pulled out the Key to open the iron bars.

With Nill's voice ringing in his head, Yaan reflexively turned his face to the side.

A punch cutting through the air passed through where Yaan's head had been, the sound of it splitting the air.

The speed of the straight punch cutting through the air.

Had it connected head-on, the sheer force would have been fatal.

"Shit, how did it miss?!"

As if he hadn't expected his attack to miss, Yaan exploited the fleeting opening and drove his elbow into Marek's solar plexus.

Marek had immediately dodged upon seeing Yaan's movement, but Yaan, having read this via Nill's predictive behavior, closed the distance by one more step and cleanly landed a direct hit to Marek's solar plexus.

The exchange happened in a single breath. The company members, having grasped the sudden situation, restrained the collapsing Marek and slammed his face into the ground.

"Captain! Are you all right?!"

"This bastard just attacked the Captain without warning...!"

The curses of the enraged company members halted at Yaan's single word.

"With this one, that makes ten."

Having said so, Yaan turned and exited the dungeon, while the nine new recruits and Marek exhaled ragged sighs of relief.

"Thinking they survived thanks to the Captain, the remaining personnel move the corpses outside the keep and assemble in the training yard. Execute."

"We have to carry all these corpses...?"

"How far is it to the surface...!"

Their weak protests continued, but the two soldiers with caps pulled low over their eyes remained motionless as stone guardians.

"If not completed within 30 minutes, you'll be deemed deserters and killed. Begin!"

As the two stone-faced company members overseeing their work confirmed the demoralized commands, Dandel-who had finished a day's training-was waiting for Yaan as he emerged from the underground isolation cell.

"What. Didn't I tell you to rest after duty?"

Responding thus to the Lieutenant's greeting, Yaan spoke to Dandel as he approached.

"Among the new company recruits, one named Marek. Re-investigate his personal details, family relations, and all acquaintances."

"Is something the matter?"

"I thought he was just some back-alley thug, but it's more than that. He's received training as a knight-or equivalent."

In the brief moment of crossing fists with Marek, Yaan's left eye-aided by Glaepnir's support-had tracked the attack trajectory and the lethal intent contained within.

"Aye. I'll issue the orders. And..."

After mentally noting Yaan's orders, Dandel stated the reason he had sought him out afterward.

"This letter arrived at the keep."

Saying so, Dandel produced an envelope.

It was an invitation written on purple stationery in an archaic hand.

Having flipped the purple invitation to check the sender, Yaan's face twisted oddly.

"Alienor la Dunois..."

What he held in his hand was a ball invitation to Dunois Castle.

To be continued in the next episode