Chapter 105: Also Accepting the Interview

“General!” Kevin was quickly summoned over, his expression tense. Being called alone by a superior always brought a measure of anxiety.

“How has Sain been lately?” General Od’s face was calm, as if asking casually. Sain stood nearby, sneaking glances at Kevin’s expression.

Kevin sensed an odd atmosphere and grew quietly alert. Could it be that Sain had been badmouthing him behind his back again? Or reported him?

“It’s only been a week; he hasn’t learned enough yet,” Kevin spoke honestly. “But if he maintains this momentum, he will surely achieve something in the future.”

“If he continues on this path, he’ll just become a useless blowhard,” the general said bluntly.

Kevin’s face changed, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.

“In any battlefield, individual strength is fundamental. The levels of fighting spirit and magic are the most critical, while weapons and equipment are secondary,” the general continued. “Confusing priorities like this will ruin him if it continues.”

Kevin frowned. “General, I have no say in how you want to train your son. But if you’re doubting my teaching methods because of that, I cannot accept it.”

The general was taken aback. In the entire legion, no one had ever dared to contradict him—today, a mere lieutenant, a red fighting spirit novice, was outright talking back?

“You cannot accept?” The general straightened his posture. “What is it that you cannot accept?”

“You said that a person’s fighting spirit and magic levels are the key. That was true in past wars. But now, with the emergence of giant staves, individual strength in battle has been greatly diminished. Equipment also holds significant importance. Don’t forget, General, you ‘died’ under such a giant staff during this exercise,” Kevin said, standing tall and fearless.

“Do you think that because you earned a third-class merit, I can’t discipline you?” The general frowned, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

Kevin toned down his words. “You are the general, you are right. I obey orders.”

Sain, standing nearby, was sweating coldly. Even he dared not speak to the general like that. What was Kevin trying to do? Stir up trouble?

“I’m not unreasonable,” the general switched tone, sensing that intimidation was useless. “Weapons and equipment matter, but that’s not his role—there are specialists for that. First, he must connect his fighting spirit properly before moving on. The foundation must be solid. I’ve led troops for over fifty years; don’t tell me you don’t understand that.”

“General,” Kevin carefully leveled his tone, “you have led troops for over fifty years, but unfortunately, there has still been a significant mistake.”

“What?” The general’s face darkened.

“That the catapult brigade was a hollow name, existing only in name without substance until I arrived and changed that,” Kevin stated plainly. “In this exercise, I alone took down two regiments. That was thanks to that catapult. Yet you left such a powerful weapon unused for so long. Isn’t that a failure in your command?”

The general chuckled. “An exercise? That’s just a gathering of blowhards, everyone shouting at each other while the directors judge arbitrarily. You’re just boasting because you scored some points.”

“General, you may deny my achievements, and yes, there are elements of bluster in the exercise, I won’t argue that. But may I ask: was the Red Army’s initial strategy simply to hide everywhere and wait for a thunderstorm?” Kevin asked.

The general was startled. “How do you know? Did Orson tell you?” This tactic had been decided by the general himself and only shared with a few key commanders. A junior officer shouldn’t have known.

“How could a junior officer like me be told such a core army-wide strategy?” Kevin replied. “I figured it out myself!”

The general was speechless.

“If the strategy was to wait for a thunderstorm, then from the start, you were exploiting a loophole in the exercises,” Kevin said bluntly. “Typically, air units do not attack during thunderstorms in training, but in real battle, losses can be disregarded. One or two soldiers struck by lightning wouldn’t change the outcome. From the beginning, you exploited the exercise’s loopholes to specify the tactic. Exercises should simulate real combat; deliberately specifying a loophole-based tactic is just another form of bluster.”

The general’s expression fluctuated, eyes darting around. Luckily, only the three of them were present.

“Who told you all this?” The general suspected Kevin might be a planted spy.

Kevin took a deep breath, knowing he had reached a point of no retreat. “I figured it out myself. I studied and thought independently. When new officers join, seniors should teach them military knowledge personally. But no one taught me, so I taught myself.”

The general fell silent. The room was heavy with tension. He had to admit, since Kevin’s arrival, no one had taught him anything. And now, he expected Kevin to teach his son.

Sain looked on in stunned disbelief. It was the first time he had seen anyone dare to spar verbally with the general—and seemingly gain the upper hand.

“Enough, this is going off-topic,” the general broke the silence. “You’re clever with sophistry, good at shifting topics.”

Kevin nodded. “Yes, I admit it’s sophistry—changing topics, catching logical flaws, exploiting slips of the tongue, equivocation, citing extreme examples, creating atmosphere—all learned from a decade of tavern debates. But yes, it is sophistry.”

“Hmph,” the general snorted.

“To truly engage in eloquence is difficult,” Kevin sighed. “True eloquence requires evidence, order, clear logic, even extensive real data. One must mathematically or logically deduce possible outcomes to convince. Strictly speaking, true eloquence is like a paper. A brief debate can never fully explain. And to refute a scholarly paper, one must also produce a paper. I’m not there yet.”

“Our current disagreement is simply over the relative merits of personal strength versus equipment,” Kevin brought the focus back. “You can cite an example where personal strength overwhelms equipment; I can cite one where equipment overwhelms personal strength. Continuing this will only anger you and serve no purpose.”

“Everything has a middle ground. Extreme personal strength ignoring equipment, or extreme reliance on equipment ignoring personal strength, are both unwise. Where that middle lies—clearly you lean right, I lean left. Which is better? How can it be settled in a sentence?” Kevin shrugged.

“If you issue direct orders, as a soldier I will obey without question. But if you want to persuade me, use true eloquence, not sophistry. Sophistry does not suit a general’s stature. I’m very good at learning,” Kevin finished, waiting for the general’s response.

The general was speechless.

“Go ahead, you two return now. And Sain, get to practicing your fighting spirit!” The general’s face darkened as he dismissed them.

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

Back at their camp, Sain sighed. “Should I call you brave or stupid?”

“Call me stupid,” Kevin said, indifferent to the debate.

“I’ve never seen anyone dare talk to the general like that,” Sain shook his head. “You truly are my superior.”

“I was polite enough,” Kevin felt a flicker of anger. “I’ve wandered everywhere as a bard, never cared about others’ faces. At worst, I’d insult them and leave.”

“But now there’s nowhere to run,” Sain replied.

“I’m not new here. But frankly, the general’s command has flaws. As a subordinate, pointing them out is responsibility,” Kevin said. “If that offends the general, then it only shows he has a small heart. No one else was present, and I didn’t contradict him publicly or undermine his authority.”

“Hmph,” Sain shook his head, saying no more.

“Alright, your father wants us to train fighting spirit, so let’s train,” Kevin resigned. After all, Sain was the general’s son and naturally sided with his father. No point arguing.

Fighting spirit training was extremely tedious. Basic training was all physical conditioning: running, weighted runs, sword slashes, spear thrusts—no shortcuts. If any, it was rational training, expensive food, and talent.

Kevin had little to teach Sain about fighting spirit, so he trained alongside him. Such monotonous training required mutual supervision and encouragement; it was hard to persevere alone.

The day passed, both exhausted before resting. Morning came with typical aches—normal signs of hard training.

After breakfast, they resumed. Nearby were catapult stones; each grabbed one and raced, the slower runner repeating a lap. Kevin lost—the general’s son had a slight edge in talent. Kevin accepted it, ran another lap carrying the stone.

Later, they rested, then tossed stones overhead, competing who threw farther. Their distances were close, and they teased each other before retrieving stones and chasing one another again. This cycle added some fun to the training.

The crow watched silently from the roof, eyes flicking between them and the rolling stones, saying nothing.

The day ended similarly; no rapid progress was seen, but clothes got filthy fast. Sweat plus rolling stones meant daily washing—a hassle.

On the third day, Kevin proposed stripping down to shorts and shoes only. The two bare-chested men chased each other with stones, threw them together, and continued the playful training, howling with delight.

“What are you doing?” A staff officer appeared unexpectedly, unnoticed until now.

They hurriedly dropped stones and, panting, saluted, stumbling over their words.

“What are you doing?” The officer repeated.

They rested, catching breath. Kevin wiped sweat and answered, “We’re running naked.”

“Huh?” The officer was shocked; Sain was too.

Kevin nearly startled himself. “Oh no! Not really! We’re training fighting spirit.” At that moment, he had thought saying “running naked” would be funny—never imagined he’d blurt it out. Training really could make one foolish.

Sain burst into laughter.

The officer remained stern. “I heard you had a disagreement with the general yesterday?”

“Yes, just a difference of opinion,” Kevin replied.

“You dare have differences with the general?” The officer fumed. “Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are?” Then he unleashed a tirade, repeating “Who do you think you are?” more than twenty times. Sweat and spit dripped down Kevin’s face.

Kevin could only stand silently. He knew when to argue and when to stay silent.

After reprimanding Kevin, the officer turned to Sain, instantly switching to a gentle tone. “Sain, don’t hate your father; he’s doing this for your good...”

More words followed. Sain grew visibly impatient but held back. Kevin turned away to hide his disdain.

“Staff officer!” A guard hurried in. “The general is here with the commander of the 213th Regiment and others, coming to observe and learn.”

The officer was surprised. “Here? This...”

Kevin and Sain exchanged looks. Kevin quickly said, “Staff officer, we’d better put on clothes first.”

At that moment, a line of officers appeared at the door, led by the general. The two men in shorts stood out conspicuously, drawing curious glances from the officers, who then all looked to the general. The general’s face reddened as he glared at the three.

“Ahem, we’ll go put on clothes,” Kevin said.

“Wait!” An officer stepped forward. “This is Kevin, who visited our regiment last time.”

Another chimed in, “Oh, the talent who took down two regiments during the exercise.”

The officers nodded repeatedly, casting curious looks. Kevin felt awkward, unsure whether to go change or wait.

A colonel stepped up. “Honestly, clothes don’t matter here. We’re all men. Sorry to have disturbed your training.”

“I think I’ll go change,” Kevin said uneasily.

Someone laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re no big shots. You’re sweaty now; changing clothes might be uncomfortable. Better to stay as you are. We’ve seen enough, ha ha!”

Everyone laughed loudly while Kevin and Sain felt embarrassed. The general and staff officer stayed silent, scowling.

“By the way, where’s the catapult? The one that took down two regiments?” Someone couldn’t contain their curiosity. “We want to see it. Kevin came to our regiment before; now we should visit yours. Learning goes both ways.”

“Please wait.” Kevin hurried to the garage. Sain lingered awkwardly before following.

Inside, Kevin scrambled to prepare the catapult. Seeing Sain, he asked, “Where’s your space ring? Get it out and help!”

“It’s gone. My father took it after the exercise,” Sain shrugged helplessly.

“Ah!” Kevin sighed, tidying up casually. “This will have to do. Why didn’t they make an appointment before coming?”

“We didn’t either,” Sain replied.

“They’re all colonels and lieutenant colonels; we’re just low-ranking soldiers. Can’t compare. At least a ten-minute heads-up would have helped,” Kevin grumbled.

Voices called from outside. “What’s taking so long? Does pulling out a catapult take this long?”

Kevin waved helplessly. “Let’s go—things are messy.”

The two shorts-clad men led three mules to pull the catapult out. Its five pairs of heavy-duty wheels and novel design intrigued the officers, who swarmed, tapping and inspecting, asking questions.

Kevin climbed onto the catapult and began a systematic introduction—from theory to practice, routine training to exercise experience. His expertise was evident; though still in shorts, no one cared. Instead, they expressed admiration.

The general and staff officer were pushed to the outskirts, exchanging glances before watching Kevin’s demonstration.

After a while, someone asked if he could demonstrate precise stone throwing. Kevin jumped down, squeezed through the crowd, and asked the general for permission.

Only then did the crowd remember the general’s presence. He could only wave his hand, granting permission.

The catapult rolled out to the training field, the two men riding atop. Others cast surprised looks. For Kevin and Sain, it was embarrassing—at least they had each other.

At the field, ten straw dummies were set up. Kevin called the crow, then launched ten stones—all hits. He operated the catapult alone, Sain watching. Applause erupted.

Kevin then proposed using the space ring to retrieve counterweights and release them from a higher point, reducing the effort of lifting—potentially eliminating the need for mule-driven winches.

A colonel present immediately removed his space ring and offered it to Kevin. After consulting, Kevin and Sain agreed Sain was more skilled with the ring. Retrieving weights was easy; releasing them precisely onto the hook was tricky. A missed hook could cause weights to fall and damage the catapult.

Sain confidently promised he could handle it, glad to have something to do to ease the awkwardness.

Working together, they shortened the interval between throws significantly. But a problem emerged: only one crow was available. After each throw, it had to return, limiting speed unless there were multiple crows. Without precision requirements, the use of the space ring could cut the interval by several times.

They repeated ten throws, all hitting the fallen dummies. The officers applauded enthusiastically.

The general and staff officer were again pushed to the back, exchanging looks before watching Kevin.

It was mid-March; not moving much while bare-chested brought a chill. Kevin instinctively clenched his fists. The colonel lending the space ring noticed and took out a blue cloak from his ring, draping it over Kevin. “Young brother, you may not know me—I am the commander of the 213th Regiment. This cloak is a gift from me. Let’s learn from each other in the future.”

Kevin was deeply honored and nodded repeatedly.

Behind them, the general and staff officer exchanged a glance, their expressions complicated.

(To be continued.)