Chapter Fourteen: The Ball of the Minstrels

The conscription system in the Kingdom of Baole was divided into two types: the June recruitment and the December recruitment. The December recruitment was primarily aimed at ordinary citizens and common farmers, mainly those with no martial ability whatsoever. After training, these people were generally assigned as low-ranking soldiers throughout the nation, though exceptionally talented individuals might be promoted to officers.

The June recruitment, on the other hand, targeted groups with some combat capability—lower-ranking nobles, their relatives, low-level mercenaries, novice mages, and the like. Once enlisted, and after a period of more rigorous training than the December recruits, these individuals would usually become officers directly. After all, the standards for officers were on a different level compared to common soldiers.

Achieving military merit was one of the best ways for commoners to ascend to the ranks of nobility, or for lesser nobles to rise higher. Some merchants, even if wealthy beyond measure, were still considered upstarts by high society without the appropriate title. But with a title, even if fallen on hard times, one would still be held in higher regard. Such was the prevailing mindset among the human race.

Because of this, the military had grown significantly in recent years. Although minor skirmishes between small states were frequent, the major kingdoms remained stable, and there were no large-scale wars. The survival rate in the army was quite high. Even so, most nobles still preferred not to get involved with the military—not merely because of the harsh training, but also due to the tedious monotony of army life.

The next day, Kevin and Stoddart took a day to rest. Stoddart, feeling much better, went to the cathedral for another holy water blessing, and his wounds had greatly improved, though he still walked with a slight limp.

“If you’re going to the recruitment office, it’s best not to bring any servants,” Kevin advised.

“Why?” Stoddart was surprised. Though only a baron, he was wealthy and long accustomed to traveling with attendants.

“I’ve chatted with some soldiers before,” Kevin replied. “They’re fiercely independent and look down on those nobles who can’t do anything themselves and leave everything to their servants. If you show up alone, you might win their favor.”

“Really?” Stoddart was skeptical. “I’ve heard officers all have orderlies; they don’t even wash their own socks.”

“That’s for senior officers!” Kevin explained helplessly. “We’re just starting basic training. If we go in acting like we’re officers already, isn’t that asking for trouble?”

Stoddart had no choice, but since they were taking a carriage anyway, he dismissed the servants and let Kevin drive while he rode inside.

Soon, the carriage pulled over. Ahead stood the city’s main security office, heavily guarded—a place that mediated disputes and upheld the law. The building was two stories tall, with sentries at the door; the recruitment station was just a small window here.

Slogans adorned the walls: “Service is Glory,” “Establish Merit, Protect the Homeland,” “One Soldier, Honor for the Whole Family,” and so on. Though these slogans had little real effect—no one enlisted because of them, and those unwilling would not be swayed no matter how many slogans were posted—they at least made the place look lively.

Kevin and Stoddart found themselves looking more closely at the two guards at the gate. Normally, they paid them little mind, but now they realized how arduous their job must be. Both guards were at least first-rank warriors, yet could only stand motionless in armor under the scorching sun. Would this be their fate in the future?

They entered slowly, Stoddart deliberately moving at a measured pace due to his leg. The recruitment officer was a middle-aged man with graying temples and a clear military bearing, his bearing resolute even despite his age. His uniform was crisp, adorned with medals—a man who had clearly seen battle. Judging by the insignia, he was a major.

“Here to enlist?” the man asked.

“Yes!” Kevin replied loudly, standing ramrod straight.

Stoddart was startled by Kevin’s formality and stammered, “Uh, yes, we’re here to enlist.”

The major stood, gripping Kevin’s hand, then his shoulder, his leg, and patting his back before nodding and turning to Stoddart. Stoddart was clearly uncomfortable but had no choice. The major quickly noticed, “What’s wrong with your right leg?”

“Uh, just a minor injury,” Stoddart answered.

“Will it heal before June?” the major pressed. “If not, don’t bother coming.”

“It will! Absolutely!” Stoddart nodded vigorously.

The major wasted no more words and sat back down. “Both of you meet the physical requirements. Names, professions, ages!”

“Kevin Inquestin, bard, twenty-five,” Kevin answered crisply, giving straightforward answers befitting a military man.

“Any dark history?” the major asked.

Kevin paused, then instinctively replied, “None!”

“No one is without a dark history!” the major snapped. “Speak!”

“Well, I… I often tell bawdy jokes at the tavern…” Kevin admitted, though he thought this a minor matter.

“Bartholemew Stoddart, librarian, twenty-five,” Stoddart said. “I… often hear others tell bawdy jokes.”

The major merely glanced at the two, jotted down their information, and then produced two uniforms from his dimensional ring. “Report here on June first in these uniforms! Remember, bring nothing with you—just the two of you.”

“Yes, sir,” they both replied.

“I repeat, bring nothing! No rings, necklaces, or family heirloom magical items—no food, nothing! Just come as you are, understood?”

They nodded earnestly, then left with their uniforms. Once outside in the sunlight, they both exhaled deeply, feeling the major’s presence had been almost suffocating. They exchanged glances, each worried for their coming military life.

Suddenly, a commotion ahead—a convoy of carriages arrived in a cloud of dust, their luxury marking them as noble property. A crowd of servants and beastfolk slaves gathered around a young master as he alighted.

The boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen, was dressed in finery, followed by a corpulent noble who was likely his father, urging him along.

“Father, I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want to enlist!” the youth protested, frowning and pointing at the guards. “I don’t want to stand around like an idiot all day! It’s just too stupid!”

The two guards looked at him but said nothing.

“See? I can call them idiots and they don’t dare talk back. They’re just like my slaves!” the young master sneered, displaying a clear lack of upbringing.

Stoddart whispered to Kevin, “I know him—he often borrows books from my library. That’s the Earl of Gray’s son, quite influential.”

“Oh? Let me guess, the book he borrows most is ‘The Legend of Rex,’” Kevin replied, his face blank but his eyes full of disdain.

Stoddart wanted to retort, but could only sigh, “Well, your fans aren’t much better—they came to assassinate us!”

Kevin could only shake his head, “Let’s go, none of our business.”

Meanwhile, the young master was finally pushed into the recruitment office by his father—loud sobbing could be heard from inside. Kevin and Stoddart merely shook their heads and drove away.

Only then did Stoddart’s family learn he had quietly signed up for the army. His father had passed away fifteen years ago, but his mother was still alive and deeply reproached him, thinking it utter folly to leave a job as an editor for the army. Stoddart couldn’t tell her it was to avoid an assassination attempt, so he made up a patriotic excuse. Since his name was already registered, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Kevin also wrote to his mother, far away among the elves, to assure her all was well and that he was about to enlist—no need to worry.

It was only mid-May, with about half a month until June. Kevin took the opportunity to stay openly at Stoddart’s house, continuing his writing, knowing he’d have no time once he joined the army. Stoddart, meanwhile, began arranging his affairs, particularly who would take over the library in his absence.

Late May also brought another event—the Bard Gathering hosted by the Stoddart Library.

This was a ball organized by Stoddart every three months, open to all bards affiliated with his library. Food and drink were free, a small benefit for those wandering musicians. Although Kevin was often traveling, he never missed a gathering—after all, a free meal was not to be wasted.

This time was no exception. As the library expanded, the balls only grew grander. Kevin’s status, however, had changed; having lived with Stoddart for so long, he was halfway a host himself. Even if he didn’t help out, it would be improper to just gorge himself and do nothing.

When bards gathered, it was mostly for boasting and storytelling. The master bards were upstairs in the ballroom; the ground floor was for the less successful ones like Kevin. He could have joined the upstairs crowd based on connections, but up there, talk revolved around borrowing statistics, publications, and earnings—not a pleasant topic for him.

The main hall and the square outside were vast enough to accommodate thousands of bards, some not even affiliated with the library. The library provided a set amount of food—when it was gone, it was gone, so early birds got the best.

Despite their ragged fortunes, the bards were at least orderly. The food queues were always crowded, and their numbers grew year by year. In previous years, Kevin was among them, but now he could finally “network” with other bards instead.

“My protagonist has mastered golden battle aura, beyond even the highest purple aura,” one bard boasted.

“Golden aura? How vulgar!” another retorted. “Platinum is where it’s at!”

“I use seven-colored aura! Who can match me?” a third laughed.

Kevin wandered over and interjected, “According to the latest research from the Royal Academy, the progression of battle aura follows red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet, mirroring the solar spectrum split by a prism. The Academy even boldly predicts that beyond violet, there must be colors invisible to us—ultraviolet.”

“So what?” the bards scoffed.

“Isn’t that a great idea for a story?” Kevin prompted. “Perhaps above violet lies an invisible ultraviolet aura!”

“Invisible? That’s useless, readers won’t like it,” they shook their heads.

“Why not?” Kevin persisted. “Imagine the protagonist unleashing ultraviolet aura, and the enemy, staring at his own skin, exclaims in horror, ‘No! We’re getting sunburned!’”

The others: “…”

Kevin laughed and moved on, joining another group. They were discussing, “The situation was dire. I had my hero cleverly grab a glass of water and douse the flame, preventing a massive explosion!”

Someone else suggested, “That’s too bland. Add some environmental description—a huge oil depot nearby, or a magical fire array, with the blaze just out of reach. As the fire nears explosion, the protagonist finally grabs water and puts it out, saving the entire city! That shows his greatness.”

“Better make sure the fire can be put out with water, to avoid plot holes,” another chimed in.

“I think you need a supporting character for contrast,” said another. “Add a timid friend, who wets his pants in fear and is helpless. Then the protagonist calmly puts out the fire with a glass of water, earning the friend’s worship—showing his wit and flawless planning.”

“Good point, good point,” they all nodded.

Kevin chuckled, “I still don’t think that makes the protagonist outstanding enough.”

“Bah!” the bards sneered. “We’re not writing an invincible Rex-type hero—we want true cunning.”

“No, a truly clever protagonist wouldn’t let his friend be humiliated,” Kevin said. “He should anticipate his friend’s fear, immediately pull down his pants, grab his… and aim it at the fire. At that moment, the friend is so terrified he wets himself, putting out the blaze! Then the hero calmly helps him pull his pants back up.”

The others: “…”

“Not only does he save the city and a glass of water, but he also spares his friend the embarrassment of wetting himself. That’s true wit and unerring calculation!” Kevin said with a serene smile.

The others: “…”