Chapter Twenty-One: To Ask

The old general’s speech was brief, just as he himself had said. He was not one for grandiloquent language or stirring rhetoric; his voice was aged, and only with the aid of the wind-amplifying crystal could it reach every corner of the field. Yet every word he spoke carried the weight of a great nation’s bitter history.

What is a nation? Simply a group of people gathered together. Why do people gather? Because strong enemies surround them, the natural environment is harsh, and only by banding together can they find safety. If each person can contribute to their team, the nation will naturally grow strong. A strong nation means strong people, and strong people make the nation stronger still, each reinforcing the other.

The Kingdom of Laubol was founded in the year 500 of the Common Era, according to the earliest reliable historical records. At first, it was merely the Laubol city-state; eighty years later, it officially declared itself a nation, and now it has existed for 759 years. However, according to Laubol’s own account, the city-state existed as far back as the War of Gods and Demons, at least five or six thousand years ago. But that war has become the stuff of myth and legend; concrete records are lacking, and other nations on the continent do not accept these claims.

Yet even a history of over seven centuries makes Laubol one of the oldest nations on the continent. Nearly every Laubolian is proud of their country’s long history. Many wandering poets fantasize about a Laubolian master crossing into another world, then using Laubol’s martial arts to defeat its inhabitants so thoroughly that they flee in terror. Though most of these works lack any internal logic, countless Laubolians are utterly enraptured by them.

Ultimately, most people are patriotic. When the nation suffers setbacks or humiliation, its people are indignant; when it triumphs and displays its might, they rejoice. This faith is passed down in the hearts of almost every citizen. Compared to patriotic education filled with ornate language, which feels tedious, complicated, and overly familiar—Kevin could recite it backwards from all the times he’d heard it in taverns—there is little meaning in such words. He always felt they were less interesting than crude jokes.

Yet no matter what, Kevin was a true Laubolian.

Kevin often traveled abroad, and it’s only when living in foreign lands that one truly remembers where they are from. After ten years of wandering, Kevin could clearly sense a change in foreigners’ attitudes toward him. Small countries showed respect; large countries regarded him as an equal. The Empire of Rhine, which once dismissed him, now mostly treated him with grudging parity. Rhine is the continent’s most martial nation, where personal strength is highly esteemed even within its own borders. Kevin, with his meager abilities, nevertheless earned their respect.

Such changes fill every Laubolian with pride—including Kevin. He once tirelessly promoted patriotic education, even debating through the night with rebels of unknown origin and being beaten up by thugs, but he never wavered.

There is a saying: If a person repeats a lie thousands of times, he will eventually believe it himself. Kevin believed this applied to him; patriotic pride was etched into his bones, unshakeable. If such pride is called hypocrisy, then let him be a hypocrite to the end.

The old general’s speech concluded, greeted by applause as enthusiastic as at the opening. Kevin was deeply inspired, clapping vigorously.

The general departed amid another round of cheers. Everyone then led their squads back to camp; the afternoon passed uneventfully, with only dinner ahead.

“How did you all feel after hearing the speech?” Marcus asked as they gathered once more in the tent.

No one answered, unsure what response would satisfy him.

“Sain,” Marcus called out, “your father is a knight commander, a renowned figure in the kingdom. Any thoughts?”

“Uh…” Sain stood awkwardly.

“Speak up! Don’t stammer! Yes or no?” Marcus barked.

“No!” Sain shot to his feet, almost instinctively.

“No?” Marcus chuckled. “Impossible! I’ll count to three, and you must say something. Remember—you’ll be an officer one day, commanding troops. If your speaking skills are this poor, how will you give orders?”

Sain’s face was stiff, at a loss.

“Three, two, one! Speak!” Marcus finished his count and gave the order.

“I—I was moved by the general’s speech, and I—I want to learn from him,” Sain stammered, and everyone grew tense, worried they’d be singled out. Only Kevin remained calm.

“Kevin,” Marcus called, “what did you think?”

Kevin rose. “He stammered.” It was the plain truth—everyone heard it. Sain’s face darkened, but he could do nothing.

“Then Kevin, tell us your impressions,” Marcus asked offhandedly.

Kevin paused, then asked, “Sir, how much time may I speak?”

Marcus was momentarily surprised. “Hm? How long can you talk?”

“I can speak from now until bedtime tonight,” Kevin answered calmly, and those nearby couldn’t help but stare in amazement.

“Very well!” Marcus was equally astonished. “Go on, let’s see how much you have to say.”

Kevin began, “Actually, General Ist’s speech touched me deeply. Laubol’s achievements are inseparable from generations of effort. Our nation is large, our population vast, so proportionally, we should have many geniuses. More geniuses means more strong individuals; more strong individuals means a stronger nation, greater development, and even more people, yielding even more geniuses. Thus, talent converges, and Laubol stands as it does today.”

“This governance philosophy requires what? Unity from top to bottom, a king with exceptional foresight, willing even to sacrifice his own interests. This is different from the Empire of Rhine, which was founded by the mage emperor and revolves around the emperor as its core. When new equipment becomes available, it is always given first to the emperor; the emperor alone wields forbidden spells.”

“A powerful leader with weaker followers—if a follower threatens to surpass the leader, the leader will inevitably be wary and suppress them. The leader’s secret techniques are never shared easily. The nation’s greatest strength lies only in the leader. Unless the leader himself improves or is defeated by a chamber-pot-wielding master, the country can never produce a stronger champion. Such a nation may grow quantitatively, but qualitative change is rare.”

“But our kingdom is different. The king himself is merely a seventh-level mage, yet the parliament balances all powers. The parliament consists of grand magi and sword saints, but mutual checks keep things stable. The king wields the Istwend thirty-one giant forbidden-curse staves; Anthony manages all teleportation stations and represents the Royal Academy; other parliament members each represent their own factions…”

“What are you talking about?” Marcus interrupted, realizing he didn’t understand.

“I haven’t reached the main point yet,” Kevin replied.

“That’s enough. Sit down and shut up.” Marcus ordered, recognizing that if Kevin kept going, he really might talk until bedtime.

“Did anyone understand what Kevin was saying?” Marcus turned to the group. Everyone shook their heads. Kevin sighed inwardly—such theory was evidently too advanced for these kids.

Marcus called on a few others to practice speaking, but Kevin’s mind wandered. They could only offer formulaic lines like, “I want to learn from the general.”

Thus the afternoon slipped by. After dinner and a brief rest, Marcus ordered everyone to help train Start, the heavyset boy who always lagged behind. One person was assigned to run a lap with him while Marcus himself went off with other officers. Still, even without Marcus present, no one dared slack off.

For most, the task was easy—just one lap, at a slow pace. For Start, it was hell. Yet even as he suffered, no one offered help. The lap was finished without mercy. Afterwards, Start wore a look close to death, his mind blank.

Bath time came, and everyone anticipated the next day’s rest. Once the officers left, chatter resumed.

“Tomorrow’s rest—so awesome!” Gray, the youngest, was practically hopping with excitement.

“But there’s nothing fun about resting,” Start said gloomily. “I’m worried I’ll have to run tomorrow, too.”

“Fatso,” Malinas sneered, “it’s all your fault. Now we have to run as well.”

Start glanced at him, saying nothing.

“Exactly,” Sain added, bluntly, “next time you have to run, bring your hypocritical friend. Don’t drag us along.”

“Hypocritical friend?” Kevin raised an eyebrow. “You mean me?”

“Who else?” Sain sneered as he rinsed himself, “You’re just a useless windbag. On the battlefield, you’d wet yourself.”

“I’ve been to the battlefield,” Kevin replied calmly. Start was startled, recalling Kevin mentioning stitching up wounded soldiers. It seemed he’d really been to war.

“Keep bluffing!” Sain scoffed. “Patriotic? What a hypocrite!”

“I’m surprised,” Kevin stopped rinsing, “Your father is captain of the Thunder Knights, a national hero, yet you say this. It truly surprises me.”

“Hmph! What about my father?” Sain jeered, “What do you know? My father fights for titles, for glory! Who fights for the nation out of some sense of duty? Ha!”

Kevin shook his head. Ten years of travel had shown him all sorts; he was no longer surprised. Some nobles indeed fought for their families, with only a thin concept of nationhood. Even so, one shouldn’t speak so carelessly.

“No point arguing. Just wait and call me ‘grandpa’ when the time comes.” Kevin didn’t bother replying further. Not everyone can be reasoned with; some are simply too dense, and only force will suffice.

He hadn’t taken the midnight challenge—a duel in three months, the winner to be called grandpa—very seriously at first. Kids’ squabbles are usually forgotten in three months. But now, inspired by the general’s speech, Kevin resolved to teach Sain a lesson. To accomplish great things, one must begin with small goals. For Kevin, that meant becoming someone else’s grandpa first.

“Ha ha ha.” Sain laughed dryly, “You lowborn have only these few days to prance about. Having you as a grandson would only insult noble blood. Hmph!”

Kevin didn’t bother with further pointless bickering, quietly washing his clothes. He caught Sain trying to splash him, but in the end Sain held back and left angrily.

“What’s going on?” Start finally asked, “You’re going to be his grandpa?”

“A bet—a duel in three months, winner is grandpa,” Kevin replied lightly.

“You… you have a chamber pot?” Start was incredulous. Both trained at similar intensity, but Sain clearly had a higher starting point; theoretically, no amount of training could let Kevin catch up in three months. Only the protagonist who finds a chamber pot by the river could be so confident.

Kevin set aside his clothes and turned to the heavyset boy, serious, “Do you think a protagonist without a chamber pot can’t beat even a nobody?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Start said.

“Then just wait and see.” Kevin continued washing.

Bath finished, it was nearly bedtime. Some had already lain down early, worn out from recent fatigue. Kevin saw Marcus still sitting and went over. “Sir, may I ask a few questions?”

“Go ahead,” Marcus replied offhandedly.

“As far as I know, the optimal spot for cutting with a longsword varies. The tip and the base deliver less force; for many swords, the best cutting point is about a third of the way from the tip. Where is it on our standard longswords?” Kevin asked, holding out his sword.

“Listen—hear the sound.” Marcus took the sword, flicked it along the blade to the tip, “About here. Striking with this part should deal the most damage.”

“Thank you,” Kevin nodded. “And if one releases battle energy, is it the same?”

“If the energy is evenly spread, it’s the same,” Marcus explained.

“Another question: Since battle energy is an extension of strength, why can it be transmitted through the sword when the sword has no muscles?”

Marcus: “….”

“The general said today that fireball spells can stop and turn sharply—so, can magic missiles do the same? Logically, a magic missile is like a thrown brick, so how is it controlled?”

Marcus: “….” Others looked at Kevin in surprise.

The bell rang, signaling bedtime. Kevin didn’t linger, thanked Marcus, and returned to his bunk.

Start whispered, “Are you crazy?” To him, Marcus was someone to avoid at all costs, yet Kevin had approached him and asked a barrage of strange questions.

“I want to grow stronger, so I have to ask,” Kevin replied.

“You… you could go train secretly at night,” Start suggested, borrowing from novel clichés.

“Nonsense! Skipping sleep only leaves you exhausted the next day, and careless training leads to injury,” Kevin laughed. “Without confirming the best training methods, I won’t do anything so foolish.”

“But asking so many questions might annoy him,” Start warned.

“Why worry? Can he kill me? If I don’t ask, how will I grow strong? Should I go find a chamber pot by the river instead? Having a mentor and not asking is truly foolish! He may not have all the answers, but he can answer many. I’m sure I’ll improve,” Kevin said confidently, closing his eyes and settling in for sleep.