Chapter Twenty-Four: Time Flies

Although Kevin had mastered a good deal of theory, there was still a long way to go before he could translate it into practice. His fundamentals were relatively weak, so under the same training conditions, the effort required from him was greater than for the others. Two weeks later, their commanding officer organized a small-scale competition across various disciplines.

The result was that Sain emerged as the comprehensive victor, becoming the top fighter among the six new recruits. Kevin’s speed was average, his strength was at the bottom, and his marksmanship barely made it onto the target—he was still ranked last overall. Stadter, except for being the slowest, did fairly well in the other areas.

This outcome surprised no one; they trained together every day and knew each other’s abilities well. It was nearly impossible for someone to be hiding any secret techniques—unless they were truly the protagonist with a chamber pot hidden under their arm.

Thus, Sain was completely unconcerned about his bet with Kevin. Every time Kevin lost, Sain would shoot him a mocking glance, relishing his sense of superiority. As the son of the Knight Commander of the Order of Thunder, with his heritage and age, Sain did have certain advantages—at least for now, he could afford to feel superior.

Kevin, constantly looked down upon, couldn’t possibly be entirely unaffected. Living together day and night, there was no way to avoid it, nor was there an appropriate outlet for his frustration. All he could do was keep asking questions in his quest for self-improvement, while trying his best to restrain himself otherwise.

Seeing Kevin diligently questioning everyone, Stadter grew uneasy. He quietly approached Kevin to discuss it. “Do you know who the Knight Commander of the Order of Thunder is?”

“I do,” Kevin replied. “The Order of Thunder has about two thousand members, primarily heavy cavalry, supported by various other arms to form a composite force. It was originally the Marquis Brontë’s private army but has since been incorporated into the kingdom’s forces. Their lightning-fast assaults in battle earned them the title Order of Thunder.”

Stadter paused, surprised. “You’re like a walking library.”

Kevin shook his head. “Actually, I didn’t know much about military affairs before. I just found out recently by asking around. Of course I need to understand who my opponent is.”

“Well, I remember our country’s three main knightly orders: the Order of the Wind, which is the Pegasus Knights; the Order of Flame, which is essentially mages on horseback; and the Order of Thunder, which I think is the largest,” Stadter said.

“They’re just the most famous,” Kevin replied. “International evaluations say our military numbers two million. These few thousand are but a fraction. Still, with the existence of forbidden weapons, military strategists everywhere agree that massed armies are losing their advantage. The future may belong to small, elite units.”

“Don’t lecture me on that,” Stadter forcibly steered the conversation back. “I just want you to realize that if a mere recruit offends the Knight Commander, you might not even know how you died.”

“From your tone, it almost sounds like I’m guaranteed to win,” Kevin said, surprised. “Where does your confidence come from? I’m at the bottom in every category!”

“So do you plan to win or lose?” Stadter asked bluntly. “Or maybe aim for a draw? That’ll be tough.”

“To be honest, it’s not up to me right now. Nor would Sain let it go,” Kevin smiled. “I’m not about to call anyone ‘grandfather.’ But I have thought about it—the best outcome would be to not fight at all. If, in three months, I’m clearly stronger, I can propose to void the bet. With a drink and a laugh, perhaps that will be the end of it.”

“But if I’m not strong enough, he’ll think I’m just scared and be even more determined to make me call him grandfather.” Kevin spread his hands. “So, asking questions is the best strategy for now. Do you have a better idea?”

Stadter shook his head and said nothing more. He understood that Kevin was extremely stubborn; otherwise, he wouldn’t have wandered the continent for ten years, forced to make a living with bawdy tales.

The days dragged on—long and arduous for those weighed down by frustration. The training intensified, leaving everyone half-dead with exhaustion. There was little time for idle squabbles; most just wanted to sit still. Yet there were always those who, refusing to move themselves, sought to boss others around.

“Gray,” Sain patted Gray’s shoulder, putting on a pained expression. “My arms are killing me after today’s training. Come, wash my clothes for me, will you?”

Gray looked up, displeased, to see Sain rubbing his arm in mock agony.

Gray frowned but nodded. “Fine, put them down.”

“Thanks.” Sain smiled and left.

Two days later, the three of them began to order Gray around regularly. “Gray, fetch me a glass of water. Thanks.” “Gray, here’s some trash. When you take yours out, toss this for me as well. Thanks.” “Gray, since you’re collecting laundry, grab mine too. I won’t bother. Thanks.” …

Some tasks were trivial enough, and Gray felt it would be petty to refuse. But inevitably, the more he did, the more he was asked to do.

Kevin and Stadter, of course, saw this. Gray was the youngest and most mild-mannered; several times he wanted to protest, but in the end, he silently complied.

“Looks like they’ve found a new target,” Stadter whispered to Kevin.

“Do nobles just naturally enjoy bossing others around after a while?” Kevin found this behavior distasteful.

“Careful what you say—I’m a noble too,” Stadter objected.

“Let’s just look after ourselves for now—he’ll have to deal with it on his own,” Kevin shook his head. “He’s a soldier; he’ll have to learn to stand up for himself.”

Another two weeks passed, marking a full month since Kevin joined the army. Most of the recruits had adapted to military life; the outstanding few had nearly reached the standard and were now consolidating their training. Sain was, without question, one of the best, earning repeated commendations from their superiors. Kevin’s strength was also growing. He never stayed up late nor skipped meals for “hardcore” training; he lived as the others did, the only apparent difference being his endless questions. Yet his progress was gradually accelerating.

This growth was subtle, almost imperceptible to those around him. Only in retrospect did people realize that Kevin was no longer the weakest—now it seemed Gray had taken that place. No one could say when Kevin surpassed him.

Of course, this was no threat to Sain, who grew increasingly arrogant as the top recruit.

“Come, Gray, wash my socks,” Sain said, tossing them into Gray’s basin.

“Add mine too,” Marinus said, throwing his in without the slightest courtesy.

Orca, with an earnest expression, set his socks before Gray. “Wash mine as well. They’re labeled—don’t mix them up.”

Gray said nothing, scrubbing the clothes with a bowed head, his anger evident in the force of his movements. Yet he endured. He had once been a young noble, son of an earl, and now he was made to wash others’ laundry—though, to be fair, their fathers outranked his.

When Kevin approached, Gray grew tense, as if afraid Kevin would throw in his own socks. But Kevin merely smiled. “Do you enjoy being a servant?”

Gray lowered his head, saying nothing as he washed.

“Is that a nod?” Kevin asked. “If so, wash my clothes too.”

Gray: …

“Silent? Then I’ll help myself. Thank you,” Kevin said, pretending to drop his clothes into the basin.

“That’s enough!” Gray finally burst out, furious. “It’s one thing for high nobles, but you—a bard—why should I wash for you?”

Kevin stood calmly. “In that case—Stadter, bring your clothes for him.”

Stadter arrived with a tub of laundry. “What, someone’s offering to wash for me?”

Kevin clapped him on the shoulder. “Though he’s only a baron, you don’t technically have a title. Your father is an earl, but he hasn’t passed down the title. Strictly speaking, he could have you wash his clothes.”

Gray stood there, silent.

Stadter spread out a shirt. “Ha, I’m a big guy—don’t mind if my clothes are a bit bigger.”

Tears welled in Gray’s eyes as he turned his head away.

“This is the second time I’ve seen you cry,” Kevin said. “Did you know? In the army, it’s tradition for recruits to wash the officers’ clothes, but none of us have ever done that. Why? I once asked our officer; he said it’s because we’re all future officers, and officers have their dignity. If you’re this weak, how will you lead men in the future?”

Gray was speechless, simply standing there in a daze. For a moment, Kevin seemed more like his officer, chastising a recruit.

“All right, I’ve no more to say. I’m off,” Kevin said, waving a hand as he left. Stadter, more affable, patted Gray on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t take it to heart. Don’t worry, I won’t have you wash my clothes—you probably wouldn’t get them clean anyway.”

Gray looked bewildered. “So what do you want?”

Stadter patted him again. “Honestly, we’ve known each other a long time. You used to come to my library; I noticed you back then…” The two talked for a long time, only returning after Gray had finished the laundry.

That night, Kevin asked quietly, “All settled?”

“Yeah,” Stadter grinned. “When we’re discharged, he’ll be our library’s most loyal fan. When someone’s down and out, it’s the best time to help them. Even a few words of encouragement—no matter how meaningless—can pay off in the future.”

“You’re running your business even in the army?” Kevin was surprised. “What did you recommend to him?”

“‘The Later Tales of Rex,’” Stadter replied. “A fine new book. I think it had just been completed when I left.”

Kevin was astonished. “But didn’t Rex already defeat the god of gods of gods? How can there be a sequel? Don’t tell me he’s reincarnated and starting from scratch again?”

“Exactly! That’s the formula,” Stadter said matter-of-factly.

“Why not recommend ‘Chronicles of the Assassin’?” Kevin couldn’t help but ask.

“I can’t stand people who don’t follow formulas. How many people do? If everyone read non-formulaic stories, what would I do with my backlog of formulaic ones?” Stadter half-joked, a sign of their growing friendship. “In fact, once people read unconventional stories, they can’t go back to the usual ones. You’re practically the bane of the Stadter Library.”

Kevin sighed, unable to argue.

“To be honest, if you hadn’t fallen out with Sain and the others, I’d have recommended it to them too,” Stadter lamented. “Army life is mind-numbingly dull. Getting novels into the barracks could be good business.”

“That would require a strict censorship system,” Kevin mused, considering the idea. “Otherwise, there could be leaks of military secrets.”

“We’ll see. I’m just recruiting readers for now,” Stadter said, unconcerned. For him, life in the barracks was proving fruitful.

Another month passed in a flash. The training regimen was set, with no further additions. All the recruits were now fully compliant; if ordered east, none dared go west, and if commanded to leap into a latrine, they’d jump without hesitation.

Nighttime emergency assembly drills had been added—a relief for Kevin, who was well-prepared. Years of solo travel had made him nimbler than most. Stadter was always the slowest, perhaps because his size made dressing a chore. After two attempts, he simply slept in his clothes.

But when the officer found out, he was ordered to strip before bed, then subjected to ten consecutive emergency drills. He was miserable, but at least managed to make the time cut, barely passing.

Gray finally snapped one day while doing laundry and was beaten up by the trio. The officer clearly knew, but only issued a verbal warning—his bias for Sain was evident. Not because of Sain’s father, but because the army was no charity; they wanted the strong, not to shelter the weak. Sain was the best in their group; Gray was the worst. The officer’s favoritism was understandable.

After that, the three began doing their own laundry, and Gray grew close to Stadter. The six recruits had split into two camps of three.

From Kevin’s perspective, a squad of six recruits divided into factions was a sign of the officer’s inadequacy. Yet, while an officer can force two men to shake hands and work together, he can’t make them truly forget their grievances. Kevin disliked Sain; the feeling was likely mutual. No matter how hard Marcus tried, it was useless.

At this point, Kevin’s abilities were finally approaching Sain’s. His progress, subtle yet relentless, was in plain sight. He now knew how to strike most efficiently, how to coordinate breathing and combat energy while running, how to spot an opponent’s weaknesses, and how to use the environment to his advantage.

His fighting energy and strength were still only average, but his skill in applying them had become impressive. Everyone improved, but Kevin’s progress was the swiftest. After asking so many questions, he realized that there were things the officer simply wouldn’t teach—perhaps out of fear of being bested by his subordinates, or for other reasons unknown.

But the officers themselves weren’t in agreement. Some thought certain techniques were fine to teach; others disagreed. Kevin would often bring up techniques taught by other officers to his own, sometimes provoking quite a reaction—even outright rebukes. The next day, Kevin would repeat his own officer’s criticisms to other officers, though he was careful not to stir up trouble on purpose.

There was an occasion when two officers exchanged rebuttals three times, with Kevin relaying between them. Through all this, Kevin picked up many strange but effective tricks, though most he hadn’t time to practice. Training required sparring partners, and outside of drills, everyone preferred to sit idle. Occasionally, Kevin would practice alone, adopting odd stances while the others watched and laughed.