Chapter Fifty-Five: Reflection

The next morning, Kevin once again rode his donkey out for drill. More and more veteran soldiers expressed their approval, and Kevin no longer felt awkward—on the contrary, he had grown somewhat confident. It was as if he were telling everyone, “I am a proud catapult captain.”

However, when he passed the corner on his donkey that day, there was no one to intercept him. The captain and an unfamiliar new recruit stood there; their eyes met, but neither spoke.

Since they didn’t stop him, Kevin wasn’t about to start anything himself. He saluted from the donkey’s back; the captain didn’t respond and simply stood his ground. Kevin rode on, disappearing into the distance.

Had they admitted defeat? Kevin was filled with suspicion—it had only been less than a week of nightly training. To the patrols, he was a repeat offender, a stubborn troublemaker. If the patrols yielded to someone like him, what authority would they have left?

Or perhaps they were preparing a bigger move against him? Uneasy, Kevin went about his day as usual, taking his cart out to sleep.

That evening, he didn’t linger near the patrol’s quarters but stayed in his hut, studying his notes.

After a while, Gray came by on night patrol with a new recruit. Kevin invited them in for a chat.

“Kevin, step outside for a moment,” Gray said, sending the new recruit away as well. In a hushed tone, he continued, “You’ve offended everyone in the patrol unit. Honestly, everyone is thinking of ways to give you a beating.”

“I understand,” Kevin nodded.

“Gray sighed. ‘Now Start and I are having a hard time inside. What do you think we should do?’”

“How about this,” Kevin suggested. “I can make a formal apology—maybe at a meeting, I’ll write a self-criticism report or something. That’s not a problem. But I hope this ends the matter, and no one comes looking for trouble with me anymore.”

Gray scratched his head, considering.

“I don’t have a grudge against you,” Kevin explained. “I don’t intend to bring you down; I just want a normal life. If we need to talk, your captain is welcome to come—we can sit down and have a proper conversation.”

“Alright, I’ll relay your message,” Gray agreed, and left immediately.

The night passed. The next morning, Kevin rode his donkey again for drill, but this time he was stopped. The same captain stood there, with Gray beside him.

“So you want to make a self-criticism?” The captain’s tone was much milder this time.

“I admit I’ve made some mistakes lately, and for that I can apologize,” Kevin replied. “But I have my own expectations, which I’m sure you understand.”

“You think self-criticism is easy?” the captain sneered.

Kevin’s expression didn’t change. To him, this was already a compromise, a gesture of goodwill. If this didn’t work, he’d simply continue his nightly training.

“Fine. Agreed!” the captain nodded. “This evening, at dusk, we’ll have a full regimental assembly. You must write your self-criticism and submit it to me by noon—then read it out loud tonight!”

“Alright,” Kevin agreed.

“The self-criticism must be three thousand words!” the captain barked out of habit.

“No problem,” Kevin answered without a hint of pressure.

The captain smirked, “If you copy it from somewhere, you—you—you’re finished!”

“I understand. I’ll write it myself,” Kevin replied.

They exchanged another lengthy silence. It seemed the captain saw writing a three-thousand-word self-criticism as something excruciating, a way to squeeze Kevin for all he was worth. But Kevin thought it reasonable—at least the other side was giving him just a few conditions.

By noon, Kevin had filled three pages and handed them to the captain. For a bard, this was a trivial task. He described his conduct since joining the Order of Thunder Knights, offered a sincere apology, and didn’t lace his words with sarcasm or innuendo. He even openly admitted his nightly training was, to some extent, an act of retaliation.

Kevin had shown enough sincerity. After all, he was only seeking a peaceful life. This saved face for the patrols, who could appear victorious in this “struggle,” ensuring things would go more smoothly in the future. As for his own pride, it mattered little—he only commanded three donkeys; there was no concern about losing authority or failing to command his subordinates.

The captain had nothing to say. He simply accepted the three pages and gestured for Kevin to leave.

At dusk, the regiment gathered for its regular assembly—an event held weekly, usually at sunset, initiated by the patrol unit. Typically, the meeting involved announcing who had broken which rules, who would be punished, and who would read a self-criticism.

The general rarely attended; a lieutenant colonel usually presided. This lieutenant colonel seemed to be the head of the patrols—Kevin had seen him at meetings but never elsewhere, mostly dealing with the captain.

As the sun set, the regiment sat quietly on the training ground, bonfires burning at the edges. Though some were already dozing off, the starry sky arched overhead, a crescent moon hung above, and a cool breeze made for a pleasing scene.

“Tonight, we will severely criticize our newly-appointed lieutenant and catapult captain, Kevin Insufficient Hall!” the lieutenant colonel declared from the stage, calling Kevin out by name in a harsh tone.

The crowd fell silent. Many who had been dozing woke up. Kevin’s nightly training was already well-known, and everyone was curious how things would unfold. But in the army, people seldom discussed such matters openly—most just exchanged glances.

Kevin could only sneer inwardly. These people, given an inch, would take a mile. Someday he’d be an officer, too, and would rise through the ranks. Did they not fear making things difficult for themselves in the future? Or perhaps they were currying favor with someone else?

“Kevin!” the lieutenant colonel barked from the stage, “Come forward and make your self-criticism!”

Kevin walked calmly to the captain, who still hadn’t returned his written apology.

Unexpectedly, the captain spread his hands. “Sorry, your self-criticism is missing. You didn’t take it back yourself, did you?”

Kevin: “…”

Without complaint, Kevin walked confidently to the front of the stage. “Due to some unknown reason, the patrol captain did not bring my written self-criticism. But don’t worry, I’ll deliver my self-criticism from memory.”

The crowd: “…”

“I, Kevin Insufficient Hall, first express my deepest apologies. My self-criticism is as follows,” Kevin began, composed at the podium—his expression was grave, as befitted an apology, so that no one could say he lacked sincerity.

“I’m new here, and out of ignorance regarding the proper way to report for drill, I broke discipline. That was my fault. But, when the patrols came to correct me, I didn’t acknowledge my mistake and instead sought revenge…” Kevin recounted the events faithfully, then reflected on his errors, promised to improve, and praised the patrol unit, saying the Order of Thunder Knights owed much of its success to their indispensable efforts.

He finished smoothly, without a single pause, his voice clear and strong. If not for his somber expression, it would hardly have seemed like a self-criticism at all.

The patrol captain and his companions exchanged glances. Truth be told, they had planned to escalate this to the general for a verdict, so they’d have official backing. But when Gray reported that Kevin was willing to concede, they saw a golden opportunity.

They’d resolved to make Kevin lose face in front of everyone, giving him only half a day to write his self-criticism, and then, at the last moment, denying him his script to see how he’d cope.

Normally, a new officer was barely distinguishable from a new recruit, and in such a solemn assembly, most would be shaking with fear. To speak without notes? Many couldn’t even read their scripts properly. Unfortunately for them, their intelligence gathering was poor—they’d never bothered to find out what Kevin used to do.

Addressing a crowd? So what if there were more people, and everyone was quiet? Kevin had spent ten years as a wandering bard, ten years speaking before audiences. This was a minor occasion. He’d written the speech himself and could recall it easily—reciting it was no challenge at all.

After his self-criticism, the new recruits might have been unimpressed, but the veterans and many officers could judge a man. They thought, whatever else, he had character. And as for Kevin being made to apologize, few were surprised; after all, he was still new and inexperienced, and it was best to let things rest.

That night, Start was on patrol again. Kevin asked him about the patrol’s attitude toward him now.

“It’s over,” Start replied, finally pleased. “See? I told you to be patient, and now it’s behind us.”

Kevin smiled, “Glad to hear it.”

“But you still need to be careful,” Start warned. “The patrols don’t just check drills—you need to keep your area clean. We won’t target you specifically, but if donkey droppings are all over the place, there’s nothing we can do. If we’re too strict, the troops complain; too lax, and the officers scold us. It’s not easy for us, either.”

“I understand,” Kevin nodded. “As long as you don’t deliberately pick on me, I’ll be fine.”

“So what are your plans?” Start asked.

“One step at a time. Tomorrow, I’ll try to request some funding and see if I can refurbish this broken catapult. If you patrols hadn’t been making things difficult, I’d have done it already.”

“You really plan to fix up the catapult?” Start asked. “I’ve heard that catapults are considered almost obsolete these days.”

“I know. Now it's all about those giant wands from Eastwind, with a focus on magic,” Kevin replied. “But if something exists, there’s a reason for it. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions without looking more deeply. Besides, it’s hard for me to improve my own abilities—maybe having a catapult isn’t so bad.”

“Can you operate it by yourself?” Start asked.

“I’m considering some modifications or upgrades,” Kevin replied. “But first, I need money. Nothing can be done without it.”

“I can’t help with that,” Start shrugged. “Military funds are all under the Logistics Department. But I doubt they’ll give you any money.”

“They won’t? Then I’ll just drive the catapult straight to their office,” Kevin laughed.

“Don’t,” Start said quickly, alarmed. “You’ll end up offending everyone.”

Kevin laughed heartily, making it clear he was only joking.