The roster has been sent to Revodan. While waiting for the transfer order, the Wolf Town Centuries began some regular training.

Subjects include queues, weapons use and marching.

Winters doesn't expect to turn the farmer into a qualified soldier in a few days. But even the auxiliary soldiers must understand discipline and obedience to survive in the army.

This is a typical rural force. In terms of organization, Winters makes the militias in each ten-man team come from the same village as much as possible.

Because when there was a beast disaster a while ago, all the young and strong men in Wolf Town participated in the beast hunting team.

So who is capable in the Centenarians, who is honest and reliable, and who is willing to listen to his fellow villagers... After a test of a beast disaster, Winters knew something about these things.

The ten-masters he appointed were all candidates who could convince the public, but no militia was dissatisfied.

Except Pierre Mitchell.

"Brother Winters." Pierre was still worried at the dining table at Mitchell's house: "Why am I not a triad?"

Without waiting for Winters to answer, Gillard scolded with a calm face: "You are working as a servant, you must call the chief or the centurion. When I was working as a servant, I dared to call the chief like this, and I will give you a full meal with a whip."

Gillard has been very angry since Pierre joined the militia.

Gillard could not resist his wife, so he could only expect his son to grit his teeth and persevere, and would rather die than obey. But unexpectedly, Pierre was also corrupt in front of his mother.

Old Mr. Mitchell is angry when he sees Mr. Mitchell.

"What's the matter?" Pierre murmured in a low voice.

"No, it's important to listen to your father." Mrs. Mitchell held her son's arm and said gently: "You don't think it's a big deal, but being heard by others will undermine Mr. Montane's prestige. The second lieutenant has helped you a lot, so don't cause trouble to those who have helped you."

Pierre was not afraid of his father, but his mother. Mrs. Mitchell spoke, so Pierre didn't say anything.

Gillard said angrily, "You guys wait. When you get to the barracks, you will be obeyed if you keep them for a few days."

The leisure time after dinner—and what the Mitchell maids called “the time of the gentlemen”—the men moved to the living room as usual.

There were no other guests today, Gillard lay comfortably on the leather chair, filled his pipe, poured wine, and chatted with Winters casually.

In the past, there were no Pierre in this room, and sometimes there were priests who came to visit on other leather chairs, old Dusak and the owner of the manor.

But since Pierre's name was written on the roster, Mr. Mitchell, the old man, acquiesced to Mr. Mitchell, also joining.

Pierre held it aside for a long time, and finally couldn't help but ask again: "Then why can Vasia be the chief of the tenth husband?"

My friend has become the chief of the tenth husband, but he is still the big-headed soldier. Why? Why? Mr. Michelle's mind is full of this.

Gillard was about to get angry, Winters comforted the old Dusak and explained seriously: "Because Vahika is older than you."

"It's because of this?"

"Dusak in the Centenarians is young. If you are nineteen years old, then you are also a triumphant."

Pierre was speechless. After a while, he couldn't help asking again: "When can we practice gun shooting?"

"What are they practicing now?" Gillard also asked the lieutenant curiously.

"Court, I plan to focus on practicing marching in the next few days."

"It's just walking around the playground, which is very boring." Pierre rushed to say, "Rout after circle, it's like a donkey pulling a millstone."

Gillard reached out and hit his son on the back of his head: "Don't underestimate the marching, marching is a knowledgeable thing. The old duke led us to win one battle after another by marching."

[Note: The old duke refers to the "butcher" Duke of Arlelian]

"What's the knowledge? Isn't it just a walk?" Pierre said aggrievedly, covering his head.

"Can you take a 100-man team to walk sixty miles a day, from Langtun to Revodan, and no one in the middle is allowed to fall behind. Can you do it?"

"Yes, why can't you? Wouldn't you just follow me?"

"You can do nothing! You are still stubborn if you are not capable." Gillard slapped his son angrily: "If you lead the team, you can't walk thirty miles away. The head and the people behind you can get two kilometers away. You don't know if there are people who are wandering halfway!"

Old Dusak looked at Winters: "Second Lieutenant, train him hard and let this kid suffer a little, otherwise he would not know the world is high."

"I have been training in the town square these days." Winters replied with a smile: "I plan to take them to the wilderness tomorrow."

...

...

The Wolf Town Hundreds, dressed in various styles, were marching in a single formation in the wilderness.

Pierre limped forward with a musket, and every step was extremely painful.

But the queue kept urging him to move forward, making it impossible for him to rest.

In the morning, the second lieutenant distributed weapons from the town arsenal to the militia, and Pierre thought he would practice firing guns today.

He rushed to the front and grabbed a grenade gun, happily thinking he had gotten a big toy.

While Pierre was waiting for the launch of the projectiles, the second lieutenant ordered everyone to bring their weapons and follow him.

This time I walked, I walked all day.

I don't know when I left the road, and the team walked all the way to the banks of the Great Kok River in the wilderness, and then walked along the river bank.

There was laughter and joy in the queue at the beginning, but in the end there was only painful silence.

Pierre is even having difficulty breathing now. He only feels the muscles of his legs stiff and sore, and his feet, shoulders, and crotch are as painful as being rubbed by iron sand.

He had completely lost the concept of southeast, southwest and northwest, and he just followed him numbly.

The lucky militia was assigned only one bow, and the single bow without a string was held in the hand like a stick.

The militia who were divided into armed swords and halberds had a slightly worse luck, and these two weapons were even heavier.

The most miserable person was carrying a musket. The melee gun I bought from Revodan was sixteen kilograms per rod, without a gun belt.

Pierre was carrying it on his shoulders as if he was evenly equal in weight, and the flesh on his shoulders was knocked out of consciousness.

He finally understood the faint smile on the lieutenant's face when he saw him rushing for a musket.

This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content later! "That guy." Pierre thought hatefully: "It must be comfortable to ride on his silver-gray horse and watch us suffer with a smile."

Next to his right hand is the surging river. Pierre, who is on the verge of limit, had an idea: just jump into the river and you will not suffer such torture.

He was startled by his thoughts and shook his head violently.

There was a voice in my heart that kept tempting him: "Why do you have to make trouble for yourself? Why don't you take a break? Take a break, and you will feel comfortable. Don't care what others think, why should they evaluate you?"

Finally, Pierre abandoned all his self-esteem. He sat on the ground, shouting loudly as if he was proclaiming to someone: "I won't leave!"

The people behind him just glanced at him, and walked around him silently and continued to follow the queue, everyone was like this.

Pierre, sitting on the ground, felt unspeakable pleasure at first, but followed by endless sense of shame.

He lay on the ground and buried his head in the weeds.

"Hey? What's wrong with you?" was Vahika's voice.

"I can't walk anymore," Pierre said, sucking his nose. He wiped his face randomly, not wanting others to see that he was crying: "I don't want to leave anymore."

Vahika picked up Pierre's musket: "Persevere persist."

Pierre stood up with his hands and nodded silently.

Vahika carried Pierre's gun and his halberd on his shoulders. Pierre limped behind him, and the two reunited into the queue.

"Vasia." Pierre whispered.

"Um?"

"I know why you can be the chief of the tenth husband."

A loud trumpet came from the front, and someone was shouting: "Stay on the spot! Stay on the spot!"

Hearing the rest order, the tired militia threw away their weapons and collapsed to the ground.

Pierre couldn't help but take off his boots, his feet swollen like radishes, and they had already ground into a series of blisters.

"I feel like my crotch is worn out." Vahika said with a wry smile.

Pierre didn't answer, and the place between his legs was also burning and painful.

A man walked over from the front of the queue, and the militia along the way bowed their heads to salute - they really couldn't stand up.

When they walked to Wahika and Pierre, they recognized the person Lieutenant Montagne.

The lieutenant passed by the two Dusaks with a musket and nodded slightly at them.

"Gentlemen."

"Sir."

Just passed by, the lieutenant walked towards the back of the queue.

"Did you see?" Vahika stabbed Pierre with her elbow and whispered: "Bring a saber and a gun, I walked all the way like nothing happened."

Only then did Pierre recall that when he set out, Lieutenant Winters Montane did not ride a horse.

...

In the following days, Winters led a team of 100 people to march in the wilderness every day.

The militia who came from farmers generally had no complaints because they not only managed to take care of their meals but also received their salary.
To be continued...