Volume 1 Chapter 8 Training Begins
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The dinner where I was ordered to the front ended. I returned to my room without speaking a word to anyone, finding Tony-san the driver and the man in tights-our guard-already deep in sleep, likely worn out from the long journey. I flicked off the magic lamps, which we only ever used for guests, and crawled into bed. The moment I was alone, the crushing weight of “war” finally hit me.
Iffens-niisan wasn’t the only one who died in that last battle; Monica’s husband was gone too. I’d heard they both took arrows to the head, though I didn’t know the specifics. Monica’s husband had been drafted as a supply militiaman just like me, and he’d even gone through training in his youth. Yet, he still died. What would the battlefield be like? Would I be okay? What actually happens when you die? I wondered if even someone like Nico would cry for me.
Sister-in-law Teressa had only just started to smile again after losing Iffens-niisan; I didn’t want to be the reason she sank back into sorrow. Yutia will probably cry. (I’m sorry I can’t take you with me when I leave to be a son-in-law. Please, learn to talk to someone else…) Thinking back, she only clung to me because I taught her the stable work. Once I’m gone, she’ll have to find someone else to talk to. Maybe that would be for the best.
(I don’t want to die.)
Hans-niisan should be the one going. He’s strong; he’d never die. But does me being chosen mean he’s officially the one inheriting the Village Head title? I didn’t know. My shallow knowledge and experience couldn’t provide an answer, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling. My lack of logic kept me in a loop that chased sleep away.
(In times like this, I might as well charge the Amber.) I needed to fill them with mana before I left. Besides, maybe the light fatigue from the process would finally let me pass out.
Even though it was freezing, I slid the wooden shutter open just enough to let in the moonlight and got to work. Mana, the fuel for magic, can only be stored in Amber to be drawn out when needed. At home, we only use it for magic lamps, but I’d heard noble houses use it for magic stoves, and in war, massive chunks of Amber are used to power golems.
I focused on sending my mana into the small Amber stones for the magic lamps Sister-in-law Teressa had given me. After filling two, a heavy languor settled over me, but sleep still wouldn’t come. My body was tired, but my mind was wired and restless. To make matters worse, the man in tights was snoring like a chainsaw.
I tossed and turned, but I couldn’t find a spark of peace. Finally, I sat up. (Maybe if I drink some ale, I can finally crash.) Reaching the same conclusion as a tired old man, I slipped quietly out of the room.
As I reached the stairs, the sound of movement below made me freeze. A shadow crossed the floor and slipped out the back door. That voluptuous silhouette could only be Herta, the head maid. I wondered what she was doing up at this hour. Curiosity got the better of me, and I followed her down. I pressed my face against the cracked-open back door, the moonlight giving me a clear view of the courtyard.
There were two silhouettes by the well. One was Herta, no mistake. The other was a tall man with a shaved head-Egil, the head manservant. I wondered if they were talking shop, but then Herta took Egil’s hand. The silhouettes merged into one. I felt a surge of “I shouldn’t be seeing this” and tried to back away, my conscience prickling even as my curiosity flared.
The sudden urge to urinate forced my hand. I followed my physiological needs to the men’s toilet between the main house and the Village Head Tower-a simple trench with a stone wall where my brothers and I used to compete over who could pee the highest. I got ready, but things felt… swollen. It was hard to go, and even then, it was just a trickle. I tucked myself back in, feeling unsatisfied and uncomfortable.
I headed for the ale barrel in the kitchen. I saw the back door was still ajar, but I tried to ignore it. I poured a third of a mug and downed it.
”Phaaa…” I exhaled deeply. As I wiped my mouth, my eyes were drawn back to that door like a magnet. I crept toward it and leaned in. The moon was behind a cloud now, making it hard to see the silhouettes from before.
Wait. There was something writhing on the ground. (No way. In this freezing cold?) I pulled back to make sure no one was watching me peek, then leaned back in. In the dark, I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening, but they were definitely doing something.
As the clouds cleared, the moonlight revealed them. The voluptuous woman was on all fours; the man was on his knees behind her, gripping her hips. After a sharp breath, they began to move. My head was a mess of confusion and heat. It was too much to watch, yet I couldn’t look away. I backed off, took a few deep breaths, and peeked again.
This time, it looked less like people and more like something feral. Herta had her face pressed into the dirt, her rear thrust up in an obscene, vulnerable display. Egil gripped her tightly, his hips driving with a violent rhythm. In the moonlight, I could see their expressions-mouths open, breath suppressed and ragged. They were like beasts.
I wanted to see it to the end, but the sheer intensity of it made me recoil. Herta and Egil… it was a shock to see people I knew acting like that. How was I supposed to look them in the eye tomorrow? Just as I thought that, a sound came from the second floor.
The room my sisters used to use? A door opened, the light of a magic lamp spilling down the stairs. That was where Sister-in-law Teressa and Nico were sleeping. Panicked, I scrambled toward the ale barrel, desperate for an excuse. The footsteps and the light descended quickly. I barely reached the barrel before the light swung toward me.
”What are you all doing down here?” Nico asked.
All of us? I turned and saw Yutia standing there, her long bangs shielding her face. I couldn’t exactly tell them I was here for ale if Yutia had seen what I was really doing. “Is this a midnight date?” Nico asked in her usual sharp tone. I wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. I wondered what Yutia thought. If it were Nico, she’d have called me a creep by now.
I looked at Yutia, and my heart sank. Drops were falling from her chin. Tears? She began to sob, the sound catching in her throat. Was she disillusioned by my peeking? I knew it was bad, but…
”Hey, what are you crying for?” Nico glared at me. I could only shake my head.
Yutia had come to our house with Sister-in-law Teressa and Nico as a servant. She wasn’t a slave, but she was close to it. Even if I’d tried something with her, no one would have really blamed me, but I’d never do that. Had Nico suspected me of something?
I remembered Yutia being such a bright, cute girl when she first arrived. Then the high fever hit. She nearly died, and when she recovered, her muscles were permanently locked in tension. Her jaw was pulled back, her limbs were stiff, and her speech was broken and strained. Ever since, she’d hidden behind her bangs and stopped talking to anyone. Nico had seemingly given up on her, which is why she always addressed me instead, but even I didn’t understand these tears.
Yutia stepped forward and gripped my left sleeve. “La…rry… go… away… i… it’s… hard… won’t… be… able… to… talk… I… why… must… you… go?”
The sobbing made her even harder to understand than usual. “Are you saying that if I go to the army, you won’t have anyone left to talk to?” I asked. Yutia nodded, her eyes still hidden by her hair. Nico looked caught between being annoyed and concerned. Yutia’s tears kept falling.
”It’s okay,” I said, trying to sound grown-up. “It’s just a temporary draft. I’ll be back in a month.” She wouldn’t let go of my sleeve. “Iffe…sama… d…didn’t… come… back.”
She meant Iffens-niisan. The one who died and never returned. It was the one thing none of us wanted to say. When I didn’t answer, she leaned her head against my chest, putting her whole weight on me. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Nico sounded flustered.
”It’s fine,” I said. “I’m coming back. Look at me-stop crying.” I reached out and put my hands on her shoulders, and she leaned into me even more. I just stood there, holding her, until Nico reached for a mug.
”Yutia, crying isn’t going to change anything. Drink this and calm down.” Nico filled a mug halfway with ale and practically peeled Yutia off me. She seemed a bit rough-maybe the emotion was contagious. “Here.”
She shoved the mug at Yutia, who took it with both hands and took a tiny, hesitant sip. “What about you?” Nico asked me. “I already had mine,” I said. It wasn’t a lie, but the guilt made my face twitch. We stood there watching Yutia for a while. She must have been terrified of losing the only person she could speak to.
Just as she seemed to settle and Nico reached for her own mug, voices drifted in from outside. “God, it’s freezing!” “That’s because you were so greedy for it!”
It was Herta and Egil. The door swung open and they stumbled in. “You’re one to talk!” “You’re the one who said the courtyard was fine!” “That’s because you-“
They didn’t stop talking even after they entered. They had to have seen us standing there in the lamp light… right? The heavy, emotional mood was shattered instantly. It was a relief, but also incredibly annoying. I wasn’t the only one who felt it. “Hey! Get your clothes on straight! You’re in front of the Young Master!” Egil barked, though he was just as disheveled. “That goes for you too!” Herta shot back.
They were both a mess, clearly having dressed in a frantic rush against the cold. They weren’t even trying to hide what they’d been doing. I felt like an absolute moron for worrying about how to face them tomorrow. “What are you kids doing up at this hour anyway?” Egil asked, trying to sound authoritative. “It’s too cold for this.” Herta slammed her elbow into his ribs. “I… I only came because Teressa-sama said she couldn’t sleep! I was just bringing her some ale!”
Perhaps taking Egil’s blunt words to heart, Herta finished speaking in a slightly strained, high-pitched voice. She turned her back to us and reached for a mug on the shelf.
”I couldn’t sleep either,” I muttered, “so I came down for some ale.”
Yutia was whispering something too, but her voice was so thin and frail that I couldn’t make out a single word. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the way Herta-san was looking at me felt… uncomfortable.
”Well, I can’t blame you,” Egil said. “Iffens-sama just died, after all. I’ve been with this house for over twenty years, and I’ve seen men head off to the front from this village plenty of times-but this is the first time anyone’s actually come home in a casket. Two of them, at that.”
”Don’t go jinxing us with that kind of talk,” Herta snapped.
”My bad. I didn’t mean anything by it. But look, overthinking it won’t do you any favors.”
He was right.
”Exactly,” Herta added. “Let’s just drink. There’s no use stressing over things you can’t change. If the ale runs out, I’ll just brew more. Besides, Young Master… if you were that restless, you should’ve just joined the party instead of peeking from the shadows.”
(She knew?!)
Yutia suddenly spat out a mouthful of ale, and I took the spray directly in the face. As I wiped my skin with my sleeve, I saw Nico staring at me with a look of pure, unadulterated venom. Did she realize exactly what Herta meant? And what did she mean by “joining in”?
”I don’t know,” Egil grunted, oblivious to the tension. “The moonlight was nice, sure, but that midnight chill was a real killer.”
(Egil-san, I truly envy your thick skin.)
I retreated from the unbearable atmosphere of the kitchen and crawled back into bed, but the encounter only made sleep more elusive. I welcomed the dawn without having closed my eyes for a second. Weighted down by a heavy lethargy, I finished my morning routine early and trudged toward the village square before the sun could break the horizon.
Through the dim, shifting fog, I saw silhouettes gathered near the central well. In the foreground, Village Head Johann Rosen and Captain Bours Debritz, formerly of the Royal Army, were deep in conversation.
”Good morning,” I called out. I gave them a respectful nod and moved past to size up the others. There were four men I recognized vaguely, along with Celt-san, a tenant farmer who worked our family’s land. It looked like this was our unit, but we were still one man short.
”This is Larry Fee,” Celt-san said, introducing me to the group. “The third son of our Village Head.”
Four pairs of eyes snapped toward me. My heart did a slow somersault-these were the same guys I’d cursed to drop dead yesterday while I was on my way to Alberto-san’s. They were the recruits from Mauer Village.
”The hell? Don’t scare us like that,” one grumbled. “I heard he was the brother of that ‘Mad Dog’ Hans, so I expected some kind of psycho. He’s just a quiet-looking brat.”
”For real. Hey, kid-how old are you anyway?”
”Thirteen,” I replied, “but I’ll be fourteen on the third of next month.”
”Jesus. Is Strock Village so hard up they’re sending children to fight?”
The one responsible for that nasty jab was Getz. The one who’d asked my age was Roberto; he didn’t look much older than me. The one who’d called my brother a “Mad Dog” was Martin, and the one looking visibly shaken was Clemens.
(Seriously, how much of a reputation does Hans-niisan have?)
Apparently deciding I wasn’t nearly as dangerous as my brother, the four of them went back to their own business, swapping lewd stories about what they’d allegedly done over at Granny Ferris’s place. I kept catching the name “Emma”-apparently the girl the kids were raving about yesterday. They claimed she was even cuter than Nico, but since I hadn’t been there, their inside jokes were mostly lost on me. I couldn’t glean any real details about her.
The sky began to pale as the carriage driven by Tony rattled away into the distance. Seeing the departure, Johann-san stepped toward us. “As I told you all last night, your instructor, Bours-san, was a Captain in the Royal Army. He still holds his official instructor’s license and remains on the military register. Starting now, he is your superior officer.”
He directed a pointed look at Getz, clearly marking him as the primary troublemaker. “For the next week, even though this is technically ‘training,’ you are all subject to military law. Do you understand what that entails?”
”It means desertion in the face of the enemy is a death sentence, right?” Getz answered, his voice dripping with annoyance.
”Correct. And even if you don’t intend to desert, if your actions are judged as such, you won’t have any grounds for complaint if you’re executed on the spot. Furthermore, the taxes on the family of a deserter will face massive tax hikes, and the village will be hit with additional forced labor. If you actually manage to run, a nationwide bounty will be placed on your head. There is no escape from the consequences.”
(Jesus… is that the reality of this?)
A cold sweat broke out across my shoulders. I remembered being a little kid and getting caught stealing Bours-san’s apples; I was lucky he hadn’t decided to exercise military discipline then.
”But what if the ‘superior’ is just wrong?” Getz challenged, seemingly unable to read the room.
”You’re a fool,” said Johann. “Under military law, it doesn’t matter if the order is right or wrong. You follow it.”
Getz spat a curse under his breath, but I found myself impressed. For a man of his stature, Johann didn’t mince words. He told the hard truths straight.
”Well then, Instructor. They’re a rowdy bunch, but I leave them in your hands.”
He bowed to Bours and swayed back toward my house. By now, the sun was officially up; the morning chill was beginning to lift.
”Line up! Height order, horizontal line!” Bours barked.
Chastened by the Village Head’s threats, we obeyed instantly. Martin was the tallest, followed by the surly Getz, then Celt, Clemens, and Roberto. I was the smallest, stuck at the end. A moment later, Edmond from the Eisner farm across the river came running up, looking disheveled.
”Sorry! Sorry, I was taking a massive dump and lost track of time!”
He tried to slide into the end of the line with a smug, “oops” kind of grin, as if he expected us to laugh along. In a blur of motion, Bours swept Edmond’s legs out from under him. The man literally left the ground for a second before slamming flat onto his back.
As he let out a strangled groan, the heavy iron-tipped scabbard of Bours’s sword slammed into his solar plexus. Edmond curled up like a salted slug, gasping for air. Bours didn’t wait; he grabbed the man by his hair, dragged him to the front of the line, twisted his arm back, and forced him into a standing position.
”Listen to me and listen well. On the battlefield, one man being late is all it takes to get an entire company slaughtered.”
He wasn’t just talking to the groaning Edmond; he was burning those words into all of us.
”And another thing. If you’re going to be late because you’re taking a shit, then you better learn to run while you’re shitting. Am I clear?”
Bours tossed Edmond toward the end of the line and walked down the row, glaring into each of our eyes one by one. Edmond took his place, staring at the dirt in shame.
”I asked if I was clear! Where is the response?!”
”Clear!” we barked.
”I can’t hear you!”
”YES, INSTRUCTOR!” we screamed, the collective fear of the man vibrating in our lungs.
”Better. Now, we begin the joint training for Mauer and Strock. I am your superior, Bours Debritz. You will address me as Instructor Bours. Understood?”
”YES!”
”Good. Then we’ll start with the customary ritual.”
A predatory, defiant smirk crossed his face. “I’m sure some of you think you don’t need to take orders from an old man like me. Fine. I’ll give you a chance. If you can beat me in a fair fight, I will personally discharge you. You can go home. No desertion charges, and no penalties. Who wants to try?”
Getz’s hand shot up instantly. To my surprise, the quiet Martin also stepped forward. The matches lasted a combined total of ten seconds. Getz tried to tackle him, but Bours moved like a ghost. One second Getz was charging, the next he was flying through the air. Bours flowed behind him, locked his arm around Getz’s throat, and choked him into unconsciousness in a heartbeat.
Martin tried a more measured approach, stepping in for a kick. Bours parried the leg with a flick of his wrist and delivered a precise palm strike to Martin’s carotid artery. Martin dropped like a sack of grain, completely out cold.
”Martin-let’s call you ‘Mar.’ You’re a follower of the Way, aren’t you? Shinto?”
Bours forcibly revived him. As Martin nodded groggily, my internal salaryman files started flickering. (Shinto. Shrines, polytheism, gods… but I can’t find a single link to martial arts in my memories.) In this world, Shinto was more of a fringe belief, something the elven-influenced missionaries preached when they came to trade seeds. I couldn’t see how Martin’s movements connected to it at all.
”Celt, you’re a Shinto man too, aren’t you? Want to avenge your comrade?”
”I’ll pass, Instructor,” Celt replied quickly.
Smart man. Nobody in Strock Village was dumb enough to swing on Bours. Maybe my brother Hans or Alberto could hold their own, but even those monsters wouldn’t pick a fight with Bours unless they had to. The man was a walking legend of the Western Front, the most brutal meat-grinder in the Royal Army’s history. He carried an aura of pure, concentrated intimidation.
Bours had us. Body and soul.
I braced for some kind of hellish endurance drill, but the first task was… making sandals. Under Bours’s meticulous supervision, we spent the entire morning crafting battlefield-grade sandals that wrapped up past the ankle.
Once we finished, the real hell started: laps. We had to maintain a specific stride. We had to scream cadences at the top of our lungs. The village kids gathered to mock us, which was annoying, but the worst part was the village women.
Seeing them cover their mouths and giggle as we marched past in our homemade rags was soul-crushing. Every time our voices faltered from the shame, the scabbard would come down on our backs like a lightning bolt.
Amateur sandals don’t last. They frayed. They slipped. But Bours wouldn’t let us stop. We had to march through the pain, through the blisters, through the embarrassment. March. Repair. March. The cycle felt eternal. By the time the sun began to dip, my legs felt like lead and my throat was raw.
”Unit, halt! Fall out!”
At that moment, Granny Ferris appeared from the pharmacy, accompanied by a girl with jet-black hair in a dark tunic, carrying a heavy basin.
”Is that Emma?” I whispered to Roberto.
He gave me a weary but wide-eyed grin. “That’s her.”
She was wearing a black tunic laced up the sides and a matching pareo around her waist. The silhouette of her body was… wow. I’m sorry, Nico, but you just lost the war.
She had huge, dark eyes and a delicate face, but her expression was as cold as the morning fog. Maybe it was her status as a slave, but there was a wall there. Still, I thought of Sister-in-law Teressa. My sister-in-law was still the most beautiful in my book-she had an aura of grace and warmth that a “cold” beauty couldn’t touch.
”Sit down on the benches,” Bours ordered. “You’re getting a Heal for your feet. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
”What’s the order?”
”Figure it out yourselves.”
For some reason, the Mauer Village guys suddenly found a second wind and started arguing over the line. They ended up going in a bunch, leaving me and Celt last. I was done. The string of tension that had been pulled taut since yesterday finally snapped. The fight with Hans, the draft, the peeking, the insomnia, the marching… I was at my limit. The moment my butt hit the bench, the world started to blur.
(Why was Yutia in the kitchen last night…?)
My brain wouldn’t work. My eyelids felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. I was nodding off while sitting upright. (Screw it… just for a second…) My consciousness blinked out.
Suddenly, my field of vision expanded. I could feel the cold sweat drying on my skin. My feet were throbbing with a sharp, stinging pain. But mostly, my body felt like it was made of solid cast iron. It was heavy. It was ancient.
(Wait… what happened? My vision is so sharp… but this exhaustion is unreal. Did I take control of the body at the absolute bottom of his stamina?)
I’m an old man on the inside, kid. Give me a break…
—
Summary:
Larry struggles with insomnia and anxiety over his upcoming conscription. While attempting to clear his head, he witnesses an animalistic tryst between the servants Herta and Egil. The night ends in an emotional confrontation with Yutia, who fears Larry will follow Iffens-niisan’s path and never return.
Larry endures a sleepless night and the first day of grueling military training under Instructor Bours. He witnesses the harsh enforcement of military law and Bours’s overwhelming combat prowess. The chapter ends with Larry collapsing from exhaustion as his ‘reincarnated’ consciousness takes over.
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Trivia:
- Larry’s mana charging process causes physical languor/fatigue.
- Monica’s husband was a supply militiaman, highlighting the lethality of the role.
- Yutia’s speech impediment is a result of muscle tension after-effects from a fever.
- The kitchen ale barrel is a communal gathering point at night.
- The ‘tights man’ is a guard for the visiting Klaus-san.
- Military law dictates that desertion results in execution and family tax penalties.
- Instructor Bours is a veteran of the Western Front, the most brutal region.
- The term ‘Shinto’ exists in this world as a fringe belief involving spirit missionaries called ‘Oshi’.
- Emma’s silhouette is described as more attractive than Nico’s, though Larry remains loyal to Sister-in-law Teressa’s beauty.
- The draft includes recruits from multiple villages (Strock and Mauer)
—
Character Insight:
Larry’s protectiveness toward Yutia reveals a softer side beneath his cynical ‘salaryman’ exterior. Yutia’s breakdown shows she views Larry as her lifeline for communication and social connection.
Larry’s internal ‘salaryman’ logic continues to clash with the brutal medieval reality, particularly his shock at the lethality of military law. Yutia’s emotional distress over Larry’s departure highlights her isolation.
—
Lore And Worldbuilding Context:
The author uses the contrast between the servants’ crude sexual encounter and Yutia’s pure emotional terror to emphasize the ‘broken morals’ theme of the world.
The author uses Bours as a ‘wall’ to show the gap between commoners and seasoned combat veterans.
—
Glossary:
Notes:
• Tony – A carriage driver accompanying the group. Quiet and hardworking, often seen resting after long journeys.
• Iffens – Larry’s older brother, the eldest son of the Fee family, fell in battle; his death leaves a heavy emotional shadow over the household and fuels Yutia’s fear. He is remembered as a solemn, battle‑scarred figure.
• Monica – Larry’s tomboyish childhood friend, now a 15‑year‑old widow after her husband died in the same war as Ifence, raises twins and helps care for his infant niece Maria. Her loss shows how even non‑combat villagers, like supply militia, face indiscriminate danger.
• Nico – An elderly manservant with silver hair and a faded livery, dignified and trusted by the headman, revered by staff; and a stern young maid from the Village Head’s house, outspoken, protective of Teressa and Yutia, wielding authority over local children.
• Teressa – The widow of Iffens and Larry’s sister-in-law. Currently serving as the deputy village head. Larry’s sister-in-law and widow of the deceased eldest brother. She has an infant daughter. Has blonde short hair and big chests, and big sister/motherly aura. Wears a wool jacket over her blouse, which its button almost split.
• Yutia – A servant girl with a hunched back and muscular abnormality, suffering a severe speech impediment and lingering muscle tension after a near‑fatal fever; she once served as lady’s maid to Teressa.
• Hans – Rugged, wild‑eyed delinquent known as the ‘Mad Dog’ of Strock Village, he is the second son of the Fee family, a chronic alcoholic with a record of assault and extortion. Larry’s older brother and primary heir to the Kessler estate, he now shirks his duties.
• Herta – Head maid of the household, a striking, voluptuous woman respected by staff, closely tied to the family, and secretly involved in a tryst with Egil.
• Egil – A tall, dark-skinned head manservant with a shaved head, serving as the household’s chief attendant, commanding respect and maintaining close ties with the family and staff.
• Johann – The Village Head of Strock and Larry’s father. A stern and pragmatic leader who enforces harsh military realities without sugarcoating them.
• Bours – A former Captain of the Royal Army and current military instructor. Known as a legend of the Western Front.
• Celt – A tenant farmer working under Larry’s family. Level-headed and cautious, he avoids unnecessary conflict and recognizes Bours’s overwhelming strength.
• Larry – 13‑year‑old third son of the Strock headman, reddish‑white skin, bronze eyes, curly bronze hair, faint Showa memories and minor fire magic. Inside his body lives a 40‑year‑old bachelor salaryman, backup heir of the Village Head’s house, analyzing tech gaps, conscripted, parasitized, crushing on his sister‑in‑law, doing chores despite quasi‑noble status.
• Alberto – The eldest son of the Kessler family; a large, intimidating former delinquent. Over 210cm.
• Mauer – A stout man from the Rosen family with thin, downy white hair. He wears a beige dalmatica.
• Clemens – A recruit from Mauer Village who appears nervous and easily shaken, especially in the presence of authority figures like Bours.
• Roberto – A recruit who is exhausted and seemingly reminiscent of the previous night’s events.
• Martin – A young recruit from a neighboring village nicknamed Mar practices a Shinto‑linked combat style; he proposes to Felice and flirts with Ferris‑san.
• Getz – A delinquent‑type recruit from Mauer Village, with a rebellious streak that made him easy for Bours to subdue, displays a rugged look—short, unkempt hair, a scar across his left cheek, and a worn leather jacket over a faded uniform. He keeps his distance from peers, yet respects Bours’ authority, hinting at a complex bond of defiance and reluctant loyalty.
• Ferris – An Elf pharmacy owner over 200 years old who looks like she is in her 30s. She is a veteran healer. An Elven healer over two hundred years old. Claims to have known Larry’s grandfather.
• Emma – Beautiful slave girl with large black eyes, cold sorrowful expression, black hair in a bun, and a three‑colored crest on her forehead. She serves Ferris‑san, stays with her, and was present during a healing session, making her a potential candidate for Larry’s rite of passage.
• Edmond – A late-arriving recruit from the Eisner farm. His lack of discipline earns him a brutal lesson from Bours on the importance of punctuality in military life.
• Ed – A local village youth and acquaintance of Larry’s.
• Tim – A 14‑year‑old village youth, the eldest son of the Dvorak family, has just ‘graduated’ into adulthood. With short dark hair, a lean build and thoughtful eyes, he recently traveled to the riverside town of Obernbach accompanied by his father.
• Klaus – Larry’s maternal uncle, head of the Thalbach family and a vassal to Viscount Bizan. He dislikes Larry and Hans. He is described as a thin, grumpy-looking man, wears a light grey cloak and a black hat with gold ornaments signifying his rank in a Viscount’s house.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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