Volume 1 Chapter 24 Base Camp Lint
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”What the hell are you doing? Did you join some weird cult or something?”
Martin, from Mauer Village, gave me a look of pure confusion as he watched me standing there with my hands pressed together. I wasn’t actually praying, of course. I was just circulating my Mana¹ from my left hand to my right—basically, I was doing some solo “Mana Sparring” to keep the energy moving.
It wasn’t that I was trying to level up my magic or improve my flow. Honestly, I just wanted to hand the keys of this body back to its rightful owner, Larry. It had already been two days since Larry went into his little “shut-down mode.” (Well, if you don’t count those few minutes where he unconsciously managed to lose his V-card, anyway.)
This was starting to look bad. If I was still the one in the driver’s seat when the actual war started, I was screwed. I really wasn’t interested in the pain, the terror, or the gore of a battlefield. I felt a little guilty for the guy, but coming from a world where peace was the default, the idea of a life-or-death struggle was a hard pass for me. I wanted to give this body back with a bow on top.
The problem was, I had no idea how to do it. It was like trying to climb out of hell on a spider’s thread, but since Larry had briefly woken up when I was sparring with my Sister-in-law, I figured Mana might be the trigger. So, I started my solo training every time we had a break. I couldn’t tell if it was actually working, though. Everything felt… vague.
”I’m just a little restless,” I muttered, offering a weak excuse. “Thought this might help me focus.”
”Focusing your spirit through prayer, huh? Come to think of it, that weird Pastor was talking about ‘conversion’ or something too,” Celt added as he finished his water.
”The Pastor? Oh, you mean the guy in the black robes who came by with his wife while we were making the sandals?” Martin asked.
”That’s the one. Turns out those two were actually plants sent by Larry’s complicated Aunt,” Celt replied, leaning in to drop the gossip.
Even Getz poked his head into the circle. Since we’d hooked up with the Mauer Village crew—Martin, Getz, Clemens, and Roberto—we’d been talking about nothing but refugees. This was a welcome change of pace.
Celt laid it all out like a pro storyteller. Uncle Klaus, the guy who looks after the Fee family, has a terrifying wife named Camilla. She’s been scheming to make her second son the Head of Strock Village, and she sent that “Pastor” couple to pull the strings. The guy was a real priest, but the “wife” was actually Camilla’s maid—a real piece of work. The plan worked, and now Camilla’s son is basically a lock for the position.
Meanwhile, Larry—who’s now officially out of the running for Village Head—is supposedly being set up to marry into a widow’s house. On top of that, Uncle Klaus’s mistress is pregnant, and he’s trying to hide her in Strock Village to protect her from his jealous wife. Celt told the story with a grin, knowing that in a world with no TV, family drama is the ultimate entertainment.
Even Ed, who’d been zonked out on medicine, was listening intently. (I felt a surge of annoyance—if Celt hadn’t opened his mouth, Ed wouldn’t have had to worry about this crap.)
”Is this Camilla lady really that dangerous?” Getz asked.
When I told him, dead serious, that she might actually kill the mistress if she found her, the Mauer guys all nodded like that made perfect sense.
”Damn, so Larry really isn’t gonna make it as Village Head, huh?” Martin said, sounding a little too satisfied with the news.
”I guess not,” Martin added, sighing.
(Careful, Martin. Or I’ll tell everyone the real age of that ‘young lady’ you’ve been chasing.)
”That’s a shame,” Clemens said, offering a genuine word of comfort.
”Well, Martin’s own engagement just fell through, too,” Roberto teased.
”It hasn’t fallen through yet!” Martin snapped.
”Didn’t your old man yell so loud the whole village heard him? He said he’d never allow it,” Roberto countered.
”So what? I don’t care if Ferris-san is over two hundred years old. I’m the second son—I’ll do what I want!” Martin yelled.
So the secret was out. Everyone already knew Granny Ferris was an ancient Elf. I traded a look with Ed and Celt. I was hoping I’d get to tease him about that for a few more days.
”Move it! Next stop is the military camp, and we aren’t stopping again!” Instructor Bours barked, ending the conversation.
Once we cleared the forest, the city of Obernbach came into view. The land was so flat that the city walls just looked like a thin line on the horizon. As we got closer, we could see people thick as ants at the gates. To the north, in the old ruins, livestock was being auctioned off. Usually, the plaza would be packed with animals from the surrounding villages, but the refugee rumors had kept the numbers low today.
We marched past the gates and headed for the Great Bridge over the Danube River. It was a massive span that led into the New City. The north bank was a bustling trade hub with docks and warehouses, while the riverside pleasure district sat on the south side of the bridge. Our destination, the Royal Army camp, was further down the embankment.
The river was packed with ships. The bridge piers had been turned into toll stations, creating a massive bottleneck. A few impatient captains were trying to dock illegally on the banks only to be chased off by port officials.
On the landward side, opposite the river, the red-light district was just starting to wake up. Even though it was still early, women in gaudy makeup and skimpy dresses were already standing in front of the shops, hunting for customers. Naturally, our formation turned into a disaster. Half the guys were staring with their mouths open until Bours started cracking the whip. The girls just smiled and waved at us, which only made the guys look even more pathetic.
The fun part of the district ended where a small creek flowed into the Danube. Once we crossed that bridge, we were in the massive military drilling grounds.
The first things I saw were the eight Golems² standing in the corner of the field. They were huge, ranging from four to six meters tall, leaning on massive spears or swords to keep their balance. They didn’t look like sleek, high-tech robots; they were clunky, with cylindrical limbs and boxy torsos, looking more like some retro mecha from an old anime. They were just the color of raw wood. Everyone except Bours was stunned, and the formation fell apart yet again.
The main facility was fenced off with spiked iron, with guards posted at every gate. When Bours saluted and announced our arrival, one of the younger guards looked shocked and sprinted toward the duty hut.
”Saluting looks so cool,” Ed whispered, trying to copy the movement.
It was a standard hand salute, but seeing it for real was different. The spine snaps straight, the hand goes up, and the whole motion is sharp and clean. For Ed, who’s dead-set on the Academy, it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen.
”You look like a dork,” Martin teased.
”I’m going to the Academy after this campaign, just watch,” Ed replied, dead serious.
One of the regular soldiers nearby overheard him and gave him a long, measuring look. Maybe he was wondering if he was looking at his future boss.
While that was happening, an officer stepped out of the guardhouse. He didn’t look like an arrogant prick; he returned Bours’s salute and sent a runner toward the stone building nearby.
”Form two ranks!” Bours shouted.
After the formal introductions, we were led to a timber-framed barracks. The first floor was a mess hall. We grabbed trays of bread, soup, and ale and sat down at the long tables. As we ate, a group of regulars in work uniforms filed in, giving us suspicious looks. Ed just stared at them with pure admiration.
”All rise!” Bours barked.
An officer had entered the room. Bours walked up to him, and they stopped about a meter apart, exchanging a crisp salute.
”Captain. It’s been a long time,” Bours said.
Bours told the man he wasn’t a Captain anymore—just a farmer—but he looked way too cool saying it. Apparently, the officer was one of Bours’s old subordinates from the Western Front. They chatted for a bit, whispered something to each other, and then parted ways. The regulars who had been looking at us like we were trash were now staring in shock. They stood and saluted when the officer left, and they even saluted Bours when we made our exit.
That night, we slept in a room full of bunk beds. During the “talk” session, I accidentally let it slip that I’d graduated from being a virgin, and the guys grilled me until I confessed it was with my Sister-in-law. I kept the stuff about the Mana-s*x to myself, but I really wished I’d just lied and said it was Herta.
Before bed, I did one more round of solo sparring. This time, I felt it—just a tiny flicker of Larry’s consciousness waking up.
The next morning, we hit the armory. The quartermaster handed out leather armor, spears, and sidearms. This was Royal Army gear, and it showed—the leather was supple and tough, way better than what we had in the village. The sword was surprisingly heavy, though. It was going to be a chore to lug around.
”The plan was to train here for a few days,” Bours announced, “but this place is becoming a refugee camp. We’re moving out to the base at Lint immediately.”
A refugee camp? That was surprisingly humanitarian for this world. We stashed our civilian clothes and marched out the gate.
”Lint is about the same distance as the village checkpoint. We’re going at a double-time run! Getz, don’t forget how to hold that spear!” Bours yelled.
Getz fumbled his spear into the correct position.
”We’re going to practice the Spear-wall³ on the move! Ready… Front!”
We were a bit wobbly, but we managed to level our spears—three in the front, four in the back.
”Too slow! Ready… Left!”
We moved a bit faster. If you do this without knowing what you’re doing, the spears just bang together and you lose your balance. It was going to be a long march.
The spears here were slightly longer than the ones back at the village. That alone made them twice as difficult to handle.
”Alright, double-time! Move out!”
”He’s a monster…”
Getz-san’s hushed whisper reached my ears, but not a single soul laughed.
On that day, several mobilized militia units were converging on Lint, but few were as disciplined as ours. Most squads used their spears as walking sticks, trudging along in a disorganized mess of idle chatter.
Among them, the group from the Olden region, northeast of the Dona River, looked genuinely dangerous. They had small, round bucklers strapped to their left forearms. Their formation, their agility—everything about them was elite.
While all the militia units had departed at the same time, a pecking order was established almost immediately. The Olden group took the point, followed by us from Mauer and Strock Village. Neck-and-neck with us were the groups from the Regen region on the east bank. Trailing behind were the guys from Heberlich, the city boys from Obernbach, and finally, a few hopeless squads from God-knows-where.
When we reached the first rest area, the Olden group was already pulling out. Arriving at the same time as the Regen group sparked a silent rivalry, and we instinctively began to compete.
Roberto, who was a year older than me, was particularly obsessed with not losing. He pushed so hard he broke our formation, earning a sharp crack on the backside from Captain Bours’s bow. Since our march was constantly interrupted by drills like “Ready, right!”, the gap between us and the leaders widened. By the time we reached the village of Kelch, the halfway point between the garrison and Lint, we were several hundred meters behind.
”Captain Bours, I… I don’t want to lose to them,” Roberto pleaded, his rear likely stinging from the repeated swats. The Captain didn’t even look back.
”Roberto,” Edmond—or Ed, as we called him—suddenly spoke up. “Is there something you want to do when you get back from this war?”
”I… I signed up for the pioneer scouts. I want to build a new village.”
”Then do what Bours-san tells you.”
”Why?! It’s frustrating!”
”Look,” Ed said, his voice steady. “Imagine an enemy charging you. Who do you hit first: the guy who breaks ranks to show off, or the guys holding a solid line?”
”Well, obviously the guy who breaks ranks… but that’s different.”
”No, it’s exactly the same.”
Ed spoke like he was talking sense into a child. He explained that a competitive streak on the battlefield makes you blind. Even if you “beat” your comrades, it doesn’t mean you’ve beaten the enemy. If anything, you just end up isolated. He reminded him of the Al-miraj we faced during training—how no one would want to be standing alone outside the safety of the arrow-wall. To come home alive, maintaining the formation was infinitely more important than winning a footrace against the Regen boys.
Ed had changed. He wasn’t the slovenly guy who’d shown up late on the first day of training anymore.
”You… are you really serious about the Officer Academy?” Martin asked him quietly. “I heard that’s a nightmare to get into.”
”Yeah, I want to try. I might fail, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
Even Getz-san looked at Ed with a newfound respect.
(Larry, if you don’t snap out of it soon, you’re going to get left in the dust.)
Past Kelch, the road became a narrow, jagged mess. Military supply wagons were constant, and we frequently had to halt just to let them pass. This road had been reclaimed by the forest for years; it seemed it had been partially cleared back when my older brother, Iffens, and his lot went to war. Perhaps because of the narrow path, the Regen group didn’t pull further ahead, and they eventually let us pass them at a rest stop.
We reached the stronghold of Lint while the sun was still high.
Clearing the forest, we found a vast expanse of land where the trees had been razed. In the center stood a massive fortification complete with galleries and stone breastworks. Engineers were busy repairing sections of the collapsed walls, and beyond them, several plumes of smoke rose from what I assumed were mess fires.
The road led straight to the East Gate, the very place where my brothers had fallen. I stopped for a moment, looking toward the northern hills, wondering where the snipers had hidden.
The interior was a graveyard of ruins, but the rubble had been cleared into mounds, creating a flat expanse filled with new structures and rows of large tents. A sentry guided us to the far end of the circular enclosure, to a tent near the East Gate.
”Captain Bours! It’s been a long time, sir.”
An officer emerged from a tent and snapped a salute. Inside, several other officers stood up and saluted as well. Every time I saw this, I was reminded of just how important a man Bours must have been before he came to our village.
We waited for hours while the meeting inside dragged on. By the time my hand was going numb from gripping my spear, a private came out. I thought we were being led to our quarters, but instead, he pointed to a pile of canvas and poles and told us to pitch our own tents. While we stood there, bewildered, an engineer arrived to show us the ropes. We eventually managed to cobble together a shelter that would keep the rain out.
From there, we were shuffled through various departments to collect supplies: bread for tonight and tomorrow morning, a soup pot, bowls, and the ingredients. We hauled barrels of ale, mugs, and water buckets. We even had to head out the East Gate back into the forest for firewood and haul water from a nearby stream.
They were making it very clear: we weren’t guests here.
I felt bad for the ones who arrived late. The groups from Heberlich and the city barely made it, but the ones who arrived after dark—likely groups that hadn’t trained at all—were in for a rough night. The supply depots were closed, and the engineers were gone. Those of us who had arrived early ended up helping them pitch their tents by moonlight.
In the process, we started chatting with the other regions. The guys from Olden and Regen explained that mercenaries from Kiridal raided their lands every few years, so they trained constantly. The city of Obernbach trained regularly to deal with the rougher crowds coming in from the Pannonia trade routes.
By comparison, those of us from the west bank were considered the “slacker squad”—people who hadn’t seen a real threat in over a century. Strock and Mauer Village were only seen as special because we happened to have an outlier like Bours. It was a pleasant evening of mingling, but we disbanded at midnight, knowing the dawn would come early.
The next morning, I woke before the sun. The sky was just beginning to turn a pale, sickly grey. I headed to the communal latrine—a hole in the ground with a wooden plank—and was about to head out for water when a commotion broke out near the West Gate.
”What’s all that noise…?”
People started spilling out of their tents. Suddenly, a messenger on horseback came thundering through.
”Close the gates!”
He screamed the command as he raced toward the South Gate. The sentries immediately began hauling the massive, heavy doors shut.
”Help them!”
At Bours-san’s shout, we rushed to the gate, throwing our weight against the wood alongside the sentries until the massive bolt dropped into place with a heavy thud.
”Don your armor! Now! Do it immediately!”
I didn’t know what was happening, but I could feel the gravity of it in my bones. I looked toward the West Gate and saw a line of cavalry forming up. Archers were already swarming the breastworks of the East Gate.
Then, the world shattered at the South Gate. Shouts and horrific screams tore through the air. A moment later, a section of the cavalry from the West Gate broke into a gallop toward the south.
It was combat. Even in the dim light, thick clouds of dust were rising. I couldn’t see the details, but I could hear the wet, heavy sound of men colliding.
Suddenly, my stomach did a somersault. I felt bile rising in my throat. I was going to throw up.
(Is this for real? Is the killing actually starting?)
My hands were shaking so violently I couldn’t even buckle my leather armor.
”Get your armor on! If you want to live, do exactly as I say!”
Bours-san’s voice was a thunderclap that sent shivers down my spine, commanding everyone within earshot.
—
Summary:
The militia arrives at the Royal Army camp near Obernbach, where Larry learns about the political maneuvering regarding his former position as Village Head. Aunt Camilla has successfully placed her son in the role, while Uncle Klaus’s mistress is being hidden in Larry’s village. The militia encounters massive wooden Golems and Bours reunites with a former subordinate before the group is diverted to a new base in Lint due to the camp becoming a refugee center.
The militia reaches the stronghold of Lint, experiencing the grit of military camp life. After a night of bonding with soldiers from other regions, they are jolted awake by a sudden enemy attack. The protagonist faces the visceral reality of war for the first time.
—
Trivia:
- The narrator is desperately trying to trigger a personality swap back to Larry using Mana circulation.
- Martin is unaware that the woman he proposed to is a 200-year-old Elf.
- Instructor Bours was a Captain on the Western Front, a detail that commands immense respect from active-duty regulars.
- The Golems are made of wood and stand 4-6 meters tall.
- Strock Village (Larry’s home) is being used as a safe house for a mistress to avoid Camilla’s wrath
- The narrator’s brother Iffens died at the same East Gate.
- Olden region soldiers are the most experienced due to frequent raids.
- Mauer and Strock villages are considered outliers because of Bours’s training.
- The logistics of camp (pitching tents, hauling water) were a rude awakening for the recruits.
—
Character Insight:
Larry/Narrator shows increasing anxiety about the upcoming war, highlighting his disconnect from the violent reality of the new world. Bours’s transition from a humble farmer back into a commanding officer role shows his deep-seated military roots.
—
Lore And Worldbuilding Context:
The mention of ‘Shinto’ and ‘Mazinger’ highlights the narrator’s modern Japanese background, which serves as a sharp contrast to the medieval fantasy setting.
—
Glossary:
Notes:
• Martin – Mar, a young recruit from a neighboring village, wears Shinto‑inspired armor and fights in a Shinto‑linked style. Loud and boisterous, he’s a Mauer militia member obsessed with erotic themes, flirts with Ferris‑san, proposes to Felice, pursues the elf Granny Ferris, and trains with Larry. As a militia member, he proposed to Ferris‑san without knowing her true age.
• Mauer – A stout man from the Rosen family with thin, downy white hair. He wears a beige dalmatica.
• Larry – Fourteen‑year‑old third son of the Strock headman, with reddish‑white skin, bronze eyes and curly bronze hair, now hosts a 40‑year‑old former middle manager’s consciousness. He carries faint Showa memories, minor fire magic, medical/scientific know‑how, and a backup‑heir mindset. He hides his talent, does chores, dreads conscription, silently admires his sister‑in‑law, and trains for militia and magic school to become Village Head, while a modern Japanese persona drives him toward war and self‑closure.
• Pastor – A religious figure and likely spy for Aunt Camilla, formerly an exiled clergyman from Besanburg, now stationed on the frontier; his worn cassock bears faint embroidery of the Camilla sigil, and his guarded demeanor and frequent private correspondence suggest loyalties beyond his clerical role, with villagers wary of his quiet influence and unexplained visits from masked messengers.
• Celt – Modestly dressed tenant farmer in simple work clothes, level‑headed militia member who questions war’s civilian toll and seeks tax relief to buy land; skilled sandal‑maker, observant translator of Bours’s jargon, banquet observer who admires Teressa‑san’s competence, and village gossip‑source.
• Clemens – Recruit from Mauer Village, he looks nervous and trembles before authority figures such as Bours. Quiet and taciturn, he seldom speaks but often shows worry about the Charlemagne Empire.
• Roberto – A weary recruit, his face still marked by last night’s turmoil, sits beside Larry, a fellow trainee and spearman. Nervous and trembling, he is a village youth dreading war, his posture and shaking hands betray his fear, while as a militia member he voices dread of the enemy’s snipers.
• Getz – Rugged Mauer Village militiaman with short, unkempt hair and a scar across his left cheek, clad in a worn leather jacket over a faded uniform. He keeps distance from peers, respects Bours’ authority, and embodies a tense blend of defiance and reluctant loyalty. A frustrated spearman who forgets details and relies on others to untangle politics and religion, he scouts the village and spreads gossip—his confusion masking a quiet, stubborn integrity.
• 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.
• Ed – A lanky village youth in simple farmer’s garb, Larry’s close friend, soon to be conscripted, fiercely protective of Larry’s interests.
• Ferris – Granny, an ageless elf who appears as a 30‑year‑old but is centuries old, runs the village pharmacy with deep magic and elf‑style healing. She claims to have known Larry’s grandfather, speaks bluntly, and is the elderly woman Martin hopes to marry.
• Bours – Tall, scarred, in a faded Royal Army uniform, he is a former captain turned militia instructor, stern‑tempered, training village youth in archer precision, tactical Heal magic, orc‑hunting and wilderness survival. Married to Sheeta‑san, father of a son in the Imperial border division, now heading for conscription; veteran of the Western Front and member of the Elders’ Council.
• Al – Alberto, a massive red‑haired man recently married to Mary, just finished his village wedding. He is a companion of Hans, helping intimidate and gather elders as a villager and leader working alongside him.
• Herta – Head maid of the Village Head’s household, a slightly plump, voluptuous woman with a large chest, respected by staff and close to the family. She secretly loves Egil and treats Larry as kin, while also serving meals and offering emotional support.
• Edmond – Second son of a farm, tall, lanky, wiry and restless, he arrives late to the academy, lacking discipline until Bours‑san’s harsh lesson on punctuality. As a militiaman from Mauer Village and Mary’s brother, he teases Martin and Larry, mocks manual labor, and plots village celebrations, while dreaming of an Officer’s Academy career.
• Iffens – Eldest son of the Fee family, village head of Strock Village and older brother to Larry, he fell in battle. Remembered as a solemn, battle‑scarred figure, his death casts a heavy emotional shadow over the household and fuels Yutia’s fear.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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