Chapter Fifty-Two: A Day of Bewilderment and Chaos

Dazed and bewildered, Kevin was dragged to the Thunder Knights Regiment and handed the only catapult in the entire unit. It seemed like he was being entrusted with a critical task, but he had no idea who his direct superior was. There were no soldiers nearby for him to command, and no one came to explain the basics of the catapult—he was merely tossed a manual.

Kevin felt the responsibility pressed down too heavily, and it seemed absurd for him alone to bear it. Yet, as a newcomer, unfamiliar with many customs, he didn’t dare openly object. He lacked seniority; it was best to learn first before speaking out.

The night passed, and at daybreak, a whistle sounded—the standard reveille in the army camps of Loubaole. Kevin instinctively scrambled up, but paused in confusion. Normally, military camps had morning exercises, a good habit that also allowed for a headcount to prevent desertion. Different units had different routines depending on their branch.

From his previous experience in the 254th Regiment, Kevin recalled that the veterans exercised together as a whole, and anyone late would face the enforcers’ punishment. Not daring to fall behind, he hurriedly dressed, strapped on his sword and shield, and rushed out. Outside, crowds were flowing toward the camp gate to assemble. Kevin hastened to join them, only to find those nearby staring at him in surprise.

He looked around and realized none of them carried equipment. Could it be that morning exercises here were done empty-handed? Kevin immediately tossed his sword and shield back inside and followed the crowd out to the camp gate. There, each group stood in formation, but Kevin was left alone, uncertain and searching for a familiar face. Yet among more than two thousand people, the only ones he knew were the five who arrived with him—he could hardly expect to bump into them.

Other soldiers had noticed him, but since he wasn’t their concern, they merely glanced his way. Soon, formations were organized; squad leaders stepped forward to report to their captains: how many were on guard duty, how many out on assignments, the actual number present for exercises, and so on.

Kevin thought to himself, since he was just one person, he’d stand among them and blend in. “Which unit are you from?” The captain, a lieutenant, called him out.

Kevin dared not lie and answered honestly, “I... operate the catapult.”

At his words, many in the ranks looked surprised, as if thinking, “We have a catapult here?”

“Don’t stand with us,” the captain pointed, “This is the logistics unit—you’re with the combat troops, go up front.”

“Yes.” Kevin, bewildered, jogged ahead, asking people as he passed through several formations. He finally reached the rear of a group of cavalry and asked the foot soldiers behind, “Is this the combat unit up front?”

“Yes!” The rear captain replied, equally surprised at such a basic question.

“There aren’t any other foot combat units?” Kevin persisted.

“No!” came the reply. “Why else would it be called the Knights Regiment? Only logistics go on foot.”

Kevin: “...”

Suddenly, a command rang out, and the warhorses neighed loud and long. The whole cavalry unit started moving, raising a cloud of dust that left Kevin’s face covered in dirt.

Kevin hesitated, but resolved to grit his teeth and chase after the cavalry. Yet, with only his two legs, he couldn’t hope to match their speed. In moments, the dust cloud grew distant. Having come this far, it seemed awkward to turn back. Glancing behind, he saw the logistics unit already returning to camp; for them, morning exercise meant little more than assembling. The combat troops, meanwhile, rode off—who knew where they were headed? Kevin, as a member of the combat unit, found this morning routine particularly grueling.

After a short chase, Kevin realized that even if he unleashed his battle aura, he couldn’t catch up. He slowed to a jog, observing his surroundings with embarrassment. In a place of strict discipline, he found himself utterly isolated, which was deeply uncomfortable.

Soon, Kevin spotted two men by the roadside with notebooks—one was clearly Stadter, the other unfamiliar but, judging by his rank, a lieutenant and likely Stadter’s superior—a senior enforcer.

“You, come here!” the lieutenant waved Kevin over. “Which unit are you from?”

“I... am the catapult commander,” Kevin replied, feeling oddly embarrassed by his own title.

“Oh,” the lieutenant nodded, “You don’t have a horse, so I won’t mention that. Where are your weapons?”

Kevin: “...”

“Standard issue—where’s your sword and shield?” The lieutenant tapped Kevin’s chest.

Kevin was at a loss, unable to answer. No one had told him what to bring for morning exercises; seeing the logistics troops empty-handed, he’d assumed the same, and tossed his gear aside. But the combat unit required it, leaving Kevin helpless.

“Out for exercise without your weapons? What kind of exercise is that? Tell me, what kind of exercise are you doing?” The lieutenant jabbed Kevin’s chest, forcing him back a step. “Remember, on the battlefield, your sword and shield are your life!”

Kevin: “...” He was deeply frustrated; this enforcer himself carried only a notebook, not a sword or shield, yet could berate Kevin for not bringing his gear. But Kevin still dared not retort and had to endure it.

“I’ll tell you, people like you—” The officer launched into a tirade, with Stadter watching on, though unable to help.

“All right, report to your superior and stand at the gate holding your shield this morning,” the officer finally concluded.

Kevin spoke up, “I don’t know who my superior is.”

“You don’t know?” The lieutenant’s voice rose, “Do you know who your father is?”

“My father is dead,” Kevin replied expressionlessly.

The lieutenant: “...”

“Sir,” Kevin tried to keep his tone calm, “I truly don’t know who my direct superior is. I arrived yesterday and was assigned to the catapult. I spent the night alone and have no idea whose orders I should follow. Am I directly under General Ode, the Knights’ commander?”

“You didn’t ask?” the lieutenant roared.

“No.” Kevin had nothing to say, only nodded.

“You have no tasks this morning?” the lieutenant asked.

“None, for now,” Kevin replied.

“Go to the gate and hold your shield!” The lieutenant waved a hand and returned to camp with Stadter.

Kevin stood awkwardly for a moment, no longer interested in chasing after the cavalry. He waited briefly, then walked back slowly.

For breakfast, Kevin went to the mess hall, grabbed something, and ate it by the catapult. Afterward, remembering he had to endure this for a while, he sighed and carried a shield to the gate.

For Kevin now, holding a shield was hardly a punishment—what stung was the humiliation. Everyone passing by the gate glanced his way with curiosity. Clearly, they all knew what was happening, and their looks were tinged with amusement.

Beside him stood the gate sentries, who even greeted Kevin, “Good morning, sir!”

Kevin: “...”

After a while, the enforcer lieutenant came by. “Good, at least you know to stand here.”

Kevin remained silent, his expression sour.

“What’s wrong? Not satisfied?” The lieutenant sneered, “Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re a sub-lieutenant? An officer? You’re just a recruit!”

“What skills do you have? What abilities? Do you believe that any recruit here could outfight you?” The lieutenant jabbed Kevin’s chest again.

“Don’t think just because you’re an officer you can act arrogant!” He jabbed again. “The army has its rules. You, a sub-lieutenant, acting tough in front of me? What for?”

“And don’t give me excuses in future!” The lieutenant kept jabbing Kevin’s chest. “On the battlefield, will you tell your enemy, ‘Oops, I forgot my sword?’ You fool, you donkey. Your chest muscles are firm enough, but what’s the use? Hmph!”

The lieutenant rambled on, and Kevin tried to ignore him, focusing instead on his own concerns. But the repeated jabs grew painful after a while, and he couldn’t tune out the scolding. Though he had countless retorts in his mind, he dared not speak and could only endure.

Now, Kevin understood why enforcers were so widely despised—and even beaten.

After a lengthy lecture, half the morning had passed. The lieutenant seemed finally tired, out of words, or perhaps his finger hurt. He waved a hand, “Go! Next time, be careful!”

“Yes, sir.” Kevin completed the ritual with a blank face, set down his shield—though he longed to slap the officer, he restrained himself—and returned silently to his quarters.

“Fuck!” Kevin slammed the door shut. At least, in his own space, he could vent with no one to stop him.

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling to calm down. But with so much left to do, he soon had to get up again. He headed to the stables to collect three donkeys.

That part went smoothly. Donkeys were usually used to haul vegetables and fodder, and there were more than forty in the stable; they assigned him three without fuss, even offering sturdy ones. They said they didn’t need that many donkeys for daily work.

Leading the three donkeys back, Kevin pondered much along the way. The catapult problem was secondary; the pressing issue was tomorrow’s morning exercise.

Not going wasn’t an option. Going, he’d be stuck with logistics, which felt degrading. But chasing the cavalry on foot was absurd. Riding a donkey wouldn’t keep up either—it was a real dilemma.

Back at his quarters, Kevin tethered the donkeys and hauled out the catapult. It creaked with neglect, dust falling, mold obvious. Kevin even doubted if it could still function.

At that moment, a parrot swooped down and landed before him, spreading its wings. “Sir! The commander orders all heads of independent departments to attend a meeting. Please go at once.”

Kevin was startled. “Me too?”

“Yes,” the parrot replied. After his induction, Kevin’s status had risen slightly, and the parrot spoke with a touch more respect.

“All right, I’ll go immediately!” A meeting called by the commander was nothing to ignore. Kevin quickly tidied himself and, sword and shield in tow, hurried to the central tent. Others had arrived—several colonels and such—who, upon seeing Kevin, were surprised. “Why are you carrying a shield?”

Kevin: “...”

Without further words, as the commander hadn’t yet arrived, Kevin rushed back to drop off his sword and shield, then hurried back again.

“Where’s your sword? Why did you leave your sword behind too?” the colonels asked.

Kevin: “...”

“Never mind, just take your seat.” A kindly officer said, “Remember, in situations like this, you only need your sword—just as you would when meeting a high noble. At most, bring your sword; a shield is too much.”

“Yes.” Kevin nodded repeatedly and took his seat, nervous and careful. Looking around, he saw only high-ranking officers; the lowest was a major, the highest a colonel. All were middle-aged, their strength obvious. Kevin, a near-recruit, sitting among them, felt deeply uneasy.

Soon, Commander Ode entered the tent, and everyone stood. Ode signaled them to sit, and they did.

Ode scanned the room, lingering a moment on Kevin but saying nothing. This meeting was for the heads of independent departments. Since the catapult unit consisted only of Kevin, his presence was required.