Chapter Eighty-Three: General Bradley

Stadter’s offhand “Soon” was, Kevin could tell, nothing more than a perfunctory answer. Stadter was a businessman to the bone, one who cared for profit, not only the profit at hand but also the profit yet to come. Clearly, there had to be immediate gain before future gain could even be considered, and Kevin’s novel was plainly not immediate gain.

Kevin had expected as much, and said he understood. But understanding was one thing; looking after himself was another. He would still press when there was something to press for.

Meanwhile, the new recruits had all been assigned to their units. In less than half a day, everything was settled. Apparently, the company commanders had long since picked their men, and there had been little disagreement left; they simply took them back. Sadly, and as expected, Kevin received no recruits.

The general once again assembled the commanders of each independent division and spoke only of how the recruits were to be trained. The only thing that concerned Kevin was the announcement that there would be an army-wide evaluation before year’s end. But Kevin’s current technical standards were already satisfactory, so there was little to worry about.

Thus the days that followed found the other units training their recruits, while Kevin continued training his crows. The camp once more brimmed with energy. On the training grounds there were again crowd upon crowd of recruits practicing cleaves, thrusts, and charges. As always, some were drilled by their superiors, some resisted, some were beaten, some cried. Kevin watched them as though he were looking at his former self.

And Kevin did not slack off either. Besides training the crows to throw stones with precision, he also did some restorative exercise of his own, so that his battle qi and magic would not grow rusty. At the same time, he began researching the refraction of light by magical shields. In the evenings, Kevin still took the crows to the tavern to pass the time and strengthen their bond.

He tried fitting a stone pellet with a mesh net on the outside, to make it easier for the crow to carry. The results were poor. Kevin felt the crow’s strength could not overcome the weight of the pellet. He even considered designing wings for the pellet so that the crow could control it. But once thrown, the pellet rolled as well, which created a huge design problem. For the moment, Kevin had no good solution. If only the crow were a little stronger, everything would be solved.

In the blink of an eye, three more days passed, and Friday arrived. According to the usual practice in military camps, every Friday some patriotic education or political study was held, usually organized by each department on its own. But because Kevin was alone and no one was responsible for him, he had never taken part in such activities.

Yet now it was the recruits’ first week in service, and the initial political education was regarded as an important affair. Back when Kevin was a recruit, the legion had invited Isadore Winder, the inventor of the giant staff, to give a speech. But for this batch of recruits, they had actually invited Bradley, a retired general of the Lion Empire. Kevin was somewhat surprised; there had been no prior notice, no hint beforehand, and the man simply appeared out of nowhere. It always felt a little improper to have an old foreigner addressing the recruits.

Still, Kevin had no power to change anything and could only accept it as a new kind of educational method. General Bradley was, after all, a famous commander of old, having fought through many battles. He was over one hundred and thirty this year, a master of both magic and martial arts, a Grand Magister as well as a Sword Saint. The titles sounded frightening, but in truth he could no longer execute any truly exquisite technique or unleash much qi.

On the continent, for those with the strength of a Grand Magister or Sword Saint, it was normal to live one or two hundred years, and the elves lived even longer. But even so, from around twenty to fifty was the body’s true peak; after that age, decline was inevitable. Of course, the older one grew, the more experience one had, and the more craftily one fought. Yet the weakening of physical strength could not be avoided. The only difference was that some declined fast, some slowly, and some discovered only in old age that their youthful physical potential had never truly been developed, seeming instead to “increase” in old age when in fact it was only the result of training mistakes made when young.

Even a Sword Saint would, after seventy or eighty, see considerable decline in combat strength. Past one hundred, fighting became even less suitable, and forcing oneself into battle would certainly damage the body severely. Mages fared somewhat better, perhaps by about ten years compared with Sword Saints, though their minds aged as well, only somewhat more slowly than the flesh.

An old man like General Bradley, who was already well into his one-hundred-and-thirties, might not be a match for an ordinary soldier if it came to a straight fight, given his immensely rich experience. But if a dozen men came at him in rotation, even a Sword Saint might well be defeated. No one was strong forever. Eventually, those he had offended, those who once tried to challenge the strongest man under heaven, would all come knocking. Naturally, people of advanced age tended to be more easygoing, and usually had a bodyguard or two at their side. They had seen everything, reached the summit of personal power, and when they looked at those who came to challenge them, they likely found them childish and absurd.

In old age, Sword Saints and Grand Magisters either truly retired at home to await death, or else transformed themselves into something else. Since their personal strength had reached its peak and further training meant little once the body had begun to decline, they would often turn to the study of battle theory, magical incantations, and the like. Some even became artists outright; quite a few took to painting or composing verse.

For example, General Bradley had begun writing novels as well, and coming here was really just for gathering material and amusement. By chance he met General Od, who immediately invited him, so he came to make a guest appearance.

If he had been an active general of the Lion Empire, then at the very least diplomatic reception would have been arranged here, and it would have been a major affair. But since he had retired more than sixty years ago, there was no need to make such a fuss; he could be treated as an ordinary foreign noble. The Lion Empire and Loubole had had some small-scale friction, but overall the two countries remained in a cooperative phase, and there was nothing problematic about contact.

The parade ground was packed with soldiers. Aside from the sentries on duty, everyone attended this speech. Recruits and veterans alike were present. After several days of training, the recruits had already learned something of military discipline, and they sat quietly listening, not daring to move.

As an independent unit, Kevin’s rank was not high enough to sit on the platform alongside the general and staff officers, yet his position was one that practically no one supervised. In the end, Kevin sat in the back row, with a mass of veterans in front of him, apparently mostly from logistics units.

Bradley’s speech was not particularly remarkable. Compared with Isadore Winder’s, which had moved Kevin somewhat, Bradley’s speech felt more like that of a mainstream bard reciting a popular tale. The difference was only that he took the entire nation of Loubole as the protagonist and praised it lavishly.

As a foreigner and a renowned general, his words were especially convincing. After praising the nation, he praised the Knights of Thunder as well. He spoke of how useful cavalry was, how many battles there had been in the past, what formations he had once witnessed, how many profound impressions they had left. Even at one hundred and thirty, the old man recited them all as if counting the beads of a rosary.

Then he turned to the present state of the Lion Empire with great concern. Though it was now almost universally regarded as the strongest power, there were many problems behind that strength. In giant staff technology, Loubole was the foremost nation of the age. In training parrots into working form, Loubole was unique. In medium and large teleportation arrays, Loubole was still number one. In giant puppet arts, the elven war trees still stood at the summit. In healing and restoration, the Light Church still held sway...

The soldiers listened with their spirits soaring, as though their country already stood invincible beneath heaven. If the aim had been merely to rouse morale, then it certainly succeeded. But Kevin felt that such emotion was blind. The man’s praise was too exaggerated, and instead gave the impression of deliberate flattery that could spoil a nation by overpraising it.

To lift an opponent up to the sky, praise him until he grows intoxicated and thinks himself invincible, despising all things, is to make him overlook further progress and development. He will inevitably begin to idle away his days. Because he already believes himself invincible, he sees no need to train or study; everyone else is trash, beneath his notice. Only when one day others have long since left him far behind does he awaken, and then it is too late.

This was the so-called sweet killing. Long ago, the Lion Empire had clearly used a similar method among the bull-headed tribe of the beastfolk, endlessly praising them for their strength, their valor, their bulging muscles, and loudly proclaiming that magic was useless. They even deliberately found more than a dozen mages to be defeated by them every day, in order to inflate the self-confidence of those stupid oxen. They made the entire tribe train their muscles without end, until their heads were filled with nothing but muscle.

Today, the bull-headed tribe was drifting ever farther from civilized society. They had repeatedly tried to invade the human race, and every time they failed. Even some small nations could repel them. Yet the ridiculous thing was that most of the bull-headed tribe still had not awakened to the key issue, and continued to look down on everyone without muscles. A few elite bull-headed warriors, even if they saw through it, could not change the situation in the short term.

Of course, the decline of the bull tribe was not only a matter of muscles. Many other factors were involved; muscles were only one link in the chain. But in any case, the objective judgment revealed by such examples was especially important.

That was why Kevin had always believed objective assessment was crucial. Even when speaking as a tavern storyteller, he tried his best to take an objective angle. Though absolute objectivity was impossible, since every person is biased by personal preference, one should at least do one’s best.

Kevin had even judged himself objectively: “The update speed really is slow. I can’t argue with that.”

But sadly, many people did not like hearing an objective perspective. They preferred blunt simplicity: the strong are strong everywhere, the trash is trash everywhere. Yet no matter how unpleasant it might be, saying it was still better than saying nothing at all.

After General Bradley finished speaking, the applause thundered across the ground. Kevin only went through the motions. He shook his head inwardly. If he had gone up there to speak, he would have done better than this old man. Too bad his rank was too low.

By the time the speech ended, evening was approaching. Everyone dispersed. According to the schedule, there should have been no further training, but some poorer recruits would be ordered to do extra drills.

When Kevin passed the military police, he saw Stadter patting his enormous belly while taunting a few recruits. “Come on, you slow runners. Carry me on your backs and run a lap.” The recruits turned pale with dread, while Stadter was thrilled to bits.

Kevin merely smiled and returned to his own quarters. After the meal, as usual, he took the crow into the city tavern for a round.

But today, when he pushed open the tavern door and went inside, Kevin immediately caught sight of an old white-haired man seated in the corner. His posture was upright, his clothing clean and neat; unlike the drunken patrons slumped all around him, he carried himself with unmistakable distinction.

A bard was already speaking there. As soon as he saw Kevin enter, his face darkened, and he seemed ready to flee at once. Recently, Kevin had become somewhat famous nearby for bringing the crow to insult people.

“Don’t be nervous,” Kevin said first. “I’m only here to drink today. I won’t take your livelihood.”

The bard was awkward for a moment, then forced himself to remain calm. “Then please, take a seat.”

Kevin smiled and walked with the crow to the white-haired old man. Looking closer, he found it was actually General Bradley, with a young man seated beside him, probably a bodyguard or something of the sort.

Kevin sat down and asked in surprise, “General? What are you doing here?”

Bradley looked up, and when he saw Kevin, he was quite calm as well. “Oh? You’re from the Knights of Thunder?”

“Yes,” Kevin said, ordering a drink with a casual gesture. “This afternoon I saw the general on stage inspiring the troops, and I thought you must be one of those lofty, unreachable figures. I never expected you to be so approachable.”

The general laughed. “Heh, I retired sixty years ago. I’m not a general anymore.”

At that moment, the bard on the platform thought for a moment, and felt that if he continued with the usual formulaic tale, there was no guarantee Kevin would not jump out to heckle him. So he changed the subject at once. “Then let us discuss the international situation today.”

A chorus of jeers rose in the tavern. Everyone understood why he had suddenly switched topics. And, curious about the foreigners, many turned to look at the general and Kevin.

“Ahem, as for the international situation, things are still highly favorable for our country,” the bard continued. “Clearly, we are living better than we did over the past decade or so, and the quality of the liquor we drink is higher as well. Our army is also stronger...”

The bard’s skill was plainly mediocre; he seemed to have no real substance, only empty slogans. And precisely because of that, Kevin could not leap up to refute him, since he had not actually said anything wrong.

General Bradley listened while taking out a notebook and making some notes. He did not try to hide anything, and the writing was openly visible to Kevin, though it was in Lion Empire script.

“‘Even ordinary taverns in Loubole announce matters of state...’” Kevin could read Lion Empire script, and even spoke to him directly in his own language. “General, you seem more like someone here to inspect customs and local life.”

The general was clearly a little surprised. He closed the notebook and replied in Lion Empire language as well, “Yes. I’m old now, and when I’m bored I wander about. It’s only right to look around more.”

Kevin nodded, finding a trace of common ground. “My father was like that too. He wandered everywhere, inspecting everything.”

“Oh? If I may ask, who was your father?”

“He’s dead already.” Kevin was calm.

“Oh. Then I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Kevin waved a hand. “I used to wander too. Only after I joined the army did I stop for the time being.”

“Oh? So you’re a traveler? Planning to follow in your father’s footsteps?” the general asked casually.

“Is the general planning to write me into one of his novels too?” Kevin took a drink.

The general smiled. “That’s possible. It depends on whether you’re interesting enough.”

“What’s the title of the general’s novel?” Kevin asked. “If you really write me in, you ought to give me a little fee.”

“It hasn’t been decided yet,” the general replied casually.

As they spoke, the tavern erupted in noise, everyone cheering at once. Clearly, the bard had reached a particularly exciting part. Kevin and the general listened on; the segment happened to concern a clash between Loubole and the Lion Empire beyond the border.

Kevin immediately steered the conversation back to the present. “By the way, General, what do you think of that battle?”

“It was a battle fought at the wrong time and in the wrong place. For us, at least.” The general shook his head. “For you, it was very brave, very tenacious. One might even say it was a miracle.”

Kevin laughed. “Thank you for your assessment.”

Meanwhile, the bard was already spitting in full fervor, wildly describing how our soldiers had beaten the Lion Empire’s mages, how they had unleashed crimson battle qi in groups and set the whole continent ablaze. The general only smiled, and Kevin could not discern any other meaning in it. That smile could even be read as kindly.

“To promote patriotism, one does need a little accompaniment now and then. I hope the general understands,” Kevin said.

“It’s nothing. You still haven’t told me whether you intend to follow your father’s path,” the general said, circling back to the topic.

“Yes,” Kevin answered. “My father was a bard, and so am I. I will spread justice and peace. In the end, I will turn all under heaven into gentlemen.”

“A grand ideal,” the general praised. “But to carry it out, one person alone still finds it difficult.”

“It’s all right. This is a long-term ideal. I can even pass it on to my son, my grandson.” Kevin smiled. “If it goes on like this, one day everyone will be great gentlemen.”