Chapter 86: All Just a Game

After a short while, the soldier who had offended Seine returned on horseback, carrying a wooden dummy. These dummies were common throughout the military camp, typically used for various simulated combat drills. When necessary, they were even dressed in armor to make them more durable. In cavalry training, there was also an exercise involving mutual charges—two riders would rush at each other at full speed, attacking as they passed by. Of course, during training, both sides would hold back; if a recruit wasn’t skilled enough, the dummy would be strapped to the horse’s back as a substitute.

“Isn’t using a dummy a bit inappropriate?” Kevin suggested. “If the dummy gets smashed, that’s a loss. Just drag a piece of cloth instead.”

Although dummies weren’t sophisticated equipment and were often damaged during training, usually injuries from swords or blades could be patched up and reused. But a hit from a catapult stone would render them completely useless. Having spent much time at the lower ranks, Kevin was not accustomed to waste.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seine, clearly not a man of the lower ranks, waved his hand dismissively. “Go ahead. Tie the dummy and wander around. Let’s see if he can hit it.”

Someone nearby suddenly spoke up, “Better use the dummy. You train with dummies, and when it’s real, the crow will target a person just as easily. If you use cloth now, the crow won’t be able to tell later.”

A cold sweat broke out on Kevin’s brow. To others, his crow might seem clever but was still just a bird. Kevin, however, had completely overlooked the crow’s intelligence, inadvertently exposing its remarkable intellect. He could only nod repeatedly.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the soldier dragged the dummy to the spot near where Kevin’s stone had landed. He hauled the dummy about six or seven meters behind him, glanced over for instructions, but seeing none, began to run erratically—circling, weaving, making figure-eights, executing sudden turns, and abrupt changes in speed.

Kevin frowned, watched for a moment, and shook his head. “This is too much. That’s irregular movement!”

“What’s the problem?” Seine mocked. “Didn’t you say you could calculate the lead? Go ahead, calculate!”

Kevin shook his head. “Be reasonable, will you? Just now you compared a catapult to a bow. If I move unpredictably at a hundred meters, can you shoot me? Want to try?”

Seine fell silent, contemplating the feasibility, while the others began discussing it. It was common knowledge—most ranged weapons, including bows, required predicting the target’s movement and aiming ahead, unless using magical homing attacks or wide-area effects. If the movement was completely unpredictable, then it was nearly impossible to anticipate.

Especially in open terrain, facing off one-on-one, an experienced enemy was hard to hit. Unless the skill gap was huge, with the archer’s draw speed and arrow velocity so fast the opponent couldn’t react. Between Kevin and Seine, that was clearly not the case. Thus, it was perfectly normal to conclude that a catapult couldn’t predict an irregularly moving target at a distance.

“Why don’t you give it a try,” someone said. “Maybe the crow will be so scared it won’t throw the stone at all! Ha ha!”

Kevin could only shake his head helplessly. This group wasn’t here to witness his skill, but rather to see him fail. Though Kevin had no personal grudge against them, they were all Seine’s followers; anyone Seine disliked, they would naturally dislike as well.

“Let me try,” Kevin said, adjusting the catapult. The soldier noticed the machine moving and started running faster, even more erratically. Kevin sighed; at nearly five hundred meters, the soldier could easily see the stone coming and dodge.

Bang! Whoosh! The stone flew out, the crow flapped desperately, but it missed by a wide margin. For a catapult, it was still within acceptable standards; for an archer, it was passable, considering archers didn’t have such range.

“Heh.” Seine and his companions scoffed, their scorn plain as day.

Kevin protested, “This movement is clearly unreasonable. At the very least, keep a steady speed?”

The group exchanged glances, conceding Kevin had a point. Seine promptly waved for the unlucky soldier to return. “Make your movement more regular, circle at a constant speed. Our catapult commander isn’t convinced; he seems confident, so let’s give him another chance. Ha ha.”

The crowd echoed his laughter, but the soldier hesitated. “Sir, this is... a bit dangerous.” Indeed, if Kevin made a mistake and the crow got too excited, the stone could land right on his head.

Kevin sneered, “What, are you afraid? Didn’t you all say I couldn’t hit the target?”

“Hmph,” the soldier retorted, “I’m only worried you’ll miss, making it harder to dodge. If you can actually hit the dummy, I’m not worried at all.”

“Well, if you’re scared, let someone else do it,” Kevin said indifferently, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed to take the field.

Seine’s face darkened as he addressed the soldier, “Go on, what are you afraid of? Just dodge when the stone comes!”

The soldier had no choice but to drag the dummy back to the target area. This time, he circled at a steady pace, not too fast, ready to accelerate or pull back as needed. The dummy, tied by its neck, trailed pitifully behind.

Without further ado, Kevin took out his diagrams and pen, calculating the distance and speed. After mastering stationary targets, he began calculating theoretical angles and directions for moving targets. It was only theory, but better than shooting blindly.

The cavalrymen watched Kevin’s professional approach with curiosity, crowding around to see his diagrams. But they couldn’t understand them, dismissing the scribbles as meaningless doodles.

After a moment, Kevin finished his calculations, adjusted the angle, waited for the right moment, and pulled the lever.

The stone flew, guided by the crow, everyone held their breath, the distant soldier tensed as the stone seemed to come straight for him. Instinctively, he squeezed his thighs, and the horse sped up.

Bang! The stone landed, missing again. But this time, Kevin had a ready excuse: “He clearly sped up! We agreed on constant speed—our friend here is a bit lacking in education. Doesn’t understand what ‘constant speed’ means?”

“Get back here!” Seine shouted angrily.

Others chimed in for Seine, “Constant speed doesn’t matter. In a real battle, who keeps a steady pace? Everyone dodges when they see the stone coming.” “Exactly. If you want to compare to archery, archers have many techniques and rapid shots. Your catapult can only fire one at a time.” “Besides, on the battlefield, it’s a different story. You could hit your targets blindfolded. Practicing this is pointless.”

“Right, it’s meaningless.” “A waste of time.” “And what’s that you’re drawing?”... A chorus of voices questioned Kevin, who stubbornly refuted, “It’s not entirely useless. I could launch a surprise attack, strike from afar!”

“Heh.” The crowd shook their heads or laughed coldly.

The dummy-dragging soldier returned, already knowing the issue, and apologized, “Sorry, the horse suddenly lost control.” He easily shifted the blame, a common tactic among cavalrymen.

Seine didn’t pursue it further, only stating, “Go again. If it loses control, you’ll have to drag the dummy on foot.”

The soldier obeyed, dragging the target and circling at constant speed.

Kevin fired the catapult again, but this time, he truly missed. The soldier didn’t change speed—Kevin simply missed.

“Tch.” “Heh.” The crowd’s ridicule intensified.

Kevin looked embarrassed. “One more time!”

He adjusted the angle, recalled the crow, fired again! Another miss.

“Heh.” The crowd exchanged knowing looks, as if they’d seen through Kevin’s abilities.

“One more time.” Kevin’s voice was tinged with anger.

The crowd watched with sideways glances as the stone launched again, landing just behind the target.

“That’s enough.” Seine sneered, “Catapults were never meant for this. All the money you spent on this contraption—it’s a joke.”

“I think after those three throws, there’s been great improvement,” Kevin said with a blank face. “A few more tries and it’ll work!”

Though they wore contemptuous expressions, the crowd secretly felt Kevin might be right, and didn’t argue.

Kevin added, “Once I perfect my training, even a Grand Magus will die beneath my stone!”

“Pfft!” “Ha ha ha...” The cavalrymen burst out laughing—it was the most ridiculous claim they’d ever heard.

“What’s so funny!” Kevin insisted, “Catapult stones have no battle aura, no magic, no murderous intent. Grand Magi have powerful senses, but they can’t detect lifeless objects. If they’re unprepared, and a stone strikes their head, why wouldn’t they die?”

“Ha ha ha ha...” The laughter continued.

After a while, Seine finally stopped. “Through history, never heard of a Grand Magus killed by a stone. You must read too many novels—you’ve gone soft in the head! Ha ha ha!”

Kevin ignored them. The soldier still circled with the dummy. Kevin fired the catapult again—missed! Fired again—missed! Continued—still missed!

The crowd heckled relentlessly: “Wow! That’s the stone to kill a Grand Magus!” “Terrifying! So scary.” “It could kill a Grand Magus, but a crow flying with a stone, even a regular mage would notice. Never mind a Grand Magus.”...

Kevin paid them no mind, continuing to fire, stone after stone missing, even the dummy-dragging soldier grew bored. This went on until dusk, when training ended and the crowd dispersed. As they left, they spoke at length about Kevin’s stupidity and his antics.

Kevin, utterly dejected, sat atop the catapult, crow by his side, and returned slowly. Passing soldiers eyed him curiously—Seine and his cronies had already returned and spread Kevin’s absurd claims throughout the camp. Now everyone saw him as a laughingstock; even those who’d once liked him found him arrogant and foolish.

But once back in his quarters, Kevin’s face changed entirely—he relaxed, lying on his bed as if he’d accomplished something great. The crow flew over and watched him silently.

Kevin patted the crow. “Can’t figure it out?”

The crow stood still.

Kevin offered a piece of meat. “Don’t take it to heart. Moving targets are never easy—we only tried for the first time today. I didn’t expect you to hit.”

“On the contrary, we solved a major problem. We have too few people, no one to drag targets for us. Hiring them costs money—not worth it. So let them do the work instead,” Kevin lay back comfortably. “This group will try everything to stop us from hitting, but that’s perfect for our training. Take advantage of it.”

The crow pecked at the meat, apparently understanding, or at least eating well.

“From tomorrow, watch my eyes,” Kevin instructed. “Normally, aim a meter behind the target—don’t hit the dummy. If you do, they might stop playing. If necessary, I’ll signal you to strike. Got it?”

“Ah ah ah...” the crow called.

“I’ll just keep ‘acting stupid,’ give them something to laugh at. That way they’ll find it amusing and keep coming back,” Kevin yawned, turned over to sleep, muttering, “It’s all part of the plan.”

The next day, Kevin went to his usual training spot. Sure enough, Seine and his group soon arrived. “Hey! The man who kills Grand Magi!” That’s how everyone greeted him.

Kevin turned away, clearly unwilling to engage. They laughed boisterously. “Come on, keep going!” “Today’s the day the Grand Magus dies! Ha ha ha!”...

“Fine, let’s do it,” Kevin responded, feigning reluctance.

And so the day passed, every shot missed, but Kevin’s boasts grew even wilder. Not only could he kill Grand Magi, but Swordmasters too.

A Swordmaster’s physical prowess far exceeded a Grand Magus; if killing a Grand Magus was barely plausible in theory, killing a Swordmaster was deemed impossible. Even if a Swordmaster stood still, didn’t use battle aura, and took a stone to the forehead, he’d survive. Their skulls were tough.

But Kevin claimed he could switch to smaller metal shot—iron balls—giving more power than stones. If a Swordmaster was unguarded, he’d surely die.

The crowd laughed even harder, continuing until day’s end.

On the third day, the group sought out Kevin, as if eager to see what new jokes he’d offer. Whether the stones could hit no longer mattered. Kevin didn’t disappoint: he claimed that he could set up automatic crossbows around the catapult, and once triggered, could kill twenty men.

The crowd roared with laughter.

On the fourth day, Kevin asserted a giant crossbow could be mounted on the catapult’s arm, merging the two for greater power. More laughter.

On the fifth day, Kevin proposed that if a mechanical device were added, the crow could trigger it as the giant bolt approached, causing the front segment to detach and launch another arrow, even faster. With some luck, it could kill even a wary Swordmaster or Grand Magus.

The laughter was wilder than ever.

By week’s end, Kevin’s “idiocy” was known throughout the camp. On the continent, Swordmasters and Grand Magi were the pinnacle of power; anyone claiming to kill them was as ridiculous as a farmer declaring he’d be king.

Some did analyze Kevin’s ideas, but only to highlight their flaws. What? Mount a giant crossbow on the catapult’s arm? It would be too heavy to move—what’s the point? The arm wouldn’t aim properly, and the wobble would only worsen—useless! Ha ha!

Kevin rarely argued back; he was deliberately “acting stupid.” Meanwhile, he and the crow gained valuable practice targeting moving objects. Outwardly, most shots missed, but in truth, eighty percent landed within a meter behind the target—a passable success rate.

Of course, training couldn’t stop there. After the weekend, Kevin continued, and the idle crowd kept watching. But even “acting stupid” had its limits; to go further would be outright foolishness.

Still, the onlookers became habitual; even if Kevin said nothing, they’d recall his previous “idiotic” statements and continue to mock him. Kevin seemed annoyed outwardly, but didn’t mind—so long as he had sparring partners.

This routine lasted until late December. Each year’s end brought many tasks; the new recruits had been in service a month, and all indicators needed to be reported and summarized. There would be inspections to verify the officers’ reports.

General Ode convened a meeting of independent departments, each reporting their status. When it came to the second battalion, its captain spoke: “Our team is in good condition, fully equipped, and has met annual goals with excellent results. Since the new officers joined in June, they have integrated well and contributed. December’s recruit training is proceeding smoothly; thirty new soldiers have met all requirements in just a month. The overall pass rate is now eighty-three percent.”

The general nodded. “Anything special to report?”

The captain hesitated, then replied, “Some new officers have not been very diligent in training. They often wander to other units during training hours. This needs improvement.”

The room was quiet; everyone knew who was being referenced. The general did as well, but refrained from comment, likely to admonish his son in private.

Reports continued until it was Kevin’s turn. He imitated the format: “Our team is in good condition, fully equipped. Since I only arrived half a year ago, I’ll report on that period—I have performed well. December’s recruit training has made no progress; not a single recruit meets the standard. However, our team’s overall pass rate is one hundred percent.”

The atmosphere was strange—many stifled laughter. The general, as with others, asked, “Anything special to report?”

Kevin replied, “I would like to especially thank Seine from the second battalion. He tirelessly led a group to instruct me during training, even providing targets. We exchanged ideas and discussed in depth. As a result, my catapult skills have greatly improved. I am sincerely grateful.”

Everyone: “...”

Kevin continued, “And today I learned that Seine neglected his own training for my sake. I am concerned and regretful. I hope that, while helping me, Seine will not forget his own duties and become a truly qualified—no, an outstanding officer.”

Everyone: “...”