Chapter 88: Didn’t I Say It Would Be Quick?

The two shifted topics and began to chat. Kevin, being somewhat familiar with Stat, knew that when Stat said “soon,” it might just be a brush-off, but when he said “really soon,” it was likely true.

Casually, Kevin pulled out a thick stack of his latest manuscript from the drawer and handed it to Stat, offering a quick introduction, “I mentioned before, this one features a bard as the protagonist—it’s my own field, after all. What’s more, in my story, the protagonist creates his own protagonist, who is also a bard, and he too has an editor. Not only that, but that bard’s protagonist is another bard. And that bard’s protagonist, yet again, is a bard, with an editor beside him as well.”

Stat was silent.

“In short,” Kevin summarized, “the protagonist of my protagonist’s protagonist’s protagonist’s protagonist is still a bard.”

Stat remained speechless.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Kevin asked.

Stat flipped through the pages briefly, “Oh? Only eighty-seven chapters? Where’s chapter eighty-eight?”

“I’m still writing it,” Kevin replied honestly.

Stat skimmed through, then began reading the first chapter seriously. As an editor, speed-reading was basic skill, and in a moment he had finished three chapters. “The first chapter is just background? The second introduces the protagonist’s father? This…” Stat hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

“The opening chapters are very important,” Stat replied. “It’s best to highlight the conflicts and tension right away to engage readers. I know you have your own style, and I’m not asking you to change it, but I hope you can adapt a bit more to commercial demands.”

Kevin pondered for a moment, “So, your suggestion is?”

“You could start with a minor noble who interrupts your bard protagonist’s speech, refuting or even slandering him, but the protagonist forcefully retorts and overwhelms him. The noble then resorts to violence but is still no match for the protagonist. Finally, the noble calls for reinforcements…” Stat outlined a typical plot device. “Of course, you’ll have to adjust this to fit your story. It’s just a suggestion.”

Kevin took the manuscript back, flipped through it, and said, “If you want more conflict, that’s doable. I can just move this middle chapter to the beginning. It’s also my response to some mainstream opinions, and it has enough conflict to suit the opening.”

Stat took a look and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll name the chapter ‘Written for the Sake of Conflict,’” Kevin’s mind was lively, “What do you think?”

Stat was surprised, “Why add ‘for the sake of’? It makes it sound like I’m forcing you.”

“Because I can weave this very conversation between us into later chapters as an Easter egg. Maybe I’ll put it in chapter eighty-eight?” Kevin grew excited as he spoke, “I could even arrange something similar for my protagonist’s protagonist’s protagonist’s protagonist. When readers look back, they’ll realize it’s a huge Easter egg.”

“I’ve never seen such a blatant Easter egg,” Stat couldn’t help but comment.

Their conversation was pleasant, but the real issue still needed to be addressed. Stat brought the topic back to reality, “You’ve offended another advisor now. He may not have much actual power, but he’s still someone of rank. What do you plan to do?”

Kevin shook his head, “Figure out a way to get a horse and practice riding.”

“So you’ll have to compromise in the end,” Stat remarked, unsurprised.

“When you’re under someone’s roof, there’s little choice,” Kevin shook his head. “Superiors scolding subordinates is always easy. ‘Are you blaming me?’ ‘Why don’t you ask yourself?’ ‘Why does everyone else do it this way but you want to be different?’ There are so many routines. But it’s so hard for subordinates to argue back.”

“So you’re aware of that?” Stat laughed.

“Of course,” Kevin replied. “And the military isn’t like the outside world; sometimes there’s no reasoning here. This isn’t my first encounter with it. What must be endured, I’ll endure.”

“But you don’t seem like someone who’ll keep enduring forever,” Stat said. “You’re not planning a midnight drill in front of the advisor’s door, are you?”

“Endurance is always a last resort, but it’s something everyone must experience,” Kevin replied. “No one is born invincible. When you meet someone stronger and can’t beat them physically or outwit them, all you can do is endure. As for whether I’ll explode later, that’s a matter for the future. Who knows, maybe I’ll be broad-minded enough to forget it all. After all, these are all minor tricks.”

Stat waved a hand, “You don’t know who the advisor is. He’s called Pandu Pen, apparently a relative of the general. Rumor has it he’s trying to marry his daughter to Sain to get closer ties. So it’s almost inevitable he’ll target you.”

Kevin sneered, “Hmph! Not many people have the surname ‘Pen.’ In all my travels, I’ve only ever heard of one: Ace Pen.”

Stat was silent. (Ace Pen—a notorious fool among bards, his stupidity beyond description. Eventually, his name became synonymous with ultimate foolishness. In bardic debates, calling someone a pig or an ass is fine, but calling someone Ace Pen leads straight to a fight. Hence, among bards, it’s an unwritten rule: insult as you will, but never use Ace Pen.)

When Kevin used this name, even in private, it showed his indignation. His composure, when facing the advisor, was beginning to wear thin.

“The easiest way to silence a superior is to show your strength,” Kevin sighed. “But the technicalities of catapults aren’t something the average person understands just by watching training. All they care about is the color of auras and the strength of magic. Give it another two months—at the military exercise, I should be able to showcase my abilities.”

“But you only have one catapult,” Stat said helplessly. “How much use can it really be in battle? And if the general decides to send you charging as cannon fodder, you’ll have to obey.”

“If the general gave such an order, he’d be ridiculed by every other corps,” Kevin replied. “Even if he wants to set me up, it won’t be that easy under everyone’s eyes. We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

They chatted a bit more. Kevin gradually calmed down and saw Stat out, then continued writing chapter eighty-eight alone.

By evening, the general returned to camp, and the advisor reported the day’s events. Kevin had stayed in his room all day; besides Stat, no one else had come to see him.

The next morning, Kevin found the general. “General, I just found out yesterday that my year-end evaluation includes horsemanship?”

The general paused and coughed, glossing over the question.

“If I’m to be tested on horsemanship, I’d like to be assigned a horse,” Kevin continued. “It’s only fair to prepare for the next evaluation.”

“Just… go to the stables and see what you can find,” the general waved him away.

“General, please give me a written order. The stablehands won’t give me a horse without your command,” Kevin insisted.

“Just tell them I said so,” the general brushed him off again.

“Actually, I already went to the stables once,” Kevin replied. “There are no good horses left this year—only the old, weak, sick, or lame, hardly suitable for training.”

“Then… just wait a bit longer,” the general evaded.

“In that case, please give me a written order that when new horses arrive, I get priority,” Kevin pressed on. “I have no horse while all the other warriors do. Shouldn’t those without be considered first?”

The general fell silent.

“Oh, and there’s the issue of fodder,” Kevin continued. “I hear it’s quite expensive.”

He pressed on, “I can’t just borrow someone else’s horse for training. And as a squad leader, I don’t even have a horse of my own. My unit is severely understaffed and underfunded. When will you address these issues, General?”

“These are problems everyone faces,” the general replied. “Don’t worry, your concerns will be resolved as soon as possible.”

“So, can I have a horse assigned now?” Kevin asked.

The warhorses of the Order of the Thunder Knights were no ordinary mounts; each was carefully selected. The fodder, too, was specially processed—not just any grass from the roadside. Kevin wasn’t wrong about its cost. More importantly, assigning Kevin a horse was deemed unnecessary, a waste of money. The general’s family controlled the funds, so wasting the army’s money was wasting their own.

After a moment, the general took a deep breath. “Wait a moment. I have a meeting now. We’ll discuss this after.”

Kevin stood aside to wait. A few guards brought in chairs, setting up the meeting space. Kevin watched from the side as the general wrote at his desk. No one spoke.

Soon, several department heads arrived. Noticing Kevin already there, they said nothing and took their seats. The advisor entered, and the two exchanged glances.

To everyone’s surprise, as the meeting began, the general praised Kevin’s achievements. “Kevin is a newly appointed officer. Since taking charge of the catapult, he’s performed admirably—exceeding the usual standards, even operating it alone. The successful deployment of this heavy weapon is entirely Kevin’s doing. He deserves our recognition and praise.”

Kevin was so surprised his expression stiffened. It was as if someone who schemed against you daily suddenly patted your shoulder and called you a brother. The other officers stared at the general, clearly just as baffled. The advisor’s face changed, uncertain what to do.

“Advisor, say a few words,” the general prompted.

The advisor coughed and, in a complete reversal from the day before, said, “Don’t hold yesterday against me. The Order of the Thunder Knights has always had this rule, but I’ll consider you qualified now. As long as you’re in charge of the catapult, you won’t have to be tested on horsemanship again. You can rest easy.”

Kevin forced a laugh, “Ah, it’s nothing. I was at fault yesterday as well. My riding skills are lacking, and I do need to train harder.”

“Ahem,” the general interrupted, “You can practice riding, but I won’t make it a requirement.”

Kevin was surprised. “But isn’t every combatant in the Order of the Thunder Knights required to ride? Isn’t that why it’s called a knightly order?”

The advisor said nothing. The general excused, “That was in the past. Times change. With all these heavy weapons, the way we fight is changing, and your position is actually quite important.”

Kevin was still incredulous, but he wasn’t one to be swayed by a few kind words. Clearly, there was more to this than a simple request for a horse. This was only part of the story.

The general then spoke of his experiences from the previous day. He had visited the Order of the Flame Knights, the kingdom’s other famed knightly order, and was astonished by their advanced heavy equipment—including a thirty-meter long greatsword.

The concept of giant swords and staffs had existed for a long time, originally to accompany giant puppetry—like the Lyon Empire’s colossal stone golems or the elves’ war trees—arming them for greater destruction. Eventually, the giant staff was developed, able to function independently of the puppet, but the utility of the giant sword had always been doubted.

After all, a puppet’s limbs were already adjustable and extremely tough, hardly needing extra weapons. Yet, the Bauler Kingdom had revived the concept and, this time, separated it from puppetry entirely. Kevin had overheard snippets at the Royal Academy, but didn’t expect to see it realized so soon.

According to the general, the giant sword was still experimental. How to transport it, maintain it, and integrate it into current battle systems still needed work; true maturity would take another two or three years. But its power was unquestionable.

Just twenty third-rank warriors, channeling energy, could swing the sword down like a guillotine, unleashing an aura slash five hundred meters long—the same range as a catapult. The ground was left with a three-meter-deep trench, utterly devastating, and though the aura was still red, it could kill even a Sword Saint if struck. General Ode himself was a Sword Saint; he knew that facing one or two such blades was manageable, but ten or more left nowhere to hide.

And this was with immature technology. What if higher-ranked warriors wielded the giant sword? The giant staff already supported many spells; surely the sword would do the same in time.

The general sighed. Individual prowess was becoming insignificant, a troubling prospect for those at the top of the martial hierarchy. When the giant staff first appeared, its slow activation meant little threat in close combat, but the giant sword now seemed poised to fill that gap.

“Kevin, as the only researcher of heavy weapons in our army, what’s your view?” the general asked.

“There’s no need for regret,” Kevin answered. “Individual skill and the development of heavy weapons aren’t mutually exclusive. Heavy weapons are simply extensions of one’s arms. Even Sword Saints and Archmages still use swords and staffs in battle—albeit legendary ones. As technology advances, making these weapons larger increases their power, even if they’re harder to conceal. Plus, several lower-ranked warriors or mages can now operate them. This is simply progress.”

“In terms of cavalry, we’re at the pinnacle; advancing further will be difficult. It’s time for a shift,” Kevin continued. “I personally recommend increasing my catapult’s funding, expanding my team, and acquiring more catapults.”

The general was silent. (To be continued.)