135: Chapter 7: Heavy Equipnt 135: Chapter 7: Heavy Equipnt A loud shout echoed through the military camp.
“Charge!!”
At the command, two hundred warriors carrying heavy shields surged forward simultaneously.
The terrain ahead was treacherous, filled with nurous obstacles.
Like hills, trenches, walls, single-log bridges, and even a five-ter-high city wall, spanning a total distance of two kiloters.
For the average person, just walking this distance would be exhausting.
They bore forty-kilogram heavy shields, running, jumping, climbing with a steady and enduring pace, maintaining balance on the single-log bridges, crossing streams.
When faced with the city wall, they quickly ford human ladders; the front-line warriors pulled out their large shields, and thirty to forty people rapidly constructed two-tier human ladders, forming a gentle slope that allowed the warriors behind to climb up the city wall, and then they lowered ropes to pull them up.
This long-distance cross-country challenge was extrely difficult, taking two hours to finally complete the return.
Every heart pounded wildly, white mist continuously pouring from their mouths and noses, lting the snowflakes drifting from the sky.
Without a mont to rest, they fiercely slamd their heavy shields onto the ground.
Steel shields rose up side by side, and the scattered team due to the long assault instantly gathered together, forming an impervious fortress of steel.
But out of the original two hundred who started, only slightly more than one hundred eighty had assembled in formation within the allotted ti.
The remaining dozen or so, due to various mishaps along the way, failed to et the scheduled formation ti.
After waiting another ten minutes, the last two drenched warriors, carrying large shields, leisurely arrived.
The lagging soldiers lined up, and Jet, wielding a thin sword, swung it harshly over their heads, like a whip.
The imnse force of the strikes knocked the laggards to the ground one by one, a trail of blood slowly seeping out.
“Why did you fall behind?”
His face was cold, his tone dark, and the dripping blood from his thin sword instilled fear.
“Jet, stop!” Roman sternly intervened, halting Jet’s brutality.
After the autumn harvest, he had finally found ti to assess the training progress of these warriors.
Chief Instructor Jet had them conduct a cross-country march to show Roman the results of their recent training.
The outco was far from ideal; they failed to achieve a full-force charge without a single person falling behind.
Jet couldn’t accept this; he only valued one thing—all must et the standard.
Originating as a swordsman, Jet never beca a “Sword Master,” but he practiced the basic Holy Light Swordsmanship to perfection.
Each sword move was the most standard and impeccable.
It was achieved through relentless daily training, thrusting his sword thousands of tis a day, continuing until his muscles trembled to hit a tiny target, his extrely solid foundation in swordsmanship shone brilliantly on the battlefield.
He had no interest in striving for perfection and did not pursue the most flawless, most excellent warriors; he only demanded adherence to standards.
The capacity of a barrel is never determined by the longest plank but by the shortest.
And those soldiers who did not qualify could only be considered defective products.
But Roman was quite satisfied; he had observed the entire cross-country journey on horseback.
Jet’s standards were not high, but these n had poor basics and their training ti was very short, so expecting everyone to et the standards was unreasonable.
The explosive power and coordination of these Heavy Shield Warriors were decent enough; climbing city walls, swiftly navigating single-log bridges, their movents were agile and smooth.
Jet’s sweeping sword movents were clearly visible; though they could have dodged, they didn’t.
Even though they were knocked to the ground, a strong inner resolve was beginning to take shape.
Roman could now assert that this army’s future ability to withstand pressure would far exceed everyone’s expectations.
And this was also the most elite troop under his command.
The soldiers were carefully selected, they received the highest treatnt, and they had the longest training ti.
Roman’s initial intention in forming the Heavy Equipnt Troops was to treat the Conquest Knights as hypothetical enemies.
Currently, they could barely be considered qualified.
There were also 400 Light Troops, divided further into spear soldiers, axen, and scouts.
Currently, there weren’t too many complicated types of soldiers.
Complicated equals to increased training costs and exponentially longer training durations.
Roman didn’t have high demands for them, only needing to enhance their physical abilities and improve their discipline.
So long as these two criteria were t, they would be the embryo of an invincible army.
Roman swung himself off his horse and approached the more than ten Heavy Shield Warriors who had failed to make the cut, expressing his discontent, “How could you treat my warriors this way.”
Jet silently replied, “They failed to assemble within the designated ti, and they deserved to be punished.”
“They’ll et the standards eventually.
During cross-country, accidents are inevitable, you should know that even the best warhorse might step on a nail…”
Jet coldly said, “My standard is the baseline.
If they can’t overco accidents during training, then they will only die faster on the battlefield.
Rather than that, it’s better to eliminate them during training and kick them out of the army to spare them an unnecessary death.”
Cross-country was just one part of the training, there were also Formation Marches, stance formations, etc.
Roman had those unqualified soldiers take off their shirts, revealing nurous scars on their backs and chests, so old, so new, and the wounds from today slowly bleeding.
It was clear that during this period, all those who were not up to par were whipped by Jet’s Thin Sword.
His lashes were fierce and severe, the Thin Sword swift and sharp, causing unbearable pain and making them wish they could roll on the ground in agony.
Jet believed this was rely physical suffering and only scars could serve as a lasting reminder.
Roman imdiately sent for crushed Dragon Blood Grass and Yarrow to make a hemorrhage-stopping herbal dicine.
He also brought hot tea steeped with sage and Purple Coneflower—this tea could reduce inflammation and boost immune function.
Punishnt aside, healing was still necessary.
Roman tenderly bandaged them with soft linen, ignoring the prompt “dicine Experience 1.”
“I rember you, you are Luca, right?” Roman had a particular impression of this injured man.
So people needed screening to join the army, to enjoy intensive training and high welfare treatnt.
But for others, all it took was his word to let them join.
Every ti he recruited, he selected a group of Angels with potential to join the military.
Luca was a Two-Star Angel Envoy, whom Roman specifically recruited into the Heavy Equipnt Troops.
He was now a Heavy Equipnt Team Captain, but this ti he failed to qualify in the cross-country and was whipped by Jet.
Luca felt the gentle motion of Roman applying dicine on his back, with the linen soaked in dicated water wrapped around his body, and faced with Roman’s questioning, he only felt intense sha and guilt, his face turning red, unable to speak a word.
“Don’t be ashad, I am proud of you.
I saw how you jumped into the river, never abandoning, never giving up, hmm, very good!”
Roman monitored their performance throughout, and on the way back, a soldier fell into the river while crossing a log bridge.
Hearing the noise, Luca imdiately turned back, dashed to the bridge, and jumped down to pull the fallen comrade up.
The andering river was about three ters deep, and the ice-cold water made them buoyant since they were carrying forty-pound Large Shields.
They struggled for a while before they successfully made it ashore, soaking wet, with leather boots filled with water making squishing sounds as they ran, thus they missed the assembly ti.
But Jet only cared about the results; incomplete ant incomplete, and even the team captain had to endure the beating.
“Lord, it’s all my fault.
I made Captain Luca suffer punishnt with ,” the fallen soldier was very remorseful.
After falling, if he had remained calm, he could have walked back to the bank from the riverbed, but he panicked, dragging others down with him.
“Everyone makes mistakes, myself included.
But as long as they can be rectified or corrected, then the mistake isn’t a mistake; if it serves as a lesson, then it’s not a bad thing.
Forgive your instructor Jet, his aim in correcting your present errors is also to prevent even bigger ones in the future.”
Roman’s deanor was very gentle, his voice irresistibly magnetic, and his words filled with tolerance and care.
After enduring the harsh discipline of Jet, everyone felt their Lord to be kind and gentle, his speech soothing.
Perhaps it was the effect of the herbal dicine, but they felt the originally burning and unbearable scars easing significantly, as if healed by so power.
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