Ferguson scread in agony.
The red-hot iron was pressed against his taut skin.
A whitish smoke arose from where the iron t the flesh, accompanied by a sizzling sound that made one’s scalp tingle.
The sll of charred at began to perate the air.
Doug, standing not far away, couldn’t help but cover his nose.
The jailer, feeling it was enough, grasped the handle and removed the iron.
“Ugh!” Ferguson groaned heavily as the iron separated from his skin. He clenched his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, his cheeks puffed up, and large beads of sweat trickled down his face, eventually dripping off his chin onto the floor.
A dark red mark appeared on Ferguson’s muscular arm, surrounded by reddened skin. The mark was composed of two parts: a vivid dragon head pattern on top, and below, the abbreviation of the surna Grayman in Horn Bay language.
Another person in a white coat applied a sticky ointnt from a jar onto Ferguson’s arm with a tal spoon.
Ferguson imdiately felt a cool, tingling sensation on his burning arm, probably from so burn-healing ointnt. However, it didn’t completely eliminate the pain.
“Gulp!” Doug, having watched the entire process, swallowed hard, feeling weak. It was his turn next.
As a rcenary in Horn Bay, he had tortured enemies, including using irons, but never imagined it on himself.
The jailer reheated the iron in the fiery furnace and beckoned Doug, “Co on, Doug, you can’t escape this.”
Cursing inwardly, Doug had suggested tattoos as an alternative, but Erwin dismissed it without a second thought.
Doug walked over resignedly, taking out a wooden stick to bite on to withstand the pain, not wanting to scream like Ferguson.
The jailer asked emotionlessly, “Where should I brand?”
Major Erwin had allowed them to choose the branding spot, as long as it was easily visible.
Ferguson chose his arm, easily concealed by clothes but displayed with a sleeve roll.
“I’ll have it on my arm too,” Doug indicated the outside of his upper right arm with his left hand, then bit down on the stick, teeth sinking deep into the wood.
The jailer took the reheated iron from the furnace, glowing like the sun in Doug’s eyes, reminding him of the pain of past burns, causing him to sweat profusely in anticipation.
As the jailer approached Doug’s shoulder with the iron, Doug’s body uncontrollably flinched.
“Ha ha! Coward of the Black Hound rcenaries.”
Ferguson mocked from the side, taking pleasure in Doug’s misfortune.
Biting down harder, feeling his teeth might fall out, Doug gave the jailer a nod to proceed, then closed his eyes.
The jailer pressed the iron against Doug’s arm, and the familiar sizzling sound and burning sll filled the air once more.
“Wuuu wuuu wuuu!”
Doug’s eyes widened in an instant, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets, the blood vessels in the whites of his eyes clearly visible.
A few seconds later, as the jailer withdrew the iron, Doug felt as if his skin had adhered to it, mixing a searing pain with a sensation of tearing.
He bent slightly, the wooden stick in his mouth clattering to the ground, saliva and sweat mixing as they fell.
“Hah—hah—hah—”
He breathed heavily, as if it eased his pain.
The person in the white coat also applied ointnt to him.
“All right, you can go back to your quarters to rest.”
The jailer, heating the iron again in the furnace, nodded towards them, signaling them to leave quickly.
“There are many more waiting!”
Outside the room, a long line extended, composed of mbers from both the Black Hound and Rhino rcenary groups, all prepared to receive the brand that would grant them a degree of freedom.
All the rcenaries made the sa choice as their leaders.
…
“Lord Grayman!”
In the lord’s office, Chief of Staff Schroeder handed a thick stack of docunts to Paul.
“The rcenaries have been selected, please review them.”
Paul flipped through the docunts casually, “So, all the captured rcenaries are to be sent back to Horn Bay?”
Schroeder confird, “Yes, Major Erwin tested them. They stood in sunlight for an hour, maintaining formation without rest or fainting. Their physical condition ets the standards, exceeding our expectations. This will significantly shorten their training ti, allowing rapid deploynt to Horn Bay for combat missions. This is thanks to our reformation camp’s militaristic managent and relatively good food.”
“Alright!” Paul nodded. “The more, the better. Follow the original plan: equip them with armor and weapons, and so money, then the rest is up to them.”
“Ah!” He noticed sothing interesting, “Ferguson? Ha, Ferguson, Fergus, Ferguson, Fergus. Schroeder, do you rember I have a knight nad Fergus?”
“I rember.” Schroeder acknowledged. “The pronunciation of this na is quite common, both in Horn Bay and Ordo.”
He steered the conversation back on track, “Lord, I think we should send so of our own people with them. We can’t let these rcenaries act independently; they should follow directives from the Northwest Bay.”
“Oh, of course!” Paul agreed wholeheartedly. “Naturally, I’ve already instructed the Teaching Departnt to select excellent instructors to accompany them back to Horn Bay. They’ll keep an eye on them, manage them, ensure obedience to orders, and prevent them from committing acts like robbery or insulting won, lest they tarnish our honor.”
“In that case,” Schroeder further suggested, “should we select so officers and military academy students to go as well, to experience real warfare up close, see how armies outside of Alda operate, gather experience and patterns, compile them into docunts, enrich our database, and provide valuable material for our army?”
“Ha! I was thinking the sa.”
Paul said excitedly.
The war in Horn Bay, in both scale and quality, was incomparable to the previous Usurper Wars. It was a valuable observation opportunity, enlightening the Alda army about various aspects of contemporary military.
He ordered, “Schroeder, arrange this as soon as possible.”
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