Early in the morning, Victor woke up in exceptionally good spirits, eagerly anticipating the events of today and the ideas he planned to implement.
As soon as he rose from bed, three maids promptly entered the chamber, hastening to assist him with washing and dressing.
"They stand by the door listening, don't they? How do they always arrive the instant I wake up?" Wondering about this, he sat on the edge of the bed, lowering his legs onto the cold stone floor.
Immediately, the girls began wiping him with damp towels and fetching his garments, which he despised intensely. Nonetheless, he acquiesced, putting them on because alternative attire was unavailable.
Following this ritual, the lord descended to the ground floor, encountering Algynis in the entryway to the dining hall. The knight paced anxiously, stopping abruptly upon noticing his master.
— My lord, are you seriously planning to expand the guard force this drastically? — he asked straightaway.
— Yes, I intend to commence training soldiers, — Victor answered briskly, entering the dining area and proceeding to his seat.
Joy mingled with anxiety in Algynis's expression. Serfs, especially those from this region, were generally unfit for duty, weakened by famine, and insufficiently nourished by their lord's initiatives.
The knight hesitated to express his concerns, deciding that Victor should experience these challenges himself for it to register properly. Instead, he trailed behind quietly, seating himself opposite.
Breakfast concluded, Victor promptly exited the castle, reaching the outer courtyard, where approximately three hundred youths congregated. Expectedly, such positions were highly coveted, unlikely to be missed.
Per his directive, the recruits lined up for inspection, subsequently eliminating fifty-two individuals deemed older than eighteen or younger than fourteen. Given difficulties determining exact ages, visual assessment sufficed, removing only those clearly exceeding age limits.
— Algynis, ensure all recruits are placed on enhanced diets and refrain from training for a week, — he commanded amid astonished looks from serfs and nearby soldiers. — Full instructions will follow shortly.
Upon issuance of orders, soldiers escorted the males to barracks within the castle complex. Designed to accommodate five hundred troops, housing two hundred fifty-five recruits presented no logistical issues. Nevertheless, Victor did not intend retaining them all; initial energy replenishment and physical recovery were prerequisites for selection.
With male recruits dispatched, thirty-seven females remained in the square, exceeding expectations, yet larger numbers suited his purposes.
Every woman exhibited appalling health. Understandably, this harsh environment favored neither frailty nor weakness, affecting women disproportionately.
Victor issued instructions for their feeding and hygiene, instructing attendants to cleanse them thoroughly, as they resembled earth-diggers.
After arrangements were finalized, he returned indoors, delegating further tasks. First, he ordered kitchen staff to select three large pigs, relocate them beyond the castle walls, and keep them securely. Next, he arranged tables for preparation, buckets of clean water, and cleaning rags.
Neither staff nor assistants comprehended his objectives, yet all dutifully executed commands.
With preparations underway, he settled into waiting.
Soldiers couldn't begin training immediately, but women's education could proceed forthwith, as their tasks required minimal exertion.
Two hours later, the group assembled outside the castle walls, beside a four-meter-long table holding dead animals.
Wielding his sword decisively, Victor slew one pig, provoking screams and panic from the remaining livestock. Addressing soldiers, he commanded placement of the slaughtered animal on the table, calling over the nearest girl.
Gathered women, accustomed to harsh sights as serfs, reacted stoically. Minor horrors like this incited anticipation rather than terror, fueling hopes of meat provisions.
Approaching the corpse, Victor drew a shallow cut, roughly twenty centimeters long, demonstrating the required procedure.
Taking a bucket of water, he rinsed the wound using a rag, then retrieved needle and thread prepared beforehand, suturing the skin seamlessly. Fifteen minutes later, he completed a neater stitch than his attempt on the serf's leg.
Easier this time, as the stationary cadaver eliminated slipperiness and muscle tension, allowing precision.
Finished, he created another identical incision, summoning Nalita closest to him, instructing her to replicate his actions. Overcome with nerves, she fretted, maintaining close proximity to her lord and fearing staining his attire.
Only when Victor recognized her predicament did he step backward, affording her space.
— What's your name? — he inquired kindly.
— N-Nalita, my lord, — stammered the girl, intimidated by the query.
— All you need do is repeat exactly what I showed you, alright? — he reassured her calmly.
She nodded, instinctively retrieving the towel, wetting it, and beginning to wash the wound.
Observing patiently, Victor confirmed his hypothesis: girls sewed far better than he did. Within five minutes, she finished, stepping back gingerly. Those observing expressed amazement.
Interest surrounded the exercise more than revulsion. Stitching deceased swine evoked dark sorcery associations, yet loyalty to nobility remained unwavering.
So long as their lord wasn't publicly condemned, none would doubt his motives.
Completing her task, Nalita joined others in line, while Victor oversaw subsequent participants performing similar procedures.
Victor's goal: forming a medical corps for his military.
***
Note: Battles in this world primarily claimed lives through minor wounds and infections. Often treatable with clean water and sutures, such practices remained nonexistent.
Priests attended nobles, healing injuries magically, but no one extended aid to serfs. Treating peasants was viewed as burdensome and costly.
Warfare consisted largely of attrition battles, victorious outcomes determined by numerical supremacy or luck. No brilliant strategies existed; armies confronted each other openly, engaging frontally. If casualties overwhelmed one side, retreat ensued. Both sides withdrew if losses exceeded sustainable levels.
Given lack of permanent militias, conscripted serfs formed bulk of troop composition. Plucked from fields, equipped crudely, they died indiscriminately. Knights and professional guards engaged cautiously, preserving their expensive training.
Hence, armies comprised predominantly serfs, loss of whom crippled agricultural output.
***
Task accomplished, Victor rejoined the women, directing disposal of the carcass to kitchens for boiling. Elated by news of cooking, they chattered excitedly until another assignment arrived.
A live pig was secured atop the table, bound firmly. Making a palm-sized incision, Victor illustrated the repair process to Nalita.
Momentarily frozen, she mimicked steps taught moments earlier. Mortal injury resulted, as the deeper cut assured infection and eventual demise.
Her efforts stretched longer this time, but completing the stitch invoked surprise.
Blood ceased flowing, the wound now appearing less gruesome.
— I aim to transform you into healers saving soldiers' lives in battle and assisting civilians during peace, — Victor declared. — If deployed in wartime, you'll earn one gold coin per campaign plus five silver monthly during tranquil periods.
Whispers rippled through the assembly, but he permitted no interruptions, withdrawing farther to allow deliberation. Women participating in warfare weren't rare, fulfilling roles limited to entertainment and prostitution; hence mobilization posed few obstacles.
Victor envisioned training them beyond medicinal duties, enhancing fitness and potentially augmenting magical powers through concentration stones.
His vision excluded expendable cattle; he craved elite units.
Magical abilities served practical ends: evacuating wounded efficiently, fleeing intact alongside troops in retreat scenarios.
Soldier training was equally strategic, age carefully selected. At this stage, bodies developed optimally, promising transformation into elites.
Harnessing stones, he hoped to elevate hundreds into knighthood, pursuing ambitions recalling historic Earth regiments renowned for invincibility.
However, success hinged on achieving magical aptitude; failing that, even elaborate uniforms and equipment would render them vulnerable to any seasoned knight's blow.
Entranced by these musings, he noticed the girls grow silent, apparently reaching consensus. Predictably, they accepted his offer unanimously.
One golden coin represented staggering wealth in this realm, equivalent to sustaining a family of four for an entire year on five silvers.
— If permissible, we're all agreed, my lord, — relayed Nalita.
Grinning broadly, Victor bid them remain and departed for the castle, assigning construction of new barracks specifically for female recruits. Retrieving parchment concealed in his breast pocket—actually extracted from inventory—he handed it to the steward.
Jinne scrutinized the document dubiously, befuddled by his employer's eccentricities.
— Master, is this uniform for these women? — he inquired eventually.
Not just clothing, Victor supplied comprehensive gear, including leather belts and backpacks.
Incidentally, soldiers received matching accoutrement, including custom-designed weaponry and shields.
While Jinne examined the blueprint, they reconvened at the castle gates, where Victor intended to designate nurse quarters.
— Master, someone approaches, — alerted the steward, tearing his gaze from the parchment to observe a rider bearing a banner galloping closer. — That's Baron Clint's standard.
"Efficient chap, seemingly impatient. Arriving practically tailing his envoy suggests urgency; I must be indispensable to him."
— Prepare everything accordingly; we must extend appropriate courtesies, — Victor commanded, ascending to change attire.
Half an hour later, the baron's coach arrived, yet Victor delayed reception another two hours. Prolonging proceedings served no deliberate purpose; mere caprice motivated him.
Seated comfortably in the parlor, he found a fifty-year-old gentleman ensconced in an armchair before the fireplace, flanked by a strikingly dressed young lady. She wore unusual attire, akin to a knight's ensemble.
Acknowledging their host's entrance, both rose formally, inclining heads respectfully as etiquette dictated.
— Baron Baltes, permit me to introduce myself. I am Baron Samuel Clint, and this... — Interrupted by his companion, the elderly man fell silent.
— Father, I can introduce myself, — assuming authority, the girl stepped forward. — I am Linea Clint, a knight in my father's service.
Evidently, this decision wasn't hers alone; the senior baron's downturned head suggested resignation.
Women-knights, while uncommon, didn't raise eyebrows. Magical potency defined social hierarchies; weaker members lacked influence.
Linea's aura betrayed her as a bronze-level peak-stage knight, aged seventeen at most, meriting admiration.
Seeing her beauty reinforced Victor's observations. Like all nobles, she embodied exemplary aesthetics, reflecting magical enhancement. Her presence illuminated contrasts: baron, middle-aged and paunchy, contrasted sharply with his stunning offspring.
— Welcome to my domain, — reciprocating formalities, Victor invited them to sit.
Unexpectedly, Linea demurred.
— We're here on official business and cannot linger unnecessarily.
Vivacious, yet modest, she aspired recognition as a knight, craving validation of her prowess.
Victor appreciated her candor, preferring straightforwardness over haughtiness typical among peers.
— Very well, let's take seats and discuss matters, — he proposed, guiding them to the adjacent dining hall.
Castle facilities accommodated negotiations poorly; thus, the dining hall doubled as conference space. Once seated, Victor waited patiently for Clint to articulate his agenda.
Finally focusing attention, Victor studied Linea, attempting masculine comportment.
Efforts proved futile; palms resting awkwardly on the tabletop, fingers interlaced, betrayed uncertainty. Clearly imitating others, she lacked confidence or finesse.
Additionally, subtle observation unveiled her exceptional beauty. Noblewomen universally radiated glamour, amplified by magical advantages. Here, the contrast heightened Victor's perception.
Interrupting the silence, Clint broached the subject.
— Baron Baltes, might we engage in mutual commerce? — the baron initiated discussion.
Father and daughter diverged dramatically in appearance, emphasizing Clint's diminutive stature, round features, light hair, and pale-blue eyes. Shorter than average, he appeared obese beneath his finery.
— Of course, Baron. Please specify your proposal, — encouraged Victor, familiar with impending overtures.
— We seek your salt and wine exports, — explained Clint. — Our lands yield nothing valuable and struggle economically.
— Father, why disclose such vulnerabilities? — chastised Linea, displeased by exposure.
Typically, nobles deflected transparency, feigning prosperity and extracting maximum benefit. Baron's candid admissions underscored inept negotiation skills.
Seeking resolution, Victor intervened diplomatically.
— Lady, rest assured. Collaboration benefits us mutually. Let's foster solidarity, — calming her, though not dispelling suspicion. Still, simplicity appealed to her pragmatism.
— What terms do you propose? — pressed Linea, ignoring her father completely.
— None, I simply intend fair pricing beneficial to all parties, — answered Victor sincerely, locking gazes with her piercing blues.
Peripheral vision caught Clint's visible agitation, triggering insight.
"You didn't rush here randomly; circumstances likely worsened. Possibly, you're bankrupt?" Swift analysis validated intuition.
— Here's a solution. I'll supply necessary goods at negotiated costs, payment deferred until sold, — Victor's suggestion stunned attendees.
— Why help us financially? — Linea pursued relentlessly.
— I want friendship, plain and simple, — he answered succinctly. However, truth lay deeper: captivated by Linea's charms, he acted impulsively, yearning heroic recognition.