Ruin has come to our family

Paying the new recruits no mind, Lance focused his attention on his panel. He watched as his level changed from "Traveler" to "Apprentice." A new strength suffused his body. With the help of [Bestow] and [Reconstitution of Flesh], he could ignore all the after-effects of his training, allowing him to improve at a terrifying rate, like a machine.

The combat techniques of Reynauld and Barristan were of a simple, practical style, all of it learned in the blood and fire of war, and they now passed it on to him without reservation. His own powerful learning ability, combined with their instruction, yielded remarkable results. This rapid progress, however, consumed most of the [Boon] he had accumulated. His strength was now clearly distinct from that of an ordinary person. To continue training alongside these men would offer little more improvement.

And so, his routine had changed. He would generally appear at the end of their training sessions to inspect the camp, review their progress, and select a few to spar with, thereby stimulating their enthusiasm for training.

To this day, Lance had not suffered a single defeat.

Lance might not have cared about the outcome of these sparring matches, but the recruits certainly did. They were all discussing the fight that had just ended. Even the recruit who had been defeated was not downcast, but rather seemed excited. To have crossed swords with the lord was an honor.

"The lord is too strong!"

"I'm afraid only the two instructors could match him now."

"I think even the instructors might not be a match for the lord..."

The recruits displayed a near-paranoid reverence for Lance. It was because he was genuinely, overwhelmingly strong. This had nothing to do with his status; it was a simple matter of a gap in ability. When Lance had first joined their training, it had indeed spurred them on. But they soon felt the immense chasm between them. No matter the task, Lance would master it after a single attempt. Soon, even double the training intensity was not enough for him. He broke away from the main group's regimen, and under their watchful eyes, he pushed himself with a training intensity several times that of an ordinary person, constantly challenging his limits.

It was not that no recruit had tried to keep up with him. But all who tried were eventually defeated by reality, forced to do nothing but gaze up at their lord. It could be said that Lance crushed these new recruits in every aspect, passing the training assessments at a speed they could only watch in the dust. It was no wonder they revered him so.

And this was why, though he could have trained in private, he had insisted on training with them. If he had no influence over the army he had spent so many resources to build, could it truly be called his army? He had to hold the power over his soldiers in his own hands.

"If you want that," Lance said, pointing to five suits of breastplate that had been set up in the training yard, "then you must work harder. At your current level, you cannot take it from me."

Lance did not know much about training soldiers, but in his past life, he had saved a great many fitness videos to his favorites folder. And he had been through military training a few times himself. He had some idea of how to systematically build strength. He had implemented many methods to optimize their training, while also trying various ways to stimulate their potential. For example, the five suits of armor on display were spoils from the guards he had taken down. Lance had put them out as a reward to encourage the recruits. When this batch completed their training and were officially inducted into the new army, he would award the armor to the top five. And so, they all trained furiously, vying for those five spots.

He had also set training records. As long as the training ground existed, the records he had set would not disappear, and all future recruits who entered would be influenced by them. At the same time, Lance had started a literacy campaign. Training by day, studying by night. It began with learning to read. Ten new words a day. Those who remembered the most were rewarded; those who remembered the least received extra training. Most of these boys did not like using their brains. For them, studying was more difficult than the training itself. But under Lance's forceful implementation, they had still achieved considerable results.

He had been about to pick another recruit to spar with, but Susan suddenly appeared at the edge of the training ground. Sensing something was up, Lance immediately ended the session.

"Remember," he called out to the recruits, "no matter how many of you are left in the end, the new army will have at most thirty positions. If you do not wish to be eliminated, then train harder."

After spurring them on one last time, Lance left the training ground and went to meet Susan.

"What is the problem now?" he asked, the question now a natural one for him. He was the lord. Besides high-intensity training, he was also responsible for the various affairs of the town. Thankfully, in these last few days, he had promoted a few people and begun to form an administrative team, otherwise he truly would not have been able to manage. But if a problem required his personal attention, it was usually a thorny one.

However, as Susan spoke, Lance smiled.

"Mr. Dismas has returned."

"Oh!" Lance asked excitedly, "Where is he?"

"Just outside."

"Quickly, quickly."

Lance was already walking as he spoke. The moment he stepped outside and saw Dismas, he went straight to him, taking him by both arms.

"You've endured much. Are you injured?" he asked, looking him over. Dismas looked haggard. His greatcoat was torn in several places and caked with mud. His face was drawn, and even his sharp eyes were filled with fatigue. But thankfully, he was not wounded. To have wandered alone in the wilds for so many days and returned alive was already a great feat.

He turned to Susan. "Go and prepare a hot bath and a change of clothes. And ale, of course."

Dismas was stunned by Lance's reaction. To hear his lord's words... his first question was not about the mission, but a greeting, asking if he was hurt. He had not felt such concern since he had left home. A warm current flowed through his weary heart.

"My lord, I..."

"It is good that you have returned safely. The rest can wait," Lance said, raising a hand to stop him. He smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. [Bestow] activated, and under the effect of the faint enhancement, Dismas's condition immediately improved.

"Finally," Lance said. "Welcome home."

Home... Dismas suddenly found that he had forgotten what the word "home" meant. Or rather, the concept had become blurry in his mind. He was a wanderer; he thought he would never have a home again... He didn't know why, but his eyes grew moist. Had he... finally come home?

"Come! Let me show you what has become of the town."

Lance led Dismas through the streets. The progress had been rapid. In just a few short days, Dismas could see many changes. For example, there was no longer any excrement on the streets. Instead, small wooden structures had been built along them.

"That," Lance said, opening the door to one of them, "is a toilet."

It was, in truth, just a small shack made of wooden planks with a bucket inside. Every morning, a dedicated person would come to manage them, collecting the waste and transporting it to a large pit dug outside the town for composting.