Chapter 1: I Didn’t Want to Be a Soldier

“Excuse me… where is the camp of the Second Squad?” I had walked all over the recruit camp. Every squad had a sign-in station for new recruits, but the sign for the Second Squad was nowhere to be seen, so I had no choice but to walk into a tent and ask.

“The Second Squad… that sounds familiar. Let me think… Ah, right here. This is the Second Squad’s camp.” The middle-aged officer lying on the bunk, his face full of stubble, seemed not to have woken up yet. Without even opening his eyes, he yawned and answered me in a daze.

“Then… excuse me, where can I find Squad Leader Carlson? I’m a new recruit reporting for duty.”

“Ah, another new recruit? Carlson? That name sounds familiar.” He muttered drowsily. “Riley, Fred, Jeffritz, Dakla, Rama, Roll… I don’t think there’s a Carlson on the new recruit list. You’ve come to the wrong place.” He turned over and waved a hand, not sure whether he was shooing me away or shooing away the question that had disturbed his afternoon nap.

“You’ve got it wrong. I’m not looking for a recruit named Carlson. I’m looking for Carlson, the leader of the Second Squad.” I carefully pressed.

“Oh, Squad Leader Carlson… let me think… Squad leader… Carlson. Oh, that’s me. What is it? Hah…” If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed there was a person in this world who could sleep so much that he forgot himself.

“Jeffritz Gid reporting for duty, at your command, sir!” I shouted, following the recruit etiquette my dad, who had once been a soldier, had taught me.

“Oh, heavens, why is it this old-fashioned routine again? Fine, fine. Can’t you let a person get a decent sleep?” The officer in front of me buried his head deep under the blanket to escape my voice. “Your Majesty the King! Your Majesty the King!” His muffled call came from under the blanket.

“Yes, sir.” A young soldier walked in from outside the tent. He was a little taller than me, with a high, straight nose. Although his expression was cold, his black eyes gave off a charming sparkle. What was most striking was his shiny black hair, so glossy you could see your reflection in it. If he hadn’t been wearing a dark green military uniform, I would have thought he was a noble from some famous family. In fact, even so, he was the most noble-looking person I had ever seen, even more noble than the tax collector who came to my family’s tavern every month to collect taxes.

“He’s a new one too. Arrange a place for him in your tent.” A hand came out from under the blanket, pointed at me, then went back in. “Then help me hang up the sign by the door.” After saying that, the blanket on the floor squirmed a couple times. I could tell that my superior was firmly defending his sweet dream.

“Yes, sir.” The black-haired young soldier led me out of the tent and casually hung a sign on it that read “Pig in the pen, do not disturb,” with a picture of a pig head with its eyes closed on it. It was extremely creative. Seeing my surprised expression, he acted as if this was nothing strange, then turned around and walked away. I could only hold back my laughter and follow behind him. My military career had begun just like that.

I, Jeffritz Gid, was the second son of Old Gid, the one-legged owner of the Horseshoe Tavern in Rid City in the Kingdom of Delanmaya. Unlike my older brother Pierre, who spent all day dreaming of being a knight and wanting to be a hero, I was born to be a tavern owner—no, a genius. When I was just three months old, Old Gid accidentally poured his ale into my milk bottle. When he found his cup was full of milk, I had already calmly drunk an entire bottle of strong liquor. At five, I already had fairly superb wine-tasting skills and could easily tell apart all the kinds of alcohol that could be found on the market across the whole continent. At seven, I had already started doing the work in the tavern that took the most skill and the most technique—watering down the drinks. At ten, I officially started greeting customers at the front counter, and all at once became the most popular tavern boy in all of Rid City. At fourteen, I was already acting like the boss of the Horseshoe Tavern, handling all the accounts and ordering Old Gid, Mrs. Gid, and my brother Pierre, who was six years older than me, around in circles. Under my careful management, the Horseshoe had gone from a small tavern nobody in Rid City had ever heard of to a large food-and-drink business with more than five hundred customers a day, and it had been named a model tax-paying unit in Rid City for three years in a row. If every 18-year-old adult male hadn’t been required to serve at least three years of military service, I would never have left that lively tavern. After all, being a tavern owner, joking around with a bunch of customers, spreading the fresh news from travelers, and watching drunks fight on the open ground outside the door was a lot more fun and a lot more steady than being a knight or a hero.

Before I entered service, I had already made an agreement with my family: when I came home after three years, Old Gid would officially retire, and the Horseshoe Tavern would officially be run by me. As for Pierre—I really had no good way to deal with this brother of mine. After finishing his military service, he wasn’t satisfied and actually wanted to go be a mercenary. Who knew where he had run off to train. Let him run around and do whatever he wanted. With me at home, that was enough.

“Why did he just call you ‘King’?” I asked my new roommate, a little surprised.

“Nickname.” His voice carried an indescribable pride, as if he didn’t want to say even one more word.

“That kind of nickname is pretty rare, but…” My tavern-boy professional habit made me unavoidably try to get friendly with people. “It fits. I’m Jeffritz Gid. You can call me Jeff. I used to be a tavern boy.”

“Fred, Fred Guderian.”

“Fred Guderian, can I call you Fred?” He nodded to show it was okay. “I just got here, so I don’t know much about this place. How long have you been here? What do I need to watch out for? What is our officer like? Are there any great restaurants nearby? A tavern would work too. Are there any pretty girls? I like ones with big, bright eyes, like yours… Hey, where are you?” I was so busy talking while walking that at some point I didn’t notice the person walking with me had disappeared.

“We’re here.” Fred stood about ten steps behind me and said without any expression.

“Ah, thanks.” I jogged over awkwardly.

Walking into the tent, Fred pointed at me and said to the other three people inside, “New arrival,” then went to his own bunk to read.

“I’m Jeffritz Gid, a new recruit who just reported in. Friends all call me Jeff.”

“I’m Dakla. Welcome.” I was engulfed in a solid hug by that tallest figure. Although such a grand welcome moved me, it was quite a test for my thin, weak body. “I’m a stonemason. My family is in Valen City, hehe.” His rough voice showed that the speaker was a straightforward man.

“A stonemason, that’s a good job. My neighbor is a stonemason. He likes making carved stone railings. The railings outside my family’s tavern were carved by him. His skill is amazing. What kind of work do you mainly do?” I tried to get friendly with him.

“Hehe, I carve tombstones.”

“Uh…”

“My skill is absolutely top-notch. I’m famous even in Valen City. If you ever need anything, just tell me. We’re all friends, I’ll give you half price.”

“Ah… thanks, thanks, but no need, no need.” I was sweating hard.

“Say someone’s dumb, and you really are dumb, you big stone pillar.” A short figure slipped out and said slowly.

“Why are you calling me dumb again!” Dakla roared.

“How can you talk like that? Jeff is so young, and you’re in such a hurry to send him a tombstone. Isn’t that cursing him?”

“Exactly,” I thought to myself. “Finally someone said some fair words for me.”

“Even if you’re giving him one, you should at least wait two years.” … I was even more speechless.

“That’s not for sure. We’re soldiers. If a war breaks out, there’s no telling how long he’ll live… Uh, Jeff, that’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re young and healthy, but your family might not be. What if your dad…” By now I couldn’t tell whether Dakla was truly dumb or just deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Riley. My home is also in Valen City. I’m a juggler.” The short guy who had just spoken slowly said to me, “That was just a joke. Don’t mind it.”

“Ah, I know. I don’t mind.” I forced a smiling face.

“Also, I forgot to ask you just now…”

“What?”

“What style do you like?”

“What kind of style?”

“Tombstones.” Before I could react, Riley had already jumped away with a sly grin.

“I’m Rama. My family runs a cooked-food shop.” The fat guy who had been lying on the bed chewing something ever since I walked in finally swallowed the food in his mouth and greeted me. “Want some?” He held out a greasy pig’s trotter to me. When I refused, he shook his head and sighed, saying, “Nobody knows good stuff.” Then he lay back down and continued to enjoy it.

I was used to dealing with strangers, so within a few words I had gotten familiar with them. From them I learned that the recruit camp had a three-day reporting period, and today was only the second day. They had only arrived a day or two earlier than me, so they didn’t know much more about the area than I did. However, they had already collected quite a bit of bad reputation about our direct commander: it was said that Squad Leader Carlson’s nickname was “The Back,” a title he had won because in past battles he was always the first to slip away, leaving only his back to the enemy. They all shook their heads and sighed about how unlucky they were to have such a useless superior, and that when they went out they would inevitably be looked down on. I didn’t care whether my superior had any dignity or not. I just wanted to muddle through these three years peacefully and go back early to be my little boss.

The next day, we heard Carlson screaming hysterically. Then the cold-faced Fred led in another new recruit. As usual, he said three words: “New arrival.” Then he slipped off to the side to read.

“Hello everyone, I… I’m Roll.” A sound not much louder than a mosquito’s buzz came from the boy in front of us.

There was another warm-as-fire hug, along with a well-timed sales pitch for tombstones. Then the tall one and the short one, those two maddening guys, started their usual routine. When the scared-stiff new recruit finally caught his breath, a huge roasted pig head suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Want to taste it?” Rama asked while picking his teeth. “Hey, why did you faint? This is good stuff. I’ve seen people get carsick and seasick, but I’ve never seen anyone get meat-sick. You really don’t know a good thing when you see it.”

The silent Fred and I looked at each other, shook our heads, and dragged the new recruit, who had fainted from being frightened by the roasted pig head, over to his bunk.

Finally, the whole squad was complete.