Chapter 16: 16 Luo Ning's Drill

Chapter 16: Ronin’s Drill

The road was the same one they had traveled yesterday, but Ronin’s heart was utterly transformed.

Yesterday, he had led nine traitors with hearts turned against their lord; today, his guards held not a single doubt in their loyalty.

The procession moved swiftly—not slow at all—thanks to Count Viggins’ generous gift of five additional wagons.

With them, Ronin could seat all his men comfortably, sparing them the drag of foot travel.

A caravan of over thirty men, bearing the Golden Mountains crest of the Wu family, could traverse the wilderness without fear—even small bands of bandits dared not strike.

As for the occasional merchant caravans passing between the mountain towns, there was no cause for concern at all.

Their masters would come personally to offer Ronin heartfelt greetings; one even presented him with ten pounds of premium honey.

Ronin accepted with a smile and returned the favor with a simple, “May your journey be smooth.”

The wagons creaked and groaned along, lending a rhythm to the monotonous road.

As the sun neared the western mountains, Ronin signaled Macken to halt the caravan.

“Let’s camp here tonight. There’s a small stream just south—we can draw water.”

“Understood, my lord!”

Macken nudged his warhorse gently and dashed ahead, signaling the lead wagons to stop.

Once the caravan was secured, Ronin stepped down and walked to the center of the road.

When all the men had arranged their wagons, he barked in a deep, commanding voice:

“Form ranks! Gather here!”

“Line up in six rows, five columns—exactly as I ordered at noon!”

Thirty guards scrambled over, sprinting to obey.

This was the peculiar training the baron had arranged after lunch—strange, unlike anything they’d ever seen—but who could refuse when the baron fed them seven or eight parts full?

So, remembering his midday instructions, they moved without hesitation.

Soon, the thirty men stood in formation—though clumsy at first, some misstepping rows or columns, they corrected each other in time.

Ronin nodded inwardly. Compared to yesterday’s slovenly disarray, this formation had begun to take shape.

“Attention!” Ronin snapped, sharp and brief.

The guards snapped into position.

“What are you doing?” Ronin pointed at the short man in the third row, fourth column. “Stand at attention! Feet together, legs straight, abdomen drawn in, chest naturally erect. Are you slouching for the benefit of the worms?”

The guard, young by appearance, flushed crimson under the public rebuke and hastily corrected his posture.

Two nearby guards, friends of his, snickered quietly.

“What’s so funny?” Ronin mimicked the tone and glare of a drill sergeant, silencing them instantly.

“If any of you laugh again, you’ll miss supper!”

The weight of noble authority, coupled with the threat of hunger, forced the men to stand rigidly, solemnly, in the middle of the road.

The sight was almost comical.

“Macken,” Ronin said, “I’ve taught you the movements. Go correct those who fail to execute them properly.”

As the baron’s personal guard and the strongest knight in the company, this seemingly simple task pressed upon Macken with unprecedented weight.

To master those few motions from noon, he had spent the entire afternoon studying them during every rest break, even asking Ronin for clarification several times.

And now, at last, his diligence bore fruit—he understood them well.

“By your command, my lord!”

Macken stepped forward and began his meticulous inspection of the thirty men.

Ronin watched from the side, evaluating—and wondering whether such training held any merit in a world where magic and the supernatural reigned.

But then he realized: even the supernatural began as ordinary.

This drill honed discipline, cultivated unity, sharpened obedience—it was undeniably useful.

“Standing at attention is only the beginning. We’ll add military boxing, hand-to-hand contests—everything.”

As he pondered, Macken finished his corrections and returned.

“Report, my lord: inspection and correction complete.”

Ronin nodded. “Fall back into formation.”

Macken offered a stiff, symbolic salute, then took his place beside Ronin, standing perfectly still.

“At ease.”

At the new command, the guards relaxed slightly.

Ronin glanced over them briefly—no major flaws—and let it pass.

“Today is the first day of your specialized training. Mistakes will be corrected, not punished. But from tomorrow on—if anyone slacks off—I won’t be gentle. Understood?”

“Understood~” the guards replied, timidly.

“Louder! Did you hear me?!”

Ronin roared.

The shout jolted them. They answered in unison, voices ringing clear: “We heard you!”

“Good. Dismissed. Follow the lunchtime assignments—begin preparing supper.”

Ronin smiled. “As long as you train hard, I’ll never let you go hungry.”

The tension in their shoulders eased at those words.

They had heard rumors about Ronin—rumors of debauchery, gluttony, neglect of cultivation, volatile temper.

But today, spending the whole day with him, they found the baron nothing like the tales.

They had joined merely for coin, to escort him to the mountain town.

Now, they wondered—perhaps following Baron Ronin might not be such a bad choice after all.

“My lord, the honey water is ready.”

Chahar approached, bearing a crystal goblet.

“Thank you.”

Sipping the sweet, fragrant drink, Ronin felt a deep, soothing calm.

“Tonight we camp here. Macken, assign watch shifts.”

Ronin warned, “Two rotations. Ensure everyone gets rest.”

Though they were not deep within the Wu Mountains—no great beasts prowled here—smaller monsters and wild beasts still lurked.

Ronin had no intention of waking up missing a limb—or his life.

“Rest easy, my lord. I’ll guard the camp. Not a single enemy shall draw near.”

Hmm, I trust in your abilities. After dinner, when we light the bonfire, I’ll teach you a new move.

Yes, yes…

McKen felt a flicker of guilt, yet curiosity stirred—what new move could it be?

Roning handed his empty cup to Chahar.

“Remember to tell everyone—the drinking water must be boiled first.”

Though the air and scenery here were primal, Roning had no certainty whether the stream water harbored stubborn bacteria or not.

Boiling it was always the safer choice.

“Rest easy, Master. All the water in our canteens has been boiled and cooled.”

Chahar bowed respectfully. “I’ve also informed the other soldiers in charge of cooking—there’s no issue with the water.”

“I’ve always trusted your judgment.”

Roning laughed heartily, drawing his longsword from the wagon and calling out to McKen.

“Come then—it’s your turn to teach me swordplay.”

(End of Chapter)