Iron Hearth Castle Training Grounds. One Week After the Debt Payment.
"RUN! DON'T WALK! DO YOU THINK THIS IS A PICNIC?!"
Sir Riven's shout sliced through the cold morning air.
On the muddy, slushy field, thirty young men from Northreach villages were experiencing the worst day of their lives. Shirtless, they carried wet teak logs weighing 20 kg on their shoulders, running laps around the castle.
They were the First Cohort of House Sudrath's new army.
Usually, soldier training in this world was simple: Here's a spear, stick them with the pointy end, done.
But Riven (Bang Rifki) had different standards. A hybrid standard of Tarung Derajat (Indonesian Martial Arts) and the modern military Hell Week he used to watch in documentaries.
"Pathetic!" Riven spat on the ground. He stood in the center of the field in light armor, holding a rattan stick. "My grandmother in Bandung runs faster than you lot!"
A skinny youth collapsed, his face planting into the mud. He didn't have the strength to get up.
"My Lord... mercy, My Lord... I can't go on..."
Riven walked over. The youth closed his eyes, expecting a kick or a beating (standard treatment from knights to commoners).
But Riven squatted down instead. He extended his massive hand.
"Get up."
The youth opened his eyes, shocked. Riven pulled him to his feet with one powerful jerk.
"Listen, kid," Riven's voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "I torture you here so you won't die out there!" Riven pointed toward the border forest. " The enemy won't ask for mercy. The enemy won't stop just because you're tired. So, tired now or dead later? CHOOSE!"
"Tired now, My Lord!" shouted several youths who began to understand.
"GOOD! 10 more laps! Last one to finish gets their meat ration cut!"
Meanwhile, on the castle's second-floor balcony, Sir Rianor and Duke Lucian observed the scene while drinking warm tea (Aurelia's herbal blend).
"Your brother's methods are brutal," Lucian commented. "But effective. Their posture has changed drastically in a week."
"That's called Calisthenics and High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT), Dad," Rianor answered casually, checking a stack of papers—the Payroll.
Rianor had revolutionized the Sudrath military system:
Fixed Salary: No more loot-based system. Every soldier received 2 Gold Coins a month (Double the Kingdom's standard).
Life Insurance: If they died, their families received a compensation of 50 Gold Coins. (A crazy idea in this world, but it made soldier loyalty fanatical).
Nutrition: Martha in the kitchen was required to provide meat three times a day for the troops. No more watery gruel.
"By the way, Dad," Rianor pointed to the gate. "The guest we've been waiting for has arrived."
At the castle gate, Captain Thorne entered, escorting a stranger.
The man was tall, half his face covered in burn scars, carrying two swords on his back. He walked with a thick aura of a killer.
It was Garrick "The Butcher." The most notoriously ruthless Mercenary Captain in the North.
They went down to the courtyard to welcome him.
Garrick looked at Lucian, then spat to the side. Disrespectful.
"So this is Duke Sudrath who supposedly got rich overnight," Garrick's voice was raspy. "I heard you needed professionals. Not these snot-nosed brats playing with logs." Garrick pointed at Riven's troops dismissively.
"I need an instructor," Lucian said flatly. "And additional troops for border patrol. I heard you have 50 reliable butchers."
"Correct. But my price is high. And I don't bow to orders from pampered knights," Garrick stared at Riven, who was walking toward them. "Especially 'knights' whose armor is too clean."
Riven stopped in front of Garrick. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Pampered?" Riven asked quietly.
"Yes. Pampered," Garrick challenged. His hand touched his sword hilt. "Want to test it, Young Lord? If you can touch me just once, I'll give you a 10% discount."
Riven turned to Rianor. "Nor, can I?"
Rianor nodded with a faint smile. "Go ahead, Bang. But don't kill him. We need the manpower."
Garrick laughed. He drew his sword. "Arrogant little—"
BOOM.
Before Garrick could finish his sentence, Riven had vanished from sight.
Memories of Flash Step (Aethelgard Knight Movement) combined with MMA Takedown techniques.
Riven ducked under Garrick's sword swing, then executed a flawless Double Leg Takedown. He slammed Garrick's massive body into the mud with perfect Judo form.
THUD!
The wind was knocked out of Garrick. Before he could recover, Riven was already on top of him (Mount Position), and Riven's iron-clad fist stopped exactly one millimeter from Garrick's nose.
The wind from the punch made Garrick's hair flutter.
Silence.
The young soldiers who were running stopped to watch, jaws dropped. Their "Brother Riven" was a monster.
"How much is the discount now?" Riven asked casually, his breathing not even labored.
Garrick swallowed hard. He looked into Riven's eyes. Those weren't the eyes of a pampered noble. Those were the eyes of a street fighter used to breaking people's bones.
"Five... Fifty percent," Garrick stammered. "And my men... are yours."
Riven stood up, then extended a hand to help Garrick up.
"No discount. We pay full price. As long as you and your boys follow my rules. Here, discipline is number one."
Rianor clapped slowly.
"Negotiation concluded. Welcome aboard, Captain Garrick."
Now, House Sudrath possessed:
The Red Lions (Core Unit): 30 Village Youths trained with modern fitness.
The Iron Mercs (Special Unit): 50 Veteran Mercenaries led by Garrick.
Monster Commander: Sir Riven, now feared and respected.
"Military steps are secure," Lucian said with satisfaction. "Now, Rianor... is your new toy ready?"
Rianor grinned widely. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.
Not thick, yellow, animal-smelling parchment.
But Thin White Paper made from wood fiber.
"Ready, Father. It's time we dominated information."