"There's no need to ask, Mr. Carlo!" Roberto said immediately with a spontaneity appreciated only by true connoisseurs, before engaging in a broad gesture of invitation, stretching both arms towards the recruits as if to give them away. Then, with the same tone, he added, "Please, please!" and then turned his head to call the students and shout at them to get back in line.

His sudden raise of voice caused a little annoyance to the boy, who found himself momentarily covering his ears, but he let it go when he saw the recruits stop their training and return to the Instructor to await new orders. "For better or for worse," he murmured to himself, "I guess being able to adapt is still a quality that accompanies ordinary people. If kids their age had pride to defend with arrogance, they wouldn't be able to learn so much and become so obedient in less than a year."

Roberto couldn't hear those words because of his own screams, as he was busy showing his ability to do his job in front of someone important. In contrast, Instructor Gianpiero, who had accompanied Carlo in his wandering since the previous afternoon, made sure to keep in mind everything that came out of his mouth.

Since he had told his future father-in-law Orlando Marchetti about his twelfth or thirteenth degree encounter with alcohol, his main task had become to remain available to Carlo and then report as much information as possible about him.

That said, Gianpiero had already filled fifteen or twenty pages of knowledge on Alchemy, Cultivation, and the principles of Mana functioning inside the human body in just a few days. He no longer had any idea of what else he could learn by simply staying silent on the side. Considering his passion for knowledge, the task didn't bother him at all; on the contrary, the longer things stayed that way, the better it was.

"Okay, okay," Carlo, unaware and not too interested in the purposes and interests of his companion, walked calmly towards the students already arranged in relatively well-ordered rows. He noticed that some of them were not keeping their backs straight and that others showed some signs of fatigue, such as a bit of shortness of breath, but overall the level was acceptable for young boys.

"I wanted to take it easy for the first few days," he said, remaining where he was and not worrying about appearing overpowering or raising his voice. "It wasn't bad to spend a few days messing around. However... Well, I felt like doing something. So I'll help you improve. Is that okay?" He concluded with a lightness typical of a night at the tavern, delicately scratching the side of his chin with a finger.

The recruits, poor souls, were a little confused by the newcomer's manners. Of course, most of them had heard about what had happened during Gianpiero's lesson and a considerable amount had even seen it live. Moreover, the daily encounters between Carlo and Graziano Mitteri of the Third Year were now a recurring event within the Academy. All this without even considering the fact that he was under the direct protection of the Major Instructor Diego Ligure and had a certain connection with Tiziano Targetti, the right-hand man of the Mayor of Asparetto.

Well, it had become abundantly clear to everyone that the boy who had come from who-knows-where was completely out of the ordinary. However, no one had yet seen him fight seriously or demonstrate his cultivation. For boys with no family connections to support them, it was not much different from not being able to distinguish where the sea ended and the horizon began on a cloudless day.

This uncertainty made Carlo, at least in their eyes, a person whom it was difficult to feel confident in, despite all that we have already said before. Not to mention those who had chosen voluntarily not to seek charity from him out of pride and ignorance, or those like the kind-hearted Jessica, who had preferred to stay on the sidelines for the first time in order to get more information about him.

Of course, he himself was not interested in what was passing through their heads. Carlo certainly didn't know what to do with the feelings or prejudices of some kid.

"I watched you a bit this morning," said Carlo, observing the crowd in front of him and sometimes pausing on one person and sometimes on another, paying attention to the weapons they had tied to their waist or back. He sighed slightly and made a not-too-pretty face. "Short sword, long sword, medium shield, large shield, lance... Never mind the ranged weapons, since not one of you has one, there's a mishmash of melee weapons that's almost scary."

The recruits didn't respond and waited, even when the boy in front of them remained in that strange position for a good handful of seconds without adding anything else. Questions were already accumulating in their heads, but the training they had received allowed them to maintain discipline.

"So," Carlo resumed at one point, scratching his head as if he had just made an effort comparable to eight hours of manual labor. "In general terms, Cultivation is a solitary path. The growth of a Cultivator derives from personal choices, so it is not certain that the same technique guarantees the same effects when used by multiple people. Therefore, from the perspective of making you grow as individuals, the fact that each of you has taken the weapon that interested him the most is a good thing. However, from the perspective of training you as soldiers of a cohesive and efficient army, not having a standard when it comes to weapons could easily generate confusion."

Both notions were common knowledge in the times that had passed, and even today, Asparetto had maintained most of those basic notions. It seemed, however, that, perhaps due to the way the Mayor had set up the city, not even its Army had developed as a solid structure with well-defined edges.

Carlo hadn't lost any brain cells doing research and asking questions about it, but from what he had seen so far, Asparetto's armed forces were more like a disorganized conscript infantry than a real army composed of skilled professionals. A realization that made him let out a short sigh. "Let's forget it," he said, swatting away flies with his right hand, before adding, "It's not worth it."

"Fighting in an army means clashing against an organized horde of enemies attacking you as one man," he continued, gradually softening his expression without even realizing it. "It might be a good idea for you to change your weapons depending on your unit's composition or your position within the formation. I certainly won't stop you if you want to make this choice, but it's a little too late now. Since you chose what kind of weapon to entrust your life to on the battlefield, the way you unconsciously flow mana within your body has also changed over time. Trying to forcibly change things would waste valuable time. Of course, this doesn't mean that you won't be able to do it in the future. Knowing how to use different types of weapons is always a valuable advantage. Then, what else can I say..."

Carlo spoke for quite some time, pausing only occasionally while he still had his mouth open. It's hard to say why he did it or what went through his mind in those moments, but I doubt it's worth finding out. Rather, from his fixed position in the rear, Instructor Gianpiero seemed to suffer from facial paralysis, so concentrated he was in listening.

On the contrary, unlike the boys and Roberto, he had spent most of his life studying. His studies ranged from theories on Mana to manuals on Cultivation to ancient texts. And, it was in one of those ancient tomes whose pages tended to crumble when turned, that the young Instructor would have sworn he had already read words similar to those he was hearing.

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The man described in the book was not well-defined. 'A Being with a body made of the hardest metal that, although lacking its left half, dominated every battlefield, always observing the remains of men, Divinities, and Beasts to the right of his Lord.' Only that passage went into detail about the creature, while the rest of the legible pages contained knowledge supposedly from the same being.

Gianpiero memorized everything and punctuated his mental notes with even the same pauses and small linguistic or grammatical inaccuracies. For him, it was like being inside those prehistoric tales. A cameo that, even at that time, must have heard and reported that information in written form, as he was also trying to do.

"Having said that," the carefree Drunkard, who had also started to enjoy himself, slowed down with the theoretical explanations as he began to see that the boys were starting to lose track of the conversation. "It's not important that you keep all this stuff in mind. By training every day, they will become natural choices that you don't even have to think about. Don't push yourselves," then, after taking a few steps forward and putting both hands in his pockets, he declared with even more vigor than before: "Let's start with a practical demonstration, eh? A... Platoon, right? Let's do one platoon at a time, what do you say?" And then he let a not very long silence take the place of his voice.

"My unit will be the first!" To shout, deliberately underestimating the exaggerated cry that came out of nowhere, was one of the Platoon Leaders who had led the left flank of the formation during the training just before. A boy who already stood out from the rest of the crowd thanks to his dark skin tone and tattoos that covered both his shoulders and part of his neck.

"Oh... We have the first candidates? Nice, nice..." Said Carlo, clapping his hands before quickly putting them back in his pockets, urging them to separate from the rest of the recruits with a "Come on up, there's room," said with a certain good humor. That boy's aura already seemed agitated, ready to strike at any moment. A ferocity that was certainly interesting to see in an amateur with only a Single Meridian.

"What's your name?" Carlo asked, when he found himself in front of the four individuals who composed the Platoon; poor guys who had no idea what kind of fucked-up idea their leader had... Ah, no, courageous subjects for practical experimentation... No, good recruits eager to put themselves to the test. Yes, let's go with the latter definition.

"My name is Nonme, first year. Platoon Leader," the tattooed guy introduced himself, in perfect military style despite his hands shaking a little due to excitement. Nonme was anything but normal, perhaps his turbulent childhood among unsavory people had made him that way but... it didn't matter much, since Carlo already liked him. The other three, a guy and two girls, also said their names but the Alcoholic didn't register them, too distracted by the constantly moving aura emanating from a simple low-level Cultivator.

"Well, well..." Carlo then resumed speaking, nodding his head for no apparent reason. "This first training of mine is simple," Carlo continued, with his gaze fixed on the first four candidates. "Attack me with everything you've got. One group at a time, for as long as necessary. I advise you to move as if you were one man, otherwise it will all be over quickly... for you, of course." Finally, just to make fun of them, he said, "Your goal is to make me take my hands out of my pockets. Actually, cutting off one of my arms or legs is also fine. If you can do either of those things, I'll give you a prize at the end of the training. A nice prize!"

The Recruits remained momentarily perplexed, as was now tradition. People like Jessica or Giorgio were following the unfolding of events from the outside, amidst the rest of the students. The two of them in particular, along with a few others, didn't quite know what could happen when it came to Carlo. Whether these thoughts arose from having heard rumors or having seen him in action didn't matter much.

There was, however, a single problem from their point of view. Not finding themselves in front of the Alcoholic, it was impossible for them to even try to establish what kind of strength he might possess. Not even the slightest amount of Aura emanated from his body and his standing there all relaxed didn't improve things.

However... Well, for Nonme things had already proven to be different, ever since he had raised his gaze to reciprocate Carlo's at the time of the introductions. This is an opportunity! I want to see, I want to fight! These thoughts, devoid of malice by any means but full of the desire to throw punches, quickly disappeared as soon as he stopped to observe him.

The Alcoholic's attention was mostly on him, and Nonme initially appreciated it. But now he felt that something was wrong. Carlo hadn't even moved, nor had much room to react to a sudden blow, but Nonme's instincts were already on high alert.

What is it? he briefly wondered as he brought the sword in front of him, lowering his head slightly to check the grip. Why do I feel like I'm facing a wild animal? He prepared to order his three subordinates to charge. Having lived close to nature for many years, he had seen big animals wandering around here and there. Creatures capable of killing an adult man even without intending to, simply by hitting them with a little too much force.

Often, such creatures didn't even hunt humans. Yet, in the rare cases when they did, normal people tended to change their path when they spotted one. Nonme was experiencing the same sense of urgency. Or rather, his instinct grown far from cities was telling him to change course.

However, men, and even worse, young boys, often had more ignorance and stubbornness in their veins than blood. Turning around was always easy, but what kind of pride did you bring home by doing such a thing? No, sometimes you had to jump into the fray and come out a little worse for wear to be able to walk with your head held high.

"Forward! Forward!" Full of this nonsense, Nonme finally gave the order to charge. The three at his side were not exactly made of the same stuff as him, but by now they had been infected with a minimum of madness thanks to their leader. So, all going straight ahead with no shadow of a plan in mind, the the entire Platoon attacked Carlo head-on, holding their swords and spears high with a certain arrogance.

The Alcoholic sighed. I imagined so. Remaining a little disappointed by the boys' choice. I like the spirit, but I doubt that with a head like that they could survive more than a couple of battles. Well, they're just boys... Carlo slowly let go of the stupid smile he had on his face, narrowing his eyes slightly.

It was a matter of perhaps a few moments. The Aura of the four Recruits flowed out of their bodies uncontrollably, which would have allowed them to concentrate all their strength in one or two blows at most. Nonme in particular seemed to almost surround himself with a violent fire, as if several gusts of wind were striking a vigorous flame from different angles without being able to affect it in any way.

It was a Mana different from the norm, a kind of energy singular in its nature. It was probably not even created by a Cultivation Technique, but, as happened from time to time, it was much more likely that the boy's past experiences and mentality had generated that chaotic Mana always ready to expand and contract.

Carlo watched them move towards him. Time was not passing equally for everyone, which is why the boys' movements were appearing extremely slow to the Alcoholic. Until he dodged Nonme's strike by slipping slightly to the side, before doing the same with one of the two girls' lance.

The swords of the last two descended almost at the same time, taking space away from Carlo on both sides. These are smarter than the others, but still more worthless... Unfortunately, however, the Red Wine Technician only had to take half a step forward this time to avoid being touched by the blades, entering with ease into a small space that had been created near Nonme.

From there on there's nothing more to say. Carlo used only his right leg, sweeping at chest height first those next to him and then the other two slightly further away. Nonme's platoon didn't have time to react. They barely saw the initial hint of their opponent's movements before finding themselves pushed back and with their backs, or faces, on the ground.

"Great, you were awful. Very well done. Let's moving on with the next ones"