Chapter 14

“Whadya think, m’lady?”

Ludmila looked up from her desk. Across from it stood Himsel, who was posing with his spear for some reason.

“What do I think of what, Himsel?”

“Th-the hair, m’lady,” he turned to the side to reveal where he had tied his long, dark hair behind him. “Looks like him, amirite?”

She suppressed a sigh.

“Maybe a bit?”

Despite her noncommittal response, Himsel beamed and strode away with a spring in his step. Ludmila looked back down at her desk, closing her eyes in a prayer of supplication.

Lord Surshana, please forgive me for my imprudence!

It was divine punishment. It had to be.

She was feeling good about how things were going with her men and – despite her worries about making a mistake with one of them – she had gone and made a mistake with all of them. The thoughtless display of her Blossoming Iris had immediate and supremely awkward consequences.

Surshana was a powerful god who could inflict all manner of ills upon the world and unleash His servants to visit countless evils upon its denizens. He did not, however, for He was a merciful god who overflowed with wisdom and temperance. As an adherent of Surshana, Ludmila sought to emulate her god’s measured and even-handed approach to all things. Straying from that path had invited divine wrath.

Now, everyone thought that she was an obsessive Ludwig fan that only pretended to like Clarence. But she really did like Clarence: more than any other character in Dreams of Red. The more she insisted that it was the truth, however, the more the men smiled and nodded in their infuriatingly indulgent way.

Not only that, but they consulted her as ‘the number one Ludwig fan’. Anything to do with Ludwig was a topic for conversation and she was obliged to entertain them for at least the bare minimum of polite conduct.

She glowered at the receding figure of Himsel as he strolled back out between the tents, eyeing the ponytail streaming behind him. Then she reached behind herself to untie her own. Did they see that as a sign of her ‘fanaticism’, as well?

Ludmila sighed as she combed out the waves of her long hair. She was ruined. Any respect she had earned as an officer had vanished like ashes in the winter wind. She was supposed to be cool, calm and professional, just like Ludw–

Argh! Curse you, Florine...

Why did she have to base Ludwig on her? It was especially strange considering she had come up with the character concept over a year before the annexation of E-Rantel. How long had Florine been watching her for? For all of her excellent and goodly qualities, Florine was just as sneaky as every other civilian Noble.

‘The Dreamer’ had even gone and named all of her Martial Arts once she found out about them. Ludmila liked those names, believing them both poetic and well-suited for each. Blossoming Iris, for instance, brought to mind the three petals of an Iris flower as it bloomed, representative of the three vectors of the advanced Strike Art and the force of its effect.

Upon discovering how wildly popular Dreams of Red was in the Empire, however, she couldn’t bring herself to refer to them by the names that had become associated with Ludwig. If she did, Ludmila feared that she would be seen as an impostor. An impostor of her impostor.

After settling her feelings of frustration and embarrassment, she read through the incomplete entry of her report. Following a basic martial assessment of her men, she wanted to use the time off duty to see what common folk in the Sixth Legion aspired to. As General Ray had pointed out, they were probably not in the army purely out of some selfless sense of tradition or service.

She didn’t know how they planned to pursue their aspirations, however. It wasn’t so much the fact that she couldn’t understand how it worked but how they could manage what that sort of life entailed.

A Noble and their tenants lived on their land. One could work in a field or a forest or a mine, but, at the end of the day, they came home to their families. Urban tenants were similar: one went to work and one came home from work. Master artisans often had living space incorporated into their workshops.

The closest thing she could equate to the life of an Imperial Knight was that of a Merchant. Both might stay away from home for months and even years at a time but how a common soldier managed familial responsibilities was a mystery.

Merchants, at least, made some sense. They usually had homes in urban areas where their guilds or at least a temple school provided education for their children. Once children reached a certain age, they could apprentice with their parents or a local merchant from their home guild. Imperial Knights, however, did not have access to the same support network. While noble scions had manors and households that saw to their domestic affairs, common soldiers did not.

On paper, it seemed straightforward: regular soldiers who distinguished themselves would receive an honorary knighthood. Presumably, those who reached this point would earn income enough to support a family, but the Empire did not have a system of Squires for the Imperial Knights as Paladin Orders had.

It was a vaguely horrifying thing to her: the child of a tailor started a basic familiarisation of their parents’ trade around the age of six, preparing them for an eventual apprenticeship. The child of a ‘commoner’ Imperial Knight, however, was counted as fortunate if there was a temple school in the area that taught them how to read. While other children prepared for their future vocations, that child at best would take after the parent who stayed at home. At worst…

Ludmila looked to her left where Joachim Ward was standing by. He wasn’t exactly a commoner, but he was a spare who would be in the same situation.

“Priest Ward,” she asked, “are you married?”

Her ‘attendant’ visibly froze at the question. Was it something so strange to ask? He was slightly older than she, meaning that, as a follower of The Four, he had at least half a decade so far to find a partner and start a family.

Then again, followers of The Four were generally strange: they upheld chastity as a virtue, nonsensically equating refusal to continue their bloodlines to ‘purity’. At the same time, they allowed rampant polygamy and didn’t keep track of anything, scrambling any sense of one’s vocational lineage and potentially undoing centuries of breeding that cultivated vocational aptitudes.

As a Cleric of The Four, Joachim might not even be expected to wed. There were atrocious rumours revolving around vows of celibacy and ascetics who secluded themselves from healthy human lives. Little about their heretical ways made sense: it was as if they wanted to go extinct like some sort of slow-motion suicide cult.

Joachim’s grey eyes remained fixed on the campfire for a good minute before responding.

“I’m not, my lady. Why do you ask?”

“I know how things work in the Imperial Army from an official perspective,” she replied, “but I know little of the soldiers’ personal affairs. They live lives on the field or in the garrisons they’ve been assigned to, so family life or business seem like impossible things to manage.”

The Cleric of the Earth God seemed to relax. What had he thought she was asking?

“That’s what you mean…I suppose it’s not something that someone from Re-Estize would be familiar with. Normally, since most of the men don’t have chains to tie them down, they get together with women in the places where they’re assigned. Since a regular army group has a set jurisdiction, they’re always a week or two away from their families at most.”

“Where do their families live? Unless they’ve been knighted and earn substantial honours, they won’t have any land before retirement.”

“An Imperial Knight’s family usually resides in a town or city. Most of them are spares who came from the same general situation, after all. Since spares usually have a hard life of low-wage labour awaiting them, the salaries offered by the army are very attractive. I know it sounds terrible, but soldiers are, in turn, attractive to women in towns and cities because they earn more.”

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More terrible than you know…

Since the Sorcerer King desired that his grace be extended over all peoples, regardless of race or culture, Ludmila didn’t have any issues with sharing the fundamental truths of the world with the Empire. The problem was that the Empire bore little interest in the truth, preferring to fabricate its own based on the illusion of strength and control it had woven around itself.

However, she was simply a liaison officer acting as a point of communication and understanding between the Sorcerous Kingdom’s government, the Death-series servitors and the Imperial Army. Broaching this topic with a Cleric of the Four was likely a waste of energy and matters that required time to demonstrably prove could be proven at home.

She rose from her seat and stepped out from behind her desk, walking down the aisle created by her squad’s tents. Many were sleeping or at least trying to rest and relax inside them, but there were a handful lounging about outside. Frank and Igvel straightened and turned to regard her as she approached them.

“At ease, gentlemen,” Ludmila said. “You seemed engrossed in your discussion.”

“Just talkin’ ‘bout what you were talkin’ ‘bout, m’lady,” Igvel said. “The drills you put us through were really different from the army’s training. Made us think a lot about what we should learn next.”

“I thought it might be useful based on how General Ray has been conducting these sweeps through the wilderness,” she replied. “What he is employing essentially adapts the Imperial Army’s operations within its borders. This will be fine for now, but the current methods will see a marked reduction in effectiveness by the end of the week.”

“You figured that out after following the companies around for one day?”

“As an outsider,” she told them, “some things are easier to notice. Especially when my background is so different from the Imperial Army’s. It’s still a presumption of mine, however. Maybe General Ray has something else prepared. Anyhow, I had some questions for the two of you if you don’t mind…”

Frank and Igvel exchanged looks.

“Sure,” Frank said. “As long as it’s something we can answer.”

“How did you join the Imperial Army?” Ludmila asked, “What were you doing before that?”

The two warriors seemed taken aback at her question, but the reply was immediate.

“I’m from a mining town,” Frank said. “A bit bigger than Orensted here. Army recruiters look for big, strong men so they always come around where you can find ‘em. Mines, quarries, warehouse districts – places where there’s heavy labour. Life in the army’s way better than all that backbreaking work and the pay’s better too, so they don’t have no problems snapping people up.”

“Did you do any work before that? Were your parents Miners?”

“Yeah, they were,” the man nodded. “I worked in the mines starting from ‘round eight. Got into the dangerous, heavy stuff once I grew up enough. I got a few years tastin’ that and went straight to the recruiters that came ‘round last winter. I was good and strong by that time so they took me right away.”

Ludmila winced internally. People could build muscle, condition their bodies and gain Job Class Levels in vocations that were physically demanding, but it was no substitute for having Job Class Levels in the vocation appropriate for the task at hand. Frank was born in a mining town to a mining family and worked in the mines for a few years. If he was lucky, he would only have one Job Class Level in ‘Miner’, but it would stay with him for the rest of his life.

The imperial recruitment officers gauged men and women based on their outward physical appearance if they were considering them as potential warriors. Frank’s work in the mines allowed him to develop a robust physique that impressed the officers enough that they accepted him immediately. It was a critical flaw in a process that was supposed to produce the best of the best: the Empire’s ‘meritocratic’ ideals led to the belief that their institutions could take what they erroneously identified as raw material and refine it to suit their requirements.

One or two levels in ‘Miner’ could not be compared to the same number of levels in a warrior-type Job Class, nor did it account for physical and vocational aptitudes passed down through one’s lineage. If the recruitment officers had put Ludmila and Frank side-by-side at the same time the previous year, a visual assessment would have resulted in Frank being chosen. In reality, Ludmila would have been capable of one-sidedly thrashing him due to their different Job Class levels.

Fortunately for Frank, he had only worked as a Miner for a few years. She didn’t know if it meant that he had one level or five levels in ‘Miner’, but if his limit in levels was ‘average’, he could still become the equivalent of a Silver-rank Adventurer in the Sorcerous Kingdom. This put him in line with the Empire’s veteran Imperial Knights and the weaker members of the Royal Earth Guard, so Ludmila sadly wondered how many soldiers in the Imperial Army were inflicted with a similar type of build contamination.

“What about you, Igvel?”

“I was a town brat, m’lady,” the other warrior said. “Born to labourers doing odd jobs in a place not far from Horst. I helped ‘em carry stuff around. My parents were spares from the country, so you could say that I’m the spare of a spare.”

“Where did your parents come from?”

“Hmm…my pa was from a farm nearby. Ma was an orphan that the Temple took in. She wasn’t able to learn magic so she just became spare hands like my pa. Only thing I got from ‘em was this big body, so I used it to join the army like Frank here during the summer.”

In terms of his Job Class Levels, Igvel was probably in a far better situation than Frank. Performing mundane chores and basic tasks were something that everyone did and the tenets of her faith only warned against excessive work along those lines. If he focused on his profession as a soldier, he had the potential to become the equivalent of a Platinum-rank Adventurer with a ‘pure’ Job Class build. It was such a simple thing to become far stronger than the average army veteran, but imperial culture made it difficult.

“You’ve both progressed into Silver-rank if we use Adventurer standards in the Empire,” Ludmila said, “so it feels that advancement in the army should follow. What do you hope to gain from your service?”

Frank and Igvel visibly brightened at the idea that they might be due for some sort of recognition.

“We’ll earn our spurs first, of course,” Frank said. “After that, a few of us are trying to pool enough money to start some sort of business in the conquered lands.”

“‘Bout half of us say hauling’s good,” Igvel added. “They’ll need to move all sorts of things to the south from the Wyvernmark. We can take our earnings and keep buying wagons and get the whole thing rolling while we campaign around.”

While she wasn’t an expert on such ventures, it felt prudent enough. By investing their capital in businesses that they were not directly involved in, they wouldn’t risk hampering their own development and allow others to focus on their own. Still…

“What about equipment?” She asked, “The Sixth Legion still uses arms and armour standard to the Imperial Army. If one’s achievements lead to recognition, shouldn’t you invest your earnings in magical items so you can earn greater achievements?”

“Some of the men want to do that,” Igvel said, “but magic items are expensive. Mmh…how much was that sword we saw in Karslheim, again?”

“Too much,” Frank chuckled. “They said it was just a ‘regular magic sword’ but it cost five years’ salary for an Imperial Knight. General Ray goes on about all the gains we’ll be making, but unless we kill a Dragon or something there’s no way the split’ll be big enough. Better to have something that steadily builds up.”

Having been subjected to all sorts of things that had killed her through mundane equipment, Ludmila couldn’t say that she agreed. At the same time, it didn’t seem that they had any way to afford it unless they received recognition for something exceptional. All they had to rely on was basic equipment, their skills and their comrades.

To be honest, it wasn’t bad. It was simply reality for the vast majority of people. As they were, they would live respectable lives as Imperial Knights. Given what they were going to face as an expeditionary force, many men in the Sixth Legion would die, but they had effectively become soldiers of fortune exclusively contracted by the Baharuth Empire. With that career came the risks that they had broadly volunteered for.

“Then what about family life?” Ludmila asked, “A posting in the Sixth Legion will be very different from the other army groups. You have a long career ahead of you and this expeditionary army will be busy expanding the borders of the Empire for decades.”

“I barely gave a thought to it since we started training,” Frank said. “Even less now that the General’s got us running all over the place. It’d be nice, but you’re right: if we’re never home, it won’t be much of a family life.”

“That’s true,” Igvel nodded. “Still, I bet plenty of girls won’t mind as long as we keep bringing back our pay. They probably wouldn’t even have to work. Life in the army’s tough, but, at the same time, I feel more alive than I’ve ever been. I’d rather be here than at home.”

It seemed that reactions to the Sixth Legion’s reality were mixed, though she should have expected it. As a Noble, her thoughts continually turned to her demesne, but communication in the Sorcerous Kingdom was far superior to that of the Empire. The Elder Liches at home could always Message her if they needed her input on administrative affairs and proposals that she needed to read over could be delivered through a variety of means. Teleportation was available if her presence was required anywhere.

The same could not be said for Nobles in the Sixth Legion, so it would likely be populated by spares or those committed to a military career. General Ray’s battalion presented one extreme where traditional influences were minimised and a culture that was more ‘commoner-centric’ became prevalent. Ludmila wasn’t sure if this, too, was part of Prime Minister Albedo’s experiment, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

“By the way,” she turned her attention to Joachim Ward, “I don’t think I asked you just now, Priest Ward. How does compensation in the Imperial Army work for its clergy?”

“Our terms are negotiated by the Temples, my lady,” he replied. “Priests can be knighted, but we are never enfeoffed as a matter of imperial law. Other honours are usually donated to our home temples.”

The Cleric’s response was appropriately ‘priestly’, though, with the imperial administration’s general stance towards the Temples, they can’t have been happy that anything at all was going to the Temples of the Four. How the Temples might be incorporated into the Royal Army of the Sorcerous Kingdom to serve their living members was still a matter under consideration, but Ludmila couldn’t imagine that it would be an antagonistic relationship like the Empire had with the Temples of the Four.

While the Temples of the Four in the Sorcerous Kingdom would vehemently refuse the very idea of working with the Undead, the Temples of the Six would probably leap at the chance to provide Clerics and Paladins when they finally had some to spare. Many tribal groups also had no qualms serving the Sorcerer King and, like the Temples of the Six, groups like the Frost Giants would insist on joining. In fact, dozens of them already had.

“That seems straightforward enough,” Ludmila said. “Thank you for answering my questions, Frank; Igvel. Please enjoy the rest of your day.”