Chapter Fourteen: Training (Fourth Update)

“Shoulder the rifle, keep it straight. Use the corner of your eye to watch the person next to you—don’t you dare step out of line, or I swear I’ll crack his backside wide open! Halt! March!” Under the drill instructor’s sharp commands, three ranks of several hundred soldiers, clad in crisp uniforms, marched forward beneath the blazing sun.

Crack! Porter lost count of how many times the baton had struck him. Since joining the German Guard, he hadn’t improved much in other areas, but his body’s resilience to blows had steadily increased through relentless daily training.

From the first day when a single strike sent him reeling, to now, barely flinching and correcting errors on the move, the hardships and sweat behind this transformation were known only to him.

“Porter, that red string tied around your left foot — how can you forget? Don’t walk with a limp, or you’ll trip yourself up!” the instructor scolded between strikes.

“Yes, Instructor! Porter remembers!” After repeated beatings, Porter had become remarkably obedient. The officers were always right—even if they were wrong, Porter instinctively deferred to their word.

This discipline, born from increasing endurance to punishment, had become a good habit.

In contrast, Bobby performed much better; at least he could distinguish his left foot from his right, so his training involved fewer beatings than Porter’s.

Both fierce warriors would have been leaders of a hundred men in the nationalist army, yet utterly clueless in commanding troops. Wishing to keep their newly acquired flintlock rifles and avoid the cursed matchlocks, Porter and Bobby had resolutely joined the German Guard.

At first, the two found little to admire, but upon receiving sleek, spotless uniforms and tasting braised pork—food they hadn’t seen in ages—they fell completely in love with this elite German Guard.

Now, when Porter and Bobby walked the streets in their handsome uniforms, seeing the common folk and nationalist soldiers around, they felt an undeniable aura of grandeur and prestige.

The propagandists called this feeling “the honor of the army.” Though Porter didn’t fully grasp what honor meant, it sounded impressive, and the sensation felt excellent.

Moreover, the propagandists often held group sessions, always asking, “Who gives you your clothes to wear? Who gives you your food? Who provides land for your families to farm?”

At this, the German Guard soldiers would fervently shout, “Proconsul Amaska provides our clothes, feeds us, and grants us land! We swear eternal loyalty to the German Republic and to Proconsul Amaska!”

Every time Porter and Bobby heard the uniform cries of their comrades, their blood would boil with passion, igniting a fierce urge to die in service to Amaska.

After just over a month of intense training, the German Guard had been completely transformed. The relentless ideological bombardment had tightened the ten thousand soldiers into a single, taut string. Human beings are naturally herd creatures; in this atmosphere of fanaticism, every soldier’s mind was filled to bursting with thoughts of loyalty and sacrifice.

The nationalist army also conducted ideological education but lacked material rewards and the elite status the German Guard enjoyed, so their fervor paled in comparison. Still, the nationalist troops had another motivation: valor in battle and the chance to earn a place in the prestigious German Guard.

Thus, amid this fervent atmosphere, training efficiency soared. Within two months, the Guard could march in perfect step to the beat of the drums, with incidents of stepping on comrades’ heels virtually eliminated.

Once the formations were perfected, volley fire became a mere formality. The German Guard’s training level now rivaled that of the ordinary mobilized soldiers of the English Empire.

The nationalist army, without the German Guard’s battle fervor, lagged somewhat in formation drills. Yet they had no trouble executing defensive lines and volley fire with their rifles, and their twenty-thousand-strong force, imbued with nationalist spirit, excelled at bayonet charges.

Moved by the infantry’s lack of close-combat prowess, Proconsul Amaska abandoned the Maurice phalanx inherited from continental Europe. Instead, he adopted the deep, broad ranks from General Paris’s renowned battle formations. The long pike square formations were reserved solely for cavalry engagements. Infantry faced each other in successive ranks, advancing or defending, fighting with coordinated musket volleys and bayonet charges.

Bayonet charges were straightforward: fix bayonets into the barrels, then charge forward in tight ranks. Provided they could withstand enemy ranged fire, breaking into the enemy’s line would certainly unhinge their formation.

The charge came in waves—once the first rank had struck, the second followed immediately.

With the German Republic’s vast manpower, even a war of attrition could seriously wear down the invading Frankish Empire’s forces.

While Amaska was proudly inspecting his troops, the Frankish Empire’s army surged forward like a tidal wave. In a single battle, they suffered fewer than a hundred casualties yet utterly annihilated the sizable noble coalition. The armored cavalry’s wall-like charges on the plains became a nightmare for the self-styled nobles.

The day after the coalition’s defeat, all rebellious nobles en route to the capital of Seville surrendered, begging the Frankish Empire to spare their lives and some property.

Marshal Max, eager to claim more territory swiftly, spared them undue hardship. He left roughly ten thousand troops to manage the lands and led seventy thousand soldiers into what was now German Republic territory.

To Amaska’s surprise, within two months of the Republic’s founding, the Frankish Empire had already advanced into his lands. Their pace was scarcely slower than a rapid march, revealing just how ineffectual the noble coalition’s resistance had been.

In contrast, the English Empire’s southern advance encountered more numerous and united noble forces, resulting in a stalemate. This was partly because the English army comprised mostly newly mobilized recruits, with the main forces kept ready to oppose a potential incursion by the Kingdom of the Light.

Watching the seventy-thousand-strong Frankish main force stride toward the German Republic’s capital, Amaska decisively sent Marshal Max a challenge for a decisive battle at an agreed location.

Marshal Max readily accepted. In his view, the twenty-thousand-strong peasant army was no real threat; wiping them out in a single stroke would settle matters once and for all.

Thus, on a vast plain near the border of the Seville capital region, two mighty armies arrayed themselves: two hundred thousand German Republican Guards facing seventy thousand Frankish Imperial troops, poised to engage in a battle that would decide their fates.