Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters
Chapter 1257 - 45 Houdel_4

Chapter 1257: Chapter 45 Houdel_4

The soldiers with weapons at their waists and clerks in civilian shoes busied themselves between tents, and it seemed as if Monkey had stumbled into another world.

With thick skin, he stopped a clerk and found out the location of the tent where the Mason Commissioner was.

Upon reaching the entrance of the Mason Commissioner’s tent, he realized he was not the only one the commissioner wanted to see—inside, there were about thirty people gathered, some he knew, others he didn’t.

Suddenly, Monkey saw his friend Doug among them. Doug also saw Monkey and waved to him with a smile.

Monkey hurried into the crowd, squeezed to his friend’s side, and asked excitedly: "Why are you here too?"

"All preparatory cadets were called." Doug answered as concisely as always.

Monkey was about to ask further when the atmosphere in the tent suddenly changed. Everyone closed their heels together, standing upright with their backs straight.

Monkey instinctively stood at attention as well.

Richard Mason walked into the tent where Monkey was.

The Mason Commissioner, still warm and approachable, making people want to draw near, raised his hand to signal everyone to relax.

Monkey noticed that the commissioner looked somewhat tired, with traces of charcoal and ink on his fingers.

"Some of you may have already guessed why I called you here, so I won’t keep it a secret," the Mason Commissioner smiled and announced: "You have all been selected and will officially become the first batch of cadets at the New Reclamation Military Academy."

Monkey didn’t know what the others were thinking, but his heart couldn’t help but beat faster.

"The academy is still under construction, but I am very short-staffed here, so I thought of you," the Mason Commissioner continued in his magnetic voice, "The work here is what your future responsibilities will involve. Familiarizing yourselves in advance won’t hurt, will it?"

Monkey didn’t react immediately, but others wouldn’t wait for him.

"Alright, let’s get to work now." The Mason Commissioner clapped his hands: "Who can do arithmetic? Raise your hand."

Some people raised their hands.

The Mason Commissioner nodded, and an officer led those with raised hands away.

"Who can read and write?"

"Who knows drawing?"

"Who knows carpentry?"

"Who..."

The people around grew fewer and fewer, and Doug left as well. As he did, Doug glanced at Monkey worriedly, touched Monkey’s hand, but left silently.

Eventually, only Monkey was left in the tent.

The Commissioner walked up to Monkey: "What’s your name?"

Though it was just a simple question, Monkey inexplicably felt a huge humiliation—the most humiliating part being that it didn’t come from someone else, but from his own incompetence.

Monkey fought back tears and answered softly: "Monkey—Houdel."

"Houdel, Blood Mud Battle recruitment, hmm..." the Commissioner’s voice was still warm, "You captured Orange Axel. Haha, you really did a number on him."

Monkey lowered his head, not wanting the Commissioner to see his eyes, and swallowed back his tears with effort.

"Illiteracy is nothing, Tamas couldn’t read or write either and now he’s a camp leader. The military academy will offer a special class to help you learn reading and writing quickly." The Commissioner offered some comfort, paused for a moment, then asked, "By the way, can you ride a horse?"

Monkey couldn’t ride a horse, but this was his last chance, and instinctively he wanted to say "yes."

Because in the previous decade or so of his life, avoiding responsibility and evading punishment had become a habit. When faced with consequences he couldn’t handle, he subconsciously chose to lie. That’s why Monkey was called Monkey.

But now, another instinct—one shaped by his life in the military—stopped him from lying.

"No." Monkey replied.

He kept his head down, afraid to see the commissioner’s disappointed gaze.

"Oh." The Commissioner scratched his stubble in a perplexed manner and suddenly clapped his hands: "In that case, go to the prisoner-of-war camp."

Mason walked to the table, quickly wrote a note, and sprinkled a handful of sand over it. Once the ink was dried, he folded the note and handed it to Monkey.

"Give this note over." The Commissioner smiled: "The guard will take you there."

Monkey raised his arm and saluted solemnly.

...

The prisoner-of-war camp was a separate camp but not far from the Siege Camp.

Monkey walked only a short time before reaching the gate of the prisoner-of-war camp.

He handed the note to the guard, who took it into the camp.

After a while, the officer managing the prisoner-of-war camp came out, glanced at Monkey with curiosity, but after verifying his identity card, nodded and gestured: "Follow me."

The officer did not lead Monkey into the camp itself but took him to a shaded area outside, then turned and left.

In the clearing under the shade, two people wearing arm armor, helmets, and wielding wooden swords were sparring—or it couldn’t be called sparring, rather it was one-on-one instruction.

As Monkey approached, the two ceased their movements.

One stood silently leaning on his sword, while the other turned towards Monkey, lifted his hand, and raised the faceguard.

Monkey suddenly realized, he was given a task that would make other preparatory cadets green with envy to the point of bleeding from their eyes.

Because beneath the faceguard were wolf’s eyes.