The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 451 - 451 250 My Friend Circle is Small 5K_2

451: Chapter 250 My Friend Circle is Small (5K)_2 451: Chapter 250 My Friend Circle is Small (5K)_2 Having spoken, Arthur did not say more, but turned to Louis Bonaparte standing behind Martin and asked, “When you were at the military academy in Switzerland, did your instructors ever teach you how to deal with troublemakers in the ranks?”

Louis Bonaparte replied with a frosty face, “During my time at the military academy in Switzerland, I studied Prussian army rules.

Would you like to hear about it?”

Arthur thought for a moment and then nodded slightly, “How do Prussians deal with troublemakers?”

Louis Bonaparte announced loudly, “According to Prussian military law, those who defy an officer’s orders, whether by talking back or arguing, are subjected to flogging.

As for the number of floggings, it depends on the physical condition of the punished, with a maximum of thirty lashes.

Soldiers who threaten superiors with knives or other weapons are sentenced to death without pardon.

Those who steal from superiors or others are to be hanged, robbers obstructing the road are to be broken on the wheel, liars and oath-breakers are to have their fingers cut off as punishment, those practicing sorcery are to be burned at the stake, and drunkards on duty are to be paraded in shackles and stripped of all military honors.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but shake his head, “It sounds like the Prussian army is quite brutal.”

At that, Arthur looked up towards the gathering of ruffians and asked, “I know some of you are retired from the army.

How does the British military punish its soldiers?”

Some old ruffians, upon hearing this, merely cracked a smile and, taking off their caps, replied, “Mr.

Hastings, our regulations aren’t so detailed, mostly it’s the cat-o’-nine-tails.

I’ve taken fifty lashes myself, and I can tell you, it’s no better than being burned at the stake.”

“To live through fifty lashes, you must be made of iron.

We had someone in our unit who was flogged to death by the judge advocate after just thirty lashes.”

“He must not have slipped the judge advocate money, or maybe he’d offended him previously.”

“It’s not necessarily the case.

I’ve heard some will soak the whip in urine before making it wet, then once the skin is split and the flesh is gaping, the urine would seep into the wounds.

It’s rather normal for an ordinary man to die after thirty lashes.”

“That’s why I always say, don’t join the army, especially not the army, you’re better being a beast of burden.”

The old ruffians regaled each other with tales of their former experiences, while the younger ruffian’s faces turned white with fear from all the military secrets.

Having heard this, Arthur simply readjusted his cap, smiled at them, and said, “In that case, I suppose you wouldn’t want to revisit the army for a little nostalgia, would you?”

“Of course not, I’d rather enter a graveyard than go back there.”

“Mr.

Hastings, please no jokes.

Hearing that could rob me of sleep for three days.”

Arthur nodded slightly, “Then remember to keep your distance from Miss Annie.

A man who can’t handle thirty lashes won’t be able to handle her.

And to be clear, I’m not joking.”

Upon hearing this, the ruffians understood Arthur’s meaning immediately, realizing one of their own seemed to be involved with Annie.

The older ruffians grinned sheepishly and said appeasingly, “Don’t worry, Mr.

Hastings, we all treat Annie like a sister.

Anyone who dares to touch her will have to answer to our fists first.”

“If someone has his sights on Annie, he won’t need thirty lashes of the flogging; if he can just endure fifty lashes, then I’ll consider him a real man.”

“Exactly, and it’s got to be the whip soaked in urine.”

The young ruffian with brown hair, upon hearing this, turned pale with lips slightly blue, his teeth chattering as he managed a feeble smile and agreed, “That’s right, Annie’s not someone just any ruffian can touch.”

Noting his demeanor, Arthur simply shook his head softly and murmured, “It seems that Annie’s judgment is indeed poor.”

Having spoken, he then led Louis Bonaparte out of the penny house.

Martin hurriedly followed them out, wanting to say something to Arthur: “Mr.

Hastings…”

But before he could finish, Arthur put up a finger to his lips and, pointing to an empty dish in Martin’s hand still speckled with salt, spoke, “Martin, you are an honest man, so remember, you owe me not just a proper dish of peanuts but also a friendship.

Someday I may need your help, or perhaps that day will never come, but until it does, please accept this as a blessing for your shop after its renovation.”

Martin gratefully responded, “Of course, of course, Mr.

Hastings, I will remember.”

Arthur smiled and nodded, then headed up the staircase to the second floor, not looking back, with Louis Bonaparte following him.

He pushed open the door to the room and saw in front of the window, a muscular, broad-shouldered man whose white shirt was stretched taut by his well-built frame, standing ramrod straight as if he were admiring the gentle drizzle outside.

Seeing this, Arthur did not immediately enter, but instead took out a business card from his pocket to glance at it, then compared it to the man before him before smiling and reading the name on the card: “The Sword Saint of France, Foil Napoleon, the protector of orchids from Paris, Mr.

Francois-Joseph Bertrand?”

The other party, upon hearing Arthur list his many titles, merely grunted softly and then recited in kind, “Then you must be: Scotland Yard’s swift Wellington, Captain Kidd the second, who roams the English Channel unhindered, the scourge of Redbeard Barbarossa and his Barbary Pirate descendants, the unbeatable Fiore re-embodied, the man who gave George Silver his fame by proclaiming an era devoid of heroes, Mr.

Arthur Hastings?”