TSNF 11

Chapter 11

“A wager?”

Hendris frowned at Arteon’s sudden proposal.
But Arteon spoke without hesitation.

“I simply want to conduct a basic tactical exercise. If we do it plainly, the soldiers won’t be motivated, so I thought it would be good to put something simple on the line.”

“Be specific.”

At that, Arteon smiled faintly.
This was precisely what made Platoon Leader Hendris such a great asset.

He never lets his emotions dictate how he treats his subordinates.

With the unit about to move to the First Defensive Line, he must have been under considerable stress. And yet, instead of dismissing such an absurd request outright, he was at least willing to hear it out.

In Arteon’s past life, most of the superiors he had served would have simply told him to get lost.

Arteon continued.

“I’d like to run a mini-game where my squad defends against the attacks of the other squads. As for the wager, we’ll stake all the meat issued in the rations.”

“You’re putting rationed meat on the line?”

In the North, food was an extremely precious resource—meat especially so.

“I’d like to request that you personally act as the referee, sir.”

It wasn’t strictly necessary.
The most important thing was giving the squad real experience.

If they just get beaten senseless, their skills are bound to improve.

It might be inefficient, but given that they didn’t even have the basics down yet…

This is the fastest way.

And there wasn’t much time left.

Arteon waited quietly for Hendris’s answer.

“So Squad 1, 2, and 3 will attack, and only Squad 4 will defend?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll inform the other squad leaders. Go back and have your men stand by.”

“Understood.”

As Arteon turned to leave, a smile spread across his lips.

This was a penal unit to begin with—a collection of nothing but unruly bastards. And among them, Squad 4 was particularly disliked by the others.

They were hooligans even among hooligans, causing no end of trouble within the platoon.

And now there was a chance to beat those guys senseless?

No way they’d pass that up.

Back at the barracks, Arteon immediately gathered his squad.

And then—

“Whaaaaat?!”

“S-Squad Leader, is that really true?”

Grafill and Raphielson asked, unable to hide their shock.

And then—

“Heh heh, so while we’re defending, we can beat the crap out of them too, right? Squad Leader! You’re saying we can legally smash those bastards’ faces in?”

There were guys like Burt, who were thrilled.

“This could be a valuable experience—something close to real combat training,”
said Rayman, coolly analyzing the situation.

And then—

“This seems like a pointless waste of effort,”
muttered Jalbarog, ever the pessimist.

But Jalbarog took it a step further and addressed Arteon directly.

“Squad Leader, do you really think we’ll survive? Do you even know what the First Defensive Line is like?”

Perhaps all the obediently following orders until now had finally built up.

Kicking the shield beside him, Jalbarog snapped,

“Damn it, we’re probably going to die the day after tomorrow—what the hell are you all even doing?!”

The pent-up resentment exploded.

In an instant, the atmosphere in the barracks turned hostile. The squad members glanced nervously at Arteon.

By temperament alone, some of them wanted to knock Jalbarog flat, but they hesitated, wary of drawing Arteon’s ire.

Arteon glanced at Burt and snorted softly.

So even in that short time, he’s learned when to hold back.

There had been change.
Positive change.

Of course, that change came with growing pains.

“I told you that if you had complaints, you could step forward anytime, but…”

Simply suppressing it wouldn’t solve anything.

Arteon looked at the squad and said,

“Gear up. Everyone follow me to the training grounds.”

“Ah… damn it.”

Burt cursed under his breath. They’d just finished training and finally gotten some rest, and now, because of one guy—Jalbarog—they were being dragged out again.

At the training ground, Arteon faced his squad.

Everyone was watching him closely.

In some ways, that was a good sign. In others, it wasn’t.

This is the moment…

He needed to firmly drive home the purpose of their training and give them motivation.

“It’s been a week since we started this so-called joint drill nonsense.”

At Arteon’s words, the men held their breath and listened.

Jalbarog still glared at him with open hostility, but—

“Honestly, this week has probably increased your chances of survival by, at best, one percent.”

Arteon continued without caring.

In this barren North—especially on the brutally contested First Defensive Line—most people die unless they possess both iron resolve and real skill.

Arteon addressed the squad, Jalbarog included.

“Think about why you’re here. Why were you sent to this place?”

“……”

“They all know.”

Everyone did.

They were criminals who could be executed without remorse. They’d been sent here not for redemption, but to be used as disposable meat shields on the battlefield.

“You were sent here to die. You’ve only survived a few times out of sheer luck.”

None of them had survived because of skill—only because a comrade died instead, or an enemy made a mistake.

They all knew that dying at any moment wouldn’t be strange.

That was why—

I have to show them clearly.

Arteon turned to Burt.

“Burt. Step forward.”

“……Me?”

Burt flinched, startled, but swallowed hard and walked out.

Arteon said,

“Burt, a spar.”

“What?!”

Facing Burt’s horrified expression, Arteon continued,

“If you last one minute against me, I’ll ask the quartermaster to triple your meat rations for the next three days.”

“T-Triple?!”

Burt’s eyes lit up.

He was bigger than most, which meant he needed more food—but in a unit like this, rations were always scarce. He’d never once eaten his fill.

And now—

“Meat!”

His eyes went wild for an entirely different reason.

“One minute. You promised!”

“I promise.”

Arteon picked up a staff.

The moment Burt raised his two axes—

Pabat!

Arteon charged.

Whoosh!

The staff whipped toward Burt’s thigh—fast.

“Gah!”

Burt leapt back in terror.

He knew. One hit was all it took to end him.

Boom! Swish! Whack!

Arteon’s attacks came in rapid succession.

Burt screamed and retreated each time—but—

Slice!

Not a single clean hit landed.

Still—

Thud!

Before he realized it, Burt’s back was against the training ground wall. No escape left.

“Burt! Fifteen seconds!”

At Grafill’s shout, Burt’s fighting spirit ignited.

“So be it—if I’m going to die, I’ll die swinging!”

Boom!

With a powerful charge, Burt rushed Arteon.

Faster than before.

His axe came straight down, loaded with enough force to kill.

But—

Clang!

Arteon lightly struck the side of the axe with his staff, deflecting its path.

In the instant Burt lost his balance—

“Your flank.”

Whoosh!

Arteon swung without hesitation.

But—

Crash!

“…!”

“H-He blocked it?!”

Even Burt stared in disbelief.

“What are you surprised about?”

Thwack!

As Burt froze, Arteon smashed the staff down on his crown.

“Kraaaagh!”

Burt screamed—but then—

“E-End! Time’s up!”

Grafill shouted.

Arteon halted and looked at Burt.

He had allowed one hit through—but—

“Does this count as holding out?”

Burt grinned.

Arteon nodded.

“You win.”

Turning to the rest of the squad, Arteon asked,

“Raise your hand if you think I went easy on him.”

No one did.

Naturally. It was the same level of force he’d used the first time he disciplined Burt.

He could have ended it in ten seconds if he’d wanted to.

The point was—

“So? Does it look like you’ve been wasting your time for a week?”

Burt blocking that last strike was proof.

“A week is all it took.”

Burt had changed—and so had the rest of them.

“You’re already changing, whether you realize it or not.”

The men stared at one another, dumbfounded.

“Are we… really changing?”
Grafill asked.

“A week ago, you’d never even fired a bow. How far did you hit the target today?”

“About… thirty meters.”

Not impressive for a veteran archer—but—

“That means you can now kill any enemy within thirty meters. And you’re saying nothing’s changed?”

Their stamina hadn’t skyrocketed—that took time.

But a week of training had given them balance, instinct, and a sense for combat.

Being beaten every day had forced their bodies to react on their own.

“The battlefield is even harsher than this. But we have to do it. Tomorrow’s squad match will raise your survival odds by another 0.1%.”

If he hadn’t taken responsibility—

He wouldn’t have cared whether they lived or died.

But once Arteon committed, he did things properly.

His gaze settled on Jalbarog.

“Jalbarog.”

“…Yes, Squad Leader.”

“Do you still think training is unnecessary?”

“…No. I was short-sighted.”

“And the rest of you?”

“We’ve definitely changed!”

“We’ll work even harder!”

Their shouts rang out, driving away the gloom.

“And in that spirit,”
Arteon said with a sharp grin,

“Tomorrow, we chew up every other squad. Got it?”

“Yes! Got it!”

For the first time, the answer of Squad 4 echoed as one across the training ground.