---Leon's Point of View---
I woke up at dawn. I got out of bed in my tent and went to the lake to fetch water. Swimming or washing your face in the lake is strictly forbidden. This is our only clean drinking water source nearby. It is a clean spring that emerges from underground. Fish swim in it. The lake is estimated to have a radius of more than 1 km. I filled a bucket with water, washed my face near a tree, and tended to my needs in the bushes. The surroundings were peaceful and calm. It gave off a serenity that pulled one away from their thoughts.
I joined my men for breakfast. Oatmeal and grilled fish over the fire had been prepared. I ate quietly—or at least I hoped I did. Suddenly, I heard a commotion. Loud shouting erupted, and I stood up and quickly rushed to the source of the chaos.
Insults were coming from one group:
"YOU BURNED MY VILLAGE! KILLED EVERYONE! YOU BARBARIANS! ****! ****!"
And similar cries echoed from the other group:
"YOU DESTROYED OUR VILLAGE TOO! YOU TORTURED PEOPLE TO DEATH! YOU SAVAGE ANIMALS! ***! *****!"
When I arrived, four Vaegirs and six Swadians were in a full-blown fight. Some were rolling on the ground, punching from above; others were standing, trading blows. The very thing I feared had happened—this incident had deepened the rift between the two sides. I barked loudly and sharply at the crowd in an authoritative tone:
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU ******?! SEPARATE NOW!"
My voice, clearly laced with fury, echoed across the camp. Even those not involved flinched. My comrades quickly intervened, pulling the fighters apart. Jerus and Sam arrived and pulled their own men back. But I wasn't going to let this end here. I needed to draw a line. Still, I couldn't punish them too harshly—it would create serious problems. If we were in an official unit, I would have them whipped. But we're together for a common cause. The militia and Vaegirs show us a certain level of respect. I cannot fracture that—not now.
"I'M NOT HERE TO DEAL WITH YOUR CHILDISH BRAWLS! I CAME TO THIS DAMNED WORLD TO SEE MY FAMILY AGAIN! AND YOU—YOU STILL HAVE A CHANCE TO SEE YOURS, YET YOU ATTACK EACH OTHER LIKE RABID DOGS! I WON'T RISK LOSING MY CHANCE TO SEE MY FAMILY BECAUSE OF YOU! IF YOU TRY TO DIVIDE THIS UNIT AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!"
The fighters flinched at the word "kill." My comrades were momentarily stunned, but said nothing. They agreed with me. We have a mission to fulfill, and I won't risk it because these **** can't control their rage. No one will stop me from seeing my loved ones again! The fighters looked down, avoiding eye contact. That only made me angrier. I screamed with a voice that tore my throat:
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, SOLDIER?!"
"...yes, sir." x10
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"YES, SIR!" x10
"GOOD! NOW GATHER YOUR GROUPS AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! TRAINING STARTS IN AN HOUR! THE SAME RULES APPLY TO ALL OF YOU! IF YOU MAKE A SINGLE MISTAKE, YOU'LL PAY DEARLY! REMEMBER, THE WAY BACK TO OUR FAMILIES GOES THROUGH THAT MAN CALLED IGRIS. IF HE'S NOT SATISFIED WITH YOU, YOU WON'T SEE YOUR LOVED ONES AGAIN! NOW DISMISS! SAM, JERUS! STAY BEHIND!"
Everyone left with mixed feelings, and within minutes, the crowd dispersed. I took the water bottle hanging from my waist and drank. Then I looked at the two men who remained. Frowning, I asked:
"How did this happen?"
Jerus and Sam looked at me with shame. Jerus spoke first.
"I'm sorry, Commander Leon. My men said they were going to the toilet. Since they were heading in the opposite direction of the camp, I didn't think it was important. I didn't expect this to happen."
Then Sam spoke in a calm yet embarrassed tone.
"I apologize, Commander Leon. There are so many of them, I can't keep track of all at once. I wish we had a few lieutenants or sergeants appointed. But right now, there's no one suitable for the rank."
What Sam said made me think. He was right—he couldn't manage 200 people at once. Maybe during battle, but outside of it, they usually acted freely. Still, this didn't mean they should be undisciplined. My comrades can't be responsible for them all the time. We're not babysitters; we're soldiers. After a moment, I spoke:
"Sam, find suitable candidates among the militia for lieutenant roles and report back to me. Let's see what we can do."
Sam nodded. I sighed and continued:
"I ask both of you, keep your men calm. I don't want to see this again. We have work to do. We must be careful, and we need to speed up training."
They nodded in agreement and went back to their groups. Haaah... this job is getting exhausting. I hope the next units that arrive are from the Empire or Khuzaits. I can manage the Khuzaits. But if soldiers from other kingdoms come, things will get harder. And if people from 500 years in the future arrive, it will be even worse. Unlike us, their wars have been raging for a long time. That builds up a lot of hatred and resentment.
I was walking toward my tent, lost in thought, when a voice stopped me.
"You were too soft, Leon. Those who break order should be punished harshly."
I turned around. Apollo and Maximus. I sighed deeply.
"You forgot something. They're not from the Empire. They obey us for now because we have a rank difference in the chain of command. That's an important rule in their era. But we don't belong to the same kingdom or culture. If I punish them too harshly, it'll breed hostility. We've only been together for a few days. We're still trying to adjust to each other. At the beginning of this road, we need to be a bit lenient."
Maximus nodded in agreement.
"Leon is right, Apollo. We're being soft for now. In two to three weeks, we'll become a true unit. But the major problem remains—the animosity between kingdoms. That makes our job harder. Haaah... if that guy Igris were here, things would be easier. We're here because of him. Why didn't he call us to his side?"
Apollo thought for a moment and sighed.
"You're right... old habits die hard."
"...if you want, I can hand over the command to you."
The two of them flinched.
"Suddenly remembered I have to oil Veronica. Good luck, Leon!"
"And I just remembered my fish is still on the fire! I need to get there before it burns. See you, Leon!"
The two vanished faster than I'd ever seen before... those ****** bastards!
Two hours after the incident, we started training. First, I put them through four hours of physical exercise. I punished them for the incident by making the regular training twice as hard. I pushed every one of them to the edge, until their arms and legs trembled. Sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, climbing trees with weighted (rock-filled) bags, running 10 kilometers around the camp—all part of the training. After a two-hour lunch break, we began marksmanship training. Over the six-hour session, the militia under my command steadily turned into real crossbowmen, inch by inch. Especially Tommy and Kevin—those two are excellent shots. They do a great job as crossbowmen, but would they be even better with bows? That, I don't know.
I don't underestimate my profession. I would never replace Betsy. But I must admit the flaws of the crossbow. It reloads slowly, you get one shot, and if it breaks, it takes a long time to repair. The good part? It has more penetrating power than regular bows. Ideal for sniping, but has short range. On the other hand, skilled archers can fire two to three arrows per minute. I've seen examples like the Battanian Fian Champions, the Khuzait Khan's Guards, and our own elite archers. Should I test Kevin and Tommy with bows? I can use a bow myself, but I wouldn't call myself good at it. Crossbows are simple: load, aim, and fire. In effective killing range, they guarantee a kill.
A bow, however, is a weapon that requires mastery—just like a sword. When using a bow, you must carefully consider the draw strength, the angle of arrow release and drop, the condition of the bow, and the quality of materials used to make it. If I find a good archer, maybe I could ask them to train 13 young potential snipers. But for now, let's leave that aside.
A group of 25 stood in a semi-circle before me. They were tired, but we had to start arrow-making training. We have very limited ammo right now. After two weeks of training, we'll send our groups out to hunt orcs. That means we need crossbow bolts. Thankfully, there are trees nearby that can serve, though the quality won't be great. Still, we must make as many as we can. Extra bolts won't hurt, but if we run out of ammo, we're in trouble. We're not bad at close combat, but we're no infantry. With crossbows, the militia can take down many enemies while minimizing losses. But in melee? The losses would be much worse.
I looked at the young men in front of me and pointed to the tree branches laid out.
"Your crossbows are not simple weapons. They have high tension, so your bolts must be unbreakable too. A randomly chosen tree will not produce good arrows. If the wood isn't right, you won't hit the enemy—you'll hit yourself."
I paused for a moment to let my words sink in. After three seconds, I approached the first pile and picked up a branch.
"This is elm. It's hard and flexible, with straight fibers. It's used as one of the best shaft materials."
I lightly bent the branch in my hand, demonstrating carefully. Then I handed it to a young man, who took it and examined it. I moved to the next pile and picked up another.
"This is hornbeam. Very hard, with straight tips. Ideal for armor-piercing bolts."
I moved to the next.
"Oak. Medium hardness and dense wood. One of the ideal woods for arrows."
"The cranberry tree. It's a warrior's tree. Very tough. Its branches are solid inside — strong, yet flexible. The best crossbow bolts are made from cranberry wood. Master marksmen mostly use arrows crafted from cranberry, though it's hard to carve."
"The hazelnut tree. This one's good, too. Light but flexible. Perfect for the crossbows. Hazelnut branches grow straight, without twists. Cut it, smooth it out, and dry it. Two days of drying is enough before you can work with it. Unfortunately, hazelnut trees are scarce around here. So we'll have to make do with what's left."
"Rosehip, oak shoots, elm. These will do, but they require more effort. They grow crooked. When heated, you can straighten them, but they bend again. These arrows aren't suitable against enemies; they're better for hunting animals. Remember that."
"Stay away from resinous trees like pine, fir, and spruce. They're cheap, but make arrows as heavy as stones. Plus, arrows made from these don't stick when they hit — they just bounce off. If you shoot an orc in the chest with an arrow made from these woods, you won't kill it; you'll just make it angrier."
"When deciding, focus on two things: thickness and straightness. Any straight branch can be an arrow. If it's bent, you must straighten it. For crossbow bolts, the ideal thickness is about as thick as your index finger."
I stopped speaking and waited for the young ones to understand and process what I said. After a minute, I took two branches and asked,
"Look! These two branches are equal in size. One is slightly curved, the other straight. Which one would you choose?"
A young boy pointed at the curved one.
"The fibers on the curved one are denser. The surface is glossy."
I nodded.
"Well done! In crossbow bolts, not only straightness but the fiber structure matters. You can't identify the perfect arrow material with your eyes alone; you need to touch and feel it."
"Now, onto the next step! You can't use the branch immediately after cutting. If the branch is fresh, it will bend, so you need to dry it first. For this, we'll dig small pits. We'll fill them with dry straw or wood shavings. Then, stack the branches and cover them. We'll leave them to dry for two days."
I had each militia member dig a pit. They were soaked in sweat, but it was worth it. As they got tired, they started grasping the seriousness of the task.
I showed them the drying area:
"If we need to use some branches right away, what do we do? We put them near the fire, but not directly. From a distance. The heat draws the water out of the wood slowly. But do it slowly, or the branch will crack."
"What next?" someone asked.
"Next comes straightening. You press the heated branch against your knee to make it straight. Then you carve it with a knife. Leave the bark thin. The thinner it is, the lighter it will be."
Some of my colleagues had already prepared a few branches. We had around five hundred branches in total. Taking one, I drew my dagger and slowly demonstrated what I meant.
"You've prepared the branch. Now for the part that makes the arrow deadly: the tip.
If we don't have metal, we sharpen it. But sharpening alone isn't enough — we need to harden the tip. Listen carefully: first, hold the sharpened tip near the fire until it blackens from the heat. Then quickly cool it. It will harden. This primitive method actually works."
Some militia members looked surprised.
"What if we want to make metal tips?"
"Then you'll need a blacksmith. If you have one, and if you find a forge in this abandoned village, use metal items like old horseshoes, bones, nails, or spikes made of iron or steel. If you have iron ingots, even better. The arrowhead must be properly shaped — not a tang, but a socket type. Meaning, it should fit into the notch in the branch. Fix it by applying pitch or beeswax to the shaft."
We moved on to the fletching.
"If you have bird feathers — goose, seagull, duck — you'll use three of them. You need to glue them so they form a triangle. They must be placed at least a handspan from the tip, because the feathers provide flight stability. Without feathers, the arrow will spin, might not stick, can change direction, or fall prematurely."
After finishing my speech, I looked at the young men. Then I pointed to the branches.
"From now on, everyone who's free during dinner must make crossbow bolts! This is very important, both for ourselves and for the crossbowmen who will come. If we run out of arrows, we'll have to fight hand-to-hand, which is a disadvantage for you and for our army. So we will make as many arrows as possible and use them while hunting. We'll use the metal-tipped arrows only when absolutely necessary! This is my strict order. Don't use your iron or steel-headed arrows unless you have to. They are our only good arrows! Understood?"
"YES, COMMANDER!" x25
"Good! Now get to work! Start making arrows, and I'll check on each of you to correct your mistakes!"
"UNDERSTOOD!" x25
And so, they began making their first arrows. They filled the pits we had dug with everything necessary and lit fires. We specifically used wood from trees that could produce good embers.
"Remember, you are drying the wood—do not throw branches directly into the fire! If the inside of the branch burns, the arrow will be useless. An arrow made from a burnt branch won't stick when it hits the target; it will break upon impact, and the enemy will feel like they were punched but won't be seriously injured. Preferably, dry the branches over embers. From now on, you will take turns standing guard over these pits in groups of five. Choose the first group; they will keep watch for six hours, making sure the fires do not die out and that the branches don't dry out too much! After six hours, these groups will rest for six hours before returning to training. But even while on guard, you will continue light exercises! Anyone found just sitting around will be punished! You must not neglect your training—understood?"
"YES, COMMANDER!"
"Good! Get back to work!"
When the twenty-five of them lit the fires, the militia started selecting different branches for pruning and peeling. I told them the standard length for arrows to be made for the crossbows—just a bit longer than a handspan. But not too long! If they're too long, the shot won't be accurate, and the arrow won't fly fast. I walked among the youths and started pointing out their mistakes. After taking a few steps, I began pacing between groups. I was carrying a long cornel branch in my hand—sturdy and straight. I carried it with me to set an example.
I approached one young man. He was carving a branch on his knee but was cutting too deeply, removing the inner wood along with the bark. I shook my head slowly from side to side. I took hold of the hand that was holding the knife.
He looked up. "Commander?"
"You're doing it wrong. Listen carefully now. Every fiber inside this branch is like a muscle. What are you doing? You're cutting as if you're trying to sever your own wrist. If you dig that deep, the branch will break. If you keep doing it like this, it's better to use the branch as firewood rather than making arrows from it."
The young man blushed and put down his knife. I took his branch in my hand. The surface was cracked. When I pressed lightly with my finger, it made a 'crack' sound.
"Look. The arrow is already dead before it's even made. An arrow like this will break when it hits the target. Instead of harming the enemy, you endanger your own ally. This work requires patience. Use your knife delicately—don't apply too much force. Remember: making crossbow bolts is not as easy as it seems."
He nodded. "I'm sorry, Commander."
"No problem. The first time I made crossbow bolts, I accidentally cut the branch wrong, and I broke some too. Mistakes are normal; that's why I'm here—to point out your errors and teach you to do it right. Now, get back to work."
"YES, SIR!"
I walked over to another youth. He was heating a branch repeatedly with a flint and steel but had placed the branch directly into the fire. I immediately pulled it away with my hand.
"Wrong!"
He flinched.
"What did I do wrong?"
"You're pressing too hard. Watch out! You don't put the branch inside the fire; it goes outside. You're not hardening this branch—you're cooking it! This can only be used for cooking now, not for making crossbow bolts!"
I threw the branch on the ground. Its tip was pitch black, and the inside was cracked.
"You don't realize you're holding charcoal in your hand. An arrow made from this won't stick to the target; it'll just stick to the ground. Then you'll stand there, confused, looking at the enemy's face."
His hand trembled. "I didn't really know how to heat it properly…"
"Now you're learning. In war, every mistake has a cost, but here, if you make a mistake, you won't die—you learn from it. I will show you the right way. So stay calm and try again. Dry the branch two handspans away from the fire and turn it slowly, but remember—we're drying it, not roasting it."
I touched his shoulder. "Try again now, and be careful."
I approached another young man. This time, he was trimming feathers. But he had made the feathers nearly paper-thin—almost invisible.
"What's this?"
"Goose feather… I thinned it to make it lighter."
"Do you know what you're holding?"
"Feather, Commander."
"No. This is the sail that guides the arrow. If the feather is this thin, do you think the arrow will stick? The arrow spins in the air. While spinning, it won't know where to go. You might accidentally hit your ally instead of the enemy."
His eyes widened. "Then how should I cut it?"
"Every feather should be four fingers long. The thickness should be consistent, and the middle slightly curved. You glue three feathers in a triangular pattern. Offset one a little so it spins the arrow. When the arrow spins, it sticks straight into the target."
I showed him the feathers.
"And glue them one handspan back from the tip. Otherwise, the tip becomes heavy and the back light. When you shoot it, the tip will tilt down, and you'll miss the target."
They all listened as if taking notes.
A young man nearby caught my attention. The tip and feathers were fine, but… the arrow looked like a block of wood—thick and crude.
"What do you have there?"
"I tried to make it heavy for hunting."
"Who are you hunting? An elephant?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does. A crossbow bolt is not like a bow arrow. If it's too heavy, it can't accelerate. It falls at long distances. Loading a crossbow is already slow. When you shoot, it's hard to be accurate. If you make the arrow like a stone, it will crash to the ground before the enemy approaches. Your arrow won't hunt the enemy—it will hunt ants."
Then I demonstrated:
"The ideal arrow should be light, balanced, properly directed, and stable. If it's heavy, it won't go far. If it's light, it will flutter. If it's not balanced, it won't spin. If it doesn't spin, it won't stick."
I took the young man's arrow and threw it into the fire, then patted his shoulder.
"Make it again now. Stay calm and don't be ashamed—this was your first arrow. You will make better ones."
They continued producing arrows for about four and a half hours, while I kept correcting the mistakes of those who were struggling. One of them cut his hand while peeling a branch. To prevent infection, I washed and cleaned the wound, then crushed two cloves of garlic brought by Apollo and applied it on the cut, covering it with a clean cloth.
"Don't use your hand for a while. Do not dirty the bandage—we can't risk infection. I've seen people die from small cuts. Be careful."
The young man thanked me and said he understood. I looked up at the sky and checked the moon's position—there were about two to three hours left until midnight. I turned back to the youths and spoke.
"You did well today. Now rest. The first group will stay here and take turns standing guard. Don't let the pits go out. Every one of these arrows is precious to us. Remember, every enemy we hit saves the life of a comrade, every enemy commander we take down brings relief to our army. Archery and crossbow shooting are not women's work as knights like to mock! It's not a job for cowards. In some places, an archer is more valuable than knights! All ranged soldiers are valuable according to their position! In castle defense and offense, we do more than the infantry. In mountainous or forested terrain battles, we can lead our army to victory. We are indispensable units in ambushes. Just because you're learning archery, don't get complacent! Your allies trust you, so they only look forward—because their backs are entrusted to us!"
While speaking, I carefully studied the faces around me. Some youths became excited, others fell into thought, but all listened intently. I took a deep breath and continued.
"That's why the five of you standing guard here must never take this job lightly! The more arrows we have, the better off we are. Every one of these arrows could determine the fate of your friends, your children, your families, and yourselves in the future—it could save lives. Never forget this. There is no such thing as a simple task in an army—every task you perform has a purpose. The cooks keep the army fed and strong, the weaponsmiths keep our soldiers ready to fight any enemy, the wood gatherers keep us warm, and the water bearers quench our thirst. Every small task you do is important for this unit. So never, ever belittle any task. Now, think carefully about what I've said and get some rest. Tomorrow, besides the training, I will teach you the structure and maintenance of the crossbow."
Leaving the thoughtful youths behind, I headed toward my tent, my mind still working through plans. I looked at the people gathered around the campfire in front of my tent. My comrades were waiting to give me their daily reports. Thinking about it now, the situation was really strange. I had expected some to resist my orders, but surprisingly, we were very compliant. Everyone was performing their duties flawlessly, but I didn't intervene too much. Still, it was odd—we shouldn't have been this harmonious. Had those who sent us here deliberately chosen us for our compatibility?… Anyway, I decided to forget about that for now. The current situation worked in our favor, but I seriously had to consider whether to relinquish command or not. If I were young again, if I hadn't lived through what I have, I would fight tooth and nail for this position… but I've experienced and lost so much that my heart was becoming weary.
But now was not the time to falter. I inhaled deeply, knelt beside the fire, and prepared to listen carefully to my comrades.
Command is a great responsibility; the lives of the soldiers under my command depend entirely on the orders I give. A single wrong command could lead to serious losses. It is a very exhausting rank, and for a commander in my position, it is even more so.
I am trying to lead an army composed of conflicting elements and hatred, an army made up of different cultures. I hope a general or commander will come and relieve me of this tiring post. I have just regained my youth, yet I already feel the gray creeping into my hair.
I approached the campfire and sat down on a log lying horizontally on the ground. Apollo sat next to me, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. To Apollo's left was Maximus. I took a bowl of stew made with venison and then glanced at the men, nodding slightly. Monos was the first to speak.
"The training of my group is going smoothly, but I still think they need to become infantry. They proved this during physical training—they handled it effortlessly. Their bodies are strong, their stamina is good. However, I'm having some trouble with arrow production. Half of the young men can't control their strength—they break the shafts or cut them too much. But fortunately, three of them have carpenter training. They worked with carpentry at a young age. These three produce arrows very quickly. They've already made thirty."
I nodded in approval—good progress. After a moment of thought, I spoke.
"Monos, ask those three young men if they want to remain in production and continue making arrows, or if they want to continue their lives as soldiers. If all three stay in production and leave soldiering, we'll be able to operate much more freely. Tell them that when Igris arrives, I will personally explain the situation to him, and even make sure they receive a suitable reward."
"Understood."
Junes started speaking.
"In my group, everything is fine too. Arrow production went smoothly compared to the first day. Also, there's someone in my group who knows how to work with leather. Leon trained under his father. If this man processes the hides of the animals we hunt, we could sell them for a higher price. And you're a blacksmith—can't you make leather armor?"
I thought for a moment. What Junes said made sense, but it's not that easy.
"…Leatherworking and armor-making aren't simple, Junes. Also, I'd need materials. Still, ask that young man—if he believes he can handle leatherworking, have him prepare a list of the materials he needs. Back when I was a blacksmith, I always used processed leather. I don't know the tricks of leatherworking."
"I understand."
Now Maximus spoke.
"Everything is fine with my group too. Only one young man cut his hand deeply while pruning branches—carelessness. But Axel, our healer, immediately took care of him. Luckily, we had previously asked if there was a healer among them and gathered medicinal herbs from the forest. Otherwise, the young man's hand would have worsened."
I nodded. Finding a healer was my first priority. Fortunately, among the militia there was a young man trained in healing—not very skilled, but better than nothing. I looked at the others; they gave their reports one by one. I listened carefully. The reports from the groups responsible for training were finished. Everything was proceeding normally.
"Good! Tomorrow, find out the young men's professions. If anyone knows something useful, it will be very helpful for us. Apollo, any problems during the patrol?"
He looked at me thoughtfully, his brow still furrowed. At first, I didn't pay much attention, but something was clearly wrong—I'd never seen Apollo this pensive. He looked at me seriously and spoke.
"We found tracks around the camp."
We all became alert.
"Continue, Apollo. What kind of tracks did you find?"
"Footprints."
Maximus spoke in a serious tone.
"Orc? Human?"
"I don't know if it's orc or human. But this situation doesn't sit well with me—the tracks were in positions that allowed observation of the camp. Judging by the tracks, they watched for about five or six hours."
I spoke calmly.
"Do you think they were curious eyes? Or enemy scouts?"
Apollo thought for a moment, then answered.
"I'm not sure, but curious eyes wouldn't watch a military camp for that long… What do you suggest, Leon?"
All eyes turned to me. I had to consider this carefully. Haaah… I came to this world just to see my family, so why can't I find even a moment of peace?