Joining the military as a commoner or as a slave were two entirely different matters, and the Bi family enforced this distinction without exception. Commoners who willingly enlisted in the private army enjoyed tangible benefits: steady pay, quality equipment, sufficient rations, and even access to respectable-grade martial techniques and legacies proportionate to their contributions on the battlefield.
For slaves, it was the complete opposite.
The Death Banner Battalion was composed of slaves and disgraced soldiers. They served as shock troops, deployed first to shatter enemy formations, absorb volleys of arrows, trigger concealed traps, or storm fortified positions. Their survival rate was abysmal. Promotion existed, but it was so rare that it was spoken of in hushed tones rather than witnessed.
As for the motivation to join, it varied.
Some clung to the fragile hope of earning freedom one day by making a decisive impact on the battlefield. Such miracles occurred perhaps once in a thousand cases.
Others joined for simpler reasons. The food alone was a significant improvement over the pitiful rice ball diet of ordinary slaves. As for living conditions, having only one roommate could already be considered a luxury. Though the martial techniques and legacies available to slaves were usually the lowest grade, discarded arts no one else desired, they were still better than nothing.
If one's goal was simply to die, then the Death Banner Battalion was the perfect place.
Unlike commoners, who entered the recruitment camp through the main gates, slave recruitment was handled through the rear compound. There was no ceremony, no record of lineage, no promise of rank beyond what could be seized through blood and bone. That was why it was widely believed that only madmen among slaves volunteered for the Death Banner Battalion.
What the world had yet to realize was that within this seemingly suicidal force, Si would lay the foundation of his undying horde.
This system would prove fatal during an event later known as the "Rallying Call of the Crowned Slave." After he ascended as king of Yunhe, he used that moment to ignite his revolt against the empire. He called upon all slaves serving within the Death Banner Battalions of various noble families across the kingdoms, luring them with promises of a future where slaves would rise as the ruling class of the Gan Dynasty.
The notion had been dismissed as amusing, even laughable, by the nobles and royalty of the time. Yet their laughter soon withered and died beneath the thunder of the great revolt. And it was not merely the Death Banner Battalions alone. From every corner of the empire, slaves answered Si's call, converging into a staggering force three hundred thousand strong that shook the central plains to their very core. The Death Banner generals bent the knee and became his generals. Their elite troops, hardened through countless suicidal missions and forged within the crucible of despair, became instructors to the swelling ranks of slaves eager to join the war effort.
Thus, the weakest kingdom under the Gan Dynasty ignited a revolt that engulfed all five kingdoms and nearly set the royal capital itself aflame.
"Are you going to stand there or come here?!"
A disgruntled voice pulled Si from his thoughts.
It came from a recruiter seated within a boxed wooden station. Si could understand the man's irritation. When he stepped forward, there were no games or theatrics. He stated his name, the recruiter located his slave documentation, upgraded it to volunteer slave soldier, prepared a new identity tag, and then lazily gestured toward an old rack of weapons.
Cracked swords, splintered spears, chipped shields, and blades destined to betray their wielders at the most critical moment on the battlefield.
Si did not spare them a glance. He simply turned and walked away, heading directly toward the Death Banner Battalion camp.
The slave camp was not situated within the main military compound. It lay along the outer perimeter of the primary barracks, close enough for rapid mobilization yet distant enough to preserve hierarchy.
Upon arrival, Si presented his identity tag and entered without incident. Without seeking guidance, he made his way straight to the central training ground to meet the instructor.
The sight that greeted him was invigorating. Men stood in tight formations, cracked shields raised and locked into disciplined defensive lines. Elsewhere across the yard, others sparred with wooden swords, spears, and bare fists, the sharp sounds of impact echoing across the packed earth.
Within the Death Banner Battalion, only one unit existed: the infantry. They were expendable cannon fodder, used to trigger enemy traps, launch suicidal assaults, or cover retreats. No one expected them to survive, so why waste fine bows, arrows, or horses on them?
Amidst these observations, Si spotted a familiar figure, a man he had deeply respected in his previous life. The instructor of the Bi family Death Banner Battalion, the general under whom all three thousand slave soldiers answered, Weijie.
Among all noble family Death Banner Battalions, that of the Bi family stood at the pinnacle for its relatively low casualty rate and battlefield efficiency, and the reason was this man.
"Si from the burial grounds greets Instructor!"
Si stepped forward, clasped his fists, and bowed lightly to the man who had saved his life countless times in his previous existence, allowing him to survive long enough to cultivate the Supreme Art of Death to terrifying heights.
With his head lowered, his thoughts drifted. In his final moments in his past life, he had believed he departed the world without regret. Yet only months into this new life, he had already encountered three faces whose loss still lingered within him.
Those faces stirred emotions he could not fully suppress, and the foremost rule of the Supreme Art of Death was to abandon oneself. One must abandon identity and all attachments bound to it. Only then could one bear the burden that accompanied the supreme art. If he allowed himself to be consumed by these emotions, they would become a bottleneck in his cultivation.
Meanwhile, Instructor Weijie regarded the youth with mild surprise. Most who arrived here emphasized the word "slave" before their names, as they possessed no surnames. It had become such a habit that it was expected. Yet this youth had simply introduced himself by name.
"Si… Are you not a slave?" he asked, intrigue flickering within his eyes.
Si lifted his head to meet the instructor's gaze, recalling the first time he had stood in this very place. Back then, he had referred to himself as "Slave Si," and Instructor Weijie had rebuked him.
"How can a warrior be a slave?"
Si repeated those very words.
The entire training ground fell silent. Every eye turned toward them. The dull gazes of the soldiers ignited with a spark of something long buried.
Weijie studied the youth before him, his heart stirred by such boldness. A broad smile spread across his face as he patted Si's shoulder, his presence as steady and imposing as a towering mountain capable of blotting out the sun.
Beneath that seemingly casual touch, Si sensed a concealed force powerful enough to snap his tempered bones like dry twigs. This was the strength of a True Martial expert.
"Well said, boy… well said!" Weijie laughed, patting him once more.
Then his expression shifted slightly as he noticed Si carried no weapon. A trace of confusion surfaced.
"Did you forget to pick out a weapon from the registration officer?" he asked.
Si casually shook his head.
"I will find an appropriate weapon on the battlefield. Until then, my fists are sufficient!"