The scorching sun beat down on the training ground, but today the usual cacophony of drills was absent. The estate stewards had gathered at the training field—an uncommon sight—and even the five permanent soldiers stationed there stood by watching. Tom Bruce stood in front of his militia squad, his black leather armor gleaming with an oily sheen under the sunlight.
"Master Bruce, who do you think the examiner will be?" Robert, the blacksmith's son, whispered. Over the past month, he had grown an inch taller and his shoulders had broadened noticeably.
Tom adjusted his leather wrist guards without answering. These militia training evaluations were never truly important—noble sons automatically received their knighthood upon coming of age, and the graduation ceremony was little more than a formality. No one would make a fuss about it; even the worst performers could scrape together a few experienced farmers to pass muster.
At noon, the sound of approaching hooves grew louder. The stewards sprang to attention as if whipped, brushing nonexistent dust from their clothes.
The visitor wore gleaming plate armor, with the wolf-head crest of the Perys family engraved on his breastplate. When he removed his helmet, Tom couldn't help but smile sincerely—it was Richard Clouet, the commander of the third banner of the knightly order and an old comrade-in-arms of Tom's father.
"Form up!" Tom barked, and the ten militiamen quickly lined up in two rows. Over the past month, Tom had secretly distributed experience points to each of them through the system. Now, even the weakest among them was at Level 4 militia standard.
Knight Clouet declined the steward's offer of wine and strode directly to the center of the training ground. The evaluation began with the most basic spear-holding posture and progressed to complex tactical maneuvers. When the militiamen flawlessly executed a flanking formation under drum commands, the stewards began whispering amongst themselves—this level of skill rivaled that of the Earl's regular troops.
"Damn it, has the young Bruce lad been pouring holy water into these men?" muttered the estate's chief steward.
Clouet's steel gauntleted hand held the parchment for scoring, the ink pen hovering above the paper, hesitating to write. Finally, he scribbled down the assessment and announced loudly: "Tom Bruce, evaluation rating: Outstanding."
After dismissing the militia, Tom finally let his serious expression relax. "Uncle Richard, I didn't expect you to come personally."
"I'm just passing through on a border patrol," Clouet said, patting Tom's shoulder armor. "I heard you've applied for retirement? Planning to return to Hawk's Nest Castle to assist your brother?"
The sunlight glinted off Tom's golden hair as he squinted. "The Bruce family castle is already too crowded. I plan to become a free knight."
Clouet's eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. A free knight—romantic in name, but in reality, it was often the last dignified title for landless nobles. They roamed the edges of battlefields like vultures, scraping by on meager commissions. Nine out of ten eventually turned to banditry.
"Boy, your father will go mad when he hears this," Clouet said in a low voice. "How about coming to my territory? I can give you command of a light cavalry unit."
Tom unconsciously rubbed the hilt of his sword. The offer was tempting, but the numbers on the system interface reminded him of greater possibilities:
**[Militia Squad]**
Average Level: 4
Loyalty: 70%
"Thank you for your kindness," Tom said with a proper knightly bow, "but I've already taken a contract to escort a merchant caravan."
The handover ceremony was simple, almost perfunctory. Clouet pinned the wolf-head badge onto Tom's leather armor. This copper badge represented the completion of the Perys family's knightly training. If Tom had chosen to join the knightly order, he could have been consecrated in a grand cathedral, sworn allegiance, and received a true knight's belt and gilded spurs.
"Remember this, boy," Clouet said as he reined in his horse before departing. "The first lesson for a free knight—never take jobs heading north. The lords there like to decorate their walls with the heads of free knights."
When the dust kicked up by the horse's hooves had settled, Tom returned to his quarters to pack his belongings. The system interface unfolded at his will:
**[Tom Bruce]**
Profession: Full Knight Level 1 (0/200)
New Skill Unlocked: Basic Leadership (Can view detailed attributes of troops)
A parchment map was spread out on the oak table. Tom's finger stopped at a trade route marked with small letters reading "Frequent bandit activity" and a skull symbol beside it. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stabbed a dagger into that spot.
"It's time to meet our first payday."
Robert waited at the stables, behind him stood nine fully armed militiamen. They wore leather armor purchased with coins rewarded by the system, and the tips of their spears glinted coldly in the sunlight.
"Master, where are we headed?"
Tom mounted his horse, his black cloak billowing in the wind. "To paint a smiley face on that skull."