Chapter 10: The Court's Resolve

"My lord, I still don't believe it's right." Pacing in the tent, Captain Holman spoke out as the family knight. His forehead was creased in concern.

"Eugene, this has been long in the making. You can't expect me to quit halfway," Eugene said resolutely, his voice unshaken.

"But to learn soldiers to read and write is not required. They simply need to follow orders," Holman continued, crossing his arms.

"No, I envision a different kind of army. Intelligent and educated soldiers will be the game changer," Eugene replied, determination in his eyes.

"Have you considered that if you teach them, it will alter their mindset? Will they even wish to fight for you?" Holman questioned, skepticism etched on his face.

"I will elevate the soldier's vocation to that of honor," Eugene said with fervor. "Not just for the nobles, but for the commoner too. If they wish to depart my service afterwards, so be it. It would be evidence only of my shortcomings as a commander."

Holman shook his head, incredulity in his voice. "This is absurd, my lord. You are their lord by blood. It is your duty to govern them, as natural as the dawn."

"Enough, Holman. My mind's made up. I won't reconsider my order and demonstrate weakness," Eugene insisted. "I'm going to town to confer with the capital envoy. By the time I return, I expect the soldiers of the Second Battalion to know their names."

Eugene exited the tent, and he could hear Holman talking to himself under his breath, still unconvinced.

Claude, who was standing in the vicinity, turned to Holman and cried out, "Are you actually doubting the Earl's plan? I thought that it was a dream when I heard about it for the first time."

Holman sighed and his face was a mix of frustration and concern. "Dreams tend to bring about destruction at times."

Eugene approached the camp of blacksmiths. "How is the work progressing on the musket?" he asked, eager to know.

Herman, the head blacksmith, looked up from his work, wiping sweat from his brow. "My lord, we're attempting to improve the trigger on the flintlock. But, to be honest, we're struggling. The misfire rate is still too high."

Eugene nodded, recalling the limitations of technology. "It seems progress takes time."

He examined a nearby matchlock gun. It was simple but effective without the intricacies of the flintlock. The matchlock consisted of a serpentine rod and a trigger, a simpler mechanism to produce.

"Let's not work on perfecting the flintlock just yet. Focus on producing matchlock guns instead. How long will it take to make one from scratch?" Eugene asked, eager for a solution.

"Two weeks and an apprentice and a blacksmith," Herman replied, regret heavy in his voice.

"Two weeks is too long, but it shall have to do. Ensure the barrels are quality. I don't want any more setbacks," Eugene growled.

"Don't you fret, my lord. We're correcting our mistakes," Herman stated resolutely, determination firm in his voice.

"I'll send you additional apprentices and carpenters to assist with the stocks. Train them well; I want results," Eugene said, his voice brooking no dissent.

As Eugene finished giving his instructions, the blacksmiths looked at each other with eagerness, encouraged by the possibility of rewards.

In the afternoon, an unusual army marched into Huxin Town. The group of recruits marching in unison caught the attention of the residents of the town, who looked at them in a mix of curiosity and admiration.

"Look at them! They've changed!" a woman exclaimed upon seeing her neighbor among the soldiers.

"Is that young Makarov? He's a different person now," another piped in, chests swelling with pride.

Upon arrival at the palace of the lord, Captain David bellowed, "Stand still! Take a breather! The lord has blessed you with afternoon off. Keep in touch with each other by sunset, lest you be cursed!"

"Long live the lord!" the soldiers exclaimed and fanned out in town like leaves blown by the wind, happy to spend their hard-earned wages.

Eugene rode into the castle, greeted by the old butler. "Master, the messenger awaits you in the hall."

"Thank you. I'll see him immediately," Eugene said, his heart racing with anticipation.

In the hall, Baron Hansel Abbott, Ford, and Battalion Commander Bryce rose to greet him. The air was electric with anticipation.

"Dear Earl Lionheart, I am here on behalf of the royal family," began Baron Abbott, his tone smooth and deliberate. "You are now officially lord of Arda, welcomed by the kingdom. I am here to attest the loyalty of faithful ministers such as you."

Eugene watched the baron, his well-dressed attire and cunning expression. "Thank you, Baron Abbott. I will uphold the confidence placed in me," he said, trying to hide his nervousness.

Throughout their rushed meal, the argument became intense.

"Forgive me, Lord Earl, but I believe the bandit threat is overblown. Your business is to mobilize a royal army to battle the insurgents," Hansel said, his haughtiness clear.

Bryce cut in, "But the old earl was murdered fighting bandits! This is no laughing matter!"

A common soldier spoke up, "If the old earl hadn't enraged them, he might be alive."

Hansel sneered, "Bandits are a nuisance, but the rebel army is a real threat. You must put your duties to the royal family first."

Eugene could feel his rage boiling over. "I am the lord here! The bandits have a personal vendetta against me. This is not a matter of duty; it's a matter of survival."

A tense silence fell over the table as Hansel, shocked, lowered his eyes, giving up the argument. The tension still hung in the air as the remainder of the meal progressed, every guest more than aware of the tenuous nature of power to be wielded.