「"If you can't polish the rust off your own gear, don't expect the Duke to pay for your funeral! Check the straps! Oil the joints! The Dusk-Eaters don't give second chances to men with stuck greaves!"」
「"Commander says we move to the eastern breach by nightfall. Anyone who hasn't collected their standard-issue light plate and whetstone by noon is forfeiting their first week's ration of ale!"」
The morning was a cacophony of shouting sergeants and the rhythmic clink-clink-clink of armor being fitted.
Kang Min stood at the edge of the training field, leaning against a weathered wooden fence.
He had already collected his gear.
A set of blackened leather reinforced with steel rivets but he hadn't put it on yet.
He preferred the mobility of his own clothes for as long as possible.
To him, the "instructions" were a repetitive tutorial he had skipped a dozen times.
