Looking around the dusty courtyard, Noah noticed that there were hardly any people his age.
There were a few kids slightly older than him, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
Most of the people who showed up were already over eighteen, pushing twenty. There were also plenty of older men in their thirties and even forties mixing in the crowd.
The Imperial barracks wasn't just a basic recruitment center for frontline soldiers.
It functioned more like a massive clearinghouse for applying to any government position within the Empire's system.
Based on an applicant's raw abilities and background checks, those who passed the initial screening were assigned to different posts across the country.
Noah subtly used Appraisal on the stacks of clipboards and documents sitting on the registration desk. The data painted a grim picture.
Out of the 230 newly accepted recruits standing in the courtyard today, 224 of them were marked to be shipped straight to the frontier to serve as border guards.
Their job description consisted entirely of fighting off the ruthless foreign tribes constantly invading the Empire's borders.
The foreign tribes were famously brave and fiercely warlike.
Because they clashed so often, the Imperial border army suffered catastrophic casualty rates.
Veteran soldiers who had survived the border for years were one thing, but these 224 people? Not only did they lack any actual martial arts training, but they had also never seen the true, brutal reality of war.
Deep down, they were just a bunch of soft, clueless rookies.
Sending them to the border was literally just shipping them off to be used as cannon fodder to slow down the enemy.
If a handful of them somehow managed to survive the slaughter, then those lucky few would actually become hardened veterans, transforming from disposable meat shields into genuine fighting strength.
But realistically? If even one in fifty, or one in forty, managed to survive their first deployment, the Empire would consider it a good return on investment.
"Hey! Next one! Get in here!"
The last applicant had finally left the processing room.
After standing in line for half the day, it was finally Noah's turn.
He walked into the loud, chaotic barracks.
The place was an absolute madhouse.
Every single counter was packed with shouting officials and nervous recruits.
"A kid?" The bald, heavily scarred man behind the counter scowled.
Seeing that the person he just called was barely an unweaned brat, he slammed his heavy hand on the wooden desk and sprang to his feet.
"Who the hell sent you here?!"
Seeing the man glaring at him and puffing out his beard, Noah didn't bother trying to explain.
He just reached into his pack and handed over the sealed letter of introduction.
The bald man blinked.
Seeing the kid actually produce a formal letter, he reflexively snatched it from his hand.
"What's this supposed to be?"
He roughly tore the wax seal and ripped the envelope in half. The folded letter slipped out onto the desk.
He impatiently scanned the contents, clearly annoyed.
But as his eyes tracked the messy handwriting, his scowl vanished.
His expression softened into something resembling caution, and he secretly shot Noah a few assessing glances.
He cleared his throat, coughing twice.
He turned to another overworked official at the next desk. "Hey, cover my station for a bit. I need to take this one inside."
The colleague groaned, clearly pissed off at having extra work dumped on him.
But hearing that the bald man was taking it inside, the guy swallowed his complaints and nodded.
"Come with me, boy."
The bald man stepped out from behind the counter, taking the lead and heading deeper into the private offices located in the back of the barracks.
Following close behind, Noah observed the layout.
While the barracks looked like a cheap, rundown building from the street, the interior actually opened up into a massive, well-kept rear courtyard.
There were even three separate, polished corridors built specifically to lead further into the compound's secure area.
At the end of the center corridor sat a single, isolated room.
The contrast was jarring.
Out in the courtyard, the noise of hundreds of shouting men was deafening.
Yet, once they reached this heavy oak door, not a single sound penetrated the silence.
Knock. Knock.
The bald man lightly tapped his knuckles against the wood twice, then stepped back and waited quietly.
Noah's senses flared.
He could easily tell there was a large room behind the door, and someone was definitely inside.
Judging by the heavy, rhythmic strength of the presence, it was a grown man.
The guy wasn't asleep, but his breathing was slow and steady, like he was resting or meditating.
Only after a full, agonizing minute did the person inside finally speak.
"Come in."
The bald man instantly straightened his spine, reached out to turn the brass doorknob, and slowly pushed the heavy door open.
Noah followed him inside and raised an eyebrow.
The space was even more luxurious and spacious than he had imagined. It was easily ninety square meters, with tall, expensive mahogany bookshelves lining three of the walls.
The furnishings were complete and high-end, featuring plush carpets and a private, attached bathroom.
Could a place like this even be called an army office anymore?
Right, Noah realized.
This is a corrupt feudal nation.
It's totally normal for high-ranking officials to hoard privileges.
In fact, rather than waiting out in the dirt with the cannon fodder, being escorted in here meant Noah was already benefiting from that exact sort of "privilege."
The owner of the office was lounging lazily on a long, velvet sofa.
On a small table beside him sat a stack of thick books, a silver plate piled high with fresh, exotic fruit, and... a glass of red wine?
"What is it?" the man asked without looking up.
"Ah, yes, sir. There's a boy here carrying a formal letter of introduction from Lord Roton."
"What did you just say?"
Setting his book down, the owner of the office sat up straight and looked right past the bald official, locking his eyes on Noah.
Noah looked right back at him.
'Appraisal.'
[Laims Leiden]
Age: 47 years old
Gender: Male
Status: Former commander of the Empire's 2nd Army on the southern border. Current head of the noble Leiden family.
'A noble?' Noah thought.
Just what kind of insane social status did "Roton"—his fake, late father's friend—possess to have direct connections like this?
Although Laims was pushing fifty, the guy looked like he was barely in his early thirties.
He stood over 190 centimeters tall, sporting a lean, heavily muscled physique that showed he hadn't let himself go since retiring from the army.
He gave off the vibe of a handsome, rugged older man who could easily make young girls swoon.
Noah watched Laims size him up with a single glance before taking the letter from the bald man's trembling hand.
Laims scanned the letter twice.
A soft, somewhat nostalgic look flickered in his sharp eyes.
Carefully folding the parchment back up, he walked over to his massive oak desk, tucked the letter into a leather-bound ledger, and locked it inside a heavy drawer.
"My lord?" the bald man asked, waiting for orders.
Laims casually waved his hand, dismissing him.
The official practically scrambled out of the room, shutting the heavy door behind him.
Once he was gone, it was just Noah and the retired general left in the silent office.
"You barely resemble your father at all."
That was the very first thing Laims said.
Noah mentally braced himself, wondering if the magic that forged his fake identity was already falling apart.
But then Laims sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It seems you take after your mother more than your stubborn old man."
"..."
'Yeah right,' Noah thought.
He didn't even know if the magic background lore included a fake mother.
And even if it did, he obviously couldn't resemble her, since they had absolutely zero blood relation and shared no actual DNA.
Seeing Noah stay perfectly silent and keep a blank expression, Laims seemed to mistake it for nervousness.
Trying to soften the mood, he changed the subject. "Child, what is your name?"
"Noah."
Hearing only a first name, Laims waited a beat.
"And?" He hadn't heard a family surname.
Noah shook his head. "That's all. Just Noah."
Laims froze for a second.
He looked like he wanted to press the issue and ask more questions, but seeing Noah's perfectly "innocent" and clueless look, he dropped the idea.
"Listen to me carefully, Noah," Laims said, leaning against his desk. "Roton asked me to look after you. Frankly speaking, I am the worst possible man for this job. I have zero experience raising a child. In any case, I will fulfill his request by placing you securely within the Empire's ranks."
Laims paused, rubbing his chin, clearly troubled over where to stash a kid safely.
Noah already knew from the man's protective tone that he definitely wouldn't be shipped off to die on the border with the rest of the rookies.
After hesitating for a moment, Laims pulled a thick, rolled parchment from one of his bookshelves.
He unrolled it on the desk, weighing the corners down, and motioned for Noah to come closer.
"This is..."
A breakdown of the Imperial military structure?
Wait, no, Noah realized, scanning the document.
It's just an organizational flow chart for the capital's bureaucracy.
"Is there any specific department here that catches your interest?" Laims asked.
'You're letting me choose?'
Noah was genuinely surprised.
Laims's political influence seemed way heavier than he initially guessed.
Even though the guy was officially retired from active military duty, his family's noble standing clearly still carried massive weight in the capital.
"Is that really alright?" Noah asked, playing the polite kid routine.
Laims gave a firm nod.
Noah leaned over the desk, examining the chart carefully.
If he had to pick what interested him most about this new universe, it was the hope of discovering a brand-new power system similar to the magic of the Blazers.
Gaining new bizarre abilities might not directly raise his falna status, but they would provide a massive boost to his actual combat strength.
His physical "vessel" was incredibly ordinary.
At least, compared to actual heroes.
Hitting S999 across all his stats was his absolute limit as a normal human.
He wasn't like Bell Cranel, who possessed a cheat skill that let him totally ignore the human limit and raise his stats infinitely, pushing them past SS and SSS ranks.
The standard Falna system literally couldn't even evaluate Bell's power once the kid broke past the mortal ceiling.
But even with a normal vessel, Noah possessed a distinct advantage that couldn't be quantified by numbers.
Capability.
A fighter's true character, their adaptability, and their combat experience required time and blood to mature.
If Bell Cranel relied on raw status values to build the strongest physical foundation in the world, then Noah would rely on absorbing unique power systems from alternate dimensions to turn himself into a perfect, unpredictable weapon.
Unfortunately, based on what he had seen so far today, he hadn't discovered a single shred of extraordinary or mystical power in this world.
Even a high-ranking veteran like Laims was only marginally stronger than an ordinary guy on the street.
Assuming the battlefield terrain was fair and the equipment was equal, Laims might be able to defeat seven or eight normal soldiers at once, or maybe a dozen untrained thugs.
But that was his ceiling.
If it were Noah himself standing there, even if the enemy deployed several hundred armed soldiers at once, it wouldn't make a single bit of difference.
The meat grinder would just keep spinning.
Considering Laims was a high-ranking noble and a former general, the Empire had to have stronger individuals hiding somewhere.
Scanning the parchment again and again, Noah realized the chart didn't list any elite combat departments or magical academies.
Everything looked incredibly boring and mundane.
'City Patrolman, Gate Guard, Prison Jailer, Interrogation Officer...'
'Wait.'
'Scientific Corps?'
If Noah had to describe the vibe of this world so far, it felt incredibly primitive. He had literally just ridden into town on a wooden horse-drawn wagon.
Judging from the rough clothes people wore and the ancient stone architecture of the walls, this place felt no different from a late-medieval feudal state.
And yet, in a low-tech setting like this, the Empire actually possessed a dedicated branch for science?
That felt wildly out of place!
"May I ask," Noah pointed at the chart, "what exactly is the Scientific Corps?"
'Hm?'
Laims was momentarily taken aback, but then he let out a loud, sudden laugh.
"Heh, I suppose that makes perfect sense. At your young age, you'd naturally be curious about the unknown. Seeing a weird word you've never heard of out in the countryside would certainly catch a boy's interest."
Laims hesitated, his smile fading a bit. Truthfully, he didn't really understand what "science" meant, either.
Since its establishment, the so-called Scientific Corps had been heavily funded by the Emperor's treasury, yet their actual, usable results could only be described as completely mediocre.
In the general's eyes, the corps was just a bloated group of boring, weak scholars who spent their days dreaming up useless junk.
He honestly had no idea why the group had never been abolished, or why there was never any sign that their massive funding would be cut off.
"Yes, sir," Noah said, staring at the chart. "If it's possible, I would really like to join the Scientific Corps."
"Mm."
Laims didn't agree right away.
He seemed to be weighing the risks in his head, and the easy confidence he gave off earlier faded slightly.
The issue was that the Scientific Corps did not fall under his military jurisdiction.
If Noah picked a post like the patrolmen or the city's law-enforcement units, Laims's influence there was absolute.
He could protect the kid with a single word.
But the Scientific Corps was a totally different beast.
He could definitely use his political connections to force a transfer and get the kid a desk there, but he had absolutely no way to personally keep an eye on him once he was inside.
The highest commander in charge of the Scientific Corps possessed authority that far outranked Laims's current standing.
Actually, compared to Laims—who was currently little more than a wealthy noble lacking an official government office—the commander of the Scientific Corps was a terrifying rising star with the Emperor's ear.
"I can arrange the transfer for you," Laims said slowly, "but you need to understand that once you are inside the Scientific Corps, my influence won't protect you. Still... compared to a frontline post under my command, the scholars shouldn't require you to take part in any actual combat, so it ought to be a much safer life."
"Please, sir," Noah insisted, bowing his head respectfully.
----
Timeline : Akamegakill zero, and each chapter is long, forgive me if there is naming mistakes sometimes.