The temporary training field for the Lightning Company (just an empty patch on their own estate) was dusty and painfully empty.
A light wind blew across it, rolling a few dry stalks of grass.
Vito stood with his arms crossed, a random blade of grass dangling from his mouth. In his usual lazy drawl he asked, "Hey, 'Lightning Kid,' where the hell is your army? This place is so empty I can see our own shadows having a staring contest."
Tiberius spread his hands helplessly, scanning the barren ground. "Yeah… the plan is we start recruiting right now." He paused, suddenly noticing something missing, and turned to Vito. "Wait, where's Old Tom? He was supposed to meet us here first. I was counting on him to train the spearmen."
Vito's grin vanished. He spat the grass out and his face turned serious. "That's what I was about to tell you. Big trouble. Massive trouble!"
He stepped closer, voice urgent. "Fresh urgent report just came in. On the border with Volantis, large numbers of enemy scouts and light cavalry suddenly appeared. This isn't small-scale harassment anymore—the fighting's getting serious. Several patrol teams have already clashed with them. Old Tom and his spear company were on rotation in that sector yesterday. They ran straight into it. The whole area's locked down now. Messengers say they can't pull back anytime soon and communications are cut. Red-Hair Garvin already took the company cavalry forward to reinforce!"
The news hit Tiberius like a thunderclap.
Old Tom was the key man Uncle Jules had assigned to help him—specifically to train the spearmen. His absence completely wrecked Tiberius's original timeline.
Even worse, the sudden escalation on the border meant the shadow of full-scale war between the Three Daughters and Volantis was already here. The time he had left was a lot shorter than he'd hoped.
The war could break out by the end of this year or early next spring at the latest.
Tiberius took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. His eyes sharpened again. "Looks like we don't have time to take it slow. Vito, we're changing the plan…"
He looked at Vito, then at the empty training field. A much more aggressive recruitment and training scheme—born under sudden pressure—was rapidly taking shape in his mind.
Vito shrugged. "Fight if we have to. We've all licked blood off our blades before—who's scared? Volantenes have two shoulders and one head just like us. They bleed when you shoot them, they die when you cut them… But Tiberius, bottom line—how the hell are we recruiting? How much money did young master Lysaro actually give you? Don't tell me we have to scrape together cash ourselves or take out loans. Because if that's the case, I'm packing my bags right now!"
"I was waiting for you to ask that. Look at your face!" Tiberius flashed a brilliant smile, then kicked open a wooden chest behind him.
"Fuck me…" Vito's eyes went wide, blinded by the golden gleam. "How… how much is in there?"
Tiberius recited it like he was reading a ledger: "Lysaro's private stash, gold he pulled from the family treasury, plus 'contributions' from his little rich friends… All in all, I counted it—over eight thousand gold dragons!"
"Eight thousand! Seven gods, the Rogare family really can stand toe-to-toe with the Iron Bank!" Vito covered his mouth, but his mind was already spinning calculations. "Still, after buying equipment, horses, food, signing bonuses, and daily wages… men and horses eat a lot, and there's always wear and tear…"
"Good news, Vito," Tiberius said with a cheerful grin. "Lysaro is covering all of that for free! Food, weapons, and training grounds will come straight from Rogare family estates and workshops!"
"And these eight thousand gold dragons are purely for recruitment, extra incentives, and any special expenses we might need!"
"Shit, I've never fought such a rich man's war!" Vito laughed, mouth wide open. "But I bet those eight thousand aren't being handed over all at once."
"They're being released in batches, like milking a cow. But you know my relationship with Lysaro… if I ask for more, he'll just ask if it's enough!"
"Alright, this really is a rich man's war! But Tiberius, don't tell me we're actually supposed to turn those shiny gold coins into several hundred living, breathing soldiers out of thin air?"
"Why not?" Tiberius gave him a flat look. "Otherwise he'd just go recruit them himself. Why would he need us?"
"Fair enough." Vito shrugged. "So how do you plan to recruit? Hitting the docks and taverns for desperate losers? Or just throwing money around and buying two ready-made companies to let the young master play soldier?"
"No, Vito. I want neither of those," Tiberius stroked his chin and smiled, rejecting both suggestions.
He had his own plan. Training this mercenary company wasn't just about helping Lysaro save face so he could dodge the draft.
More importantly, if war became unavoidable and "Lightning Kid" Tiberius actually had to step onto the battlefield, this army had to obey him completely.
After all, on the real battlefield he'd probably just be another bodyguard next to Uncle Jules. The only thing he'd command would be the pony between his legs.
That was a terrible position. If they won, he might get some glory as "Lightning Kid." If they lost… he'd just be dog food.
Tiberius hated feeling like a leaf in the wind, his life completely out of his control.
He needed his own force. That way, when he entered the Volantis war, he'd do so as the commander of three or four hundred men (even if attached to the White Company), not as his uncle's private guard.
The difference was night and day. With his own loyal unit, his survival odds would be far higher.
Plus, it was the perfect chance to cultivate his own trusted followers… and this was exactly that opportunity.
Wait a minute—this was literally "borrowing a chicken to lay eggs."
"So, kid, what's your idea? If you're not hitting taverns and docks, and you're not buying ready-made companies, where the hell are you getting soldiers from?" Vito asked, genuinely curious.
"The slave market!"