The day before the test.
Baron Romero sipped from a teacup that looked comically small in his large hands as he listened to the report from Knight Commander Jonathan.
"The preparations for the test are complete. We will only provide minimal control forces, and the overall management of the test has been entrusted to Young Master Roman."
"Has it already come to this?"
"Yes. Due to the number of people seeking to join the private army, the number of visitors has increased significantly since early morning."
"Is that so?"
Baron Romero recalled the moment he first heard the plan.
At that time, he had been more baffled by the idea of raising a private army than by the feasibility of the plan itself.
'Roman told me.
He didn’t want soldiers for the Dmitry family, but rather a private army for himself.
Such a thing is not permitted in the world of nobility.
When the issue of succession is unresolved, granting personal power to one son could lead to irreversible consequences.'
Yet.
Baron Romero had readily agreed.
Most believed that the second son, not the eldest, should inherit the Dmitry family.
Even though paying 8 silver per month to 30 soldiers was no small expense, he hadn’t even questioned Roman’s motives.
In truth.
Roman’s recent actions had been utterly incomprehensible.
When he heard that Roman had broken off the engagement with the Lawrence family and then attended Barca’s social gathering, Baron Romero thought Roman was trying to leverage his connections to cooperate with Barca.
For the future succession, Barca’s support would be a highly attractive card to push aside the second son and seize power.
But the result was different.
In front of the northeastern nobles, Roman had slapped a knight despite Antonio Barca’s attempts to stop him.
He had crossed the line.
Antonio Barca was a narrow-minded and petty man, so it was obvious he would hold a grudge against Roman for humiliating him.
He wouldn’t dare to threaten Roman directly, as it would only highlight the strength of the Dmitry family’s backing.
However, Barca had plenty of other ways to exact revenge.
For example.
He could interfere in the succession.
If he sided with the second son instead of Roman, Roman could be stripped of his right to inherit through internal and external support.
Thus.
Baron Romero had granted Roman’s request.
Roman Dmitry, who had spent over a decade tarnishing his reputation as the fool of the Dmitry family, had begun to live a "self-determined life" starting with the Blood Fang incident.
Baron Romero wanted to watch.
He knew the gap between Roman and the second son in the succession race was vast, but he still wished for Roman to do everything he wanted.
A father’s heart.
He couldn’t help but cheer for his wounded son.
After all, his second son was already living the life of an elite, recognized for his talent even in the capital.
Baron Romero spoke.
"So, how many applicants are there? Fifty? A hundred? Considering Roman’s reputation, even fifty would be a blessing. Becoming a private soldier for an individual, rather than a family, isn’t something people would find appealing."
He was right.
Private soldiers.
As the term implied, private soldiers were primarily used for personal matters, making it an unpopular profession.
It was different from being a soldier for a noble family.
Soldiers raised under the banner of protecting a family were seen as stable and desirable, but private soldiers could easily be discarded depending on the situation.
At best, fifty.
That was Baron Romero’s estimate.
He thought there wouldn’t be many people willing to become private soldiers, to the point where the test might not even be necessary.
But.
Jonathan shook his head.
"According to the guards who checked the visitors, over two hundred people have already visited Dmitry to take the private soldier test. And it’s not even test day yet. At this rate, we estimate at least five hundred people will take the test on the day itself."
Five hundred.
The number far exceeded expectations, and Baron Romero froze mid-sip of his tea.
"... That many?"
Suddenly.
Baron Romero realized he was still underestimating Roman.
At that moment.
The inns in Dmitry were bustling with activity.
Amid the crowd inside one of the inns, Lucas sat at the bar, drinking beer.
Thud.
"Ahh."
The way he swallowed was almost artistic.
The unique bitterness of Dmitry’s black beer made Lucas frown slightly as he carefully observed his surroundings.
'People have been flocking here since yesterday.
There are more applicants than I expected.
The problem isn’t just the number of applicants, but the fact that the level of those applying is higher than I thought.'
This private soldier recruitment.
It was for ordinary soldiers.
While 8 silver per month was a decent reward, veterans like himself, who had been through countless battles, had no real reason to join.
Yet Lucas had applied out of curiosity about Roman Dmitry.
He wanted to see for himself how much the so-called fool of the Dmitry family had changed and whether the rumors that he truly valued people were true.
Thus.
Lucas was an exception.
He had expected mostly ordinary people to apply, but he noticed quite a few skilled individuals.
'The three men making noise at the corner table.
Judging by the bronze-colored identification badges on their waists, they’re likely C-rank mercenaries.
And the guys drinking at the bar.
They don’t look like mercenaries, but their build and posture suggest they’re seasoned fighters.'
This inn.
It was just one of many in Dmitry.
Yet even in this small space, he could spot five or six decent applicants, meaning the overall level of applicants far exceeded expectations.
Of course, none of them surpassed him.
In the mercenary world, the difference between B-rank and C-rank was vast, and he was a rare figure who could command respect wherever he went.
Lucas was puzzled.
Why?
He could understand ordinary people applying, but why would seasoned fighters like these also want to become private soldiers?
He didn’t think it was just because of the rumors.
Roman had changed the lives of the Clark family and punished Barca’s knight severely enough to show he valued Kevin.
That was impressive.
But ultimately, the most important value was money.
8 silver per month was a paltry sum for someone like him, hardly an enticing offer.
'I don’t get it.'
Gulp gulp.
He finished his drink.
Just as he was about to get up, a voice caught his attention.
"Henderson. Weren’t you supposed to become a soldier for the Lawrence family? Why are you here?"
A conversation between two men.
Lucas sat back down and listened closely.
This was the situation.
A man named Henderson.
He was from Lawrence.
The Lawrence family had been conscripting their citizens in preparation for war with the Barca family.
As a result, most able-bodied men had been conscripted.
Henderson had also planned to fight for Lawrence until recently, but one incident had completely changed his mind.
Henderson spoke.
"As you know, I wasn’t even a conscription target, but I was willing to join. If my hometown, Lawrence, were to fall, my life would lose its meaning. But after seeing Roman Dmitry lead the charge against the Blood Fang in Lawrence, my perspective changed. I realized that’s what a true leader looks like."
That day.
Henderson had been one of the people in the square.
It was a new world.
A young nobleman, raised in privilege, had appeared before the common folk, covered in blood.
Roman had dragged Ben Miles by the hair with one hand.
Knowing how dangerous Ben was, Henderson and others had held their breath, fearing the worst.
And then.
Roman had executed Ben Miles.
Those who weren’t there might not believe it, but Henderson could never forget that moment.
"The Blood Fang extended their reach even to Dmitry. They used despicable methods to drag Dmitry’s citizens into ruin and even attempted to kill me for interfering. The Blood Fang’s crimes are clear. Thus, before your eyes, I will uproot this evil."
Roman had spoken.
He had come to Lawrence to wield his sword and punish the Blood Fang for harming Dmitry’s citizens.
Blood splattered.
Ben Miles’ head flew off.
Children screamed and covered their eyes, but Henderson had witnessed the scene clearly.
'Ah.'
A shiver ran through him.
Look at Roman!
A leader who wields his sword for his people!
To think such a person existed in this world!
With a flushed face, Henderson explained why he wanted to become Roman’s private soldier.
"People doubt and deny what happened in Lawrence. They don’t believe Roman Dmitry could have done such a thing. But I saw it with my own eyes. Roman Dmitry isn’t the weakling the rumors make him out to be. He’s a leader who will fight for his people. And this private soldier recruitment is the perfect opportunity to become one of Roman Dmitry’s people. I want to pass the test, gain Dmitry’s citizenship, and live as one of Roman Dmitry’s people."
The tarnished reputation.
On top of it, new stories had piled up.
The Blood Fang’s defeat.
The Clark family.
Kevin’s incident.
People flocked to Roman’s name not because of one event, but because of the synergy of multiple events.
People thought.
If it’s Roman.
Wouldn’t he be worth pledging loyalty to?
He rewards loyalty with fair treatment, values people highly, and doesn’t hesitate to draw his sword even against evil like the Blood Fang.
They couldn’t help but apply.
Even those who believed their worth exceeded 8 silver felt their blood boil upon hearing Roman’s story.
This private soldier recruitment frenzy wasn’t a coincidence.
People have eyes and ears.
Thus.
Roman’s true nature was slowly coming to light.
Test day.
The sun rose.
Amid the bustling test site filled with countless people, Lucas was still lost in his own world.
'If everything I’ve heard is true, what choice should I make?'
This place.
Others felt the same.
Those who had applied with mixed feelings would soon face the truth about Roman.
That would be the moment of decision.
Whether to take the test sincerely.
Or to test the waters and then leave.
Lucas, who had spent his life on the frontlines and earned the title of B-rank mercenary, genuinely pondered whether investing his life for a measly 8 silver was worth it.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even consider such terms.
But Lucas’ instincts, the same instincts that had made him a B-rank mercenary, had led him to the test site.
The test site was noisy.
At least five hundred people.
With no one to control them, the crowd chattered loudly, as if they were in a marketplace.
"Ha ha ha ha ha!"
"Did that really happen?"
"Let’s grab a beer after the test!"
Then.
Without anyone telling them to stop.
Without anyone silencing them.
The noise suddenly died down.
As if the ground had swallowed the sound, people’s gazes naturally turned in one direction.
Lucas was no different.
The moment he shifted his gaze.
"......!"
His breath caught.
His hair stood on end.
The extreme tension, the kind only felt on the frontlines where life and death hung in the balance, surged through him.
Without realizing it, Lucas bowed his head.
It felt like the right thing to do.
A man.
His presence, his gait.
Like everyone else, Lucas bowed his head to greet him.
'The rumors were true.'
Roman Dmitry.
He had appeared, cutting through the crowd.