Too many female prisoners, a special forces soldier transmigrates and marries wildly.

Lin Feng's name was registered in the Beacon Fire Battalion's merit book the following morning.

The location was a dimly lit military shed next to the drill ground, filled with the pungent smell of cheap ink and musty, aged wood. The old clerk in charge of taking notes wore tortoiseshell glasses with a broken leg and slowly wrote on a yellowed notebook with a worn-out pen.

"Seventh Company, Beacon Fire Battalion, Soldier Lin Feng," the old clerk's voice was dry as he looked up through his glasses at the young soldier standing in the middle of the shed, his body reeking of cold and blood. "Yesterday, defending the north slope, he shot and killed two Di Rong cavalrymen, causing one enemy soldier to fall from his horse and be injured... The squad leader examined the body and recorded it as one and a half heads. Is that correct?"

"Yes." Lin Feng stood ramrod straight. This was the original owner's habit, but now that he was doing it, it had a more cold and hard feel to it.

"One and a half..." the old clerk muttered, writing "one and a half" in tiny characters after Lin Feng's name in the register. Then, he took out three strings of copper coins strung together with hemp rope from a wooden box with peeling paint, counted out fifty extra loose coins, and pushed them across the table with a clatter.

"As per custom, the reward for each head of a common Di Rong cavalryman is eight hundred coins and a bolt of silk. Your head is one and a half, so that's a total of twelve hundred coins. Go next door to find Liu the Cripple to collect the silk. The heads have already been tanned and will be sent to the rear for verification and recording of merits." The old clerk finished speaking in an official manner, then lowered his head to tidy up his yellowed booklets.

Lin Feng picked up the copper coin. It felt heavy and cold in his hand. 1,200 coins, according to the original owner's memories of prices, could buy about two shi of coarse rice or a piece of ordinary hemp cloth. This was the price of one and a half lives, and also the first "start-up capital" he had earned in this world.

He went next door, where a lame old soldier handed him a piece of coarse, gray linen cloth, roughly enough to make two sets of clothes. This was the silk reward.

Back in the low, cramped barracks of the Seventh Company, the rest of the comrades were already there. The atmosphere was somewhat somber. The body of the comrade who had died in battle the previous day had been hastily buried. The wounded, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, lay or sat, their faces pale.

Seeing Lin Feng return, carrying copper coins and cloth, several gazes were cast his way, their expressions complex and difficult to decipher. There was envy, jealousy, and also awe.

"Lin Feng, have you brought him back?" Squad leader Zhang Kui, with thick strips of cloth wrapped around his arm, leaned back on the communal bed and asked.

"Yes, sergeant." Lin Feng placed the items on the broken wooden board in his corner.

"Hmm." Zhang Kui nodded, his gaze lingering on Lin Feng's face for a moment. "Yesterday... we owe you a lot. The brothers know what I mean. However," he changed the subject, lowering his voice, "we've never seen you use your archery skills before. You've been keeping them well hidden."

The question was direct and scrutinizing. A soldier who usually behaved mediocrely, even somewhat cowardly, suddenly displaying near-divine archery skills would inevitably arouse suspicion.

Lin Feng had already prepared his explanation and calmly said, "My father was originally a hunter, and I learned from him for a few years when I was young. However, our family fell into poverty and I joined the army... I used to be timid and dared not shoot people, but yesterday, in the face of life and death, I couldn't care less."

This explanation makes perfect sense. Many civilians in the Great Yan border army had become military households for various reasons, and some of them possessed ancestral skills. They might not have dared to do so before, but their skills suddenly came to the fore when life and death threatened.

Zhang Kui stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly accepting the explanation, and his expression softened: "Having this skill is a good thing. Use it well in the future, kill more enemies, and make more contributions. Once you've collected enough heads, maybe you can be like Centurion Zhao, take a wife home, have a few children, and then you won't have lived in vain."

Mentioning "taking a wife" made the breathing of the others in the barracks slightly heavier. The scene of Zhao Dayong selecting female prisoners on the drill ground yesterday had clearly deeply affected these men who were struggling on the edge of death.

"Commander Zhao... is he the one who picked out a tall woman yesterday?" Lin Feng asked casually, carefully putting the copper coins into a tattered leather pouch and stuffing it into the gap under the bed board.

"Yes, Zhao Dayong. That guy's lucky. He did well a few months ago when he ambushed the Di Rong grain transport team and collected ten heads." A young soldier named Li Gou'er, with pockmarks on his face, clicked his tongue, his eyes full of longing. "I heard that the one he chose, something like Su... Su Mo, is a woman from the Shanyue tribe. She knows herbs and can find her way around. Maybe she can even help her family collect herbs to exchange for money. Centurion Zhao has really struck gold this time."

"Herbal medicine?" Lin Feng's heart skipped a beat. In this border region where medical resources were scarce, people who knew about herbs were indeed very valuable. That woman named Su Mo seemed to be not only a fertile woman, but also possibly a "technical expert." Zhao Dayong may seem rough and unrefined, but his judgment was quite good.

"That's right." Another older veteran, with a weathered face and nicknamed "Old Man Nian," sighed. "We people risk our lives, and when we die, no one will even collect our bodies. If we can get a wife and leave an heir, at least someone will burn some paper money for us when we die... Lin Feng, with your archery skills, keep it up, and ten heads might not be out of reach."

"That's right! Lin Feng, next time you encounter barbarians, shoot a few more! Let our tribe get a bigger share of the reward money!" Wang Hu chimed in. He had also wounded a Di Rong cavalryman yesterday and received some reward money, so he was in high spirits.

"Yes, yes!" The others echoed, their gazes towards Lin Feng becoming much more fervent. In the border army, those who had the ability to lead everyone to survival and wealth were naturally more respected.

Lin Feng simply nodded, saying nothing more. He walked to the corner, picked up the short bow, and carefully wiped and inspected it. The bow was made of ordinary mulberry wood, already somewhat old, and the bowstring was made of twisted ox sinew, with decent elasticity but not strong enough. The arrows were even worse; the shafts were not straight, the arrowheads were made of crude iron, and the fletching was messy. This was the "belonging" that the original owner had painstakingly saved up for several months to purchase.

"I need to find a way to get a good bow, or at least some good arrows," Lin Feng thought. A skilled craftsman must first have the right tools. In his previous life, he was proficient in all kinds of firearms and bows and arrows, and deeply understood the importance of equipment.

There was no fighting in the afternoon. The entire Beacon Fire Camp was immersed in a strange atmosphere. On the one hand, there was the brief relaxation brought about by yesterday's minor victory in repelling the cavalry; on the other hand, there was the news that Zhao Dayong was about to return home with his "meritorious wife," which, like a drop of water thrown into boiling oil, stirred up huge ripples among the lower-ranking soldiers.

By the drill ground, beside the well, and even outside the latrine, groups of soldiers gathered together, and the topics of conversation were all about "military merits and rewards for wives".

"...I heard that Chief Zhao is leaving this afternoon. The camp has sent five brothers to escort him, along with a large cart!"

"Tsk, how glamorous! If I had ten heads, I'd pick the one with the biggest ass..."

"Dream on! With your pathetic skills, you'll be lucky to keep your head!"

"Hey, you know what, I think Lin Feng from the Seventh Platoon was amazing with his archery yesterday! I think he's got potential!"

"Who knows if it's just a guess? If it works once, will it work every time?"

Various comments drifted into his ears, but Lin Feng remained silent as he sharpened his knife. The knife was made of inferior iron and had several chips; no amount of sharpening would restore its sharpness. Yet he sharpened it meticulously, just as he had maintained his firearms in his previous life.

As evening approached, a commotion arose from the direction of the camp gate.

Zhao Dayong is about to set off.

Lin Feng and several men from the Seventh Company also went over to take a look. They saw a simple mule cart parked at the camp gate. Zhao Dayong had changed into a slightly worn padded jacket, his hair was combed, and his face wore an undisguised smugness. Standing beside him was the woman named Su Mo.

Su Mo changed into a clean, coarse cloth dress, probably found temporarily by the camp. It didn't fit her perfectly, but the dirt on her face was washed away, revealing her originally delicate and elegant features. Her hair was simply tied into a bun at the back of her head, with a wooden hairpin inserted. She lowered her head slightly, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, but her back was straight, not cowering like ordinary prisoners.

Five fully armed soldiers stood beside the mule cart; they were responsible for escorting it.

The old clerk in charge of registration was also there, holding several documents stamped with a red seal, and loudly proclaiming: "...Zhao Dayong, centurion of the Beacon Fire Battalion, has accumulated military merits, beheading more than ten people. According to the law, he is rewarded and chosen to marry the female captive Su Mo. He is now being sent back to his hometown, settling in Zhao Family Village, Linyuan County, Liaoxi Prefecture... This is the certificate!"

After reading the document, he handed one copy to Zhao Dayong and kept the other copy for his own filing.

Zhao Dayong carefully tucked the document into his robes, then clasped his hands in a fist salute to those around him and said loudly, "Brothers! I'm taking my leave first! Work hard, kill more barbarians, achieve merit as soon as possible, and bring a wife home to warm your bed! We'll meet again!"

"Have a safe journey, Zhao!"

"May you have a son soon!"

Everyone laughed and joked as they saw them off.

Zhao Dayong laughed heartily, turned around, and with a rather spirited air, helped Su Mo's arm: "Wife, let's get in the car."

Su Mo's body stiffened slightly, but she didn't resist. With his help, she obediently boarded the simple mule cart. Before getting on, she seemed to glance unconsciously in the direction of the camp, her gaze sweeping over the soldiers watching the commotion. Her eyes were still complex, but her resentment seemed to be hidden even more deeply.

The mule cart creaked and groaned as it started, escorted by five soldiers, and slowly drove out of the camp gate, disappearing into the vast twilight and the still-unmelted snow.

The crowd gradually dispersed. Most of them wore expressions of envy and a hint of unspoken longing.

Ten heads. One wife. A road visible in despair.

Lin Feng stood there, staring at the direction the mule cart had disappeared for a long time.

A cold wind blew by, stirring up snowflakes from the ground and hitting his face.

He didn't envy Zhao Dayong. He simply etched that goal clearly into his heart once again.

Ten heads.

A woman like Su Mo, or even... better.

He needs power, he needs achievements, he needs to earn enough in this cold world to make a living and even protect others.

In his past life, he was the nation's sharpest weapon, protecting the borders of millions.

In this life, perhaps he can try to protect a small home for himself first.

Back at the barracks, night had fallen. The camp had returned to its usual deathly silence, broken only by the sound of the wind and the occasional neighing of horses in the distance.

Lin Feng lay on the cold, communal bed, beneath a damp, moldy straw mat. The heavy snoring and mumbling of his comrades drifted from the side.

He stared at the dark roof with his eyes open.

Today, his name was written in the register of merit for the first time, and he received a small reward.

We are still eight and a half heads short of ten.

He rolled over, his right hand unconsciously reaching for the tattered leather pouch containing copper coins at his waist.

As my fingertips touched the cold, hard copper coin, a flame quietly ignited in my heart in the darkness.

The first step has been taken.

Next, it's about surviving, getting stronger, and then... seizing.

In this barbaric and direct world, in the most barbaric and direct way.

Carve out a future.