British hegemon

Chapter 140 I've never seen soldiers trained like this before.

"Master~" The crisp voice sent shivers down one's spine.

Roger opened his eyes, a strange smile on his face. "Come here."

Roger patted his thigh, gesturing for the young girl to sit down.

The young girl obediently sat on Roger's lap. Roger stroked the girl's hair, and his right hand slid down to the base of her thigh.

The girl raised her hand to stop him, feigning anger, "Sir, I promised to be your personal secretary, but the old lady treats me like a maid all day long. If this continues, I'm going home."

Roger stopped eating the salted pork knuckle, his expression changed, and he pushed the girl up.

"You can go back now." His tone was cold, and his face was expressionless.

The girl, who had been acting coquettishly, never expected the hot-tempered young man to suddenly change his expression. She stood frozen in shock, stammering, "Sir...Sir..."

I..."

Roger said in a deep voice, "Remember, what I give you is what you can have. Also, don't speak to me in a threatening tone."

The girl had only wanted to use Roger's enthusiasm to improve her status at the Milk House Manor, but she never expected to anger him, and she was almost in tears.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I... I just..." As she spoke, two lines of tears fell down her cheeks.

Roger realized he had gone too far and took a breath. "If you don't want to do chores, then learn how to fight from the old butler."

"Once you've learned how to manage the accounts, I'll naturally bring up your status with the old lady."

The girl choked up and whispered her thanks.

Looking at the tearful "maid," Roger felt a surge of arousal again. "Let's start over..."

"Get up, let's start over, you mangy dog! Have you forgotten all the training we did recently?"

Outside the Milk House Manor, the training ground, once covered in grass, has been worn bare and trampled by people and horses, turning it into a muddy swamp mixed with horse manure and footprints.

Amidst the clanging and banging, Marn's roar grew increasingly piercing, and the one being roared at and cursed by Marn was none other than the bald, rascal Neil, who ranked last among the soldiers of the Milk House Manor.

He spent over a month in Glasgow recently, and when he came back, he had almost completely forgotten all the fighting skills he had learned.

After his outburst, Marn picked up his training wooden sword and began hacking at Neil, the bald man lying in the mud, refusing to get up and continue taking the beating. He yelled as he hit him, "You piece of trash, why don't you use your shield to block it!"

"I'll teach you to block! I'll teach you to block!" The dull thud of the wooden sword striking flesh was ear-piercing, making Donald, who was sparring with someone nearby, tense.

Sigurd, the black dog with sword and shield, couldn't help but take a few steps back.

Olaf, who was training a spear formation not far away, glanced over and shouted at the three soldiers, "See that? That's what happens when you're at the bottom. Next week is the end-of-month assessment. If you're rated last, you'll get a beating."

"Eat sticks! Eat sticks!" A group of children watching the excitement shouted outside the training field fence. In an era lacking entertainment, what could be more interesting than this?

Physical fitness, combat skills, and literacy are assessed with a weighting of 3:6:1, and each major subject is further divided into several sub-subjects.

The physical training consists of only three events: a five-mile endurance run, one hundred log lifts, and throwing. The first two events are scored and ranked according to the order in which they are completed, while the throwing is scored based on the distance traveled.

The combat skills assessment is relatively complex, divided into individual combat skills and team combat skills. Currently, Roger has too few subordinates, so he has not implemented too many complicated training programs. The main focus is on individual combat skills, such as horsemanship, sword and shield, and long and short spears, and team combat skills, such as marching, forming ranks, and charging. Other personalized skills, such as archery and battle axe, are also additional bonus points.

As for the last one, which accounts for one-tenth of the weight, the literacy test is a new addition to the sergeant-level assessment, based on the original literacy reward and punishment system at the gambling table.

The current literacy test is quite simple. It uses the English alphabet, French alphabet, Latin alphabet, or Gaelic alphabet. You get five points for writing half of any of these alphabets, and one point for every three letters you write thereafter.

This test is currently Neil Bald's only strength, because in the past six months he has memorized all twenty-six letters of the Latin alphabet, and now he has memorized most of the English alphabet, and knows a few simple words.

Don't think this test is easy. For ordinary people in this era, the literacy test is almost an insurmountable hurdle.

Moreover, the languages ​​and scripts of that time were quite different from those of later English, French, and Latin. Roger, as a literacy instructor, was truly grateful to the owner of this body for sparing him the pain of relearning ancient languages ​​and scripts.

Back on the training field, Olaf ignored the noisy children and ordered the three sergeants: "Spear training, form ranks!"

Upon hearing the order, the three soldiers gave a soft shout, stepped forward half a step with their right legs, bent their knees, leaned forward, and held their twelve-foot spears diagonally forward.

"attack!"

Three soldiers with spears lined up in unison shouted commands and moved forward with small, quick steps. Olaf, meanwhile, carried a long stick and kept hitting the spearheads of the spears. If anyone lost their grip and fell, they would immediately be met with a barrage of curses from Olaf.

After walking more than a hundred steps, the soldiers' hands, which were holding spears, began to tremble.

It was May, and the temperature was rising. The soldiers were all wearing heavy cotton armor. They usually didn't feel hot, but now their foreheads were covered in beads of sweat, which dripped down their dirty faces onto their muddy leather boots.

"defense!"

At another command, the soldiers, as if relieved, quickly changed formation, transforming from a horizontal line into a vertical line. The person in front knelt, holding a spear with the shaft touching the ground, the person in the middle held the spear horizontally, and the last person held the spear with the tip slightly angled upward, forming a gradient front.

Olaf continued to pound the spearheads with his long stick, and continued to shout insults at those who were unsteady on their feet...

The training ground is near the barracks area on the side of the manor, where temporary stables have been built.

Roger grabbed a handful of black beans from the bag next to the manger, leaned against the saddlepost and stretched out his hand. A brown fjord horse immediately came up to Roger's palm and licked the black beans.

Roger raised his hand and gently stroked the warhorse's broad forehead, his face full of joy.

In the middle of the month, a trading ship from Islay brought four more Fjord Horses to Milk House Manor. Roger assigned the worst horse to Milk House Manor so that the old butler and his family could ride them around.

There are already eleven military horses in the stables of the Milk House Manor military camp, and everyone, including Roger, is equipped with a horse.

Roger considered these Fiordland horses to be real treasures. After a period of adaptation, they performed exceptionally well, handling both long-distance endurance runs and short-distance sprints with ease. What's even more valuable is that they were remarkably easy to raise.

Other warhorses need to be fed large amounts of black beans, wheat bran, and other concentrated feed every day, but these fjord horses can still gallop wildly with just a few bundles of hay and a bucket of river water, full of energy.

But recently, Roger had the pockmarked stableman add black beans, wheat bran, and other concentrated feeds to the feed list for these warhorses.

Despite the old steward's unpleasant expression, he even brought in a batch of coarse salt from Holly Island to add to the warhorses' feed. Under careful care, these fjord horses became increasingly plump and strong.

"Master, I've never seen soldiers trained like this before." The old butler's cheerful voice rang out from behind. This old fellow, who had suffered all his life, was in a great mood lately because the two Campbell factories, which Roger had burned through countless sums of money, were finally bringing a steady stream of income to the Milk House Manor's treasury.

With the financial crisis fundamentally alleviated, the old man, the manor's steward, was naturally in high spirits.

Roger turned around and glanced at the training ground not far away, then looked back at the old butler. "If I don't teach them a lesson, they'll think I'm just taking their pay for nothing."

"What is it?" Roger knew the old butler hadn't come here to discuss the soldiers' training.

"My lord, Sir Liam has sent men to return our farm tools and oxen, along with five farmhands and a barrel of fruit wine. He says the wine was made by the duke's wife herself and is a gift for you to try. Sir Liam also invites you to visit his estate after the summer harvest."

Roger nodded. It seemed Liam wasn't completely clueless. "Have the villagers been settled?"

"I had the plump cook make them a pot of wheat porridge, and I sent a ship to Holly Island that afternoon."

"very good."

"Just now, foreman Tom came to me to request a sum of five pounds, saying that you arranged for him to leave the island to recruit blacksmiths. This is a large sum of money, and it needs to be taken out of Arron Island, so I came to inform you of it."

"In addition, Gary from the north of the island also came to the estate to say that the distilled spirits you arranged for were successfully produced and sent you a jar to taste."

Roger scattered all the black beans into the horse feed trough, clapped his hands, and said, "I arranged Tom's matter. This time, Toran and his men are delivering goods to Ireland. I'm letting him go along to broaden his horizons and recruit a group of blacksmiths."

"Where is Gary now? I'd like to go see him."

He was in Miss Lisa's room...

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