Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 369: Chapter 33 Drawing Lots and the Lion

“Nanxin Village, Bart Xialing!”

“West River Village, ‘Red-faced’ Philpot!”

…

Vashka pulled out small slips of paper with names written on them from the iron pot and handed them to the nearby Panveche.

The old house steward loudly read the text on the slip while registering the names in the ledger.

One by one, names echoed across the town square; the farmers whose names were called had ashen faces while those who didn’t hear their own silently rejoiced at having dodged a bullet.

The pile of slips by Panveche’s right hand grew, and soon the forty-eight slots would be filled.

Some people in the town square were counting aloud, and the count had reached forty-seven.

Everyone watched tensely as Vashka drew the last piece of paper from the pot; many believers prayed silently.

They prayed not to hear their own or a family member’s name next.

Panveche took the final slip from Vashka’s hand and hesitated.

“Hurry up and read it!” someone from the square couldn’t help but urge.

Panveche looked at the young man beside him deeply, then loudly read, “Dusa Village, Vashka Sergeievich Morozov!”

…

The selection for military service was now complete.@@novelbin@@

Under pitying gazes, eighty young men stepped out of the crowd onto the open ground of the town square for the first full assembly of Wolf Town’s company of one hundred.

Sergei shouted orders; a few old Dusacks ran through the ranks, arranging the scattered youths into four neat, horizontal lines.

With the formation of the ranks, these farmer boys finally started to look a bit like soldiers.

Father Anthony began leading the newly inducted militia in their oath, reciting each phrase for the militiamen to repeat after him. Then, one by one, they approached Father Anthony to kiss the Bible and holy vessels.

After the oath was finished, the militia reformed their ranks, ready to listen to the lieutenant’s briefing.

“Desertion is a serious crime, with family punishment as well, do not take undue risks,” Winters began with a succinct explanation, “Many of you aren’t even of age yet, and many have never held a weapon before, but after the oath, there are no more children, no more farmers, only soldiers. From this moment on, you are bound by military law. Go home and prepare yourselves, go kiss your parents, your wives, and your children.”

Winters looked over the faces before him and concluded, “Now, soldiers, go home. May you all be blessed.”

…

Winters thought the lottery marked the end of the conscription process, but things were not as simple as he had believed. The lottery ceremony only marked the end of the first half, and the second was just beginning.

The crowd at the market hadn’t dispersed when Hoffman and his son approached Lieutenant Montaigne. The Hoffmans were the owners of Golden Ear Manor, considered significant landowners in Wolf Town.

The piece of paper with Xiao Hoffman’s name had just been drawn from the pot, and it was clear that old Hoffman was reluctant to let his son leave for military service.

“Mr. Hoffman,” Winters blocked off any arguments politely but firmly, “The lottery was entirely fair. Your son was unlucky to be chosen, and I can’t help you with that.”

“Understood, sir, we understand,” old Hoffman said, rubbing his hands together, “What I mean is… shall we proceed as in previous years?”

“What happened in previous years?” Winters asked, his eyebrows inadvertently rising.

Obliviously, old Hoffman answered, “Sir, the way we’ve always done it in previous years, of course.”

Soon, Winters learned what old Hoffman was referring to.

The way was an unexpected man.

“Sir,” Berlion—the young blacksmith stepped forward before the lieutenant, “I volunteer to serve as a substitute for young Mr. Hoffman.”

“Didn’t I ask you before?” Winters glanced at the blacksmith, “You said you were unwilling at that time.”

Winters had asked the blacksmith “whether he was willing to enlist in the militia” when the conscription order was first issued.

In the army, there was always a need for blacksmiths, especially capable ones.

A soldier like Berlion, with his own trade, would not only be exempt from heavy physical tasks like digging trenches and building camps but would also earn double pay.

At that time, Berlion had silently smiled and shaken his head, rejecting the lieutenant’s offer. But now, he was proactively offering to replace young Hoffman for service.

When challenged by the lieutenant, Berlion calmly replied, “I am still unwilling.”

“I see,” Winters nodded, “How much did you sell yourself for?”

“Mr. Hoffman has offered a very fair price.”

Winters had heard of such things as draftees paying for substitutes, but he wasn’t certain of the legality.

After Berlion left, Winters went to Gerard to learn that “substitute service” was a well-known practice in Paratu.

As long as the Newly Reclaimed Land Garrison got enough manpower, it didn’t care if some were serving as substitutes.

In previous years, if sons of Wolf Town’s landowners were chosen, they would spend a sum of money to hire someone as a substitute as long as the rosters hadn’t been sent to the garrison yet.

However, if the substitute deserted, the original draftee would also be implicated, so the substitute had to be trustworthy and reliable.

There were not a few cases where serfs and laborers served as substitutes multiple times, saving up the money to buy land and become freeholders.

“Berlion? Misha’s helper? Misha is very fond of him,” Gerard thought for a moment and said, “Doesn’t he have a brother working at the Hoffmans’? Looks like he’s doing it to provide a dowry for his brother.”

Winters disapproved of the practice of hiring substitutes, but it also represented a form of indirect fairness. He did not want to disrupt the existing rules of operation.

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