Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 71: [70] The Birth of Lawrence’s Army

-Third Point of View-

After a long discussion, the next morning, Arkan, accompanied by five trusted men, officially began military recruitment in his territory. The requirements were simple: applicants had to be between 15 and 30 years old and physically fit.

That was it.

Despite the ongoing infrastructure development, it did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of the people—especially given the high salary offered.

It made sense, considering the risks were high, including death. However, Arkan ensured that the families of his soldiers would be taken care of, making sure that their sacrifices would not be in vain and would be honored.

And so, military reform began—starting with the first wave of recruits.

-Third Point of View-

Under the clear morning sky, more than a hundred young men gathered in the open field in front of Lawrence’s main fortress. Dust rose around their feet as they stood in long rows, waiting for further instructions. Most looked eager, some appeared uncertain, while a few showed clear signs of nervousness.

Before them stood five men—the initial recruits personally chosen by Arkan—including Rainer and Kael. They stood tall, their stern expressions surveying the crowd of recruits.

Then, firm footsteps echoed against the sandy ground.

Arkan walked forward, hands clasped behind his back, scanning the young men before him with a sharp, assessing gaze.

"Welcome," he said, his voice calm yet filled with authority. "From today onward, you are no longer just farmers, fishermen, or laborers. If you pass this training, you will become soldiers under the banner of Lawrence. But before we begin, there is something you must understand."

He paused, letting the silence weigh heavily over them.

"The Empire still follows an outdated military system. They believe that wars are won by sheer numbers and that only those of noble blood deserve to lead. But in this army, I do not care about your lineage. I do not care if you were born into poverty or wealth. The only thing that matters to me is whether you can endure, learn, and fight for each other."

Several young men swallowed hard. Some, raised under a strict feudal hierarchy, looked shocked by his words.

Kael stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping across the recruits. "What Lord Arkan says is true. You are not just numbers. You will be trained to become an elite force—one that is more efficient, stronger, and more disciplined than any Imperial army."

A young man from the front row—slim, with messy brown hair—raised his hand hesitantly. "Sir, isn’t an army supposed to have a single commander, with soldiers simply following orders? How are we supposed to fight without a clear chain of command?"

Arkan’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. He gestured toward a large board behind him, displaying a diagram of the new military structure he had designed.

"This army will not follow the old ways, where one leader stands in a tower, barking orders from afar. Instead, we will adopt a modern system—where every unit has clear responsibilities. No one will be left waiting for orders until it’s too late. You will learn to think for yourselves, make quick decisions, and most importantly, fight as one cohesive unit."

Kael added, "Our infantry will be divided into small squads of 10 to 15 men, each led by a unit commander trained to make split-second decisions. Cavalry will not just be heavily armored knights, but also scouts and rapid attackers. Artillery will adapt based on battlefield conditions, and most importantly—there will be no social hierarchy here. You will be valued by your skills, not your birthright."

Some of the recruits exchanged glances, beginning to understand that this was not an ordinary army.

-Rion’s Perspective-

Among them stood Rion, a 17-year-old youth, his fists clenched tightly.

He came from a farming family, one that had been heavily taxed and oppressed under the rule of Baron Darren, before Arkan took over.

Initially, he had enlisted only for the high wages. But after hearing how this army would be different, something shifted inside him.

’So... I can be more than just a farmer here?’ he thought.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by a sharp command.

"Listen well!" Kael’s voice boomed, his sharp eyes scanning the recruits. "This is not a game. Some of you may think physical strength alone will be enough to survive. You are wrong. You will be tested, pushed to your limits, and only the best will remain standing."

Several recruits swallowed nervously.

"Your first training session starts now! Ten laps around the fortress walls! Anyone who stops before finishing... might as well not come back!"

Groans and murmurs of protest filled the air, but none dared to openly complain after seeing Kael’s cold, piercing gaze.

Rion took a deep breath.

’If this is what it takes... then I’ll do it!’

With newfound determination, he pushed forward, joining the others as they raced across the training grounds.

-Arkan Lawrence-

The night breeze carried the scent of fresh earth, still damp from the rains of the past few days. Standing on the castle balcony, I gazed out at the settlement below, where signs of life were becoming more evident. Oil lamps flickered in several houses, signaling that some villagers were still working or chatting outside their homes, even after dark.

It had been one month and two weeks since I took control of this land. Time moved swiftly, yet my work was far from over. There were still infrastructures to rebuild, economic policies to refine, and countless decisions that would shape the future of this territory.

I let out a deep sigh.

"This land must stand on its own—without relying on outsiders. If I don’t build a strong foundation now, it’s only a matter of time before I’m crushed by those stronger than me."

I was well aware that other nobles were keeping a close eye on my actions. To them, I was nothing more than a young upstart, someone who had luckily inherited the land of a corrupt baron. But I didn’t care.

To achieve true independence, I needed to attract more merchants and investors. Bastian was already my ally, but relying solely on him wasn’t an option. If I wanted a stable economy, I had to expand my trade networks beyond this region.

Beyond that, the human resources in my domain were still insufficient. That’s why I had implemented an educational program within the military. Every night, after physical and tactical training, the soldiers would study reading, writing, and arithmetic. I had even hired a scholar from the capital to teach them the basics.

For now, the training was done in Latin, as it was the language used for official documents and formal communication. I had to accept this slow progress—at least for now. But in a year, I was confident that my people would advance enough to reach the next stage.

However, one issue still troubled me.

My own safety.

I had begun building my army, but a standing military alone wasn’t enough. There were other, more subtle threats—spies, assassins, and economic sabotage. I needed someone who could operate in the shadows, gathering intelligence and eliminating threats before they could act.

Sarasota.

That shadowy organization had already proven its capabilities to me once before. But I knew they wouldn’t pledge allegiance easily. Sarasota didn’t serve anyone without a strong enough reason.

But in this world, everything moved based on power and opportunity.

If I could offer them something valuable, then perhaps... they would choose to stand under my banner.

"Let’s see next month," I murmured, gazing at the starry sky. "Will they return, or will I have to find another way?"

The future remained uncertain.

But one thing was clear—I had no choice but to keep moving forward.

-Third Point of View-

The hot wind lashed against his face, carrying grains of sand that stung like tiny needles against his skin. His breath was ragged, his steps heavy against the rocky terrain. His wounded legs throbbed, dried blood crusting over his shins, but he couldn’t stop.

He must not stop.

The sky, painted in hues of fiery orange and deep crimson, signaled the arrival of dusk. Towering rock formations cast long, menacing shadows, like giants watching his escape. He stole a glance behind him, scanning the area.

But he knew better.

"That bastard is still after me..." he thought bitterly.

Once, he had sworn loyalty to Sarasota.

Once, he had called them family.

They had fought side by side, spilling the same blood, sharing the same oaths. But that was before. Before everything changed.

It all began when they discovered the journal of Hassan-i Sabbah.

It wasn’t just an old relic—it was a treasure trove of knowledge. Within its pages were forgotten assassination techniques, masterful infiltration tactics, illusory arts, and undetectable poisons—secrets that had vanished from history for centuries.

They had found it hidden within an ancient temple, a location so obscure that even the most feared assassins had failed to uncover it. It should have been a victory, a new dawn for Sarasota.

But their leader was blinded by greed.

With one single order, blood spilled.

Brother turned against brother.

One by one, they fell—not at the hands of an enemy, but by the betrayal of their own leader.

And now, he was the last one left.

His stomach churned, not just from hunger, but from the fury burning inside him. His left hand clenched something tightly—something far more valuable than his own life.

A copy of that forbidden journal.

He couldn’t allow the traitor to have everything. If the original journal remained in the leader’s possession, the world of shadows would change forever—and not for the better.

After weeks of running, there was only one place left.

Lawrence.

A place that had recently risen to prominence—where a mysterious man named Arkan Lawrence had begun carving his name into history.

A man who had once dealt with Sarasota.

"If I can make it there... maybe I’ll still have a chance."

But how much farther did he have to run?

His vision blurred, his legs felt like lead. But he couldn’t fall—not yet.

Stopping now would mean death.

With one final push, he forced himself forward, running toward the howling sandstorm ahead—toward his last hope.