Extreme Frontier Army: Starting from the bottom ranks, conquering the chaotic world

As dawn broke, at the Eighth Battalion's camp.

The muffled thud of car wheels could be heard in the distance amidst the wind and snow.

Ten mule carts, lined up in a long snake, slowly made their way from the direction of the main camp. Each cart carried ten large, long wooden crates neatly stacked on it.

The lead mule snorted and exhaled a puff of white vapor.

The soldiers who had been huddled against the walls to ward off the cold suddenly sprang up like wild dogs drawn by the smell of blood.

"knife!"

"It's a damn steel knife! And it has a sheath!"

Someone yelled, and hundreds of people rushed to the camp gate.

They all stretched their necks out, their eyes filled with a terrifying green light.

Lu Jing stood in the center of the camp gate, the withered grass root in his mouth was bitten down to half.

The soldiers moved forward, but he just kept his eyes on the approaching mule carts.

The mule walked steadily, and the axle did not make the creaking sound of being pressed to its limit by a heavy load.

Dry grass roots were scattered at my feet.

The amount is incorrect.

If fifty standard steel knives, still in their sheaths and oiled, were packed into a box, the axle would have bent long ago.

The convoy came to a stop, and the leader of the knife-carrying team dismounted.

He ran over in two strides.

"Hey, Corporal Lu! Good morning!"

The sergeant rubbed his hands together, a smile plastered on his face.

"Mr. Gu specifically instructed that the brothers of the Eighth Battalion had just distinguished themselves in battle, resulting in significant weapon losses. That's why, before dawn, he urged the quartermaster to open the warehouse and delivered five hundred standard-issue steel knives, along with their scabbards and grease—not a single one missing!"

Lu Jing had encountered this kind of smiling face when he worked as a special agent in his previous life.

A local tyrant in the Middle East smiled and invited him for tea, saying it would be a pleasure to cooperate, but it turned out there was cyanide on the bottom of the teacup.

Those bastards in the main general's camp usually look down on the soldiers.

Today, Gu Changfeng not only compromised and handed over his knife, but the people he sent were also so polite.

They are either treacherous or thieves.

"Gu, the advisor, is truly considerate of his subordinates; what a great leader the Great Yan Dynasty has!"

Lu Jing pulled his hands out of his sleeves and wiped them on his clothes.

"Where's the order? Give it to me so I can sign it."

The sergeant quickly pulled out a neatly folded document from his pocket, along with a brush dipped in ink, and handed it over with both hands.

"Please take a look. Mr. Gu said we're all brothers in the army, and we'll still be working together from now on. The knife has been delivered; let the brothers fight well."

Lu Jing stared at the handover document; the ink on the paper was still fresh.

Once he signs this order, Lu Jing will officially accept the five hundred knives.

If any problems arise later, the military law department will investigate and find out that it was all his fault for not inspecting the goods properly, while Gu Changfeng can absolve himself of all responsibility.

Conversely, once this batch of shoddy goods enters the Eighth Battalion's warehouse, this order will be a death warrant, a testament to Gu Changfeng personally delivering the knife.

Gu Changfeng could simply refuse to accept the goods on the spot and take them back without any further action.

Let's go back to the Eighth Battalion's disobedience and refusal to accept weapons. That's what it means to be empty-handed.

"No rush."

Lu Jing patted the sergeant on the shoulder.

"Brothers, you've come early this morning to deliver goods, thank you for your hard work. The tarpaulin on this truck is all covered tightly, but I have to take it off and check it out, to see the real thing, right?"

The sergeant stepped back and gestured for them to proceed.

"Of course! Sergeant Lu, please feel free to examine me!"

Lu Jing narrowed his eyes.

That felt so good.

They were so happy, as if they couldn't wait for him to open the box.

Lu Jing tilted his head and gestured with his chin toward the skinny monkey behind him who was already impatient.

"Monkey, open a box."

Skinny Monkey cheered and, with two soldiers, jumped directly onto the first mule cart.

With a quick pry along the edge of the wooden box using the broken machete in his hand, several iron nails sealing the box clattered to the ground.

The lid of the wooden crate was lifted.

A layer of oil-soaked moisture-proof cloth was torn off.

Fifty steel knives with black lacquered sheaths were neatly stacked in the box, and the ropes binding the handles were all brand new.

A strong smell of rust-preventing ointment wafted out.

The surrounding soldiers erupted in cheers.

In this border region where people eat each other, a good knife is a second life.

The skinny monkey gripped the handle of a knife and pulled it outwards with force.

"Clang!"

Half of the blade popped out of its sheath, its cold light dazzling.

Although it hasn't been sharpened yet, the heavy texture of the metal is pleasing to the eye.

"Brother Lu! The real deal! The weight, the feel—it's a hundred times better than those junk iron sheets in our camp!"

The skinny monkey yelled excitedly and raised his knife to chop at the wooden stump next to it where hay was stored.

"Get down here."

Lu Jing kicked the mule wheel, causing the whole cart to shake.

Skinny Monkey shrank back, quickly sheathed his knife, and jumped off the car with the knife in his arms.

Lu Jing walked around the wooden box, his gaze landing on a paint stain on the side of the box.

The base coat was dark red, with a blurry black stamp pressed on it.

The color faded from wind and sun exposure, and the edges were full of burrs.

It was obvious that a layer had been scraped off with a plane and then covered with tung oil.

"What a fine knife!"

Lu Jing turned around and smiled at the sergeant carrying the knife.

"Alright, the items are fine. Here's the receipt."

He took the brush and quickly drew a circle on the document.

When the pen tip touched the paper, I deliberately pressed down a little harder, making the ink circle dark and heavy.

The sergeant breathed a sigh of relief, carefully put away the documents, and repeatedly clasped his hands in a respectful gesture.

"Sergeant Lu is very helpful! Then I'll go back and report! I wish the Eighth Battalion great success in its military campaigns!"

After saying that, he led a dozen or so people who were driving the carriage and ran faster than rabbits.

The mule cart remained where it was.

The soldiers could no longer contain themselves and stared eagerly at Lu Jing, waiting for his order to distribute the weapons.

Another young soldier took advantage of the chaos to sneak up to the second mule cart, his hand just touching the iron nails on the wooden box.

Lu Jing kicked him in the butt, sending him sprawling into the mud and getting his mouth full of frozen soil.

"Did I say we were breaking up?"

The young soldier turned pale with fright and knelt in the mud, repeatedly admitting his mistake.

Lu Jing turned his head and looked at the knife that the skinny monkey was clutching like a treasure.

"Go and call Shen Qingqiu out."

The skinny monkey was taken aback.

"Brother Lu, why are you calling that woman... Miss Shen? She can't lift it."

"Just go when I tell you to! Stop with all the nonsense!"

The skinny monkey pursed his lips, turned around, and ran away.

A short while later, Shen Qingqiu followed the skinny monkey out of the tent.

She was wearing a coarse cloth dress covered in mud, and her hair was casually tied back with a hemp rope.

Although his face was still a little pale, he walked very steadily.

Lu Jing walked up to her and shoved the knife into her hand.

"Back in the day, your father was in charge of military supplies allocation for the Ministry of Revenue. How much do you know about the procedures for inspecting and accepting weapons for storage at the Ordnance Bureau?"

Shen Qingqiu's wrist sank as the weight of the knife pulled him down.

She glanced at the hundreds of soldiers staring at her, then looked down at the knife in her hand.

He flipped the scabbard over and ran his fingers along the black lacquered surface, from the hilt joint all the way to the end of the scabbard.

His finger rested on a brass rim in the middle of the scabbard.

"The workmanship of this sheath is correct."

Shen Qingqiu looked up: "But the spacing of the rivets is wrong."

She pointed to two small iron nails on the edge of the brass case.

"The standard steel swords produced by the official Northern Xuan Army Armory must have three rivets evenly spaced through the middle of the scabbard to prevent it from cracking due to frost. This batch only has two, and they're positioned slightly off-center."

Lu Jing raised an eyebrow: "Continue."

Shen Qingqiu turned the knife over, brought it close to the hilt, and smelled it.

"The rust-preventing oil doesn't smell right either. The armory uses a rust-preventing paste made from pure pork fat, but the oil on this knife is mixed with water."

She handed the knife back to Lu Jing, her expression changing slightly.

"The sheath is real. The iron plates inside, though, may not be."

Lu Jing took the knife and weighed it in his hand.

When the sergeant carrying the knife was there, he was afraid that Gu Changfeng wouldn't even leave the goods behind.

Now, when I hold the knife, the center of gravity is clearly biased towards the hilt, and the blade is too light.

Lu Jing strode to a hitching post next to the camp gate.

He gripped the hilt of the knife with one hand, his thumb pressing against the guard.

The blade cuts flat against the elm pillar.

"puff!"

A dull, screech sound was heard, but the wood remained completely still.

Lu Jing drew his knife.

The surrounding soldiers all stared wide-eyed at the knife.

Then, several gasps of surprise came from the crowd.

The blade of that once gleaming "standard steel knife" was now completely rolled up.

The skinny guy pointed at the knife and stammered, "Sergeant... is this made of noodles?"