106: Chapter 106 The Training Supervisor's First KPI

Levi's footsteps gradually receded down the long stone corridor, finally vanishing around the corner along with Evelyn's slightly hurried steps.

Deathly silence returned to the dungeon, leaving only the soft crackle of the torches on the walls and Rayton's own heavy breathing, like a worn-out bellows.

Graham Byron still stood in the shadows like a forgotten stone statue. After a long while, he let out a complex sigh mixed with confusion and disgust before turning to follow.

Inside the cell, Rayton remained chained to the wall, but his body was trembling slightly.

The parchment with the two drawn "models" lay quietly on the hay at his feet. Its scribbled boxes and arrows now seemed to contain a world-upending magic in his eyes.

Fixed salary... income cap... fighting for oneself... unlimited income... shareholding system... Training Director... performance commission...

These terms collided repeatedly in his mind like countless battering rams, smashing the solid fortress of honor, loyalty, and discipline he had built over the past twenty years into a sieve.

He had lost. Not in tactics, nor even in the bravery of his soldiers, but to a "rule" he had never heard of.

That young man named Levi hadn't treated him as an enemy to be defeated at all, but as a... a poorly managed competitor on the verge of bankruptcy. Then, using a more brutal and efficient business model, he had cut the ground from under him, instantly dismantling his core asset—the soldiers' motivation.

He lowered his head, his ice-blue pupils reflecting the firelight. The light flickered violently, sometimes dying out into ashes of despair, other times igniting into a morbid excitement.

To be beheaded by the Duke of the North as a failure and forgotten amidst the world's ridicule, or to be a "founding partner" and earn back double everything he lost on a new platform?

This wasn't a choice at all.

It was a devil's contract.

And he had no choice.

The night passed in silence.

Early the next morning, when the first ray of grayish-white light filtered through the small high window of the dungeon, Evelyn appeared outside the cell door again with two clerks.

There was a trace of fatigue on her face; she clearly hadn't rested well last night.

Lord Levi's incredible theories had impacted her no less than they had Rayton.

Rayton hadn't slept all night, his eyes bloodshot, yet his gaze was exceptionally clear.

"I agree," he spoke, his voice raspy like sandpaper. "But I have conditions."

Evelyn wasn't surprised and nodded. "Please speak, Rayton... Director." She uttered the new title somewhat stiffly.

"I don't need food or water," Rayton's voice held an unquestionable calmness. "What I need now is all the information on those prisoners... no, all the 'recruits.' I want to know each person's original crime, their weapon of choice, whether they have military experience, personality assessments, and most importantly, what their personal motivation for choosing to redeem a 'Pioneer Permit' is—whether it's for family or purely for wealth. I want a complete 'Human Resources Inventory Report'."

Evelyn was slightly stunned.

She hadn't expected this enemy general, who had just surrendered, to start with the term "human resources inventory."

She had only heard this term for the first time from Lord Levi's mouth last night.

She subconsciously glanced at Rayton and found that the fanatical light in his eyes was somewhat similar to Lord Levi's expression when discussing "project returns."

An inexplicable chill crawled up her spine.

"Very well, Director," she suppressed the strangeness in her heart and replied respectfully. "The report will be delivered to your temporary office before noon."

Outside the castle of Blackstone Territory, there was a large cleared space originally used for storing ore and timber, now temporarily converted into a training ground.

Thousands of prisoners who had just obtained the status of freemen, now the "Blackstone Territory Pioneer Corps Reserves," were gathered here in a chaotic mess.

They wore a motley assortment of ragged clothes, many still bearing wounds, sitting or standing in groups of three or five, noisy like a disorganized market.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and the sour rot of cheap ale.

They looked at the newly appointed "Training Director" in the center of the training ground with eyes full of disdain, vigilance, and undisguised malice.

Obeying a defeated foe, a Northern Army officer who had been chased all over the mountains by them just yesterday?

It was a total joke.

From the highest watchtower of the castle, Levi was looking down at everything with interest through a monocular telescope.

The cool morning breeze brushed his hair, making him feel refreshed.

This feeling of standing on high, watching his "project" about to launch, gave him the illusion of being back in his previous life, making a project kickoff report to the board of directors.

"Nonsense!" Graham Byron stood behind him, hands behind his back, his face ashen, his voice suppressed with anger. "Handing these wolf cubs over to an even fiercer wolf—what do you expect him to train? Discipline! The foundation of an army is discipline! Obedience! Look at the state of things down there. A rabble! He's not even teaching basic formations; this is gambling with the future of the Byron Family!"

Levi put down the telescope and turned around with a gentle smile. "Granduncle, please be patient. Traditional training turns people into machines; my goal is to turn them into efficient money-making machines. There's a slight difference between the two."

He ignored his granduncle's anger and instructed Evelyn beside him: "Watch closely. Note down any individuals who show excellent leadership, unique tactical thinking, or outstanding personal combat skills in the upcoming melee. Create individual 'talent files' for them and mark them as 'Promotion Potential A+.' These people will be our future grassroots management team."

Evelyn nodded and immediately wrote a title on the parchment in her hand: "A+ Level Talent Observation List."

Just then, on the training ground, Rayton finally made a move.

He didn't give any stirring speech, nor did he try to suppress the commotion below with an officer's authority.

He simply had a guard plant an Obsidian Flag representing Blackstone Territory right in the center of the training ground.

Then, in a cold, emotionless tone, he announced the content of the first "team-building" activity to everyone.

"Everyone, form teams of ten. You have the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn." His voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly reached every corner of the noisy training ground. "After the incense burns out, the team that has captured the most fragments of the flag will receive double meat rations for the next week and priority in selecting fine weapons from the armory. As for the losers... your rations for the next week will be cut in half."

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire training ground fell silent for a fraction of a second.

Everyone was processing this simple rule.

Free team formation... flag snatching... double meat rations... priority weapon selection... rations halved...

These words were like sparks, instantly igniting the latent greed and violence in the crowd.

Almost without hesitation, those nearby began forming cliques, while those isolated or slow to react immediately became prey in the eyes of others.

"Bang!"

No one knew who started it.

A small man tried to pull at the sleeve of a brute next to him, seemingly wanting to team up, but was met with a punch to the face as the brute shoved him away in disgust.

This violent scene acted like a signal.

The moment the order was given, the so-called "team building" instantly evolved into a bloody and cruel beast fight.

No one cared about the flag in the center at first; what they needed to do was find ten strong enough "teammates" and eliminate the "competitors" who looked weak or were in the way.

Fists, stones, and even daggers hidden in clothes became weapons to attack the "colleagues" beside them.

Screams, curses, and the crisp sound of breaking bones mingled together, turning the entire training ground into a miniature hell.

For that vague promise of a week's meat rations and to get a decent blade before others, they didn't hesitate to strike down the "comrades" they had just fought alongside.

On the watchtower, Graham's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, his knuckles white from gripping his sword hilt so hard.

"Madness... they've all gone mad!" he growled under his breath, barely able to control his emotions. "Do you see this, Levi! Is this what you wanted? This isn't an army! This is a pack of beasts driven by greed! He's not training soldiers; he's raising venomous insects! Letting the most poisonous, the most ruthless, and the most lawless survive! A team like this, even if they win a hundred battles, will one day turn on their master! They will plunge their knives into us without hesitation for greater profit!"

Levi's gaze remained calm. Through the telescope, he coldly observed the chaotic yet efficient screening process below.

He didn't listen to his granduncle's worried warning, only occasionally pointing in a certain direction for Evelyn.

"That guy who tripped three people with a broken spear and then quickly pulled two others together to form a defensive formation—note him down."

"The one on the left, besieged by five people but used the terrain to dodge and eventually killed the leader—A+."

"And that woman—she didn't participate in any fighting, but in the shortest time, she convinced nine of the strongest men to automatically include her in their protection circle. This one... note her down, mark as 'Management Potential S-level'."

Evelyn's hand recorded rapidly, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.

She watched the bloody scene below, her stomach churning, but the identical calmness and madness in the eyes of these two men, Levi and Rayton, made her tremble from the depths of her soul.

The time it takes for a stick of incense to burn passed quickly.

Over a hundred people lay on the training ground; most were just injured, but a dozen unlucky souls had lost their lives.

The melee ended, and a ten-man squad led by a One-eye, relying on the advantage of striking first and using the most ruthless methods, had snatched the most flag fragments from the others, becoming the final victors.

They stood in the center of the field, panting heavily, covered in others' blood and their own sweat, their faces beaming with cruel and triumphant smiles like a pack of hyenas that had just gorged themselves.

Rayton walked slowly toward them, his gaze indifferently sweeping over everyone.

One-eye grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, triumphantly awaiting his reward.

However, Rayton didn't announce any commendation.

"To snatch these scraps of cloth, you caused a total of seven serious injuries and two deaths," his voice was cold without a hint of warmth. "Your 'internal attrition' is as high as ninety percent, severely dragging down the team's overall profit. Because of your stupid tactical choices, the team's total assets have shrunk significantly. Therefore, the reward is halved."

The smile on One-eye's face instantly froze. His teammates were also stunned, their faces soon showing anger and confusion.

Rayton ignored them and turned to the dejected, bruised losers, who were frustrated and resentful because of the upcoming ration cut.

"Now, you have a chance to make up for your losses." Rayton's voice was like a devil's whisper, catching everyone's attention again. "Challenge them. If you win, their remaining half of the reward is yours."

Everyone was shocked.

The gazes of both the victors and the losers instantly became incredibly complex, filled with anger, greed, and a hint of fear.

Such a rule was unheard of!

Under everyone's uncertain gazes, Rayton slowly drew the knight's longsword from his waist, the blade glinting with a cold light in the morning sun.

He pointed the tip of the sword straight at the one-eyed captain of the winning team, who had exhausted the most physical strength and was currently panting heavily.

He spoke coldly to all the losers:

"This is your first lesson—cost control and Opportunity Windows. Just now, he was your Opportunity Window, but unfortunately, you didn't seize it."

With a flick of the blade, Rayton's gaze swept over all the eager losers, a cruel arc curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Now, I am your new Opportunity Window. Any of your teams that can last ten moves under my hand will directly receive double rewards. And I," he paused, his ice-blue eyes flashing with a beast-like light, "will be your next 'Performance Target' that you need to defeat at all costs."

On the watchtower, Levi put down the telescope, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

Rayton was even more adept than he had imagined.

He had already begun spontaneously integrating KPI assessments into every aspect of training.

Just then, a guard hurried up the stairs, looking somewhat flustered.

"My Lord!" He knelt on one knee and reported loudly. "Urgent news just came from the Western Outpost!"

Levi's eyebrows twitched slightly, signaling him to continue.

"The first merchant caravan we sent to the Grey Mist Forest for exploration has lost contact. The scouts at the outpost found their abandoned carriages at the edge of the forest and... goblin footprints."