After gaining a preliminary understanding of the continent's history, Hudson was left with only one thought—chaos.

  "Small wars every three years, major wars every ten years"—it seemed as though the entire world was built for conflict.

  Wars were not just fought between nations; even within the same kingdom, noble lords constantly waged battles against one another. A noble’s entire life was accompanied by war, as if it were an inescapable destiny.

  The reasons for war were often absurd. A stolen beehive, a hunting dispute, even a personal grudge—nothing was too trivial to ignite a conflict.

  If not for the existence of supernatural powers, Hudson might have believed he had traveled back to the medieval era. With the exception of non-human races, the Asnt continent resembled medieval Europe almost perfectly.

  Unfortunately, due to the limited resources of the Coslow family, the historical records Hudson had access to were vague, offering little insight into the current state of affairs. Most details were glossed over, except those directly reted to his own lineage. This left Hudson disappointed, as he needed contemporary knowledge far more than ancient history.

  To understand the present world, he would have to ask Baron Redman directly. But as an imposter in this new identity, Hudson preferred to avoid the baron as much as possible.

  Since he couldn't obtain the knowledge he sought, he returned to his residence, only to discover that the magic beast core he had been carrying had turned to dust.

  "Did the baroness trick me with a fake?" Hudson briefly considered the possibility but quickly dismissed it. He had personally inspected the core when he received it, and the magical energy it contained had been genuine.

  Instead of being deceived, it seemed the core had been completely absorbed by something—something within him.

  Closing his eyes and focusing, Hudson sensed a faint presence within his mind—a compass-like object inscribed with ancient characters.

  It seemed his "golden finger"—his cheat ability—had finally awakened. Unfortunately, he couldn't decipher the inscriptions. Even if he could, four words alone wouldn’t be enough to expin its function.

  Not understanding how to use it didn’t trouble him. The compass had activated after absorbing magical energy, which meant feeding it more might reveal its purpose. But the cost of magic cores was astronomical, and the thought of spending a fortune just to experiment soured his mood.

  Magic cores weren’t something easily obtained in a small town like Tielun. The only people likely to have them were Baron Redman and Priest Quinn. Unless he had a legitimate reason to request more, acquiring them would be difficult.

  For now, patience was the best approach. Hudson had no intention of making reckless moves before fully understanding his new world.

  At dawn, the town square was already filled with young men, each eager for an opportunity that could change their lives.

  Knights never fought alone; they needed squires to assist them. Someone had to maintain their armor, care for their weapons, and handle their horses. A noble knight would never lower himself to such tasks.

  Hudson was no exception. Today, it was his turn to choose his squires, and the gathered youths were hopeful for a chance to serve.

  To the common folk, even a squire’s position was a rare opportunity. While it meant a lifetime of servitude, it also opened doors to military training and, with enough merit, a path to knighthood.

  For them, the battlefield wasn’t optional. If war broke out, they would be conscripted regardless. Serving as a squire at least ensured better chances of survival compared to being a mere foot soldier.

  Baron Redman stood by with his usual stern expression. "Hudson, use your own method to begin selecting."

  Hudson gnced at the eager young men before him. The original host had known some of them well, but Hudson had only faint memories to rely on.

  "Those who wish to become squires, run ten ps around the town. You have until the hourgss runs out."

  He smiled as he spoke, but to the assembled youths, that smile was terrifying. As soon as the hourgss was flipped, they sprinted forward, afraid to g behind.

  It didn’t matter if one couldn’t defeat the enemy, as long as they could outrun their comrades. The same principle applied to the noble world: "survival of the fittest."

  Hudson had no illusions about the rigid css structure of this world. For a younger son like himself, without inheritance rights, there were only a few paths forward: enduring until higher-ranking heirs perished, marrying into a noble family with few heirs, or distinguishing himself in battle. The st option, however, was the least reliable.

  Land was already owned by someone. Unless an external crisis arose to shake the status quo, new noble territories would not simply appear. Even if one performed great military deeds, the best reward would be an honorary noble title, not actual nd.

  As the hourgss emptied, the runners returned one by one, some relieved, others disappointed.

  Just as Hudson was about to announce the results, Baron Redman spoke: "Thirty-one made it on time. Begin the second round."

  Hudson immediately understood—the baron thought he had selected too many.

  Tielun Town had enough people, but Hudson had no source of income. According to tradition, after completing his training, he would have to leave to forge his own path.

  To Hudson, unpaid squires were a net positive. But Baron Redman clearly didn't think he could afford so many.

  Traditional knights lived off war and plunder. Without an estate, survival would be difficult. However, Hudson had no intention of following the conventional path. If needed, he was willing to resort to banditry—pilging merchants could be just as profitable as collecting taxes.

  Still, he had no choice but to comply with the baron’s decision.

  "Next, we test combat skills. The top ten will be selected."

  He ignored Baron Redman’s displeased expression. Ten was his bottom line—any fewer, and he wouldn’t have enough hands to support him on the battlefield.

  Numbers alone didn't guarantee strength, but too few would certainly mean disaster. In this world of swords and blood, the more people one had, the better.