Javelin Throwing

Through a militia member's explanation, Leo got a rough idea of the land measurement in this world. An acre here was about the same size as an acre from his previous life—roughly half the size of a football field. Even though the farming techniques in this world were quite primitive, opening nearly three hundred acres of new land in three months without machinery was still an overwhelming task for their small, mostly elderly group of settlers.

Clearing new land and planting on familiar fields were entirely different endeavors. The process included burning the brush, tilling the soil, clearing rocks and shrubs, leveling the land, creating furrows, digging irrigation channels, and finally, sowing seeds and maintaining the crops. The labor required to clear an acre of new land was more than ten times that needed for cultivated land. The fact that the peninsula had a large, flat, fertile grassland with ample water sources gave Ulyan confidence. Areas further from the river and across the plain were covered with dense coniferous forests, land that their refugee-like group couldn't hope to conquer.

Growing up in a modern rural area, Leo subconsciously believed that, without taxes, a person could live off farming two acres. However, this was the remote northern frontier, where farming techniques were outdated, and crops were not high-yield genetically modified varieties. In the original Leo's village, they could only grow one season of rye per year. An acre of land planted with 200 pounds of seeds would only yield 800 pounds of grain. After deducting the seeds and without paying taxes, one acre could only barely feed one person for a year.

Calculating this way, Ulyan's demand for three hundred acres didn't seem excessive. Even if they met this goal, it would still be challenging to achieve self-sufficiency. Three hundred acres, roughly 1,800 mu, would be impossible to till even with a modern plow. But Leo wasn't one to reason things out calmly. Knowing all this only made him more irritable.

"I don't care. We're training first. Anyone who wants to leave will get a beating!" Leo declared.

The militia exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent. Many weren't entirely convinced by their young captain, but they definitely feared his fists. Additionally, having recently experienced a devastating kobold javelin barrage that killed over ten members, the remaining militia felt the power of javelins acutely. That attack had been the most lethal they'd faced since encountering beast warriors' throwing axes and troll scouts' hunting spears.

Carrying various javelins, spears, and wooden sticks, they headed to an empty field outside the camp. Leo estimated the distance and changed the rules on the spot. Drawing a line on the ground, he pointed to a small hill about twenty meters away. "Start from here and aim for the tree trunks. Only hits on the trunks count."

The hill had a few sparse trees. Hitting a trunk from over twenty meters wasn't easy. One eager militia member stepped up, grabbed a javelin, and threw it with all his might. The javelin wobbled through the air and fell several meters short of the trees. The others laughed and confidently took their turns. Only a few javelins reached the trees, and only one stuck to the base of a trunk.

The results were dismal, but Leo wasn't discouraged. As a former athlete, he knew that without training, a running start, and with poorly made javelins, this was decent. He had seen javelins thrown sideways, spinning, or skipping on the ground. The javelins the militia had gathered varied greatly, some being just long sticks, some even being dried-out pitchforks. They ranged from half a kilo to three kilos, far from standardized javelins.

"Keep going!" Leo instructed. After two rounds, he had them retrieve the javelins and then began to demonstrate the proper technique. He showed them how to grip the javelin, the power technique, the running and stationary throwing methods, and the angles for throwing. As he explained, he stepped back, held the javelin over his shoulder, ran a few steps, and threw it.

The javelin flew in a graceful arc, traveling over twenty meters and striking a tree trunk, piercing it with the tip protruding from the other side. It was a perfect throw! With years of athletic training in his previous life and his current strong physique, Leo's javelin skills were at their peak, even with injuries that made movement painful. Now, Leo was practically a natural athlete. Not just in javelin throwing, his raw strength and athletic talent could have made him a multi-event champion in his previous life with a bit of training.

The militia was astounded by his demonstration, murmuring among themselves. Who was the best javelin thrower? Answer one: Leo, who had never thrown a javelin before. Answer two: the kobold leader who had been killed. Correct answer: "It's a transmigrated soul!"

After about an hour, Ulyan came from the camp. By then, the militia's javelin throwing had improved significantly. After mastering the basic technique, the strong militia members could throw their javelins thirty meters without a running start, though their accuracy still needed work. Improving their precision would require long-term practice and standardized weapons.

Watching the excited militia rubbing their sore arms, Leo loudly declared, "Training ends for today. You barely pass. From now on, you'll practice javelin throwing for at least an hour every morning!"

Ulyan, observing from the side, was pleasantly surprised. He clapped Leo on the shoulder. "Who knew you had this skill, kid?"

"Ow, ow, ow!" Leo ducked and squirmed, dodging Ulyan's pats. "I picked it up while hunting."

"Great, great! This makes it easier to deal with the kobolds."

"Don't rush. Watch closely. I have more tricks up my sleeve," Leo said with a proud grin.

"Heh! How much could you possibly know?" Ulyan lifted a foot, ready to kick. "Feeling so good? If you're healed, go work in the fields!"