Footmen Wearing Special Uniforms Novels & Stories

These two to three thousand people were all clad in black uniforms, well-trained, well-equipped, and even more terrifying than the Pitbull Fighters. “Put down your weapons and surrender immediately!” The leader angrily rebuked Yang Xiao. “Right. Put down your weapons and surrender immediately!”

Aaaaaand - "Ummm is it really necessary for you to wear that?" Vanessa asked side eyeing a certain someone. "My lady demands if I'm on duty to always wear my uniform." "Errr right." Everyone's eyes were glued to the man in question. Heinrich stood with his maid outfit on, a chest plate, and gauntlets on. A plank of wood with a strange smiley face secured to his shoulder. The frills of his maid skirt exposed below his armor, accompanied by stockings going into his boots.

I feel really bad for him. I had finished parking the car at the garage, removed the key and wanted to come out when I noticed two huge men in the back in black uniforms, and desert combat boots. They must be the Special Forces serving the pack, one of the deadliest sects of the military. They are used to war, they have faced a lot of difficulties from living in the forest and deserted lands for years on the grounds of deployment, with this they have no other choice but to be hardhearted.

We froze. Figures stepped out from the trees—silent as shadows, but now unmistakable. Clad in structured brown uniforms that blended with the bark and undergrowth, they moved with the discipline. Each one bore a rifle across their chest, matte and utilitarian, not gleaming like parade weapons, but dark and worn from use. Real weapons, for real threats. Their uniforms were minimal but functional: tightly fitted brown jackets with reinforced shoulders, matching trousers, and dark boots silenced by the forest floor. They were Artonac soldiers—there was no doubt.

My ride was arriving in about minutes and would be here any moment. I looked up at the moonless lonely sky and knew it was going to be a chaotic night. I rolled my eyes as I heard the shuffling turn more amateur, either they were new in this gig or fated to early graves. “I know you are following me. Show yourself!” I yelled almost jaded with the repetitive ordeal. Four bulky men in dark uniforms stepped out after their earlier hesitation, clad in enforcer jackets, combat boots, and kitted together with firearms. I frowned at the sight. Mafia syndicates had ordered but none wore such kitted uniforms, it was like painting your ass red for the bull to strike. These awfully resembled guards. Ma

A few peasants arrived in camouflaged suits and rubber boots, looking fierce and pointing their guns. “Narc, I want one of your coves. Give it to me, and I will let you go, safe and sound. I forgot about this violation of my motherland.” The little commander, dressed in American denim pants and Italian sneakers with a red silk shirt, stepped forward with a gold-tipped pistol tucked under his belt and a towel draped over his left shoulder.

And of course, he made it a point to skip over me on purpose. “If you forget to activate it before shifting, you will come back naked,” he said. “Let’s not make our lives more difficult than it has to be, and please use the belt.” A few nervous laughs rippled through the team as he folded the uniform over his arm. “Any questions?” He had barely finished his question before a few raised their hands. Jorn pointed at Mandy. “Please tell me we will all be wearing those cute boots!” she said excitedly. Her fingers pointed to the black combat boots sticking out of the cart.

Funny how he didn't give that crucial info before the selected started drinking and messing around, it was almost as if he wanted the unprepared ones unstable for the challenges ahead. We were given uniforms of red and blue with the royal sigil embroidered on them. Everyone got the same one regardless of gender or status. I had just finished putting on my boots when our door banged loudly with a gruff short message: "Time to go! You have two minutes to show up or risk getting left behind." "Thank God you dragged me out of bed. I can't imagine just getting up and trying to prepare in under five minutes. I pity those stuck with a hangover or worse blacked out," Nyla said, yawning as she swung

Iona asked. "Let's go to the living room," Fiona said, taking the tray in her hands. Iona followed her. When they got there, the men were already there. They had taken off their helmets and cloaks. Iona noticed that underneath their sleeveless clothing, they wore metal plates on the front and back of their torsos. In contrast, they wore simple, thick cotton pants with metal protection at the knees, and their feet were covered by leather boots. Fiona greeted them with a warm smile, exuding confidence. "Please, you can leave your helmets on the table if you want. Would you prefer to be served in the dining room?"

They all wielded the distinctive weapons of the Imperial Military Academy, dressed entirely in black—the unmistakable attire of the Special Operations Preparatory Department, signifying their identity. However, these uniforms were only introduced after Adrian had departed from the Imperial Capital and the war had truly commenced. Hence, Adrian didn't possess one of these uniforms. Perhaps some might question: what impact could the arrival of three hundred individuals have on a war involving over a hundred thousand, or even the ownership of a city? Three hundred ordinary people surely couldn't determine the outcome of a war.