Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Faster Than the Enemy (2)
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The day after hearing Captain Michael Schumacher's story.
The Field Marshal summoned every staff officer in the General Staff Headquarters the moment he arrived at work.
"I believe the Empire is currently like a candle flickering in the wind. As soon as 10 years from now, or at the latest 15, it could face destruction."
The staff officers couldn't refute the Field Marshal's words.
It wasn't that his authority had silenced them.
They simply couldn't fathom hearing such talk from His Excellency the Field Marshal, the pinnacle of honorable Imperial officers.
They thought he had finally lost his mind.
The Empire boasted over 400,000 standing troops and possessed the economic might to sustain a million-strong army for three years in wartime.
It was a great power.
Unless every nation on the continent attacked it all at once.
The Empire would stand firm against any assault.
"My words as Field Marshal must sound utterly ridiculous. But this isn't some divine revelation I received in a dream, like what cult leaders or heretics claim."
At the Field Marshal's gesture, one staff officer brought over a cigar.
He took a deep drag the instant it was lit and let out a heavy sigh.
"It's the conclusion I drew after comprehensively analyzing every classified report, military intelligence, and diplomatic trend that reaches me as Field Marshal. The Empire stands on the brink of ruin."
"Your Excellency."
"Yes, Deputy Chief of Staff."
The Deputy Chief voiced the staff officers' collective doubts with careful restraint.
"The Empire commands over 400,000 standing troops and a population exceeding 70 million. It's a powerhouse. Over the past century, it has won war after war, its prestige resounding across the continent."
"As the Deputy Chief says, the Empire hasn't suffered a single major defeat in the last 100 years."
The Empire hadn't won every skirmish across a hundred battles.
Wars had raged steadily for a century, but it had never lost a major one.
When it won, it won big.
When it lost, the losses were small.
That was how it had risen as a master gambler at war's deadly table.
"Except for that blunder against the Dolce Republic. Out of 100,000 troops, over 45,000 fell in battle. Including the severely wounded, we lost 52,000 fighting men. The previous Field Marshal even urged ceding one of the Empire's 35 provinces to safeguard the rest. A resounding defeat."
The campaign had been a disaster.
But the outcome wasn't all bad.
An unknown second lieutenant from a fallen noble house, Michael Schumacher, had held off an entire cavalry company with just one platoon.
The Republican fools had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
"The Empire only lost a little this time, too. But nations across the continent are beginning to question our military dominance."
"Your Excellency, but..."
"To the world, we must shout that the Imperial Army always triumphs. But we—the heart and core of that army—must confront reality head-on."
As he spoke, the Field Marshal felt shame burn within him.
He was feigning enlightenment while chiding the Imperial staff's laziness and complacency.
In truth, he had meant to humble that young punk who had earned the Golden Eagle Medal at such a tender age, to build a wall against his arrogance in the General Staff.
Instead, he had been turned around and was parroting the kid's words like a mimic bird.
But if he credited Michael, these arrogant staffers wouldn't lend an ear to some lowly captain.
So until they puzzled it out themselves, he'd pass it off as his own insight.
"Today, we rigorously test the hypothesis I've laid out. I hope we conclude this doddering Field Marshal is just spouting senile drivel..."
He meant it.
This was the nation where he lived.
The nation he had defended with his life for nearly 50 years.
His pride, the Empire, facing possible doom?
Better by far to hear sighs of relief that his judgment was off, his worries overblown.
"Begin the review."
The staff officers started scrutinizing the Field Marshal's hypothesis point by point.
Roars flew between major generals and colonels in the heated exchanges.
In other units, the gulf between major general and colonel was uncrossable, stifling even basic talk.
But the General Staff fostered an atmosphere where majors and generals could debate as near-equals.
"Colonel Hausen! What nonsense is that? Those Ortz Kingdom weaklings eyeing our Empire?"
"Major General, but the Ortz trend report states they've begun expanding their forces while wooing the northern barbarians!"
"Have those bastards finally gone mad?!"
Some grasped the truth and plunged into despair.
"Attacks from two or three neighbors? The Empire could crush them with total mobilization."
"We've backed them into corners for a century. From their view, the Empire threatens their very existence."
"Worst case, the entire continent unites against us."
At first, they dismissed it as the Field Marshal's undue pessimism.
But as analysis deepened, the grim truth laid bare: it was all real.
As staff officers, bereft of solutions, some even turned to the gods.
"Merciful Fortuna, what path remains for our Empire?"
But the despair didn't linger.
The Field Marshal smoked his cigar with a knowing smile, as if he'd seen it all coming.
"His Excellency has a countermeasure!"
"With the crisis detected, the Empire stands unshaken!"
Yet it was all pretense—the staff acting calm to spare themselves the same revelation-born hopelessness.
Commanders must sometimes feign a plan even when none exists.
In this moment, the Field Marshal laid bare the truth.
"Captain Michael Schumacher warned me of this crisis. A Staff College dropout found flaws in the Empire we staff blind spots missed."
"Truly?"
"I reacted just like you at first. Thought the greenhorn was peddling clever hot air. But scrutiny showed no cracks."
"With one tour of combat duty and less than a year commissioned, such strategic acumen?"
Michael's name rang familiar already.
The extra edition yesterday hailed him Empire's savior, his face dominating the front page over even the Emperor.
He had freed the General Staff from overtime purgatory and crushing defeat.
But insight this sharp from a year-old commission, no Staff College polish?
His name seared into the Empire's elite minds.
"And the kid proposed a fix for this mess."
"Really?"
Every staff officer in the General Staff perked up.
They had tortured their brains to conclude the Empire was doomed.
In that mire, Michael's solution felt like grace.
Jealousy or scorn aside, the Empire had to endure first.
"Just prove the Empire endures, military edge intact. Simple. Crystal clear."
Humans betray parents with ease.
But cross someone who looks ready to gut you on the spot? Impossible.
Parents? Forsake humanity, done.
Someone who can bury you? One slip, and you're gone from the world.
"And per him, the Hern Republic down in the lowlands will provoke soon..."
A classified dispatch arrived at the General Staff right on cue.
Lowlands' Hern Republic agitators demanding independence from the Empire were stirring the populace.
"Captain Schumacher foresaw it all from his chair. His spot-on prediction let us preempt the threat. Reward's in order."
All nodded to the Field Marshal.
"Dispatch him to the 12th Corps facing the lowlands."
The moment I clocked in at the General Staff, I got hit with baffling news.
Not bad for me, though...
"Captain Michael Schumacher. By His Excellency the Field Marshal's order, proceed immediately to the 12th Corps in the lowlands."
"12th Corps?"
"Hern Republic's gearing up provocations against the Empire. Local war's imminent. An officer will accompany to assist you. Understood."
To a soldier, orders outweigh life itself.
In the General Staff, I was just a captain anyway—the runt of runts.
Fate meant shuffling papers earnestly or brewing coffee and scrubbing floors.
This beat that.
But assigning an officer to back a mere captain? Wild...
"Captain Michael Schumacher, by His Excellency the Field Marshal's command, I gladly take on support duty for the 12th Corps!"