Cutting Out the Cancer
“Are you talking about military experience? May I ask if that's really necessary for manufacturing goods?”
“Of course it is when you're making military supplies. Don't you think it should be someone who understands the unique environment of the army? You came from a combat unit and you don't even know that?”
You crazy bastard, why the hell would you need that to make gloves?
I owned a pair of these gloves myself, and there was nothing special about them.
Just your standard winter gloves, nothing different from what you could buy anywhere.
Anyone with a brain could make them.
Ah, I get it.
I took a moment to think about why he was spouting such bullshit.
It wasn't hard to figure out his intentions.
This guy's a cancer cell.
Since I arrived, I'd checked out all the factories that had been supplying us, and without exaggeration, nine out of ten were run by former soldiers.
Soldiers weren't all master craftsmen who swept up every contract—obviously, it was all bribes and corruption.
Annoying as hell.
In a way, these were the culprits behind the mess I'd been dealing with for the past week.
Thinking back on the hell they'd put me through made my head boil over—not just hot, but exploding from extreme sleep deprivation and chemical reaction.
“With all that 'professional knowledge,' may I ask why you're skimping on the cotton filling in lambskin gloves, swapping out the inner fabric, and letting the mask defect rate hit thirty percent?”
“What do you—”
“I've only been here a week, but there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of.”
I stepped forward from the podium, alternating glances between Brigadier General Verom and Lieutenant Colonel Gavil.
“His Majesty doesn't even know half the truth. If he did—if he knew even as much as I do—there wouldn't be just a few purges. It'd be over.”
“What you're saying right now is...”
“I!”
I cut off Lieutenant Colonel Gavil cleanly and raised my voice a notch.
“Was sent here on His Majesty's orders. Unlike others, I don't care which factories pay the most bribes. If you want to keep things as they are, I'll report everything directly to His Majesty myself.”
His hands trembled.
Brigadier General Verom, who had been sitting quietly listening, was shaking.
He knew full well that if I reported to the emperor, he wouldn't survive.
Of course, I have no intention or authority to actually report to the emperor, but how would they know that?
If I really thought there was no other way, I'd probably tip off the Intelligence Agency.
That'd get it back to the emperor anyway, so same difference.
Either way, fear-stricken Verom had only one choice.
“Supply Director! Did you read His Majesty's edict with your eyes closed?!”
“S-Sir...”
“Is there such a foolish man? His Majesty ordered changes, and all you do is nitpick and embarrass Major Palan!”
Verom bellowed, berating Lieutenant Colonel Gavil.
His face flushed red—he was dead serious.
“It's people like you who got supplies into this mess! Haven't you pulled yourself together yet?! You useless—!!!”
“I-I'm sorry!”
Lieutenant Colonel and Brigadier General.
Two ranks apart, but the power difference was incomparable.
“Why the hell does military experience matter so much to you, Colonel? Answer me!”
Even with his head bowed, Verom's relentless grilling didn't stop.
I almost felt sorry watching it...
Not even a little.
A guy like that being a lieutenant colonel just proved how hopeless the army was.
“Director, after the meeting, go back and study His Majesty's edict thoroughly.”
“Y-Yes, sir...”
The scolding dragged on for nearly five minutes before Lieutenant Colonel Gavil answered in a daze.
Then the commander's gaze shifted back to me, his expression flipping like a movie star's.
“Hm, excellent. To think you could cut costs like this. As expected of a first-class military medal recipient—there's a real difference.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“With talents like this in the empire, our army still has hope. Everyone, learn from Major Palan.”
Was he planning to launch me into orbit?
The praise wouldn't end.
“Given the situation, quick action is key, right?”
“Yes, sir. Requests for defective supplies are pouring in—we don't have time to spare.”
“I know. No need for reports—just handle it. Everyone, support our major fully. Understood?”
Verom looked around the room.
Who would dare say no?
“Yes, sir.”
The commanders looked dissatisfied.
I could guess their mood.
Some punk major drags in the emperor for blackmail—must feel like shit.
I didn't want to put on airs either, but pandering to them meant this mess would never end.
Otherwise, I'd have to inspect factories one by one like Warrant Officer Kairan did—and nah.
Plus, no ambition for promotion, so no need to suck up.
“To overcome this crisis, we must unite, get our act together, and push forward, right, Major?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nothing more reassuring. Come to me anytime you need anything. Haha!”
He laughed heartily, exuding paternal authority.
Hm, yeah. As long as he grabs the reins like this, it's fine for him.
With the commander's attitude fully shifted, not a single commander openly opposed the bidding system—no matter how much kickback they got.
The weekly staff meeting ended, and rumors spread through the support unit: watch out for that one major.
“Ion!”
A familiar back near the main gate.
I called out loudly, and Ion, who had been looking elsewhere, turned around.
“You made it. It's been forever.”
“Yeah. You doing well?”
We hadn't seen each other since training camp, but it felt natural.
This is what best friends are for.
My number one connection.
Big bro Ion.
Always sharp-eyed, no matter when we met.
“Yeah. But man, Palan, you've been making waves. What the hell have you been up to?”
“What else? Suffering through shit I never asked for.”
I could talk about this all day if there were no limits.
“You said you wanted an easy life, but you busted your ass to major—what changed?”
“Nothing changed. Military life just went straight to hell.”
“Doesn't sound like it, with your name popping up everywhere.”
“I wanna rest too. Anyway, lunch?”
“New noodle place up front. Let's hit that.”
“Oh, that one.”
Exactly what Warrant Officer Kairan had mentioned earlier.
“Tried it?”
“Nah, just heard the guys talking today.”
People are the same everywhere.
“Sounds popular. Oh yeah, you're a section chief now?”
“Yeah, planning section.”
“Impressive. I'm basically the baby in my department.”
“Undeserved. And your job's way more important.”
Ion's unit was the Western Border Defense Command's Operations Staff.
The brains coordinating western forces.
You don't get in without proven talent.
“Don't hype me up. Just running errands.”
“Everyone starts that way. C'mon, I'm starving.”
We flagged a passing wagon and headed to the new noodle spot.
“Welcome.”
The door felt brand new and stiff as we pushed in, and a server greeted us.
“How many?”
“Two.”
“This way to a free table.”
We took a quiet corner spot among the few empties.
“Busy place.”
“Opened last week. Food's decent, and perfect for lunch.”
“Fair.”
What makes a good lunch menu?
Filling but not heavy, no unpleasant aftertaste.
Noodles nailed it all.
Though pork stir-fry and pork cutlet still win.
There's always a higher heaven.
“What'll you have?”
Ion showed me the menu.
“Me? Whatever's recommended.”
Top: meat noodles.
Impossible to go wrong.
“Same for me then. Two meat noodles, please.”
“Right away!”
The server took the order and headed to the kitchen.
Busy as hell.
Had to sling lunches fast.
“No other training camp buddies?”
Ion sipped water and tossed a casual question.
“Derek, maybe? Bumped into him on the job.”
“Heard about that. He really likes you.”
“You met?”
“Couple times. He stops by command whenever.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
This guy's good at networking.
Kid's got it together.
Gonna go far.
“Planning section's handling the supply mess, right?”
“Yeah, fixing the holes. Driving me nuts.”
“Too heavy for a major?”
“You get it. I'm dying here.”
If a fresh captain knows, why don't the higher-ups?
Just purge them all.
“Means they trust you. Dad talks about you a lot too.”
“The duke?”
Why was my name coming from top nobles again?
“Yeah, says you're amazing. Rare praise from him.”
“Overrated.”
“With your merits? Nah.”
Endless praise again.
Getting embarrassing; words failed me.
“Here's your food.”
Perfect timing—the server brought the meat noodles as I pondered.
“Thanks.”
Sincere gratitude, then inspected the bowl.
Tons of meat.
Eight silvers a bowl—not bad value.
“Looks good.”
Ion, thinking the same, slurped the broth first.
“Mmm, perfect. Hits the spot in winter.”
Broth must've been killer; he even vocalized his delight.
How's this guy next duke?
The rich-kid vibe from training camp had faded a lot.
The army breaks everyone.
Root of all evil.