Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 012
Chapter Title: Chapter 4: Wolf, Fox, Bear, and Me (2)
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To prepare for harvest season, several rounds of repatriation had already transported conscripts and discharged soldiers back home, so most troops had returned to their hometowns long ago.
Even so, now that the war had ended, wagons heading to the rear continued to stream from the front lines every day.
The wagons were packed full. Most passengers were wounded soldiers who had suffered severe injuries in battle and were only now well enough to be transported, along with discharged veterans.
Given the circumstances, the mood in the convoy was hardly cheerful.
How could it be? The wagons were filled with soldiers forcibly retired after losing limbs. A good atmosphere would have been the real surprise.
Among them were a few familiar faces.
A rookie who, on the way to his first posting, had boasted about showing the Astorians what-for, earning merits, and returning home in glory. Another rookie I'd briefly fought alongside against enemy guerrillas—he sat directly across from me.
But he didn't recognize me.
It was only natural.
He was blind.
His face, wrapped in bloodstained bandages, was as expressionless as the others'.
Like his soul had fled his body.
This is war.
I didn't speak to him.
One side returns with merits and rewards; the other, permanently maimed and forcibly retired.
What good would come from chatting when we both knew our lots?
"You boarded at Schrelgrad, right? So you're with the 8th Legion?"
One of the wounded spoke up.
As always, I'd removed my insignia and rank to avoid attention, but I still wore the bluecoat symbolizing Thracia's heavy cavalry.
"15th Legion here. We owe you our lives."
I pondered how to respond, but he thanked me first.
"You all tore into the Astorian army, buying our company time to regroup."
After all our rampaging, even I couldn't pinpoint which unit he meant.
But that was just the start.
"Hey, us too! The bombardments pounding our fortress every day suddenly stopped. Turns out allies crushed them at Schrelgrad, forcing the Astorians to pull back the lines!"
"I got separated during the retreat. Your unit hit their rear, and that's how I made it back."
"We almost got ambushed by enemy guerrillas before even reaching our unit—thanks to the 8th Legion cleaning up the rear..."
"Me too! Me too!"
The sullen wounded suddenly piped up one after another.
"Thanks! You saved us!"
"Once I'm home, I'll inherit my parents' tavern in the capital. Swing by for a beer anytime—Bluecoats always welcome!"
"Not sure I can repay the favor looking like this, but if the chance comes, I will. Name's..."
The praise felt awkward in the situation, so I just nodded politely.
Undeterred, they kept chattering.
"How's your commander, the Guardian of Gaillard? As huge as the rumors say? Did he really beat Astorian knights to death with his bare hands?"
The talk naturally shifted to the "heroic 8th Legion cavalry officer."
"Word on the front is your half-strength company toyed with the Astorians."
"They say Astorians panic at the sight of blue cloaks."
The wounded went on about me for a while.
Hm. About that much, huh.
Some was accurate, some absurdly exaggerated—it was laughable.
Still, hearing praise to my face felt good yet embarrassing, so I listened with an awkward expression.
The once-quiet wagon buzzed with energy.
But how long could that last?
"......"
As the capital neared, even the chattiest wounded fell silent again.
Hard not to, facing family like this.
Soon, the wagons reached the capital.
The station was still crowded.
Yet the air hung strangely heavy.
"Do you know a soldier named Kopp? 7th Legion."
"Anyone seen my son here?"
Most milling on the platform were families awaiting those who might never return.
"You fool! I told you to forget stupid ideas and take the shop!"
"M-Mom. Sorry. I'm sorry."
I stepped off, watching wounded reunite with embracing, sobbing families.
"Lieutenant Yannick?"
Someone called as soon as I dismounted.
"Here to escort you, sir."
Staff officers had come to meet me.
"Michael Uluf. Call me Uluf Lieutenant."
For Thracia.
I returned his crisp salute.
"Heard the stories, but didn't expect you'd travel by convoy wagon. We rushed out, so no proper welcome. My apologies."
"...Didn't think anyone would meet me."
"You're special, sir. Who could argue otherwise...?"
Uluf glanced at my unmarked uniform, trailing off.
"We'll lead the way."
No reason to linger, so I followed.
Just as we turned to leave the station.
"Lieutenant Yannick?"
The blinded rookie stopped me.
"It's me! From the wagon to Schrelgrad! We drove off Astorian guerrillas together. Remember? Thanks to you, I saw my first action, even earned a small merit on the front..."
"......"
"...earned it, but then..."
His excited chatter faded.
"...Your valor won us victory. Now lay down your burdens and live happily with family."
I hesitated, then turned and stood at attention for him.
"On behalf of the Thracia army, I thank you for your service."
For Thracia.
He saluted tearfully.
I relaxed and turned away.
Uluf, watching with a strange expression, took the lead again.
Murmurs rose behind us.
"Best hurry our steps."
"Already have a carriage waiting."
Thanks to Uluf's foresight, we escaped before the commotion grew.
"Wasn't this to headquarters?"
The carriage stopped not at HQ, but an inn on the capital's outskirts.
"You've just returned from the front. Need rest from the fatigue."
Uluf's expression seemed less than honest.
"...Or did HQ order you to detain me?"
I cut straight to it.
"It's for your protection—please don't misunderstand. This war's complicated. Frontline intel leaks could spiral."
"So I'm stuck in this inn the whole time in the capital."
"For your sake, sir. You're more entangled in the capital's issues than you think."
He didn't deny it.
"...I'll leave men behind. Tell them if you need anything—anything but seditious books, drugs, or contraband."
Ridiculous. This was our reward for risking life?
"If you need a woman, just say. I can arrange through contacts. Pure goodwill—or respect for your heroic feats."
"Very pure and reverent respect."
"...If you decline."
With a salute, Uluf vanished.
His men guided me to a room.
"Rest well."
The door shut, then click—locked.
Oh. They really did it.
I tried the handle: solid.
"Damn it. Long live the Thracia army. Fuck."
I couldn't hold back the curse.
Locked away, I pieced together the situation.
Uluf said I was deeply entangled in capital politics.
This wasn't just about that enemy commander's letter.
How could a frontline grunt get tangled in capital politics?
I pondered endlessly—no answers.
Too little info.
"Can I get a newspaper?"
The guard fetched issues from the royal press.
Villainous Astorians Shed Blood Tears in Rout, Pay Full Price for Greed
"Victory's Secret: Loyalty Armed to the Teeth." How Thracia Drove Out the Foe
Troops Return from Frontlines, Bursting with Pride and Honor to Families' Arms
As expected from royal rags—pure propaganda. Nothing useful for my plight.
I found zilch until Uluf reappeared.
"To headquarters."
I eyed the carriage behind him: windows boarded, six light cavalry around it.
"Lest you misunderstand..."
"I know. 'Protective measures.'"
"Grateful you understand."
"Or you'd bind me. Gotta be sharp, right?"
My gut twisted, words came out barbed.
"...Please board."
Uluf pushed my back instead of arguing.
I refused.
"Stuck in wagons all the way here—sight of one turns my stomach. I'll ride."
"Security..."
"Keep saying security. Is the capital riskier than the front?"
He looked flustered as I, who'd obeyed so far, dug in.
"Riding with this 'escort' and still worried? Does that mean Capital Guard and Household Troops are slacking? Note: answer carefully. Post-Gaillard, I owe those units favors while here."
A veiled threat: play wrong, I'd leverage connections to screw him.
"...Capital's safe as ever."
"No need for fancy carriage then. Just a horse. I'm a Bluecoat—walking to HQ looks bad. That one's good—looks like my usual mount."
Uluf sighed at my pick, signaled the lead rider.
I rode leisurely, taking in capital sights en route to HQ.
Fully armed light cavalry and ominous carriage: rare spectacle even here.
We drew stares, naturally.
"Lieutenant Yannick?"
Some recognized me: the 15th Legion vet who'd thanked me first on the wagon days ago.
"That's right. I didn't realize back then..."
He hobbled over on crutches, one leg gone—cavalry blocked threateningly.
"What're you doing?"
I bristled.
"Who do you think enabled your rear antics? Pay due respect to his service! Light cavalry!"
"...S-Sorry!"
"Sorry and still blocking? Stand down!"
The cavalry scattered in panic.
"...Didn't mean to cause a scene. Sorry, sir. Just wanted to properly thank you then."
"Chin up, soldier. You deserve better."
"Sir..."
He gazed gratefully.
"Shake on it and part. Salute on that leg would haunt my dreams."
I leaned from horseback, extending a hand—note rolled in my palm, ready.
"May your future honor match your service."
"I'll pray for you always, si..."
He gripped, eyes widened. I winked.
"Time to go."
"Safe travels, soldier!"
I glanced back at the clutching vet, then rode on.
"One question."
"Many curiosities, I bet—but answers soon."
"Just one first. You can manage."
"...Limited what I can say. If that's fine, ask."
Uluf frowned, tone flat.
"You said I'm deeply entangled in capital politics?"
"Unintended, but yes."
"Is it..."
I stared unblinking.
Saw it clear.
"Related to army reforms?"
Uluf's jaw and eyes twitched faintly.
"...Reforms? No idea what you mean. First I've heard."
The flicker gone, face mechanical again.
"Right. My mistake. Heard frontline units shredded, big redeployments coming. Schrelgrad's not frontmost, but wondered if 8th Legion's on the list. Not? Good."
"Understood."
He clammed up.
But I'd confirmed what mattered.
At HQ, I was led somewhere.
"Wait here."
Opposite the award room from Gaillard feats: dim corridor sans windows. Sat on a chair.
"Lieutenant Yannick. Enter."
Followed unknown officer in.
Solitary chair mid-room.
"For Thracia."
Hands behind, heels together, chin up—eyes scanning dais without moving head.
Thracia's top brass, HQ old guard: stern gazes down.
Cold stares like at a criminal. Stark room, deliberate furniture, walls—all to intimidate.
Everything screamed: Not here for awards.
Ruthless eyes, merciless faces.
Familiar to me.
Another battlefield.
So, what do I do on a battlefield?
"Lieutenant Yannick. I have an objection."
Seize the initiative, of course.
End of Chapter 4: Wolf, Fox, Bear, and Me (2)