Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Wolves, Foxes, Bears, and Me (3)
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Displeasure flickered across the faces of the old generals seated on the platform.
Who were these men, after all?
They were at the pinnacle of the military, commanding tens of thousands of soldiers with a mere flick of the chin.
It was no wonder their moods soured when I interrupted before they could even open their mouths.
"We haven't said anything yet."
The mildest-looking of the old generals admonished me in a measured tone.
"That's precisely the point I object to."
I continued, maintaining the utmost courtesy.
"Ever since arriving in the capital, I haven't received a single explanation. Even so, I didn't protest. When I was effectively confined, and when they sent a carriage fit only for transporting criminals, I respected the high command's intentions."
But courtesy in manner didn't mean the content had to be deferential.
"Frankly, I have no idea what this gathering is about. I can only vaguely guess that it's not to award me honors."
It was tantamount to mocking them: after risking my life on the battlefield to earn merits, was this all the respect I got?
Their expressions darkened predictably.
"Acting like the army owes you explanations."
"Arrogant for a lowly junior officer."
"Puffed up as a war hero, thinking you're somebody special."
Just as expected. And exactly what I'd been waiting for.
"War hero, you say? Correct. The army bestowed that title on me. And this as well."
I pulled out the metal fragment I'd kept safely tucked away.
The price the army offered in exchange for my silence about Lieutenant Colonel Pieta's disgrace.
"Conveniently, the general who awarded me this medal is here. When he pinned it on me, he said..."
I held out the highest honor one could receive alive: the 3rd Class Military Merit Medal.
"The recipient of this medal is granted 4th-class ceremonial privileges and limited immunity from prosecution for all charges except treason or defection. This is a right guaranteed by the royal family and the Thracia Army."
A mark of respect, you might say.
That's why Lieutenant Uluf always saluted me first, despite our equal ranks.
"Arrested upon arrival, confined, and now interrogated in a backroom. Apologies—no better words come to mind."
If this was their idea of ceremony, I had nothing more to say.
I clutched the medal dramatically, squeezing my eyes shut as if in despair.
"Calm down. You've misunderstood something. This isn't an interrogation."
Right.
They wouldn't even let me sit, and the atmosphere was transparently hostile.
"You're here as a key witness."
I wanted to sneer openly, but that would cross the point of no return.
If high command decided to devour me, I'd be defenseless.
Honestly, it was already a bit late.
Still, I could manage for now.
Worst case, if things fell apart, I'd quit, collect my pension, and live off that.
Even high command couldn't touch the royal pension.
"Take a seat first. We'll talk sitting down."
"My thanks for the consideration."
And so, I accepted the seat without hesitation.
Not a bad start.
One might say sitting in a chair is trivial, but it was like seizing the high ground before battle.
These small gains would accumulate, eventually giving me full control.
"Might I ask what this key witness business is for?"
I inquired politely, masking my thoughts.
"As you know, our forces suffered excessive losses in this war. Seventy percent of the Bluecoats deployed to the northern front were lost, and the mage corps was wiped out entirely. Thracia and Astoria haven't seen such a one-sided defeat before. To prevent a repeat, we must find the cause."
To me, that sounded like finding a scapegoat for the war's failures.
Probably wasn't far off.
"That's why we summoned you from the front. You were the first to score a victory amid our string of defeats, providing the turning point."
I could guess why they'd called me here.
My success in dire conditions proved my competence—but it also highlighted the incompetence of frontline commanders who failed despite better odds.
Now I understood what Lieutenant Uluf meant: I was more entangled in the capital's politics than I'd thought.
The old general seemed intent on using me as a tool to pin the army's early blunders on.
"You wiped out the mage corps with just one heavy cavalry platoon—didn't the unfavorable conditions hinder you? If so, how did you overcome them? Could other units apply it?"
"You also annihilated the guerrilla unit disrupting our rear. Why didn't other frontline units prioritize rear security?"
"In the battle against Astoria's 4th Legion, you pressured their lines on all fronts with less than half a company's strength. Why don't other commanders use such strategies?"
The questions were blatantly leading.
This was practically demanding I testify to the other commanders' incompetence.
Naturally, I had no intention of doing so—at least, not directly.
"I got lucky. In different circumstances, I wouldn't have taken those risks. It won't work twice. Luck. Pure luck."
I dodged with talk of luck and unique situations.
Their faces soured at my evasion.
"That damn luck! Luck! Luck! It makes your qualities as a soldier suspect!"
Suddenly, a bald-pated old general shot to his feet, jabbing a finger and bellowing.
"Do you fight by luck?!"
How'd you guess? That's exactly how I fight.
"Even if you prepare a perfect fire attack to annihilate the enemy, rain that day renders it useless. Even ironclad defenses fail in thick fog you can't see through. Only a war god controls every variable."
Of course, I couldn't say that outright, so I dressed it up.
"If that's the case, your victories are purely luck—no need for army rewards. By your logic, anyone in your place would have done the same."
Responding to that bald sophistry? Not worth it.
"I seriously doubt your qualities."
"I agree. You don't seem to be answering sincerely."
Seizing the moment, the old generals piled on.
"Regrettably, I'm just a lowly lieutenant. I'm not positioned to judge army strategy, nor do I have the insight. If my answers aren't helpful, blame my limited experience."
Yeah. You're all right. But what do you expect from a mere lieutenant?
"We know field soldiers are tight-knit, but now's the time for the greater good. Weigh which side is bigger and answer accordingly. Fail to show discernment, and the army can no longer treat you as a witness."
The consistently mild old general mediated.
Upon closer look, he was the worst.
Slyly forcing me: cooperate or get buried.
But I had no reason to kneel.
No matter how incompetent the Thracia Army, they couldn't touch me yet.
The merits I'd racked up under the 8th Legion commander's push were my sturdiest armor and shield.
Their cards were obvious.
At best, they'd pull out the letter from the enemy supreme commander.
"...Astoria's supreme commander sent you a letter. Any prior acquaintance with him? Or contacts with other Astoria personnel?"
Just as predicted.
"Your 3rd Class Military Merit Medal grants immunity to stay silent. But do so, and you can't remain in the Thracia Army. You know why."
"Medal recipients are soldiers under oath, conflicting with civilian status."
"You know it well."
Honestly, getting kicked out wouldn't bother me much, but dishonorable discharge meant losing pension and rewards.
"I handed the unopened letter straight to my direct superior, General Marek Drpov. My only exchange with Astoria forces was steel and blood."
I parried adequately.
The trouble started next.
"We received a complaint from the 8th Legion: insubordination and assault. If true, you're a threat to military hierarchy and order."
Somehow, I doubted that complaint came from anyone but some narrow-minded major and his cronies.
Paranoid? Maybe.
Anyway, that kicked it off.
"Reports say you disregard uniform regs. Lieutenant Uluf testified you lacked insignia upon arrival, making identification difficult."
"Spoke as Thracia Army proxy to a veteran? We never granted such authority."
The old generals nitpicked relentlessly.
"En route here, amid risks of unrest, you rode horseback instead of the carriage? Planning a parade?"
"Reports show excessive equipment loss and damage. Needs auditing—plenty divert supplies that way."
From my seat, it was pathetically petty.
"Uniform violations, lax discipline, abuse of authority. Poor equipment management, supply embezzlement. Charges, but even this lets us punish you."
Cooperate now?
"I'll accept the disposition."
Nope.
"..."
They exchanged glances at my defiance.
Looking scheming.
"Before this, we investigated your background."
The bald general smirked vilely.
"Found something interesting."
My record's fascinating anywhere.
"Yannick. Second son of the Enoviche Count family. Unaccounted for from ages 9 to 18."
Even I tensed at that.
The bald one's face lit with triumph.
"Hermit Convent, 'Silent Brotherhood.' Deep enmity with His Majesty the King. Heard of it?"
Shit, shit, shit.
I cursed inwardly.
Thought I'd left no traces.
Worst case.
"Deep enmity with His Majesty. Intel says you were there those missing 9 years."
The Hermit Convent had backed the Second Prince—rival to the current king—until shattered before his ascension.
"Too plausible to dismiss as fake. Want to hear?"
Before I could reply, Baldy read from the file.
My past poured from his mouth.
"Reviewing it made me scrutinize your battle reports. Uncannily familiar. The Brotherhood's blitzes and deceptions mirror key battles where His Majesty suffered major setbacks during the Power Struggle."
This was as good as caught.
"Explain yourself."
Now I seriously considered invoking immunity.
No—even that might not work.
"I..."
As I hesitated,
"You'll need to come out a moment!"
A pale-faced adjutant burst in.
His panic silenced even the old generals, who rose.
"No need."
As they moved to exit, a guest appeared first.
Two women and one man.
One woman and one man I knew: 8th Legion and 15th Legion commanders.
The issue was the other: a black-haired girl, mid-teens maybe.
"For Thracia!"
My body reacted instinctively at the sight of her, flanked by the legion commanders like guards.
"Lieutenant Yannick! Greet Her Highness Princess Yeniche Trakieri!"
The treasure of the Trakieri royal family, the king's favorite.
"So you're the man Langrid Guldiv praised until her mouth went dry, just as described."
Princess Yeniche Trakieri knew me—honor of honors.
"Yet it's strange. You're a war hero of great renown, but this hardly looks like a place for rewarding merits."
Her voice echoed as I knelt on one knee, head bowed.
"Unless it's to interrogate a criminal."
The room froze solid.
I needed an explanation.
Outside was chaos.
"Guardian of Gaillard! Hero of Schrelgrad!"
"Yannick! Yannick! Yannick!"
Chants from all sides; headquarters guards struggled.
Normally, no such uproar near HQ, but there was a reason.
The rabble-rousers were all infirm.
Missing limbs—or more.
In faded uniforms, scrubbed but shabby: veterans.
"Hey, this'll get you in real trouble. Know where you are? Just go!"
"Back off! Any more disturbance, we'll disperse by force!"
Gawkers swarmed, plus reporters maybe.
Or soldierly respect.
Guards blustered but didn't act.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Yannick!"
One waved frantically: the 15th Legion veteran I'd slipped a note to.
Asked him to pass notes to the 8th or 15th commanders, ahead in the capital.
"What a mess."
They'd turned it into pandemonium.
"Heard the gist from the 15th Legion commander."
Here to back me up, in short.
"Didn't expect it to blow up like this. They started joining one by one."
So it's your fault.
"All comrades who survived thanks to you."
Yeah. My fault.