Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Capitalizing on Others' Misfortune (1)
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When war broke out, I was in a city not far from the front lines, recovering from wounds I'd sustained in the previous battle.
-Gaillard (City)
It was close to the front, but too far from any strategic hub to be worth much attention from either our forces or the enemy. Just your average backwater town.
The perfect spot to recuperate while drawing a decent paycheck.
I'd heard the war news, of course, but I didn't think much of it.
Even if it was full-scale war, Gaillard was no military hotspot, and there was no reason for the enemy to bypass key positions just to hit this place.
In fact, the city hadn't seen an enemy attack in over a century.
No need to get worked up over nothing.
Or so I thought.
"Enemy unit of unknown size approaching Gaillard!"
That was before the herald came galloping in, arrows blooming prettily from his back as he bellowed the news.
"Shit, here we go again."
I realized my lifelong curse of bad luck had kicked off once more.
This wasn't like the small skirmishes before.
I had no idea if my luck would hold up in a massive war like this.
"Everyone, stay calm. They caught us off guard, but it won't be a huge force. At most, a company-sized unit."
That's when Pieta Lieutenant Colonel, overall commander of the 34th Battalion garrisoned in Gaillard, stepped up.
Pieta was a rarity in the Thracia border army—a true noble who'd thrown himself into the military to escape the Power Struggle, unlike the swarm of lesser noble sons.
For reference, to be called a "true noble" in Thracia, you needed two things: to hail from a prestigious house and to have inherited it through the Power Struggle.
Pieta fit the bill perfectly.
"I'll go intercept them. You cowards wait here for my victory report."
True nobles often mocked those who'd abandoned their families and rightful claims—or power—in the Power Struggle, but in a case like this, it didn't bother me one bit.
"Victory to you, sir!"
I just hoped this pitiless bastard would bring back enemy heads like he had his brothers'.
And less than a day later, Pieta returned to the city.
His battalion was nowhere in sight; he came back with barely thirty men.
When asked about the enemy's movements and the battle's outcome, the returning Pieta answered only with silence.
"We're screwed."
His pale face and grim expression said it all.
"That bastard ran?"
The next day, Pieta vanished with his usual retinue of loyalists.
All that remained were the wounded—including me—and those he'd deemed unworthy.
"Luckily, Pieta left the warhorses behind, so we still have a chance to escape. If we ride out, the enemy won't catch us."
"Ridiculous! What about the civilians if we run? You think those bastards will spare them?"
"Look at reality! The battalion got wiped in less than a day. What can wounded scraps and civilians do? This city's got zero war prep!"
The remaining troops split into two camps.
I watched and did the math in my head.
Full-scale war: one stroke of misfortune.
Gaillard, untouched by war for a century, under attack: another.
Pieta's defeat and flight: two more.
"This might actually work...?"
With that much bad luck piled up, my fortune should've been due to turn.
Not that I was certain.
"Attention, everyone!"
Still, my choice was the same as ever.
Just like when I'd decided to test my luck in the jaws of death before.
"We're going into a defensive siege starting now."
Normally, a mere mid-level NCO like me couldn't make a call like that.
But circumstances had changed.
By sheer luck, I had the highest rank and seniority among those left.
The battalion commanders were all dead or had fled with Pieta.
I took that as a sign my luck was kicking in and acted without hesitation.
After that, things fell into place smoothly.
"Situation looks rough. Let us help out. Just give us warhorses and gear—we can take ten heads each."
I equipped the heavy cavalrymen who happened to be in Gaillard on leave, close to the front.
"We can't fight from horseback, but we can handle messenger duty."
I picked out those who could ride and sent them around the city to spread the word and aid the defense.
The remaining horses I hitched to commandeered wagons, prepped for evacuating the wounded and elderly if needed.
All of it came together unbelievably fast.
"Perfect."
Me, a mid-level NCO, seizing command of the city; the cavalry not bolting despite the horses; the civilians' eager cooperation—all signs.
Of course, it was too early to relax.
The enemy force that had bypassed the border troops to penetrate this deep was undoubtedly mobile and elite.
We had civilians and wounded in tow.
Defending wouldn't be easy.
That's why I was even more confident.
All my past feats and medals had come from desperate situations like this.
"You old-timers over there. Head out the city south-southwest. Make a racket and leave a clear trail—don't forget."
"...What's south-southwest?"
"Pieta Lieutenant Colonel."
"No way...?"
"Gotta give the colonel a shot at glory too."
If he lures the main enemy force for the civilians' sake and dies heroically, even our true noble lord would have no regrets.
"Or not—whatever."
The heavy cavalryman who'd widened his eyes burst out laughing.
"What's your name?"
"Yannick."
"Got it. I'm Vupov, this is my brother Senpov. 3rd Heavy Cavalry Brigade."
Now it was my turn to widen my eyes.
The 3rd Heavy Cavalry—elite legends even on the front lines.
No wonder they hadn't flinched in a do-or-die spot.
"If we survive, let's meet up later."
"Lure them a bit, then alert nearby friendlies and call for backup. As you know, we can't hold long."
Soon after the cavalry left, I rallied the rest for defense prep.
Running to another city with pursuers on our tail would just get us turned away.
We had to hold here.
There were close calls along the way.
But more good breaks than bad.
Weather, civilian help, enemy commander's blunders.
Crucially, time was on our side.
The cavalry did better than expected, delaying the enemy main force; our reinforcements arrived way ahead of schedule.
Those two factors sealed the city's fate.
In the end, we held.
"For leading a small force to protect Gaillard's citizens in crisis, your actions are a model for all soldiers. We award you the 3rd Class Military Merit Medal in recognition."
Thanks to that, I earned the highest medal possible while alive.
"We promote Mid-Level NCO Yannick to Junior Officer rank..."
I got the posthumous promotion while still breathing.
"Lieutenant Yannick is hereby granted the title 'Guardian of Gaillard.'"
Pieta's shameful flight and death got spun into noble sacrifice, and I happily overlooked the high command's propaganda and fabrications—hell, I joined in.
They had me spinning like a parade top.
"Wooo! Yannick! Yannick!"
"Hail to the Guardian of Gaillard!"
The civilians, suckered by the mix of truth and lies, cheered me nonstop during the parade.
All the while, I daydreamed about living cushy on the pension and hero title perks.
Spoiler: even a pipe dream wouldn't dream that bad.
"The front lines have been breached!"
Defeat news out of nowhere.
"No! My pension! My future!"
No one heard my scream.
The kingdom was on the brink of collapse.
"Lieutenant Yannick. Time to step up for the homeland again."
The Thracia high command, who'd milked me for parades, shipped me out like trash.
With retired vets and youths all dragged to the front.
No need to guess: the frontmost front.
I'd planned to play along just enough for a quick retirement and fat pension life.
All down the drain now.
"Hm."
But this was weird.
Every report was bad news, defeats galore.
The whole kingdom drowning in misfortune.
"Here we go again."
My blood started heating up.