Chapter 29
Chapter 29
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Who Said I'm Useless on the Ground? (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Looking back on it now, my childhood was pretty happy, all things considered.
Born into a proper earl's family, I never had to worry about my next meal, and I didn't have any major troubles.
I got along decently with my siblings—not exceptionally close, but fine.
Sure, there were more incidents and accidents than average, but overall, it was peaceful days.
I figured it would stay that way forever.
Until I learned about Thracia's inheritance laws.
Ever since equal inheritance was introduced, countless nobles had vanished into the dustbin of history.
And why not? With estates—the foundation of noble houses—getting carved up every generation, it would be weirder if families survived.
There was only one way to avoid ruin.
Pruning the branches through what they called the Power Struggle, leaving just one trunk standing.
Power Struggle, pruning—pretty words for it.
In truth, it was fratricide and filial impiety.
Anyway, the Enoviche House I was born into was one of the prestigious ones.
Which meant, in other words, that even among Thracia's nobles—where family feuds and betrayals never ended—the Enoviches were unrivaled in their impiety.
Born into a place like that, my future was obvious.
Once I realized it, all those unfortunate incidents around me stopped feeling like coincidences.
I bolted from the family right away and wandered the world.
Sometimes, whether I wanted it or not, I'd get tangled up with them again.
And every time, my brothers acted like they wanted to kill me.
I couldn't fathom that hatred.
Didn't I disappear for you?
Didn't I vanish completely so I wouldn't be an eyesore?
Thanks to that, you inherit without blood on your hands.
Even treated like a bastard and scorned, no one who'd fled the Power Struggle faced such blatant hostility and hatred from their birth family.
Still, we had little overlap, and compared to the misfortune that followed me everywhere, their nitpicking and grudge were trivial—so I let it slide.
"Not even greeting your brother after so long? Same old fuck-up you always were."
I hadn't expected to run into him like this.
"Yuri..."
Anyway, reuniting with my brother after ages, Yuri Enoviche glaring at me like he wanted to devour me—it wasn't all that surprising.
"Insolent. Do you even know who I am now?"
Who? Narrow-minded prick desperate to eat his much-younger little brother alive.
"I'm here as the noble representative of the Thracia Noble Academy. Show some proper respect."
Just moments ago, he'd brought up our old brotherly ties first.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
"...My apologies. Councilor Enoviche."
I took a step back for now.
The knife was in their hands.
Ugh.
With Yuri—desperate to devour me—holding firm as the noble rep, things weren't going smoothly.
Given what he'd done to me before, he'd nitpick everything.
But it wasn't the worst.
"You're the friend His Highness mentioned. Sisric Trachev here. Not sure how long it'll last, but let's get along while we're stuck together."
At least the royal rep seemed to be on 'our' side.
"We'll call it a greeting today and start the real evaluation tomorrow."
The command rep was still a mystery.
Not one of the old generals' puppets, but not fully on Langrid's side either.
He looked stubbornly principled, the picky type.
Seemed like a stickler for rules.
"Perfect balance."
One ally, one neutral, one enemy.
Not sure if it was intentional, but it balanced out nicely.
We could work with this.
Plus, we had the administrative wizard, Major Evgen Sanov, our all-purpose fixer.
The evaluation team started by digging into the 8th Legion's paperwork.
As expected, Major Evgen Sanov's battle reports and records were flawless.
The problem was the people.
Like chopping your own foot with your trusted axe.
"132 violations of uniform and discipline regs by the Foreign Infantry Platoon under the Independent Cavalry Battalion."
"302 violations by the Bluecoats."
What the hell had they done? Every guy under me was labeled a slovenly, undisciplined soldier.
302 for the Bluecoats meant at least five violations per man.
"These bastards..."
I was pissed.
"Lieutenant Yannick: 32 violations."
Then again, maybe not entirely worth raging over.
"A real soldier's gotta have some rough edges."
How do you guard the border and smash the enemy while following every rule to the letter? I knew it, the Bluecoats knew it.
"How has a unit this lax even stayed together? Unbelievable."
"Six out of ten violations across the 8th Legion from the Independent Cavalry Battalion? And the lieutenant has the most solo violations in the legion."
Only Yuri and the command rep didn't get it.
"Field armies face tons of variables and harsh conditions, right? In the chaos, you break minor regs without realizing."
Good thing the royal rep understood.
"Hounding frontline troops risking their lives with rigid rules just kills morale. Fix it with discipline training later—let's wrap this up reasonably."
Royal rep Sisric Trachev winked at me.
Seemed like that was it.
"Discipline is discipline, regs are regs. Why's this one an exception, that one special? Coddling everyone like that crumbles the whole army's order."
"One or two, maybe gloss over. This many? No way. Could you apply the same to the royal staff? If so, Yuri Enoviche accepts."
Yeah, no chance.
2 vs 1, we were at a disadvantage as the debate raged.
Eventually, they tabled discipline decisions until all evals ended.
After that, the team probed every angle, and even after the 8th Legion's eval wrapped, my Independent Cavalry Battalion faced deeper scrutiny.
"Overconfidence has limits. This borders on arrogance."
"In this state, coordinating with other units is impossible. Bluecoats are too emotional, too aggressive."
"Whoa, whoa. A bit overconfident, sure, but we can call it pride and move on. If we nitpick negatively, it'll never end. Everyone, restrain yourselves."
In individual interviews, the Bluecoats flunked one after another.
The battlefield clowns who could barely communicate were a given.
Then it was my turn.
Standard stuff: soldierly posture, mindset on spotting irregularities.
"Says here Lieutenant Yannick was assigned close supervision of the defector knight, Otto von Bauer."
"Yes."
"But you're absent too often. Can't judge his sincerity after three years like this. Isn't this shirking duty?"
Pure bullshit.
"Unlike the Doppelzoltner—limited communication possible—without interpreters, he's useless for missions."
"Not special treatment 'cause he's a noble?"
At this point, it was deliberate nitpicking.
Yuri's face confirmed it.
"Report says Astoria's army commander sent you letters twice. Related to Bauer’s special treatment?"
"I cleared defection suspicions at command last time. Dragging it up after the generals ruled is improper."
Take it up with the generals if you're mad.
"We decide what's proper. Mind your place."
Even I was starting to boil.
Screw cleanup—just charge? The princess and General Langrid might handle it.
...That thought crossed my mind when.
"Lieutenant Yannick."
The command rep spoke.
"You're highly capable. Obvious from your record—or without it."
Unlike Yuri's, no personal grudge in his tone.
"But your achievements are lucky flukes from reckless tightrope walks. That's my conclusion from scrutinizing your battle reports. Your tactics are always improvised, overly radical."
I bit back words and listened silently.
"Success, merits, victory—fine excuses, but failure's cost to allies is too high. Armies prioritize not failing over succeeding. But those young, hot-blooded officers idolizing you don't know that."
I could guess where he was going.
"Armies don't run like that. That's why I don't like you."
Classic conservative Thracia officer spiel.
"As you keep winning, more will mimic you. That's what worries me."
His rigid attitude didn't annoy me entirely because I partly agreed.
Think about it.
If every Thracia officer was like me, how would the army function?
We need legion commanders like Marek Drpov, staff like Major Evgen Sanov, wild cards like me—and sticklers like this guy to call out the basics.
"Interview over. Good work, Lieutenant. You're dismissed."
At Royal Rep Sisric Trachev's words, I stood.
I never heard the interview results.
A day passed.
Next day, my Independent Cavalry Battalion demoed for the evaluators.
"Canter, gallop!"
"Wheel!"
Maneuver demo.
"Armpit lance!"
"Charge!"
Basic hammer-and-anvil with the Doppelzoltner.
For once, Bluecoats and Doppelzoltner ditched the clowning.
Training like combat.
As if Astoria troops were really there—dead serious throughout.
"Indeed! Thracia's finest heavy cavalry!"
"Flexible maneuvers, heavy charges—like elite light and heavy cav fused! Impressive!"
Not just the royal rep—even the command guy was impressed.
"See this and still think the lieutenant pulled off ad-hoc plans on luck?"
"...I acknowledge they have the skill and confidence to succeed."
While they chatted, Yuri stayed silent.
Probably fuming.
Wanted to nitpick, but no openings.
"..."
But Yuri's face as he passed—didn't look pissed.
Indescribable expression.
...?
No clue what he was thinking.
Didn't matter anyway.
We finished the demo and were disbanding when.
"Urgent dispatch!"
A light cav with a red flag rode into Schrelgrad.
"Perfect timing. Lieutenant Yannick, take your men and deploy."
Mass bandits a day's ride away.
Of all the timing?
Felt too convenient.
"How about we tag along? Watching a subjugation up close would help our evaluation."
Royal Rep Sisric Trachev jumped in like he'd planned it.
Odd feeling hit me.
No, what was I thinking?
Shook my head to clear it.
Bandits in winter—prepping failures turning to crime—not rare.
Plus, we'd lost this area to Astoria before; many refugees never returned, wandering after we retook it.
Destroyed homes offered no living.
Trachev's suggestion was reasonable.
Seeing real combat would aid their reports.
Just coincidence.
Still uneasy en route.
But no time for sentiment.
"Lieutenant..."
Jamal's voice sank low.
A burning village in the distance.
The one where we'd partied with the new Bluecoats.
"Scout. Check the village."
Bluecoats broke formation—more urgent than ever.
'Next time, we'll definitely visit!'
'Short goodbyes. We'll meet again.'
Overlapped with hugging village women farewell.
"...Nothing."
No enemies, no survivors.
Returning Bluecoats ground their teeth.
"All hold."
Couldn't drag them back to the slaughter yet—took just Jamal into the still-smoking village.
"..."
As the scout said—no survivors.
Corpses everywhere.
'Oh man, will we have enough to feed all these able men... If not, we'll raid the warehouse...'
Even the boastful village chief eyeing coin purses.
'I'll wait for you.'
The woman who'd flirted with me.
All who'd bonded briefly with Bluecoats—cold corpses now.
"Horrible."
"Such atrocities!"
"...Hmph."
Eval team—followed unnoticed—clicked tongues at the sight.
"...Rigor mortis set in. From the burn levels, about half a day ago."
Jamal reported, face stiff, after circling.
"Tracks head east."
"East..."
"Village that size there. You know it, sir."
New Bluecoats' party—three nearby villages served us, made bank.
That backfired.
....
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Lean season. War doubled the ill will.
Extra grain could mean trouble.
Foreseeable.
Big money holders in times like this? Predictable fate.
So this was.
"Lieutenant..."
Jamal called.
Our eyes met; he shook his head slowly.
"...Send infantry to report. We pursue."
Swallowed words, gave orders.
Accelerated east.
Found them mid-raid.
"What bandit group's this big...? Hundreds, easy."
"Lieutenant—no, Yannick. Call for backup. Too risky with this force."
"Hmm."
Eval team voiced concerns.
I ignored.
"Vadim. Send a fast rider to the fort. Rest of infantry guards the eval team."
Sergeant Vadim drew his shield, ringed them.
"Doppelzoltner, advance 200 paces front, hold. Wide skirmish line."
Doppelzoltner—two-handers on shoulders—advanced.
"Bluecoats."
"Sir!"
"Platoons take east, north, south."
Bluecoats dropped visors.
"Spread wide, herd 'em in. Engage."
Words done—60 Bluecoats charged as one.
I charged with them.
"Lieutenant!"
"Yannick!"
Eval team's shouts couldn't stop me.
Clank.
Visor down.
-Requesting no support, what are you—
-We can't just stand here; hurry to aid Yannick—
Voices muffled, then gone.
Support? Help? Ridiculous.
Hunting winter ghouls feasting on flesh and blood? These ninety were plenty.
Village neared.
Fence through narrow visor slit.
No slowdown—rammed it.
Bang!
Crude fence shattered.
Beasts drunk on loot and slaughter turned, hesitating.
Swish.
Lance to shoulder.
Ihihiiing.
Royal Gift Horse pawed the ground.