Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Eve of the Storm (3)
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Mages could be broadly classified into two categories.
First, by their inclination: the Manifestation faction, which prioritized the practical manifestation of magic, and the Theoretical faction, which focused more on improving and researching magic itself. Then, by their specialization: Mages, who dedicated themselves to a single specialty spell, and Wizards, who handled a wide variety of magic.
Mages typically belonged to the Manifestation faction, while Wizards were from the Theoretical faction.
Among those active on the battlefield, the vast majority were Mages specialized in bombardment and defensive magic.
This was because Mages with high mana condensation efficiency—quick to "warm up," in Thracia's terms—were far more suited to the chaos of war.
Wizards, on the other hand, preferred holing up in their labs running experiments 365 days a year rather than charging around outside. And there were far fewer of them compared to Mages anyway, so they didn't fit the army's needs.
That made Natasha special.
She was one of the rare Wizards operating on a battlefield dominated by Mages.
Her warm-up time was as fast as any average Mage's, and she was proficient in a handful of spells to the point where you could call them her specialties.
Of course, that alone wasn't enough to call her truly exceptional.
There were other Wizards on the battlefield, even if they were few and far between.
But they were hybrids—Wizards who were also part of the Manifestation faction.
Natasha was different.
She stuck firmly to pure Theoretical faction principles even while fighting on the front lines.
It was absurd: claiming to have devoted her life to research and theory while spending every day wandering the warzone instead of experimenting.
And her reasoning was even more ridiculous.
'I'm researching every day.'
At first, I had no idea what that meant.
I only learned later that her research subject was "mass destruction," and her test subjects were "living humans."
In simple terms, she was testing her theories on people.
There was this one time, too.
She was so talkative that even when manifesting spells, she never shut up—except for one moment: when the bombardment hit.
I later realized that silence was to better "observe" the enemy's screams up close.
And that was just one example. Her madness and eccentricities were too numerous to list.
Like preferring the front lines over the rear despite being a Wizard, or deliberately weakening her spells to watch enemies die slowly.
Sure, the battlefield was full of crazies, and a good chunk of them were irredeemable, but none were as hopeless as Natasha.
And to top it off, this lunatic of legend was part of the resident mage unit stationed in Killigrad alongside the 8th Legion.
It was enough to make you jump out of your skin.
But that wasn't the end of it.
The real problem was...
"Finally! Yannick! Oh, my little Yannick! We're never parting again!"
This psycho had a pathological obsession with me.
'Yannick smells familiar.'
'Yannick's just like me.'
She liked me because she thought I was cut from the same cloth.
What a load of nonsense.
How the hell was I anything like that maniac?
As the most level-headed, sane guy in the entire Thracia army, I found her delusion downright insulting.
Anyway.
"Natasha. Not now..."
"Okay. I'll let go."
"Don't just say it—actually do it..."
"Okay, okay."
"..."
The only silver lining was that her skills were among the best I'd seen from any mage.
She could handle the workload of ten average Mages.
She wouldn't crack under pressure like others—or rather, she didn't have the mentality to crack in the first place.
So, just endure it a little.
She'd eaten her share of battlefield rations; she wouldn't act as recklessly as before.
"Yannick. Where are you? Yannick."
"That's weird. Where'd he go?"
"Here? Nope. Then here? Nope."
...or so I hoped.
Natasha hadn't changed a bit, so I spent the whole day dodging her.
"Captain. Just give in already."
"Shouldn't you be grateful that a woman like her is showing such affection?"
The Bluecoats snickering at me hiding in the stables knew nothing.
I'd admit Natasha was a rare beauty.
Especially in Thracia, where brown and black hair dominated—her bright golden locks and skin so pale it was almost translucent were undeniably attractive.
So what?
If the inside wasn't human.
Besides, her feelings for me weren't some normal romance.
'More blood, more screams. Yannick's the best for that.'
Odd analogy, but her affection was like a chef treasured for providing a rare delicacy to her tastes.
And even if it were normal romance, I wasn't crazy enough to play along with a lunatic like her.
To reiterate: I was the epitome of a model soldier—calm, rational, and perfectly sane.
"...?"
"...?"
For some reason, Jamal and the Bluecoats didn't seem to agree.
"How'd you two meet, anyway? Doesn't look like a casual acquaintance."
"Same unit when I was a lowly grunt."
It was from back when I'd been scamming around, testing my luck thanks to Asha—more foe than friend.
"Oh, right. Never heard what you did before, Captain."
"What unit were you in?"
The Bluecoats perked up.
Talking about Natasha or my past was equally awkward, so I brushed it off.
"Just your standard frontline infantry platoon. Nothing special."
Higher casualty rates than most, thrown into abandoned allied zones or enemy territory—but officially, it was a plain old infantry platoon, so not a lie.
Plus, the unit was long gone, no name to give anyway.
"Yann-ick. Yann-ick."
Even after that, Natasha hunted me all day.
Stables, warehouses, the colonel's office.
I kept switching spots to evade her.
Nowhere left to hide.
"...I heard why you're camping out in my office."
The commander eyed me like I was insane.
"She's way better than those elitist Mages who treat regular soldiers like dirt. Can't imagine why you're dodging her."
He could say that—before he'd seen her go full berserk.
Once he did, he'd never utter those words again.
"Anyway, since you're here, let's get to work."
The commander summoned Major Evgen Sanov.
"Looks like the army reorganization plan is taking shape."
The meeting kicked off as soon as the major arrived.
"High Command's reviving divisions."
Thracia's army currently skipped divisions, going straight from legions to battalions. (Note: "mage division" was a unit of mages, not a division of magic.) They were expanding legions to 3,000 men and reintroducing divisions for vanguard, main body, and rear guard roles.
"We'll likely handle main body for the 8th Legion, absorbing two or three battered legions from the last war for vanguard and rear guard."
"That way, no need for new divisions—just convert existing legions naturally."
Downgrading understrength legions into divisions under others saved the headache of restructuring.
Perfect timing, too.
After the last war's opening debacle, many generals had been sacked. Northern front legions were now led by acting commanders or new appointees post-fall.
No one would complain about demotion from legion to division commander.
No wonder the reorganization was rushed.
High Command's idiots had actually used their brains for once.
The reorganization rolled out sequentially, starting with our 8th Legion.
We handed Schrelgrad's fortress to the 11th Legion wintering there and marched straight to Killigrad, where the 15th Legion was stationed.
We took over their duties and began refitting.
Meanwhile, the badly hit 12th and 17th Legions joined us as subordinate divisions.
Once we finished, others followed suit.
Three months later, the northern legions' overhaul was complete.
True to Thracia form: start a job, ignore everything else, finish impossibly fast.
Astoria watched our moves uneasily.
No one that smart could miss it.
This massive restructuring across the northern front—what it meant.
And we topped it off with large-scale drills right on the border.
Practically a power show for Astoria.
Tensions skyrocketed along the frontier.
Skirmishes erupted everywhere.
Still small-scale, but they could escalate any moment.
This flow had been set since last year, when Astoria invaded Thracia.
Get hit, hit back; hit, get hit.
Astoria-Thracia history was full of it.
Astoria's border forces grew daily.
The front was thin ice.
Everyone felt it.
War was inevitable.
With this many troops massed, something had to give.
Armies gonna army.
War drums beat louder.
Just when—early or late.
Just how many troops—scale alone.
Then the commander got summoned.
Not just our 8th; most border legion commanders too.
Only an idiot wouldn't know what that meant.
Thracia army had idiots, but not clueless ones.
Unlike the politics-obsessed brass, frontline commanders were actually competent.
"Check gear, prime the horses."
I quietly prepped for the coming war.
Soon after, the commander returned.
"Full readiness. Be set to deploy anytime."
His orders screamed war was near.
Any day now. Real soon.
And war began.
Everything as expected.
Except one thing.
The war wasn't Astoria or Thracia.
It was a third party.
"Kazan attacked Astoria!"
Started by Kazan.
"Suddenly? Out of nowhere?"
Not entirely out of the blue.
That unnamed noble—unpronounceable name—had said it.
His mission: broker some deal between Kazan and Thracia.
Looked like the fruits of that.
Astoria's forces panicked across the border; you could feel it.
"As you all guessed, Kazan's strike was at our urging."
The commander gathered his division commanders and staff.
All field-grade officers or higher—except me.
I made the cut not just as head of the Independent Cavalry Battalion, but because I was a Bluecoat first.
"Captain Yannick. Per Thracia tradition, I entrust you with the vanguard."
Historically, Bluecoats always struck first.
"Attaching a light cavalry company. Raise hell."
That would be Thracia's declaration of war.
Trust filled the commander's face.
Snap.
I snapped my heels together, back ramrod straight.
Chin up.
"For Thracia."
Crisp salute, then out of the room.
"By tradition."
I nodded to the fully armored, waiting Bluecoats.
"By tradition."
"By tradition."
They echoed me.
Mounted the royal gift horse Jamal brought.
Wheeled it around.
Bluecoats followed silently.
Snap.
Light cavalry lined at the gate parted for me.
Swoosh.
They bowed as I passed, paying respects.
I took point.
"I'm coming too today."
"Got rear covered."
The defected knight at the front thumped his breastplate and joined 2nd Platoon.
"Natasha."
"Yannick. Taking me, right?"
The mad Wizard asked anxiously.
Today, even I didn't push her away.
Bluecoat charges kicking off the war, paired with her fireworks in the sky? Solid combo.
"8th Legion Cavalry."
Gates opened.
"Deploy."