How to Become a Respected Husband (4)
"That rootless bastard dares to challenge me!"
Bang! Torres slammed his fist onto the desk. Cloud, who had suddenly surged upward, had become an eyesore to him. The rookie who used to come every single morning to receive orders without fail had grown arrogant after becoming a 300-man commander. His eyes carried a different light now—one that looked at Torres as an equal rather than a superior. Torres hated that gaze.
"So now he thinks he doesn't have to follow my orders! He barely even bothers with a proper salute anymore!"
A few days later, the friction between Torres and Cloud finally sparked into an incident. Cloud's promotion to 300-man commander had granted him authority to appoint three 100-man commanders beneath him, and that was where the trouble began. Cloud possessed the right to personally recommend his own candidates, but Torres invoked the same privilege and refused to yield an inch.
Torres summoned Cloud to his office.
"You still lack military experience, so your eye for people is poor. Leave it to me. Besides, how long has it been since you rose to the position of 300-man commander? Yet here you are, already trying to exercise the same authority as me. Regulations may permit it, but there are customs to observe. If others see you acting as my equal, your reputation will suffer."
"They're the ones I'll be working with, so I believe it's only natural that I choose them. I'd like to yield if possible, but this time I can't. I want to work with people whose rhythm matches my own."
"Foolish stubbornness."
"It's not stubbornness. It's simply exercising my rightful authority."
"In all things, the practices everyone implicitly agrees upon must come first."
"I believe regulations take precedence."
Torres had tried to plant his own man in Cloud's unit, while Cloud sought to appoint those close to him in order to expand his foothold within the Valua army. Because expanding one's faction carried such vital significance, neither man could afford to back down.
Torres possessed as little patience as his massive frame suggested. He exploded at once.
"Until just a few days ago you were in a position to receive orders and make reports to me! Have you no respect for your former superior at all!"
Cloud offered no reply. He simply watched in silence as the man continued to rant.
"I called you here to end this amicably, and you refuse! When your superior gives an order, how dare you say no! This is exactly why people call you a rootless bastard! In my view, your promotion will stop at 300-man commander! Does it make any sense for a commoner like you to rise any higher?! His Lordship knows this fact all too well, so abandon any useless expectations and kill that greed of yours! Hand the rights over to me, you futureless wretch!"
Cloud stared steadily into those furious eyes before asking in a low voice.
"Are you finished?"
"Make your choice! Will you relinquish your rights or not!"
"I'll take that as the end of the conversation. I'll be going now."
Cloud rose from his seat and headed for the door.
"Where do you think you're going? You dare treat my words like shit? This son of a bitch!"
Torres drew the sword from his waist. In that instant Cloud spun around and hurled Gesaengquiya. The blade extended in a flash, streaking toward Torres's throat before stopping with deadly precision just one inch away. The sword tip hovered at his neck like an enraged cobra, swaying threateningly.
Torres's eyes widened. He swallowed hard. His body remained frozen, sword still gripped in his hand as if encased in ice.
Cloud asked with a chillingly calm expression.
"What exactly were you trying to do? Drawing a blade in front of me?"
"P-put that sword away! Remove the blade you've stuck at my throat right now!"
"Why should I?"
"You're pointing a sword at your superior!"
"Didn't you call me a rootless bastard? What's wrong with a rootless bastard acting without roots?"
"How can you even say that? Urk!"
The tip that had maintained its precarious distance brushed his skin. Torres flinched.
"You drew first. I merely responded in self-defense. And you keep harping on about superiors..."
Cloud gave a small snort of laughter.
"Hey, Torres."
"T-Torres?!"
"What? Does casual speech suddenly sound refreshing? But really, should people of equal rank be waving swords at each other like this? I'm no longer part of your subordinate unit. I'm the commander of an independent force. You're the 2nd Regiment Commander, and I'm clearly the 3rd Regiment Commander. Therefore my direct superior is Lord Vurmir. So how long do you plan to keep pretending to be mine? From now on, let's just speak comfortably to each other. Sound good?"
"You... you bastard...!"
Torres ground his teeth, face twisted with humiliation.
Knock. Knock.
At that moment came the sound of knocking. The door opened and Vivian stepped inside.
"I've brought the tea you ordered."
She spotted Cloud and flashed him a bright smile. Cloud had already recalled Gesaengquiya. He cleared his throat as if nothing had happened, offered her a cheerful grin, and walked straight out the door.
"Hmm? Why are you leaving so soon?"
Vivian looked puzzled as she turned toward Torres, who stood by the window rubbing his flushed neck.
"Um... the tea..."
"Leave it there and get out."
"Yes..."
Sensing the dangerous atmosphere around Torres, Vivian beat a hasty retreat from the office before she could receive the usual tongue-lashing.
The next day the two men each submitted lists of three 100-man commander candidates to Vurmir.
Cloud's Recommendations
1. Tor Joffrey
2. Tess Morgan
3. Lucy Christina
Vurmir, having called both men to his office, carefully examined the personal records attached to their lists before finally speaking.
"For this 100-man commander selection, we will go with Commander Torres's recommendations and seek His Lordship's approval."
"W-why?"
Cloud shot to his feet, pressing him.
"Commander Vurmir! These new 100-man commanders will be working directly with me. Shouldn't they be the people I recommend?"
"Now, now, Cloud. Don't trouble the 1000-man commander excessively."
Torres, seated across from him, wore a smug, triumphant smile.
"Hmm..."
Vurmir set Cloud's list atop a dusty stack of documents in the corner, then slid Torres's list into the approval tray on his desk.
"Commander Cloud. None of the three you recommended—Tor, Tess, or Lucy—appear to be individuals who would benefit our forces."
"That's not true."
Cloud spoke with genuine appeal.
"If you witness their exceptional martial prowess, you'll change your mind. Give me the chance and I'll summon them immediately to demonstrate before you. Please reconsider."
"That is not what I mean. I am speaking of their backgrounds."
"Backgrounds...?"
Cloud doubted his ears. He had never imagined the word "background" would emerge from the mouth of Vurmir, who always seemed so benevolent and incorruptible. Knowing full well what it implied, he forced a hollow smile and sought confirmation.
"Haha... When you say background, I'm afraid I don't quite understand what kind you mean. What exactly are you referring to?"
"I'll be blunt. Among Commander Torres's recommendations, one is the son of a prominent local noble house, another is the child of one of our retainers, and the last comes from a distinguished family whose great-grandfather rose to the rank of marquis. In contrast, look at your choices. This Tor is nothing more than a wandering mercenary. Tess is merely a commoner living away from home. And this woman Lucy is an orphan with no residence, apparently staying at inns every night. That is the problem."
"Is that truly such a grave issue?"
Torres cut in.
"Of course it's a grave issue. What do you think the military even is? That skill in martial arts alone is enough? Do you imagine this is some neighborhood gang of fighting thugs?"
Cloud's gaze shifted to Torres. Staring at him, he asked quietly.
"Then what do you think the military is?"
"It's not what I think. It's what everyone thinks. The military is also a business. Money flows in and out. In simple terms, it's a merchant collective."
Cloud's eyebrows twitched.
"A merchant collective?"
"Do you think the armor and weapons issued to soldiers appear out of thin air? It's all sponsorship. Sponsorship. Bribes that come in under the guise of support. You seat the children of wealthy families who can't become nobles in good positions and receive generous backing from their parents. Understand now?"
"Is operating the army truly that difficult with only the taxes from the people?"
"Probably. That's why the military engages in business, no?"
"Then where does all the tax money paid by the people go?"
"Who knows?"
Torres spread his arms with a mocking grin.
"It goes into your salary, and over there—waaay over there to the royal palace in the capital. After taking care of the retainers, paying the soldiers, and sending taxes to the capital, nothing remains. That's why we do this."
"Isn't it because the retainers are all taking their cuts?"
"Commander Cloud. Refrain from unnecessary comments."
Vurmir interrupted, scolding him. He then looked at Torres.
"Commander Torres, that's enough. Commander Cloud is intelligent. I'm sure he understands perfectly."
After once again declaring that the 100-man commanders would be chosen from Torres's recommendations, Vurmir dismissed them both.
As Cloud left the command headquarters, he ground his teeth.
"Yeah! I get it! The world is about screwing each other over anyway. Some live, some die. I won't curse you for being money-hungry. I'm the same kind of bastard. But I refuse to be the one who gets screwed! It's you bastards who are going to get screwed!"
He had no intention of giving up.