My Direct Superior Is the Ice Witch

I crossed the parade ground. Voices drifted over from the soldiers working there.

"You hear? About the new company commander taking over us."

"Ah, that woman? Serafina von Reinhardt, they said. Aristocrat, apparently."

"Aristocrat, shm aristocrat — the thing is, she's supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous. A gorgeous face, and that figure… mmm."

One of them swallowed hard and put on a lecherous grin. The others nodded along as if they'd been waiting for the cue.

"Still, a Captain's bars mean something. They say she's the real deal in combat. There's even a rumor she wiped out an entire orc squad by herself up on the Northern Front."

"An angel's face with a devil's habits, huh. Women like that are the most fun once the lights go out… you know what I mean?"

"You lunatic. How many lives do you have? Her nickname is the Ice Witch. Cross her the wrong way and she'll cut you in half at the waist."

"Worth it to hold her once, though. Imagine that ice-cold woman flushed and undone with heat… just thinking about it—"

The idle filth polluted my ears. I pretended not to hear and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kept walking.

Captain Serafina von Reinhardt.

It wasn't as if the rumors had passed me by. She was the one who had received the unusual appointment to the post left vacant when the previous company commander fell in battle. Alongside her extraordinary skill, her ice-cold temperament and goddess-like beauty had made her the talk of every soldier's mouth even before her arrival.

The Ice Witch, huh….

Her nickname came not only from the ruthlessness she showed on the battlefield, but also from the frigid way she refused every man who drew near. Countless noble sons and officers had approached her, and every one of them had reportedly turned away with nothing but a rejection cold enough to freeze the marrow.

Before long, I stood in front of the 2nd Company command barracks. The guard at the entrance recognized me and snapped off a salute with a stiff expression. I answered with a brief nod and went inside.

The interior of the barracks was barer than I'd expected — a single desk, two chairs, and a large operational map hanging on one wall. That was all.

Every trace of the previous occupant had been scrubbed away; a space prepared to receive its new master.

And at the center of that space stood a woman, showing me only her back.

Silver hair like a field of fresh-fallen snow swayed just below her shoulders. Her officer's combat uniform, tailored to her exact measurements, laid bare without mercy the narrowness of her waist and the generous line of her hips.

Even though I had muffled the sound of my boots as I approached, she turned around as if she had known the moment I entered.

Her lips parted, and a voice cold and clear as ice rang out.

"First Lieutenant Max Jäger."

For a moment, my breath stopped.

The soldiers' gossip had been no exaggeration. Skin pale to the point of translucence, a nose as finely chiseled as a statue's, and crimson lips.

But above all, it was her eyes that seized the gaze — sapphire blue, gleaming cold as jewels.

"First Lieutenant Max Jäger, reporting to the Company Commander! Sir!"

I straightened my back and saluted. She accepted it without so much as blinking.

"…Welcome. I am Captain Serafina von Reinhardt."

Her gaze swept over me from the crown of my head to the tips of my boots. But I felt no intimidation. No — it would be more accurate to say I couldn't feel any.

The skill Strong Mind was flattening every last ripple of my emotions into still water.

Status Analysis.

Holding my salute, I quietly activated the skill.

…Deep beneath the surface? …Suppressed fatigue?

That was unexpected information. Her exterior looked flawless — so something was hidden underneath, was that it? Not that I particularly needed to know right now.

"Sit. Make yourself comfortable."

I obediently took a seat.

Captain Serafina lifted a file folder from the desk. I caught sight of the cover, marked with my name and rank.

"I've read the reports on you, Lieutenant Jäger. A promotion only six months after commissioning… remarkably capable, aren't you."

"You honor me, Captain."

I answered as evenly as I could manage.

"That wasn't a compliment, Lieutenant. It was a confirmation of facts."

Setting the folder down on the desk, she continued.

"The previous company commander was incompetent. Because of him, our company sank into being the worst headache in the entire regiment. Discipline slack, casualty rate the highest in the unit."

Her blue eyes pierced straight through me.

"I intend to make this company an elite force. For that, I need your ability."

"If it's within my power, I'll do anything."

The answer came without a heartbeat's hesitation.

"Good."

Apparently that had pleased her — Serafina gave a short nod.

"The last barrage killed the previous company commander, and several officers besides. You're aware that the 3rd Platoon leader was among them, I trust."

"Of course."

"I intend to entrust that post to you."

I flinched slightly. As if she'd expected the reaction, Serafina elaborated.

"The 3rd Platoon is a particular problem. The veterans have sunk into idleness, and the new recruits are paralyzed with fear. Double the training intensity starting tomorrow. If complaints or mutiny arise, I'm granting you summary authority to deal with them on the spot. In exchange — I will be watching to see whether you can truly bring that platoon to heel."

"Understood."

"Good. Then get out of my sight. I expect results from tomorrow."

"Sir!"

I rose, saluted, and left the barracks. Only after the creaking wooden door swung shut behind me did I let out the breath I'd been holding.

She's no ordinary officer.

A single meeting had been enough to tell me that Serafina von Reinhardt was no mere aristocrat in an officer's uniform.

She had a precise grasp of the company's problems, along with concrete plans and unshakable will to solve them. Arriving early to a unit she'd only just been assigned to — summoning me to her side personally. She radiated the drive of someone determined to make things work.

When the boss is that driven, the underlings are the ones who suffer.

But flip that around, and it also meant far more opportunities for the underlings to shine. Perhaps this was my chance to show what my skills could really do.

The next morning, I headed for the block where the 3rd Platoon barracks stood. Morning muster had ended mere minutes ago, yet the atmosphere was looser than even I had predicted.

The majority were clustered in twos and threes, smoking or sprawled in the barracks' shade with their boots half-polished at best, shooting the breeze. In one corner, a group was openly holding a gambling table.

…So this is why they're called the headache platoon.

Even as I appeared, not a single man offered a proper salute. They glanced my way and went right back to their chatter. Just how incompetent must the previous platoon leader ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have been for it to rot this far?

At the center of it all stood one sergeant, conspicuously huge. A walking mural of tattoos, this one — a black design sprawling across his forearm, his combat uniform's jacket unbuttoned two buttons deep, rank be damned.

The soldiers around him arranged themselves so rigidly by his presence that the hierarchy might as well have been painted on the ground.

So that's the tumor running this place.

I quietly activated the skill.

An ego and a hangover, huh….

As I approached at an unhurried pace, one soldier finally noticed me and rose from his seat with visible reluctance.

"Hey. That's the new platoon leader."

At those words, Gunter turned his head. He didn't bother to stand — just leaned back where he sat and looked me up and down.

"Decent-looking, aren't you. Think you'll fit in with the likes of us?"

Snickering laughter rippled out around him. I walked toward him without a word.

"Stand up, Sergeant."

At my voice, Gunter's brow twitched. He hauled himself up slowly — a massive frame that had to be a good two meters tall.

"Name?"

"Sergeant Gunter, sir. Second Lieutenant… no, forgive me, Mister First Lieutenant."

He deliberately mangled my rank. A transparent provocation.

"Uniform violation. Button your jacket."

"…I beg your pardon?"

Bald displeasure spread across Gunter's face. The idle chatter around us cut off mid-word.

"You have five seconds. Five, four, three…"

I began the countdown. The lower the numbers sank, the uglier Gunter's expression grew. By rights, that intensity might have made a man flinch.

With Strong Mind running, I felt no pressure whatsoever from him. If anything, watching a mere sergeant try to swagger at me was almost comical.

"You son of a—!"

Just before my count reached one, Gunter's patience ran dry. He strode forward and reached out to seize me by the collar.

But the motion was sluggish. Last night's hangover braided together with his overconfidence into a movement riddled with openings.

I extended my right arm without a shred of hesitation. The destination: the back of Gunter's neck.

"GWAAAK!"

A scream like a pig at slaughter tore out of him. The two-meter giant buckled and collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. I seized him by the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hair and drove his face into the dirt.

"I don't repeat my orders twice, Sergeant."

I whispered into the ear of the man sprawled face-down in the soil. Then I straightened and swept my gaze across the platoon. The smirks had drained from every face.

"I'm told the 3rd Platoon is the regiment's garbage dump. As of today, we shed that reputation."

Wherever my eyes landed, soldiers flinched and ducked their heads.

"It's the Company Commander's order. As of today, the 3rd Platoon's training intensity doubles. Anyone with complaints, speak now. No questions asked — I'll transfer you to another company on the spot."

No one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could open their mouth.

"Good. Then here's your first order. Full combat kit, everyone on the parade ground within ten minutes. Anyone late by even one second had better be ready for the stockade."