I'm Sorry, Could You Repeat That?

Parked right in front of the headquarters building, as if it had something to prove, sat a sleek black luxury car. The Imperial Inspectorate crest emblazoned on its hood gleamed all too vividly in the winter light.

...Wait. The Inspectorate?

My footsteps stopped dead.

Not the commendations committee, not the personnel office — the Inspectorate? An ominous feeling skated down my spine.

What in the world has happened?

I strode straight into the headquarters building.

The moment I pushed open the conference room door, my breath caught in my throat. The atmosphere was even frostier than I'd imagined.

Status Analysis.

I swept the room with a quick, practiced gaze.

My gaze came to rest, at last, on the instigator of this whole affair — an unfamiliar officer sitting with insolent ease beside the regimental commander's seat at the head of the table.

Gleaming pomaded hair, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and an immaculate dress uniform without a speck of dust on it. A typical rear-echelon staff officer's aura radiated off him — a man who had never once breathed the dirt of a battlefield.

Status Analysis.

Just as I thought. I clicked my tongue inwardly.

"Colonel Dietrich. I have great respect for your long military career. But the Imperial Inspectorate does not operate on respect — it operates on regulations."

The regimental commander outranked him, but the Division Inspector armband on the man's left sleeve granted him a blade that cut deeper than rank.

"And by those regulations... I regret to inform you that your conduct, Colonel, appears to constitute a clear violation."

"Mind your tongue, Lieutenant Colonel Zwinger."

The regimental commander, who had been listening in grim silence, finally let his eyebrow twitch.

"While you were sipping warm coffee in the capital and twiddling your pen, my men were rolling in the mud of the Ashen Forest. Holding inspection authority does not grant you the right to insult a field commander's honor."

Dietrich was not simply taking this lying down. At the very least, he had the presence that came with rank and long service.

"An insult? How absurd, Colonel. I merely have... a few small questions about certain 'curious portions' of the report."

"Where in that report is there anything curious?! That victory was won with my men's blood!"

The commander's face mottled red and blue. But Zwinger only twisted his mouth into a smirk, as if the outburst amused him.

"Bled, you say? How curious... that is strange."

He lifted a page of the report with one finger and waved it in the air.

"Twenty-one dead. Sixty-five seriously wounded. For a forest crawling with orcs — a forest that was supposed to be captured — aren't those numbers remarkably economical?"

The regiment fielded roughly several thousand men. Realistically, at least a few hundred should have been killed or maimed.

"Th-that is...!"

"And do take a look at the ammunition expenditure. You drove a major orc force out of their own backyard — the Ashen Forest itself — on thirty percent of standard consumption? Was this ammunition actually fired? Don't tell me you burned it on paper and quietly sold the rest to the black market?"

"That's a frame-up, Lieutenant Colonel Zwinger! Every bit of it was our 7th Regiment's tactical—!"

"Tactical miracle, I believe you were about to say. I know."

Zwinger cut him off cleanly.

"But, Colonel — 'miracle' is a word that belongs in scripture. The Imperial Army's administrative system has far more reasonable words for it. Embezzlement. False reporting."

This Zwinger character didn't want the truth at all. He intended to brand the 7th Regiment as a corrupt outfit under the Inspectorate's authority and chalk the whole thing up as his personal career achievement.

From his standpoint, our miraculous victory was nothing but a stepping stone for his own promotion. He'd no doubt force-fit it into a 'false reporting and embezzlement' narrative and ship it upstairs.

Why? Because nothing turned heads quite like the public fall of a hero.

Unbelievable. So this was the rotten reason they'd granted us rest.

The 7th Regiment's triumph — and my own record along with it — was about to be plucked clean by this vulture.

"Colonel. How truly regrettable."

Zwinger clicked his tongue.

"I hear the Ashen Forest campaign was to receive His Majesty the Emperor's personal commendation? And your long-cherished promotion to general was within arm's reach, was it not?"

At those words, the commander's eyelids trembled violently. Zwinger was striking precisely at his reverse scale.

"But unfortunately, now that allegations of serious misconduct have been filed with the Inspectorate, every commendation procedure will be frozen."

"...Come now, Lieutenant Colonel. Allegations? Nothing has been proven!"

Dietrich protested through a clenched throat.

I read the commander's status window and clicked my tongue inwardly again.

The longer the investigation dragged on, the more the commander would miss his promotion window. By the time the allegations were finally cleared, the bus would have long since departed. And at that point, whether the 7th Regiment had actually won an overwhelming victory would no longer matter to anyone.

"Proof is what I will produce. Very slowly. Very thoroughly."

"Ghrrk... Zwinger!"

The commander, who had been groaning as he stared down at the desk, finally exploded.

"Do you think I don't know what you're after? Do I look like some hollow scarecrow with no connections in the capital? If that's truly what you believe, then I'd advise you to brace yourself."

But Zwinger was unmoved.

"Heh heh. Brace myself, you say. I am merely carrying out my duties as an inspector."

He was utterly at ease. It showed the confidence of a man certain the board had already been arranged in his favor.

"And frankly, there's no need for me to raise my voice and go red in the face with a Colonel, of all people."

Then it came.

"After all, the truth doesn't live in documents. It lives in people."

Zwinger snapped the report shut with a light clack. Then he slowly turned his gaze toward the line of officers standing like a folding screen below the dais — us.

"One confession from the man himself settles the matter, doesn't it? Far better than a hundred excuses."

He adjusted his glasses and swept the conference room with serpentine eyes.

"...Especially since the protagonist of that report appears to be present with us today."

His roving gaze snagged on a single point. Me.

"You... you would be Lieutenant Max Jäger?"

His canine teeth glinted, as if he'd finally found a sacrificial lamb worth tearing into.

"The very platoon leader recorded in this preposterous, fabricated report as having made 'decisive tactical contributions'?"

Zwinger stepped down from the dais and began walking slowly along the line. Wherever he passed, the 7th Regiment's officers swallowed dryly and parted to make way.

"I did so enjoy reading the report. A mere platoon leader destroys a mortar position, annihilates a shaman altar with a single platoon, blows up an enemy outpost by fortuitously detonating a cache of explosives, intercepts Kardor's assault with timely command, repels a night raid as if it were choreographed — and even devises the decisive operation that turned Orc Great Chieftain Gromnar's own trap against him..."

He finally stopped directly in front of me.

"Be honest with me, Lieutenant. Did you write this report yourself? Or did the Colonel order you to... "

With his fishy smile stretched to its fullest, he opened his mouth.

"...invent it?"

He was certain of it. Any victory his common sense couldn't comprehend had to be a lie.

"Even now, if you tell the truth, I'll see to it that only you receive leniency. What power does a junior officer have? You merely did as you were told, no?"

The air in the conference room froze solid. The commander's face flushed to the point of bursting.

Sowing discord.

He meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to drive a wedge between the commander and me, then coax me into becoming a whistle-blower from within. I could feel the commander's gaze wavering uneasily.

I paused to consider.

Which line pays off better for me?

Truthfully, there was nothing to think about.

Suppose I sold out the commander here? All that would land in my lap was an exemption from punishment dressed up as "leniency" — a cotton-gloved slap on the wrist. But if I protected the commander and the achievements were recognized instead? Then, along with the title of hero of the Empire, the commander's line would open a paved highway for my advancement.

There was some risk involved, but the returns were beyond comparison.

More than anything else.

Status Analysis.

Shaking in terror, am I?

I swallowed a hollow laugh.

Wrong address, pal.

Granted, the commander was also a worldly schemer who'd been plotting to squeeze me dry from day one — but at the very least, he possessed a field officer's respect, a commander's pride.

Zwinger, this bastard?

He was the type to use you up and throw you away.

Therefore, there was only one thing for me to say.

Flinch.

Zwinger's eyebrow twitched. For a moment he wore a stunned expression, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Hah? Are your ears going bad, Lieutenant? Or is it your grasp of reality?"

"I'm sorry."

I met his eyes dead-on and opened my mouth again.

"Could you repeat that?"

Zwinger's face burned crimson. Behind the gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes trembled with wounded pride.

"You dare — you dare insult an inspector, a mere lieutenant!"

SLAM!

He hammered his fist down on the table in front of me. The air in the conference room froze over harder than ever.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart was beating with perfect regularity. My head was chilled to an ideal cold, and the intimidation Zwinger was spewing at me felt almost pathetic.

"Insult you? Don't be absurd, Lieutenant Colonel."

I put on my most aggrieved expression and spoke.

Charming Speechcraft.