The 7th Regiment, the Empire's Finest
The 7th Regiment was the finest unit in the Empire.
Status Analysis.
[Name: Karl von Dietrich]
[Status: Relief at having narrowly survived; his evaluation of Max Jäger shooting through the ceiling and still climbing]
[Name: Helga von Strauss]
[Status: Cognitive dissonance against everything she thought she knew]
[Emotion: A perfectionist's sense of defeat; deep recognition of, and curiosity about, Max Jäger]
[Name: Hermann]
[Emotion: Awe of Max Jäger]
Perfect.
I silently cheered. The Colonel now saw me as a treasure he couldn't afford to lose, the strict adjutant had granted me her full recognition, and the supply master might as well have been my loyal hound from here on out.
With that, my standing in the regiment had risen by one step. No — by two.
"...That's everything."
I said it as I closed the last file, and a brief silence settled over the conference room. Outside the window, the sky was already brightening to a pale blue.
"This... it's really done?"
The Colonel picked up the stack of documents with trembling hands. Ledgers that had been riddled with holes mere hours ago had now been reborn as the most exemplary case file in the entire Empire.
"It's flawless, Colonel."
Major Helga added in a voice considerably softer than usual.
"I've reviewed everything myself. Even if the Judge Advocate came in person, he couldn't find a single fault. Every expenditure and every loss is backed by explicit regulations and precedent."
"Ha, hahaha...!"
Laughter burst freely from the Colonel's mouth. He shot up from his seat and strode straight over to me, seizing both my hands in his.
"Max! You've saved me! No — you've saved our entire 7th Regiment!"
His eyes were glistening with gratitude.
"In thirty years of military service, I've never met an officer as versatile as you. You're a hero on the battlefield, and a hero at the desk as well!"
"You flatter me, sir. I only wished to protect the Colonel's honor."
I dipped my head just enough and served up the appropriate lip service.
"Master Sergeant Hermann!"
"Yes sir! Colonel!"
"Get these documents cross-checked against the originals and organized immediately! If so much as a single comma is off, I'll have your head!"
"Leave it to me! I'll process it perfectly if it costs me my life!"
Hermann hugged the mountain of paperwork to his chest like a treasure chest and began hammering away at his typewriter with ferocious energy.
Nine in the morning.
At the appointed hour, the conference room door swung open with a bang. Lieutenant Colonel Zwinger entered, a pair of inspectors trailing behind him, their faces glistening like hyenas closing in on prey.
"Good morning, Colonel. I trust you passed a pleasant night?"
Zwinger settled into his seat with a relaxed smile. Looking at our bleary eyes, he seemed certain of his victory.
"Well then, shall we begin? First, the ammunition expenditure ledger and the ration issue records—"
"Right here."
At the Colonel's nod, Master Sergeant Hermann dropped a thick binder onto the table in front of Zwinger with a heavy thud.
"Hmm. Let's see how closely you managed to match things up..."
Zwinger flipped the file open with a sneer. His fingers turned the pages rapidly. At first the motion was dismissive, almost mocking — then it began to slow.
Flip. Flip.
A crease formed between his brows.
"...What is this? Disposal? Action taken before reporting?"
"Section 14, Paragraph 3 of Wartime Emergency Materiel Regulations."
The Colonel replied leisurely, lifting his teacup.
"My own failing, I'm afraid — I failed to account for the humidity at the front. Fortunately, however, a capable platoon leader took the appropriate measures on the spot."
"Ha! What a ridiculous excuse. Then what about the rations? This enormous surplus—"
"Sanitation Regulation, Article 7. Anti-contamination protocol for enemy materiel was applied."
This time it was Major Helga who cut in, her voice like ice.
"We could not rule out the possibility of poison having been introduced into the Orc provisions, so everything was incinerated. In its place, the men were issued a special meal to sustain morale and caloric intake. Here — the data, compared against the nutritional intake standards."
Zwinger's eyes began to waver. Desperately, he turned the next page. Then the next.
Flip. Flip.
The rustle of paper seemed unnaturally loud in the room.
"Th-this is..."
Zwinger's hands were shaking. He wiped his glasses with a sweating handkerchief, put them back on — but the documents hadn't changed.
Uniform costs, medical supplies, operational maps... every hole he had come to poke was packed wall-to-wall with airtight regulations and precedent.
"...Is there anything left to look at, Lieutenant Colonel Zwinger?"
Zwinger couldn't say a word. His face flushed red, then drained pale, over and over.
Status Analysis.
[Name: Albrecht von Zwinger]
[Status: Utterly and logically defeated. Convinced he has fallen into a trap.]
[Emotion: Disbelief.]
"...It's too perfect."
he murmured in a hoarse voice.
"Too perfect to be credible. A field unit's paperwork matching up to the last decimal point? This is... manufactured. Someone deliberately stitched it all together—"
"Lieutenant Colonel."
I cut him off cleanly.
"Are you seriously suggesting our regiment is suspicious because we follow regulations too well?"
"Wha...?"
"If the paperwork's a mess, it's embezzlement. If the paperwork's perfect, it's fabrication? Then tell me, which tune exactly are we supposed to dance to?"
I stepped closer, handing his own logic from yesterday right back to him.
"You said it yourself, didn't you? Numbers don't lie. We proved ourselves with numbers. And now you intend to dismiss all of it on nothing but your own gut feeling?"
"Gh... ugh...!"
Zwinger couldn't rebut a word. The very words he'd spat out had come back around his own neck as chains.
The air in the conference room shifted. Exhilarated smiles spread across the faces of the 7th Regiment's officers.
"Well then. I believe it's my turn now."
The Colonel set down his teacup with a bright clink.
"You said it yourself. Find even one flaw, and I strip my uniform."
He rose from his seat and walked slowly around behind Zwinger.
"And yet instead of a single flaw, all we've confirmed is operational excellence deserving of a commendation. So — what now? Shall I formally refer you to a court-martial for slandering an innocent field commander as an embezzler, and coercing his subordinates into perjury under intimidation?"
"C-Colonel... that's a misunderstanding... I was merely following up on a report, a routine verification—"
Zwinger's spirit had shattered completely. He was groveling now, plain and simple.
"A report? I'd be very curious to know who that informant was. ...Of course, a freedom-of-information request to the Central Inspectorate would settle that soon enough."
"N-no! Th-that is, what I meant to say—!"
Zwinger's face went white. An inspector getting dragged down on charges of false accusation? His career would be finished.
The Colonel chuckled softly and whispered right beside the man's ear.
"Fine. I'll look the other way. Just this once."
"...Sir?"
"In exchange, there's a condition. The report you'll be submitting to Central."
The Colonel pointed his chin at the immaculately organized stack of documents.
"You'll write it exactly as is, without changing so much as a syllable: The 7th Regiment is the most exemplary, incorruptible, and valiant unit in His Majesty the Emperor's army. And naturally, you'll see to it that His Majesty's promised commendation and reward proceedings are processed in the shortest possible time."
Opening an escape route while demanding absolute submission in return — the move of a wily old fox.
Zwinger had no choices left. Perish here, or swallow his pride and survive.
"...Understood."
Zwinger bowed his head, grinding his teeth in humiliation.
"I shall... proceed as the Colonel has instructed."
"Good. Then show yourselves out. My adjutant's driving is so dreadful I'm afraid I can't offer you any better hospitality."
An unmistakable order to leave.
Zwinger fled the conference room without even gathering his files properly, and the subordinates trailing him scrambled out with their tails between their legs.
Slam.
I headed for 3rd Platoon's barracks with a light step. Even from a distance, I could feel a strange stillness hanging over the building — nothing like the usual ruckus.
Creak.
The moment I opened the barracks door, dozens of pairs of eyes snapped onto me all at once.
"L-Lieutenant!"
The first to react was Gunter, surging up from his seat and rushing over on his massive frame.
"You're back! So... how did it go?"
Behind Gunter's scowling face, Kurt, Klaus, and even Hannah — every member of 3rd Platoon was holding their breath, staring at nothing but my mouth.
"Pack your things. All of you."
"Yes...? P-pack, you said?"
Gunter echoed blankly.
"Don't tell me it's the stockade?"
"No, this time it has to be the Pioneer Battalion for sure..."
Despair rippled through the platoon.
"Forget those drab fatigues — pack your finest dress uniforms. Polish your boots until you can see your face in them."
"...Sir?"
"Did I stutter?"
This time a confused murmur spread through the room.
"It means don't look like a bunch of country hicks. You're about to be received by His Majesty the Emperor — you can't show up looking like a pack of grubby field rats, can you?"
"......!!"
A dead silence swept the barracks. The soldiers wore the expressions of men who couldn't process what they'd just heard.
"H-His Majesty the Emperor...?"
"That's right."
I grinned and looked around at the lot of them. The 7th Regiment's return to the Imperial Capital was already a done deal.
"That inspection? That little weasel of an inspector turned tail and ran. Right in front of me — and right in front of the achievements you men earned."
A note of pride crept into my voice.
"No matter how hard he tried to poke holes with that pen of his, the victories we'd actually won couldn't be erased. If anything, he ended up stamping a certificate declaring the 7th Regiment the cleanest, bravest unit in the whole Empire."
"WAAAAAH!!"
A roar erupted that threatened to bring the barracks down.
"It's true? We actually won?"
"That's our Lieutenant! He chewed up an inspector and spat him out!"
"Hurrah! Hurrah for the 7th Regiment! Hurrah for the Lieutenant!"
"Finally... finally we're getting out of this godforsaken mud!"
The soldiers were on the verge of dancing in each other's arms.
Just as the cheering began to die down, someone gave my sleeve a light tug.
I turned to find Hannah. Her hazelnut eyes were sparkling brighter than usual.
"Lieutenant."
She glanced around, then lowered her voice.
"You truly are... remarkable."
[Status: Pride in, and absolute faith in, the Lieutenant.]
[Emotion: Her worry over the Lieutenant transforming into deep trust and joy.]
I grinned and gave her shoulder a light pat. Her status window was pure adoration — a puppy through and through, minus the tail.
How am I supposed not to adore her? I glanced around quickly, and when no one was watching, let my hand slide gently down the small of her back.
"Of course I did. You think I'd lose to that idiot inspector?"
"Of course not... I knew you'd pull it off, Lieutenant. And, um..."
She pressed herself into my touch and whispered into my ear in a voice gone soft and damp.
"To celebrate chasing off that idiot inspector..."
Hannah's eyes turned openly hungry. She didn't finish the sentence — but I didn't need Status Analysis to know what she wanted.
I nipped her earlobe lightly and let go.
"Get ready and come to me. I'll leave the door unlocked."
"Yes, sir...♡ I'll wash up and be right there."