Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Interview
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Opening the door and saluting, the interviewer greeted me with an utterly bored expression.
"Candidate No. 17? We're starting the interview now. Take a seat."
At those words, I saluted the interviewer in front of me and stated my rank and name.
"Candidate No. 17, Peter! Understood!"
With that, he signaled me with his eyes to sit.
The interviewer, dressed in a black military uniform straight out of a fantasy novel, seemed to find it amusing—or perhaps beneath him—that I was a commoner without a family name, his face twisting into a dismissive sneer.
In this fantasy novel world, I'd possessed the body of a commoner orphan and been looked down on like this countless times, but to face this treatment at the interview I'd clawed my way into with my life on the line—my last shot at survival...
It was truly fucked.
"Alright, then. Why did you apply to the Imperial Academy?"
What I wanted to say was, 'Because if I get kicked out of the orphanage penniless, I'll freeze to death on the streets! Fuck!'
But that would get me rejected on the spot, and I'd lose my final chance.
"To serve the great Reich Empire and His Imperial Majesty the Emperor!"
The interviewer, clearly sick of such clichéd responses, made no effort to hide his annoyance.
"Fine. Now we'll begin the real interview."
I barely suppressed a nervous hiccup as he spoke.
"From now on, Candidate No. 17, imagine you're commanding a battalion as its commander. Respond to the given scenario accordingly."
From what I'd overheard, nobles applying to the Imperial Academy got softball questions about military posture or mindset—stuff straight out of a moral handbook—to boost their pass rates.
The noble kids already shelled out for expensive prep courses tailored to the interviews, so easy questions basically guaranteed their spots.
Even though the system allowed anyone, regardless of status, to become an officer, in a stratified nation like this, they preferred nobles in command roles.
Surprisingly, despite the bias, the founding emperor's edict ensured 2-3% commoners got in each class.
But most of those were from wealthy merchant families just looking to elevate their house's status.
Orphans like me? Maybe one every decade, if that.
Asking an orphan with zero strategic knowledge such a question...
It was basically the interviewer setting me up to fail spectacularly.
Other candidates would freeze up in terror, stammering even what they knew.
But I... was different.
Before possessing this world, I'd studied strategy and tactics extensively, etching it all into my brain.
I could probably give an answer that satisfied him.
"Understood!"
"Good. I'll outline the scenario, and you state your best course of action. You're a battalion commander in the 1st Division with 8,000 troops. You're engaged with an equally sized Franco Republic battalion. Both sides are evenly matched, but the enemy battalion opposing yours is starting to crumble. What are your orders?"
I'd never met a noble young master in my life, but I could say this with certainty.
In a world fighting with spears, swords, arrows, and a bit of magic, honor-obsessed romantic noble lads would push the attack to rack up merits.
Most commoners, clueless about command, would say the same: 'We're winning, so press harder.'
The examiners would praise such student-level thinking and give decent scores.
But in my view, it was wrong.
"Interviewer, before that, may I ask about my battalion's discretion limits?"
The man before me, surprised that a lowly orphan mentioned command discretion, replied with a hint of interest.
"Naturally, you can press the attack aggressively at your commander's discretion, or retreat if the tide turns against you."
Confirming my authority like this already put me in solid standing.
But covering my status and low written scores to pass? Still a long shot.
"Thank you for clarifying. Even if the battle looks favorable, as battalion commander, I wouldn't rashly switch to offense. I'd report the situation to the corps commander and hold position."
The interviewer showed a flicker of displeasure.
"A soldier's duty is victory in battle. You're passing up a chance to win? That's disqualification as a commander."
Half right, half wrong.
Corps, division, or army commanders could flip the battle with one move, so they had to exploit enemy weaknesses maximally.
But me, handling just 5% of our forces? My info and visibility were worlds apart.
Plus, in combat, one freak mishap could snowball into disaster.
"Two reasons for my judgment. First, pursuing glory is admirable, but worthless without victory. I believe securing it requires support from higher command. Second, the Franco Republic commander might be baiting us into a trap by showing an opening. A single battalion lacks the visibility to assess the full field."
In large-scale battles, a common tactic was sacrificing a subunit to lure the enemy into a counterpunch.
Disguise a breakthrough amid the chaos when commanders and troops were hyped.
Greedy mid-level commanders like battalion leaders would bite, get encircled, and whittled down for the win.
The interviewer, who'd seemed eager to wrap up minutes ago, now betrayed shock on his face.
He probably hadn't expected this depth from an applicant.
Serves him right. Sweet revenge.
"I get your reasoning. Final question. Now you're the corps commander receiving that support request. What do you do?"
I pondered briefly, then gave the optimal answer.
"I'd deploy rear archers and mages for primary support to the requesting battalion, plus half the reserves as backup. The enemy will rush infantry to plug the breach, so I'd send knights to hit their reinforcements' flank, delaying them and maximizing casualties."
Unlike at the start, his tone now carried genuine approval.
"Understood. Interview's over. You're dismissed. Hope to see you as an academy cadet and instructor someday."
Standard courtesy, but considering my background, it wasn't something he'd say lightly. It signaled a positive outlook—maybe even passage.
Not just hope. It had to mean I'd passed.
I saluted as I had entering, then marched out precisely.
Coming in, desperation had knotted my stomach.
Now, relief washed over me. I'd nailed it.
Having finished with Candidate No. 17, Interviewer Hans Weber Major muttered in astonishment.
"When the regimental commander assigned me to academy interviews, I had zero expectations—just a chore to half-ass. Especially seeing this orphan ragamuffin bomb the history and social studies written exams. Planned to humiliate him with a few questions and fail him hard."
Even if a commander's duty was victory,
officers received near-noble status, demanding matching refinement and knowledge.
Academy cadets—as officer candidates—faced the same, screened via those tests. Flunking them?
For the Reich Empire's dignity, rejection was proper.
Hans Weber recalled Peter answering with such conviction.
Could a noble-trained academy-grad officer match that precision?
His sharp mind—top 2% in career speed among his class—concluded:
'Only top scholars, or a rare genius, could respond with such swift insight.'
An pre-academy orphan would've barely grasped basic military terms as a grunt.
"Unless he's a genius, no way he pulls strategic thinking like that."
As a Reich noble and commander, denying this talent academy entry over his origins and lack of polish felt wrong.
The system's purpose—"Give opportunities to ambitious, genius commoners for the Empire's growth"—was clear justification to admit Peter.
Hans Major thought so and noted in the special remarks: