Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Beginning of the Crisis (1)
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Everyone—poor folks, the rich, the handsome, the ugly—carries some degree of inferiority complex just by virtue of being human.
The good-looking guy without a stable income envies the plain-looking, highly educated corporate drone. The one who succeeded through nothing but studying feels jealous of those who enjoyed romance and pleasure in their youth.
Inferiority toward those who possess what you crave but can't have.
That's why people who achieve great feats or success draw envy and resentment from those who haven't.
Ever since enrolling in the academy, I hadn't notched a single success that would make anyone else feel inferior.
Even when I won that mock battle before, it only proved my talent as a commander. Everyone else who suffered a crushing defeat chalked it up to some freak occurrence.
But this time was different.
"A commoner punk who lucked into the academy dares to surpass me, Gustav Haubringer, and step forward...?"
"That filthy worm doesn't know his place and thinks he can run wild. He's digging his own grave by sticking his neck out like that."
"The Franco Republic will soon be Reich Empire soil anyway. Imagine a noble battalion commander getting killed by some lowly commoner."
The arrogant noble student platoon leaders, assigned to the front lines alongside me, couldn't hide their envy and jealousy toward the lowly commoner orphan who'd smashed an entire enemy battalion before they even adapted to the battlefield.
Seeing them genuinely covet my past life as a worthless orphan, desperate to downplay my achievements—it washed away the inferiority I once felt toward the nobility because of their status.
As I savored my vastly improved situation compared to before, a voice called me from the podium.
"Student Platoon Leader Peter Jaeger! Approach the podium."
It was a low platform on the battlefield, with just ten steps, but with every one I climbed, I felt the envious, prickling glares of the officers—especially the student platoon leaders—boring into the back of my head.
Not a shred of exaggeration—all the humiliations I'd endured since entering the academy melted away.
Of course, I had no intention of stopping here.
The podium was packed with high-ranking figures even nobles hesitated to approach: the division commander's adjutant, the regimental commander, the deputy division commander, the chief of staff.
Majors at minimum, up to brigadier generals. Standing next to them as a mere student platoon leader made me feel small and a bit awestruck.
Soon enough, to the tune of the military band, the division commander climbed up, patted my shoulder, and grinned.
Under normal circumstances, no noble officer—let alone an endgame boss like a division commander—would show such warmth to a student platoon leader, no matter the achievement.
But this guy was a soldier who staked his life on promotions, nobility be damned.
Especially here on this front line, a stage set for His Highness the Crown Prince to claim his first military triumph. The eyes of the entire Reich Empire high command were fixed on it.
Your performance here could mean promotion to lieutenant general, general, or even field marshal.
He hadn't lifted a finger himself, and most treated the commoner student platoon leaders as dead weight. Yet one had wiped out a battalion and taken the commander's head.
Now he planned to boast of it as his own achievement, so he was cozying up to me like this.
With that thought sorted, I snapped off my name and rank.
"Student Platoon Leader Peter Jaeger!"
"Seeing you, I get why His Imperial Majesty the founding emperor placed no restrictions on academy enrollment by status! Excellent—let's begin!"
At his words, I stood at attention. His chief adjutant bellowed the proclamation.
"Student Platoon Leader Peter Jaeger, responding to the empire's call from the academy and volunteering as a platoon leader, stood at the vanguard of his company on his first deployment. He slew three enemy mages, minimizing company losses, played a pivotal role in annihilating a Franco Republic battalion, personally executed the enemy battalion commander, and thereby exalted the Reich Empire's dignity."
A student platoon leader—not even a sub-lieutenant—wiping out a battalion and killing its commander was undeniably impressive.
But to the Reich Empire or other nations with dozens of divisions, this was a drop in the bucket.
Strictly speaking, my name had only spread on the Rhineland Front. Still, good was good.
"Accordingly, Division Commander Stefan von Bolton, by lawful authority, acts in His Imperial Majesty's stead to commission Peter Jaeger as a second lieutenant and awards him the Second-Class Silver Cross Medal and associated honors."
I'd expected—hell, been almost certain—of a promotion to second lieutenant and some medal.
After all, a student platoon leader making battalion-killing contributions warranted direct commissioning by the division commander.
But a Second-Class Silver Cross? That, I hadn't anticipated. It was a step below first class, but still.
Silver Cross Medals went only to majors and above, or aces and commanders with repeated massive feats.
Those receiving it before major rank almost always made major before discharge, regardless of origin. It cracked open the path to general.
They say success needs not just effort but luck too. Thank god this division commander's promotion-obsessed—it was a huge boon.
"Second Lieutenant Peter Jaeger, thank you, sir!"
With that, he pinned the medal to the right side of my uniform and buckled a sword with ornate silver filigree to my waist.
"Serve the empire with even greater distinction henceforth, Lieutenant Jaeger."
"Yes, sir!"
The division commander, beaming with satisfaction, addressed the officers gazing up from below.
"The rest of you student platoon leaders, follow Second Lieutenant Jaeger's example. Rack up achievements for the empire and exalt your family names. Dismissed!"
That night, after my promotion to second lieutenant under the gaze of every officer and soldier in the division.
The division commander acknowledged our 4th Company's exceptional feats, exempting us from all guard and duty shifts for three days.
That sparked a company-wide drinking bash, officers and enlisted alike.
"Once more! A toast to our newly minted second lieutenant, promoted from student platoon leader!"
As the company commander's toast ended, the other officers—me excluded—roared in response.
"Congrats on the promotion!"
"Thought you were dead weight at first, but turns out you're a lucky charm!"
Sure, my fresh promotion put me below these second lieutenants in seniority, but even after years in combat, their highest honors were Iron Crosses or Bronze Crosses—below Silver.
No jealousy from them; they were genuinely thrilled. Why? Because these company veterans had earned fat personnel evaluations for promotions thanks to this victory—even if I still edged them out a bit.
The company commander himself had a shiny new credential for his post-service resume when he finished his staff officer stint and headed to some guard unit.
In short, the new student platoon leader had lined everyone's pockets with merit points.
"This is all thanks to our veteran platoon leader seniors guiding me well."
"You were assigned on day two of deployment—when did we have time to teach? Smooth talker! I like you even more. Anyway, you're buying now that you're promoted!"
"2nd Platoon Leader, quit bullying our poor new lieutenant!"
And so I kept downing drinks poured by these senior platoon leaders, each at least seven or eight years my senior with NCO experience.
Combined lifetimes, past and present—this was the most I'd ever drunk. My vision spun, stomach churning.
But knowing these senior officers accepted me?
Even the hangover felt oddly pleasant. The future started exciting me.
After an hour of boozing, I stepped out to sober up and take a piss.
The cool night air cooled my flushed face, clearing my head. Then voices drifted from the adjacent battalion's barracks.
"Martin! Our student platoon leader class is screwed. If we can't outperform that one commoner punk and head back to school... Graduation's soon. No major promotion then."
"As a scion of the Houria barony, I need lieutenant colonel at discharge to avoid family shame. Damn it—we thought the front was stable and relaxed. What the hell!"
"You're better off than me. Ugh, just thinking about it sucks. The company commander and deputy told me to be a mindless puppet for the next month, marching to orders. If that goes on record..."
Hearing that sent chills down my spine, sobering me instantly.
It wasn't the academy nobles' jealousy that shocked me—it was sensing a greater disaster brewing.
With me pulling ahead uniquely while they managed careers for long-term command, they were openly screwed in comparison. What stunt would they pull?
In the novel, friendly forces buckled on the Rhineland Front because glory-hungry student platoon leaders acted rashly, and the Franco Republic seized the chance to smash them.
From their talk, any bait from the Franco side and these merit-blinded dogs would charge in.
I'd even recounted a similar scenario verbatim in my academy interview.
Damn rookies ruining everything.
Even inexperienced students like me could've avoided this with proper platoon training. Instead, these incompetents whined without self-awareness.
For the next few days, Franco Republic and Reich Empire forces saw no combat. I spent it pondering how to overcome this crisis.
To turn it into opportunity and advance to the next stage.