Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: To the Rhineland Front (1)
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The motto of the Reich Empire Academy is, "Admit the capable regardless of commoner or noble birth, and have them contribute to the Empire."
Thanks to that, I—Peter, or rather Peter Jaeger—was able to enter the Academy despite being an orphan and seize the chance to become an officer.
If I hadn't gotten into the Academy, I'd probably have starved or frozen to death on the streets. Even if I'd somehow survived, I'd have sunk to the very bottom of society. So I'm truly grateful to the Reich Empire's founding Emperor for creating this opportunity and to Major Hans Weber, the interviewer.
Becoming an officer meant a chance to change my status, a free private dorm room (since I had no roommate), three meals a day, and a monthly stipend of up to three gold for maintaining dignity.
Thanks to all that, my life over the past three years had been simple: no worries about making ends meet, just focus on my studies.
Of course, while the founding Emperor had established the Academy to put those high ideals into practice with such generous support, the reality inside the school was a cesspool.
Still, less than a year remained.
Upon graduation, I'd be commissioned as an officer, and from then on, "orphan commoner" would take a backseat to the rank of officer representing me.
In truth, the ones inside the Academy who at least ignored me or steered clear because I was a commoner orphan were the ones I felt somewhat grateful toward.
Back in the day, it happened often; now in my fourth year, it was rarer, but sometimes strangers would suddenly approach me out of the blue. And this was one of those times.
"Cadet Jaeger, Cadet Jaeger. I have a question for you."
I turned toward the voice. A third-year noble scion wearing the corresponding insignia approached. His eyes dripped with mockery, in stark contrast to the smile on his lips.
In a normal university, a junior might approach a senior with a playful grin, but this place made even Korea's military academies look lax by comparison.
Novels described it vividly: first-years trembling at the mere glance of a fourth-year cadet, eyes filled with terror.
In my own class, there was a lively first-year girl who, on the very first day of training after enrollment, casually approached her cousin—a senior assisting the instructor.
She didn't get hit, but she stood at attention for over an hour as punishment.
So it was unthinkable for a junior with no special ties to approach a senior so chummily.
"What do you want to ask?"
"I've heard that the Empire's commoners eat bread mixed with wheat, rye, and sawdust. Is that true?"
Hearing that, I barely kept my temper in check.
He was pretending to show minimal respect to a senior orphan while dissing me: "You're just a poor orphan who should be choking down sawdust bread—how dare you play cadet here?"
It was infuriating that a third-year was acting so cocky toward me, a fourth-year, just because I was a rootless orphan.
What I regretted most was that I couldn't educate this punk properly, like my peers might.
Because if I filed a disciplinary complaint for disrespecting a senior, he'd surely use his family's connections to hit back at me.
"People called beggars or paupers sometimes eat that kind of bread. But they'd sooner have thin barley gruel than that."
"I see. Thank you for letting me know, sir. No one around me knows commoner life as well as you. I came to the right place."
With that, the damn pig returned to his dimwitted posse and smirked.
"Milton, you lost the bet. Hand over three silvers."
"Damn it. Father said commoners really live off that stuff, so I thought I'd win."
"Drinks on you. If you're mad, win next time."
But incidents like this were everyday occurrences, so I quickly tamped down my emotions.
Then I repeated the punk's name to myself.
Because once commissioned, I'd rise through the ranks as fast as possible. If we ended up in the same unit, I'd nitpick every little thing and crush him with rank.
In this militaristic world, rank trumped titles inside the army.
So he wouldn't be able to strut around with his status in front of me then.
Besides, today was January 15th, Imperial Year 220—the day rumors would start circulating around school.
After wandering the grounds for about five minutes, two soldiers in helmets and breastplates approached the bulletin board with stern expressions.
They posted a single notice, saluted sharply, and left.
Normally, I wouldn't bother with notices unless they related to classes or lectures.
But today was special, so I hurried past the other students heading to the board and read it first.
Below it were detailed qualifications, selection methods, and benefits for those chosen.
Qualifications: Third- or fourth-year students enrolled at the Academy with no failing grades ever.
Selection: To verify platoon leader capability, train 30 recruits, then conduct mock battles to assess performance.
The Academy taught platoon- and company-level control and training all day, every day. I'd always aced military science subjects, so it wasn't hard for me.
Plus, my head was filled with training methods from centuries ahead of this world. This was my chance to shine.
Student reactions split into two camps.
"Even if it was second year, do we really need to volunteer for the front line when graduation's next year anyway?"
"Senior Ventor’s right. We'd just suffer for nothing."
"My father said rushing to commission off notices like this just means hardship and maybe a 'patriotic' note on your record."
Those brushing it off indifferently.
"With my grades, I'll end up on the front or some backwater desk job after graduation anyway. Might as well go for it?"
"Yeah, rack up some merits there, and you commission a year early, plus your record says 'outstanding officer' for fast promotions."
"But it's the front line—senior officers won't cover for you, and most wash out without proving themselves."
And those moved by the notice due to poor grades.
Amid them, a girl wearing a fourth-year insignia muttered.
"Professors, newspapers, bards—they've all said we're winning on the Rhineland Front. Why the rush to pull in Academy cadets? Records show they only partially mobilize us after clear defeats. Something's up?"
Too far to see clearly, but silver hair, petite frame, figure visible even under the loose Academy blazer, and a cool voice.
Insight as striking as her beauty.
Given her looks and that perception, she had to be Laura von Venner, the heroine from the Empire's chronicles.
The protagonist's superior upon her later commissioning—one year after me—and eventually his adjutant in the mid-to-late story.
Could I bring this capable beauty under my command?
Right after classes ended, I headed to Professor Gupta's lab, who oversaw the Rhineland Front project.
The study overflowed with old books and papers. A black-lacquered desk, a comfy chair, and neatly hung armor and uniforms from his officer days.
After greetings, Professor Gupta waved dismissively, as if annoyed.
"You want to go to the Rhineland Front, right? Put the paperwork on the desk and wait."
As I waited, he checked my transcript and spoke in disbelief.
"Let me be frank. You're better off graduating next year and commissioning as a second lieutenant than front-line duty. Your grades show talent in strategy and tactics—you could hit captain after 15 solid years."
Even as an orphan, the Empire's frequent wars meant high turnover for junior officers. Promotions to field-grade ranks reflected ability more.
So the professor figured I'd make captain based on topping strategy and tactics (or near-topping).
The problem: By the time a commoner like me hit captain after 15 years, some noble classmates would be lieutenant colonels.
Even untalented noble peers would reach major in retirement if not total failures.
Worse, I might lag behind lower nobles who'd skipped the Academy for the Imperial Warrant Officer School.
How could I endure that?
"I see."
"As a commoner, slow promotions to just captain might feel unfair. But even then, you could command a small-town garrison or serve as a local official—live as well as any noble. But if you volunteer for the front and fail to shine..."
His point was obvious.
Fail selection or merits on the Rhineland Front, and your career tanks—no higher than lieutenant, branded a failure. Academy creds wouldn't save you from a lousy posting.
I appreciated the rare sincerity from the professor.
"As an officer of the Empire, I wish to serve His Imperial Majesty the Emperor. There's a selection exam for the Rhineland Front, but I'm confident I'll pass. Please send me."
Better to risk big merits here for a launchpad to greater heights than rot ignored for 15 more years.
Though unspoken by professors and students: Commoners could occasionally rack up merits to hit lieutenant colonel, colonel, even general.
Some noble families started with commoners ennobled by feats and stars.
And I'd be among them.
Realizing he couldn't dissuade me, the professor sighed.
"Fine. Give it your all."