Chapter 250
Chapter 250
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 250
Chapter Title: Divide and Conquer (1)
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Warsaw Grand Duke's Army Camp.
By order of the Warsaw Grand Duke, General Tateush von Gradnyap—who was now leading an army of over 160,000 men—issued his command in a grave voice.
"Captain Antoni, Major Jacob. Unless the enemy shows up or something extremely urgent arises, do not let anyone within fifty meters of this command tent until I come out myself."
Just as General Tateush gave that order, the sound of generals quarreling drifted in from outside the tent.
"You damn son of a bitch! What did you just say?"
"Hah, I'm just floored that some brain-dead bastard is doubting the loyalty of us nobles and honorable generals of the Warsaw Grand Duchy, spewing utter bullshit! Sure, a few bastard dogs got their heads lopped off after bribing lowly provincial admins, but excluding those scum, isn't our noble officers' loyalty firmer than bedrock? Isn't it?"
"Spiegelmann, that turncoat bastard, sent defection letters to everyone, so I'm saying we should beef up internal inspections just in case. Does that piss you off that much? Got something to hide?"
The general frowned as he watched his own generals at each other's throats—all thanks to some scheme cooked up by the enemy commander, Peter Jaeger.
'The enemy is breathing down our necks, and here we are shaking over a letter from some lowly baron. What a pathetic sight. Hell, I'm the commander of this rabble. Maybe I should just go die ahead of time.'
It was a clusterfuck of a military HQ that had him contemplating suicide—the second-greatest taboo after heresy in the Deus Church.
But drawing on his ingrained noble sense of duty and years of army service, he shook off the self-loathing and pressed on with his next orders.
"No. Keep everyone out beyond 120 meters, except your guards. We can't let junior officers and rank-and-file see any weakness in command."
"Loyalty! Understood!"
"Guard it tight."
With that warning left behind, he stepped into the command tent—and the scene that greeted him was straight out of a farce.
There was no collar-grabbing or fists raised in threat, no bruises from brawls.
In fact, anyone crazy enough to throw punches in the army would get executed almost on the spot for "disrupting military order," reason be damned. Nobody who valued their neck would pull that stunt.
Instead, generals of equal rank—when opinions clashed hard—would jab fingers, crank up the volume, and glare daggers while bickering.
"What does Military Police Commander Wojniak think? Don't we need to ramp up inspections and vigilance?"
"Cranking up inspections tanks soldier and officer morale. You know that. Even the thickest grunts figure out 'the brass doesn't trust us' when you turn up the heat."
"The very idea that one Baron Spiegelmann defects, and suddenly we're—venerable nobles and honorable generals of the Grand Duchy—suspected of flipping like him? That's the enemy's play, right there!"
"When you assassinate an enemy king, do you dump a bucket of poison in his goblet? One drop does the job. Same here—one traitor can rot the whole army from inside. We gotta root 'em out! This isn't about distrusting you lot!"
If this weren't a battlefield, some would've demanded duels over "honor." What drove Tateush nuts was how none of it was dismissible hot air.
'Inspections kill morale, plain as day. But miss a traitor in the ranks? Worst case, we get stabbed in the back mid-fight.'
As commander, he couldn't blow off either side.
Both had solid points, so he had to play referee and call the fight.
Otherwise, pro- and anti-inspection camps would dig in, slinging accusations of "you're wrong, I'm right"—and in the worst case, botch coordination on the field.
"Enough! If you keep squabbling here, the troops will assume command's fractured and lose their nerve! Even a victory wouldn't save us—rumors would spread across the Warsaw Grand Duchy that we fought quaking in fear of Commander Jaeger. Is that the disgrace you want?"
War's end sends soldiers home—on merits or honorable discharge—and they spill every army tale back in their villages.
Exaggerated heroics on one side, superiors' bonehead moves on the other. Everyone in the tent knew it.
And nobles? They'd take death over dishonor any day.
Tacit consensus: shelve the infighting.
"Thanks for the halt."
"No sweat. Nearly tarnished our honor with tales of us shivering at Peter Jaeger's shadow post-victory."
Tateush inwardly tsked at the majority of his generals—who offered no apologies, just awkward coughs—but they weren't wrong, and there was no time for quibbles.
So, sighing heavily, he kept mediating.
"On that damn Spiegelmann surrendering and blanketing the army with surrender letters: here's the commander's take. Ready for my compromise?"
The generals nodded.
"Inspections are non-negotiable. Not from distrust. Baron Spiegelmann—that dog lapping infidel heels—betrayed His Highness. We prove we're not him. None of us are disloyal mutts anyway, so what's the harm?"
Even the holdouts nodded, pinning blame on the traitor.
Digging in now risked the "you're the traitor" stink-eye from the room.
"But this round's limited: paperwork trails inside the ranks, meetings with shady no-names. No extra watchdogs glued to generals, officers, NCOs, or grunts like before."
The inspection hawks felt it skimped a bit, but wartime rules applied.
Suspecting sans proof? Might as well gift-wrap aid to the enemy.
It set a trap for spies—good enough.
"Tweaked it as best I could. Thoughts? Hands up."
"We'll follow the commander's mediation."
"To prove loyalty to His Highness, we'll stomach the discomfort."
"Over-suspecting our own isn't smart. Orders followed."
General Tateush exhaled in relief at averting the blowup.
"Dismissed. Back to your units—tighten discipline."
With that, the generals returned to prepare "appropriate" inspections.
But one thing they all missed:
Peter Jaeger hadn't sent those letters to flip any specific general.
Oh, the "lure Reich Empire defectors" op was real enough.
But mass-mailing surrender bait like this? Just the opening gambit.
And I—the scheme's architect—was safe inside the castle, dining with Laura and Charlotte.
"Three mouths make a tiger, right? Flip it: three rounds of the same bullshit rumor, and poof—phantom traitors feel real."
That night, Peter Jaeger had dispatched letters—stamped with the enemy commander's seal—to several Warsaw Grand Duchy generals.
Inside: surrender perks, must-dos, flattery galore.
"No clue who their commander is, but he'll lose his mind with joy over this, guaranteed."