Chapter 31
Chapter 31
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Peter Jaeger, Taking Flight (1)
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Academy 4th-year chief professor Padre von Hausenburg's research lab.
Usually, only professors from other academy subjects or teaching assistants serving as his aides would drop by now and then, but today a special guest stepped inside.
Golden epaulets that only officers of major rank or higher could affix to their uniforms, an iron Knight's Cross medal draped around the neck, a cavalry saber symbolizing a commander's authority.
A man who normally took immense pride in his rank of 'major' entered and saluted the professor.
"Loyalty! I am Major Pommel von Hendrick, battalion commander of the 1st Battalion, 4th Regiment, Konstanz Division!"
The professor, seated at the back of the lab, gave a perfunctory return of the salute before pointing to the sofa in front.
"This talk might drag on, so have a seat."
"Yes, sir."
The major took his seat as instructed by the chief professor before him, and Padre wore a sour expression as he spoke.
"As you know, His Highness the Crown Prince has taken a great liking to that captain picked as the Rhineland Front's third merit awardee. He favors him so much that my contact in the General Staff's personnel department passed along this: 'If Captain Jaeger shines in this mock battle, we should issue his major promotion orders.'"
Major Pommel was so stunned that he bulged his eyes and pinched his thigh hard.
Even among esteemed nobles like himself, reaching captain at twenty-eight was considered swift.
The thought of some punk barely turning twenty next year jumping straight to major was infuriating—and utterly unbelievable.
"Is that for real? Major at twenty? That's the kind of blistering pace the other princes hit when they just dip their toes in service and bail."
"But what can be done? Sure, they're touting it publicly as seizing Rezin Castle thanks to Division Commander Stefan's and His Highness's brilliant tactics. Internal records, though? The General Staff concludes that without Captain Jaeger, Weinburg Castle would've fallen in a flash. With evidence like that staring us down, we can't raise objections lightly."
"I made major at thirty-five—fifth fastest out of two hundred fifty in my class. A twenty-year-old major shows up? Noble officers' morale hits rock bottom."
The two men grumbled on the surface about the General Staff being overly hasty or how it might tank other officers' spirits.
But beneath it all lay two raw emotions.
One was pure envy: an orphan outpacing them, noble scions of prestigious houses, and snatching honors they'd never touched.
The other? They backed the Third Prince's faction. A Crown Prince loyalist gunning for major at twenty? It raised the bar sky-high.
Already tough for the Third Prince to overcome his birth-order handicap and rack up throne-worthy feats.
And Peter Jaeger was jacking that benchmark obvious as day.
Fail to crown their Third Prince, and their professorial posts—political lives—were toast. No one could stay calm.
Yet Padre, even alone with him, voiced it with feigned concern for the Reich.
"Exactly. Royalty aside, how's it right for some orphan nobody to pin on major at twenty? Absurd. Promotions that fast spit on commanders who've honorably served the nation for decades. For the Empire's sake, we can't let him run wild. So, Major—have your battalion crush Captain Jaeger thoroughly in this mock battle. Can you manage it?"
The major thumped his chest.
"Peter Jaeger might be the class's top commander with monster feats on his debut at the Rhineland Front. But his troops? Green as grass. My battalion? Battle-hardened elites from years of drills and combat. Frontal clash, I win hands down."
"Jaeger's Rhineland win rode the chaos of fluid warfare. But here in the basin's dead-center plain—no terrain tricks, equal forces—it boils down to troop polish."
"No need to fret. Victory report to His Highness the Third Prince guaranteed. I win, General Staff questions Jaeger's battalion command chops. Major bid tanks, no more shady battalion handouts. Even whispers the Crown Prince's talent-spotting's off."
As the two schemed, Jaeger's major shot hinged on the Crown Prince's full-throated backing—plus unofficial Rhineland top contributor and ace commander cred.
Yank that 'ace commander' label, and the General Staff scraps his special exemptions.
Promotion still beats his academy classmates, but major? Six, seven years minimum.
In that vein, Padre grew deadly serious.
"Fail, though, and Jaeger majors up—grows into a winged lion. His Highness the Third Prince? Deep disappointment in you."
Polite words for 'disappointment'—to a Third Prince faction major, it meant honorable discharge at best, dishonorable boot at worst.
The major pictured it: drummed out in disgrace, house honor in the dirt, his own kids sneered at by peers. His face twisted.
"Succeed, and you'll shine in the next lieutenant colonel review round two. Beating a student platoon leader who snagged a 'Silver Knight's Sword'—rare even below major generals? Automatic green light. See you at the mock battle."
Professor Hausenburg dismissed him there. The major hustled out.
Alone, Padre ground his teeth in a mutter.
"That mangy Jaeger captain dog—stole the spotlight from student platoon leads. My boy Mike held his own on Rhineland, even bagged an enemy platoon boss. Petitioned personnel? Flunked lieutenant, facing captain discharge! You bastard, wrecked my son's future—your turn to burn."
**
Mock battle day, Pelain Mountains basin.
On the central expanse of flatland, my battalion under Peter Jaeger and our foes, Major Pommel's battalion, stood armed and glaring daggers.
I got why the war hero rep had them on edge, but for a temp battalion captain?
Dragging in a major—same billet or not—was overkill. Unfair? Win on merit.
Meanwhile, hills ringing the plain held seats for academy students and profs, plus officers and nobles here to spectate.
Word on the climb up: battalion-scale mock battles near the capital? Rare birds.
Fantasy world à la medieval? Slim pickings for fun?
Pre-start scan: academy VIP box packed, every vantage crammed with gawkers.
Folks eyed me and the major, buzzing—but too far to catch words.
Moments later, an officer in gleaming plate stepped up to lay out rules.
Flowery preamble and wrap-up—felt like a college entrance exam reading comp.
Boil it down: no dirty shots likely to maim for real. Fight clean.
Hence mages sidelined. Enemy knights? Dismounted, slugging as infantry.
Bad break for us.
Knights unhorsed still pack plate-armored punch—human tanks.
MC officer waved; trumpets blared. He boomed.
"Captain Jaeger! Major Pommel! Order your battalions to form ranks!"
Command dropped. Per our playbook, swords out, skyward.
Troops snapped to trained formations.
Pommel's battalion mirrored Reich tactics at Rhineland: pikemen in a long, wide rectangle, archers front-loaded to greet us.
Ours? My call: core pikemen rectangle like theirs.
But four corners: twenty-five crossbowmen apiece. Rear: hundred polearm wielders.
Lines set, officer signaled hold.
I replayed our training grind.
New spinning jenny cranked cloth mountains, cashed in for helmets, torso plates, weapons galore.
Daily roadwork, PT basics, weapon reps galore—stamina and swings dialed.
Grunt rations topped with my coin: every three days, salted meat, cheese—bodies bulked.
Teens to early-twenties now? Plenty visibly taller, broader than enlistment.
Plus my edge: era-dominating strategies they never dreamed. Formations, tactics locked.
Overkill win prep: check.
Final morale pump: I bellowed bold.
"Major Pommel, thanks for the lesson! I'll give it everything!"
Pommel snarled back.
"Cocky whelp blind to the heavens—time you learned your betters!"
Words done, battle trumpets thundered through the basin.