Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Pre-War Plunder (4)
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Back in my old life, when I was in kindergarten, there was a TV show where viewers sent in whatever they were curious about, and the hosts would experiment with it right there on air.
Stuff like: Does dropping Mentos into Coke make it shoot off like a water rocket? Can someone swim across the Han River bare-handed? Will delivery bring you jjajangmyeon if you order it from a bus?
It satisfied all sorts of curiosities by proxy, but the one experiment that stuck with me the most was this:
What if someone dressed as a cop approached random good citizens on the street and ordered them to do push-ups or other punishments—how far would they go along with it?
Kindergarten me just laughed it off, but looking back now, it was pretty shocking.
Because when the fake cop PD made them do jumping jacks, bunny hops, push-ups, and the like, almost everyone just went along without much protest.
Now imagine a world where class structures make authority from the higher-ups ironclad.
If you play the wartime situation and rank like weapons right, you could royally screw over the Chekovians in the most satisfying way.
I was sorting through these thoughts when a scout soldier rode back from about an hour ahead of the main detachment and reported.
"Major, sir, it's about an hour's walk from here to Sylph Village."
The moment I heard that, I ordered the detachment to halt and said,
"Everyone except me and Captain Werner, dismount. From now on, we're posing as a Chekovian supply requisition unit. We'll say the horses you were riding are for pulling wagons—that's our cover. Act confident, and we won't get caught. Think of it as slapping iron plates on your faces."
With that, we started acting like we belonged to a Chekovian unit. At the village entrance, we approached the men standing around blankly on guard and declared,
"I'm Lieutenant Marek Novotny of the 7th Division Supply Unit, Chekovian Principality Army! We're en route to intercept the Reich Empire forces invading Bisocia, but we're short on rations, so we've come to requisition supplies. Take us to your village chief!"
The men eyed us suspiciously but sighed like they had no choice and replied,
"Understood, Lieutenant. Follow me."
"Make it quick. We're in a hurry."
**
Following the man's lead to the chief's house, an elderly man with white hair appeared, dressed in clothes made from fairly clean cloth.
He dropped to his knees the instant he saw us and asked in an extremely cautious tone,
"I heard you're from the supply unit. But according to the notice we received a few months ago, the requisition wasn't due for a while yet..."
The Chekovians aren't idiots—they'd have notified villages in advance about timelines when mobilizing large armies for requisitions.
So naturally, the chief was suspicious of me showing up way ahead of schedule.
There was a risk of getting caught if I slipped up, but I'd prepared for this back at Bruno Castle with dozens of fake documents formatted like Chekovian official papers.
But before flashing those, I started soft to test the waters.
"I get why you're rattled. But things are turning sour. Not that the Grand Duchy of Chekovia's army is losing, mind you—just that the wicked Reich Empire scum might advance faster than expected. So orders came down to stockpile rations early, just in case the war kicks off sooner."
At that, the chief seemed to buy it a bit, nodding as his suspicion eased.
"I see. In that case, could you perhaps show us some proof? You know how it is—if there's no requisition document when we get hit up later, it could cause problems..."
For a mere village chief to mention 'potential issues' to a lieutenant noble would normally be unthinkable.
But wartime army logistics aren't something you brush off lightly, so even in this stratified medieval fantasy world rife with inequality, demanding a requisition document was perfectly reasonable. Refusing would've just fueled suspicion.
So I showed him one of my forged Chekovian requisition forms and said,
"Here's the paperwork. Take a look."
"Thank you."
After a moment, the chief apparently decided it was legit, his face turning genuinely apologetic as he said,
"Sorry, sir. I know it's important, but I feel like I just insulted you by doubting."
"No harm done. Better safe for both sides. So, how much food have you got ready? We didn't bring wagons either—mind if we borrow some from the village? Carts or whatever you've got."
Hearing that, suspicion flickered in the chief's eyes again, but he figured he couldn't push back against authority any further.
The chief answered honestly.
"Normally, we'd slaughter sheep, goats, pigs for fresh meat and bake bread too. Usually, underlings contact us ahead so we can prep, but as you know, this time... Right now, we can offer two tons of wheat flour, two tons of barley flour, plus cheese, salted meat, sausages—we'd set aside for winter. And if we round up all the village carts, we can load it all up. Borrow away—just make sure the document lists everything properly..."
I'm no Chekovian or Reich soldier—hell, the docs are fake—but I could fill out exactly what the chief wanted, no sweat.
Grinning inwardly at the thought of Chekovian troops going hungry, I cheerfully wrote up copies of the requisition document—one for him, one for me—detailing the haul, and handed them over.
"That do it? I'll have my men help load up. You rally the villagers to pack the food."
"Yes, sir. Will you be staying the night?"
Spending the night here wouldn't matter much—after showing the chief the papers, neither he nor the others would suspect us easily.
But lies can unravel anywhere, anytime, so better safe. Plus, that time was better spent hitting more villages, impersonating enemy officers to swipe supplies.
"Appreciate the thought, but no thanks. Hurry it up."
The chief, clearly relieved we wouldn't linger even one night, brightened a bit and replied,
"As you command."
Over the next two hours or so, the villagers and detachment soldiers loaded about six tons of food onto ten wagons.
Even though we'd fooled the chief and everyone perfectly, I still held my breath inwardly, half-expecting to get busted.
But in the end, we slipped away without the serfs catching on, having looted enough rations to feed fifty thousand troops for two meals—or one full day.
**
About three hours after leaving the village.
The detachment soldiers, figuring we were in the clear, started chattering cheerfully among themselves.
"Sergeant Lyle, you sure we actually pulled this off?"
"You saw it with your own eyes and still doubt? What's wrong with you? Buncha green rookies—how're you gonna survive being this paranoid?"
"Haven't had a proper feed in ages. No beef or pork, but sausages and cheese galore... Just thinking about it makes my mouth water."
The other officers and even Laura wanted to hush them, reminding everyone we were still in enemy territory.
Scouts rarely probe two or three weeks' march into enemy lines on foot, but after the detachment's grueling mission, the troops needed some stress relief.
I stopped the officers from clamping down and called out loudly,
"All hands, attention!"
Every eye snapped to me.
"Your battalion commander appreciates your hard work so far. No more marching today—we camp here till nightfall. What do you say?"
Officers and men alike signaled fierce agreement with their eyes.
"Good. Feast and drink your fill on the daily rations His Grace the Duke of Chekovia so generously 'bestowed' on us! But no booze—tomorrow we hit more villages and do it again. Understood?"
Soldiers and officers chorused,
"Yes, sir!"
"Alright then—gather wood and leaves from around. I'll light a fire with magic, and we eat and drink like kings!"
And so we did: that day, we ate and rested to our hearts' content.
We even fed the unground barley to the horses to restore their strength.
The next morning, before departing, we torched all the gathered food and wagons, then resumed the forced march.
We kept pace with the enemy's advance, repeating the cycle: raid villages the same way, rest, burn it all.
Pushing hard, we stripped nine villages clean.
In the last one, we requisitioned oil along with the food—perfect for some fun tricks.
Right on cue, a detachment scout I'd sent on patrol returned with a report.
"Report, sir! Enemy vanguard is about an hour away from us!"
Showtime.