Too Many Anomalies on the Southern Front (2)
Too many anomalies on the Southern Front. Promoting a mere lieutenant to brigade commander out of nowhere! Even novels would get flak for such a rushed plot, but if you examined Major General Valmont's judgment closely, it was practically inevitable.
For starters, the unit was desperately short on officers. Dead, suicides, deserters. The hopeless frontline had mercilessly whittled down both the quality and quantity of officers. And unlike rank-and-file soldiers—whose numbers you could theoretically pad somehow, though you shouldn't—officers required a ton of effort to train. They weren't a resource you could just snap your fingers and get.
In this situation, from Major General Valmont's perspective, a proven talent like that was something you absolutely couldn't let slip away.
Plus, Cassel thought handing such a high position to a lowly lieutenant like himself was a bold move, but reality was different. This was the chronically understaffed Southern Front. A "brigade" here was just a name; in scale, it was basically a reinforced regiment with an extra battalion tacked on. It wasn't a huge burden for someone who'd already successfully commanded a regiment, so on closer inspection, it was actually a safe choice.
If Cassel felt hard done by about that, he shouldn't have pulled off successfully extracting the regiment in the first place.
And finally... Major General Valmont had nothing left to lose (frankly, this was the biggest factor). He was already screwed. A man with nothing to lose is terrifyingly bold.
In summary, to Valmont, Cassel wasn't some fluke—he was the real deal. A commander who wouldn't crumble under the pressure and burden weighing on him personally, who maintained clear judgment, set precise goals, and had the resolve to act. In extreme conditions, he'd pulled off command success that no rookie officer could possibly achieve.
Thus, inevitable. Cassel had basically thrown himself at Valmont, body and soul.
"A word."
"Yes, sir."
At the major general's call, his operations officer standing beside him—Lieutenant Colonel Henri de Vermand—looked up.
"What do you think? Have I gone too far with that young man?"
Lieutenant Colonel Vermand. He had eyes and ears too. To him, Lieutenant Cassel Bertrand was extraordinary. Speaking his mind confidently before the major general without flinching? Sure, some cocky junior officers did that. But commanding a unit on the brink of annihilation, not just saving it but turning around to annihilate the enemy? No such precedent existed.
This kind of feat was a miracle even if you scoured the entire continent—you could count them on three fingers. Truly fearsome capability. And even scarier: Lieutenant Cassel was still just a teenager. The vessel was different.
So Vermand judged him an indispensable talent who must be heavily promoted, and answered his superior without pretense.
"Not too far—rather, isn't it overdue?"
"Oh ho..."
"A commander with courage is rare; one who finds the right answers is even rarer. But one with both? No need to say it."
An unassailable response, so Major General Valmont just smiled quietly.
So that's it. Colonel, huh.
Of course, since it was by the division commander's discretion without central approval, it was a temporary rank. But a colonel was still a colonel. I could almost feel the authority now clutched in my hand.
With this power... Moving a mountain with a gesture might be a stretch, but something on that level? Why not try.
For example, the troops' true arch-nemesis—snow, that garbage raining from the sky—could be swept away entirely. Or I could just slit its throat so it couldn't even whimper.
But the sky was clear, and it wasn't even winter, so these fantasies were utterly useless.
What a shame.
Yeah. The fact that I was entertaining such nonsense told me I honestly had no clue what was going on. It didn't feel real, plus there was this cognitive dissonance from the gap between my original rank and current position.
Every five seconds, I'd think, Is this even allowed? Hence, the headache.
I massaged my throbbing temples to ease the pain. Sudden promotions you never asked for brought way more headaches than imagined.
So, to vent these worries in a fun way, I posted a question on the gallery.
Seeing the gallery's varied reactions, a smirk slipped out before I knew it.
This was the magic of gallery lurking. A miracle cure for stress, the root of all diseases. No wonder 21st-century folks loved it.
...Jokes aside, I knew the real source of my worries.
Something kept veering off the path I wanted. Like being tossed helplessly by waves too big to handle. If I had to sum it up: Too much shit happening. I'm exhausted for real.
The proper mindset would've been, What's done is done—worry about what's next. But my already fatigued brain couldn't pull it off easily.
No peaceful days since possession.
So, better to move my body and fend off idle thoughts. Perfect timing—the unit was in chaos reorganizing, shifting supplies and checking gear. I pitched in, lending a hand.
Ugh—
I'd grabbed a supply crate all gung-ho, but had no clue where to take it. I wandered, scanning for soldiers milling about, then approached the nearest one.
"Where should I take this?"
"Oh, that goes—uh... uh oh!"
Why so startled? First time seeing a handsome guy?
The soldier froze like he'd been shocked, sputtering incoherently. Awkward. But soon, another nearby recognized me.
"Lieutenant!"
One shout snowballed, and the area erupted in commotion.
"What? Where!"
"Lieutenant Cassel is here!"
"Are you alright, sir?!"
Huh?
Startled by the sudden crowd, I backed up—but my retreat was cut off.
"Please rest, sir! We'll handle this!"
"Yes, exactly!"
No need to make it weird... Why's everyone acting like this? I get you're grateful, but this is overkill.
"What good's sitting idle? Least I can do is help with this."
"No sir! Really, you don't have to!"
...Keep this up and I get mischievous.
"Am I wrong?"
"N-no, sir!"
"Then were you lying in your reports?"
"T-that's not—"
"Kidding. Can't just stand around—doesn't suit me."
Thus, parrying their protests with more protests, I re-gripped the crate.
After shifting a few, familiar faces appeared: Claude and Jean. They approached, speaking up.
"Sir, everyone's just eager to repay you. Please take it easy."
"Gotta earn our keep, right?"
They backed the troops too. But I wasn't backing down. Was moving a bit such a crime?
"What keep in a unit short on supplies? And I wanna repay you all too—don't refuse."
They chuckled sheepishly, shaking their heads in resignation. Topic closed, for now. To avoid awkward silence, I smoothly shifted gears.
"Also, I'm not lieutenant anymore. Call me Colonel."
"Pardon... did you say?"
"You heard right."
Then someone butted in. I whipped around—operations officer. What brought him here?
"Colonel Cassel. Busy, I see, but spare a moment? Major General's called an ops meeting. You're to attend."
"Understood."
Sheesh. Starting already? Fast-paced, but no complaints. They pinned colonel on me—I had to earn it.
I finished moving the crate and followed him.