Chapter 33
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Gathering Dark Clouds
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[…And that’s how I parted ways amicably with Marshal McRaven.]
“Yes, Father.”
The next day, I got a direct call from my father himself.
The Supreme Commander, who’s always swamped with construction projects, made time for a personal magic communication. And there was only one reason for that. Obviously, it was because of those seals!
[I figured a marshal would have too much pride to show up. Sorry, Richi. I hope I didn’t cause you unnecessary trouble.]
“Seals gonna seal. And I’m fine. If anything, it’s good to have a connection with the Navy Marshal now.”
[Still… Urgh.]
Sure enough, my father clearly didn’t like those seals deep down either.
See! Even calling fellow marquises and marshals ‘seals’ doesn’t faze him one bit!
[But there’s one thing I’m a bit puzzled about.]
“You mean how I shared my opinion with the Navy Marshal?”
[Exactly. I thought you’d flatly refuse, of course.]
At first, yeah, I thought about doing just that. I only cared about the ‘Army’ after all.
Whatever the navy needed was their own business.
“But then I realized it wasn’t that simple.”
[Not that simple, huh.]
“When you’re fighting over budgets, you need allies more than enemies, right?”
I’d said the same to Navy Marshal McRaven, but the Empire favored the army a bit more.
And that favoritism naturally included a bigger slice of the budget pie.
That’s exactly why the army and navy were always at each other’s throats.
From the army’s perspective, if they could siphon some budget from the navy, they could do all sorts of extra stuff.
Conversely, the navy growled because the army was already the darling, hogging budget while trying to take even more.
Money was always the uncomfortable, unavoidable crux of it all. So they eyed each other warily, barking like dogs—and that just made scraping together funds even harder.
The council always wanted to slash ‘unnecessary’ military spending.
During peacetime, they’d haul in military brass for budget hearings.
Taxes were priority zero for any nation. Cutting expenditures benefited everyone.
Up until now, the army and navy had handled it by stabbing each other to trim the fat.
Try anything here, and the other side cries foul on ‘wasteful spending’—and it spirals.
Naturally, the council grinned like idiots: ‘Oh, then we’ll cut this and that? Hehe!’
No more. We need to join forces. At least when it comes to budgets!
“That’s why I hope those seals swallow their pride and take the outstretched hand.”
[So that special rations idea was part of that strategy?]
“Eh, something like that. A little debt to hold over the Navy Marshal.”
[Not bad at all. He’s the type who hates owing favors.]
My father nodded, like, That guy, huh.
It’s wild. The army and navy bicker worse than knights or officers ever could.
Yet their top brass turned out to be childhood buddies.
Is my dad secretly a capybara? Too bad I can’t see status windows. I’d check his traits.
“Oh, and the Navy Marshal asked if I’d ever consider joining the navy…”
[That bastard?!]
Whoa! New lesson learned: Even capybaras snap at seals!
*
“Richi. I’ve made up my mind.”
“You’re gonna kill me?”
“Yeah.”
“Fat chance. If you were gonna kill me, you should’ve done it midterms. Too late, punk!”
“Get over here. Fuck, get over here! Should’ve majored in vengeance studies! Raaah!”
Blink three times after midterms, and finals were breathing down my neck.
And Enter seemed dead serious about killing me this time.
You jerk. You signed off on it yourself—don’t pin the blame all on me!
Time flew by. So much had happened since midterms.
First off, the seals and ice cream.
[As expected! This damn budget! Richi! You’re trying to screw over our navy with—]
I cut off the magic comm without listening. Worthless chatter.
Dare to hang up on the Navy Marshal? …Dunno. Blame bad connection; I didn’t hear a thing.
Honestly, I feel wronged. I just suggested a morale booster to replace marching songs.
Once they heard it, figuring out implementation was on them.
Convincing the council for special rations budget? Their problem! Not my circus, not my monkeys!
[Even so, is there a law saying you can just cut off the Navy Marshal like that?!]
“Sorry. Connection was bad. Had no choice.”
Even with satellites and all that jazz, calls drop.
Magic comms aren’t perfect audio either.
[…Do you know what I heard in council?! I groveled, ‘Please, just a bit for special rations for our troops,’ and they go, ‘Sure, but we’ll cut a battleship for it?’!]
“Sounds reasonable. Building battleships costs a fortune. And maintenance ain’t cheap.”
[You gonna say that when it’s not your army?!]
Exactly—I’m not navy. Fight your own budget battles.
If I were top supply brass, maybe.
Soon after, another magic comm from Navy Marshal McRaven.
A noble kid straight-talking two marshals. End times, man.
[You sure you won’t join the navy?]
Why start with seal noises, seriously.
“Talking in your sleep now?”
[No. Just curious—how’d you know they’d love it without seeing our boys react?]
Obviously, because I’m a ‘possessed soul’ picking only proven hits.
And soldiers are all like that. Noble patriotism? Ironclad duty? Sure, somewhat.
But boosting fight comes from more than that.
Tiny things. Fleeting joys from the smallest stuff. Soldiers crave it.
They fight, bodies breaking, to protect that normalcy.
Anyway, McRaven’s news was pretty welcome.
He and his admirals dipped into personal funds for max special rations prep.
Tested on troops: ‘Will this work?’
[Still can’t wrap my head around it. Why are our boys going nuts over that?]
“Tastes good. Easy to eat. Sweet and cool.”
[But it’s for dainty ladies… Why?]
“Good’s good, right?”
McRaven nodded, agreeing.
Would’ve been nicer with a ‘thanks.’
Instead: ‘Seriously, no navy?’ Damn.
I get it. Grateful enough to poach the Army Marshal’s son.
There’s merit in a personal invite from the Navy Marshal.
Once seal chat wrapped, I checked one thing.
My doing, so sneak in a foot in the door.
“Enter. Strangle me later. You scout ice cream production?”
“…Contacted the family, but it’ll take time.”
Prize family’s unique: commerce roots, marrying in military types.
Tons of econ connections, eyes and ears everywhere.
“More importantly, what’s with the sudden ice cream?”
“I’ll explain later. Hook me up.”
Play it right, snag a solid cash pipeline. He’ll bow later.
“Fine, for you. But…”
“You want something.”
Enter wants one thing. Fine. Sacrifice for the greater good!
Alright, friend Enter! Grab away!
“…What’re you doing?”
“Making your collar grab easy.”
“Fuck. Button up. You look weird as hell.”
“Pfft. Everyone knows you like girls, not guys.”
“Shut up and button your shirt. Say it again, no deal.”
Sheesh. Even offers collar access, and he’s no. Then what, dude? What’s your ask!
“Richi, you haven’t talked to Marie lately?”
“Marie?”
Why her name now.
“Uh… Haven’t heard from her since academy started.”
“Figured.”
Enter tsked, glancing over.
“That’s the condition.”
“Contact Marie?”
A tiny kid, barely reaching my waist, pops to mind.
Marie. Enter’s distant cousin. Orphaned young, raised by Prize family.
Hanging with Enter brought me close to her too.
Lost parents, no siblings, but thrilled at two big bros.
Frail, but bright—treated her like blood sis.
“Got a letter recently. Said you never write.”
“Been busy. Will be more.”
“Quiet. Make time. Not your sis anymore?”
“Turning me into the villain, huh. I’ll write today. Happy?”
Enter nodded, smug like a pro businessman.
No sweat. Chatted with Seal Boss; Marie’s an angel.