Chapter 186: The Meaning of Disposition
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 186: The Meaning of Disposition
Front-line command of the Imperial Regular Army’s 7th Armored Grenadier Brigade. A border region adjacent to Krasnaya of the Eastern Union.
Cool, dry air hung heavy inside the rear bunker, sealed securely behind blast walls and reinforced concrete.
Crackle—whiiirrr—
Inside the communications control room, Lieutenant Adel sat engrossed in his work, a heavy headset clamped over his ears. His duty was to scan the enemy's external frequency bands, intercept stray mana waves, and record their encrypted communications.
Whirrr—beep—whiing—
The Aether-Stimme, their mana wave receiver, blinked incessantly.
Adel ceaselessly scribbled down the flood of signals, his pen flying across the paper.
“Haaah~”
A drawn-out yawn from the adjacent seat shattered the quiet. It belonged to Lieutenant Bernhard, his classmate from the military academy.
“...Hey. Take it easy, man,” Bernhard muttered, his heavy military boots propped up on the desk. “Just make the grunts do it. Why make more work for yourself?”
“This all has to be processed by the end of the day.”
Every day, records piled up into mountains hundreds of pages high. His mission was to sift through them and identify any suspicious or noteworthy passages.
“Hey. Just stamp it ‘nothing of note’ and shove it in the shredder. Pro tip. You can write that one down,” Bernhard snorted. “Those bastards are just chattering about what they ate for lunch or what the weather will be like tomorrow. Why are you staying up all night reading that crap?”
He waved a dismissive hand and picked up his own console.
“Besides, I found something pretty cool.”
He had twisted the frequency dial on his military-issue receiver to pick up a popular sports broadcast on an enemy civilian channel.
“Their horse racing broadcasts are fucking wild. The way the announcer gets all worked up is hilarious as hell.”
── Kweeeing! Kvartkhan Kiorien! Kiorien! Kiorieeeeeeen!!
Just as the shriek-filled language of the East echoed through the room, the heavy iron door burst open, and a gust of cold air rushed in. The two men snapped to attention, shooting to their feet.
“Sir!”
“Sir!”
A sharp salute. It was Lieutenant Colonel Eaton of the 7th Armored Grenadier Brigade.
“Lieutenant Bernhard. What was that sound just now?” Eaton’s sharp gaze pierced through Bernhard.
“I was, uh, searching for any potential secret frequencies, sir,” Bernhard hastily covered for himself.
With a hardened face, Eaton turned to Adel. “Anything of note?”
“No, sir. No significant movements have been detected yet.”
This was the easternmost front line. This area, in particular, was teeming not only with the Eastern Union but also with savage tribes coiled up in the rugged mountain terrain. Those tribes, who commanded monsters and practiced bizarre sorcery, served as a convenient excuse to deploy heavy troops along the border without raising international alarm.
“...”
Eaton glared silently at Bernhard before turning on his heel and leaving the barracks.
Clang.
The moment the door shut...
“Hah. That half-breed bastard is always trying to act tough,” Bernhard muttered, practically spitting the words. “Hey, but you know that guy. There’s a weird rumor going around about him lately, right? You’ve heard it too?”
It was a natural progression. Eaton’s maternal lineage was Zerpa, making him of mixed blood.
“The rumor that he’s a reactionary. A puppet of the Revolutionary Group? They say he secretly supports the Zerpa Republican Faction.”
Bernhard chuckled with an air of absolute conviction. Adel clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his pen.
“Watch your mouth.”
“...What?”
“Those of Zerpa mixed blood are not in violation of the Imperial Citizenship Act. The law explicitly states they are to receive the same rights and treatment as the Aran.”
At Adel’s by-the-book response, Bernhard tilted his head, a slight, humorless smile twisting his lips.
“Hah. Watch my mouth?”
He rose from his seat, walked over, and poked Adel’s cheek with his finger. Tap. Tap.
“Well, well, Adel. You’ve gotten bold, haven’t you? You little shit.”
He grabbed Adel by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and snarled.
“You think we’re the same just because we have the same rank, you bastard? I was supposed to go to the Imperial Guard, but I stayed in the Regular Army because of my dad. I’m on a different level from guys like you. A whole different level.”
“...Then you should have gone to the Imperial Guard.”
For a moment, Bernhard’s face went rigid.
“Hey. What did you just say? Say it again.” Bernhard glared at Adel from inches away, seething. “Say it again, you son of a bitch!”
Wheeeew—
A lazy whistle drifted through the air.
“Excuse me~?”
It was a familiar tone. Startled, Bernhard released his grip on the collar, and both men snapped back to attention.
“Sir!”
“Sir!”
It was Major Goetz, an officer with bulging eyes and neatly combed-over curly hair that gave him a bizarre yet sinister impression.
“What you just said, were you serious?” Goetz approached, the corners of his mouth lifting with interest.
Bernhard swallowed hard. “Well, Major, sir. That is...”
“No, no. It’s fine, speak freely.”
“Um...”
Goetz patted Bernhard’s shoulder. “Lieutenant Bern. I met your father during my last leave. He was quite proud of you for serving here at the border.”
“Ah... I see, sir.” Bern’s lips twitched.
His family was a noble house with considerable influence within the military. Goetz was the type to meticulously manage such connections, never letting a single one slip by.
“Well...” Bern glanced at Adel and smirked. “Is there something else you wished to discuss, sir?”
“Just now. Lieutenant Colonel Eaton was here, wasn’t he?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Tell me more about that rumor.” Goetz wrapped an arm around Bernhard’s shoulder, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Not in a place like this. Somewhere a little warmer.”
“Yes, yes! Understood, sir!”
Bernhard nodded eagerly and followed Goetz out, not forgetting to shoot a sideways glare at Adel. It was a look of pure superiority, one that clearly said, This is the difference between you and me.
Clang.
The heavy iron door shut. Adel let out a short sigh and sank back into the chair in front of the receiver.
— Beeep. Beeep.
Beyond the headset, the meaningless mechanical hum repeated itself.
Adel pressed his tired eyes, reaching for the switch to cut off the worthless frequency band entirely. But just as his fingers brushed the dial...
“...?”
His hand froze.
— Beeep. Beep-beep. Beeep.
A subtle variation was mixed into the signal. It wasn’t the white noise that came from a bad frequency lock. It was fragments of mana, intentionally broken into fine pieces and arranged in a regular pattern by someone.
“...!”
He cranked the receiver’s output to maximum. The hand holding the pen moved with frantic urgency.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
The irregular bursts of sound floating in the air were translated into letters and symbols, pouring onto the paper. He scraped together every last trace of the suspicious mana and recorded it in the document.
*
What did it mean to be a Sentinel in the Empire?
Hannah Usar sometimes pondered this. When she walked the streets in her uniform, children would gaze at her with admiration, and adults would step aside in reverence. Even politicians and powerful figures dared not treat a Sentinel carelessly, and she received utmost deference even in common roadside restaurants.
But the weight of being a Sentinel couldn't be limited to mere perks and special treatment. Lately, Hannah had been in the process of discovering its true meaning.
“Is the salary structure for this year really like this?”
In the Sentinel break room, Hannah squeezed in between her colleagues, Lois and Dare Tan, who were poring over a document.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Come on, it hasn’t even been officially announced yet. They’re really paying this much?”
“Hah. This is why kids who grew up with nothing...” Dare Tan clicked his tongue, but Hannah’s eyes remained glued to the numbers on the page.
“Anyway. This base salary is confirmed, and performance bonuses are separate.”
The base salary alone for a first-year Knight was 1.5 million Imperial Dollars a year. That in itself was extraordinary, but the real benefits lay elsewhere.
“Wow...” Hannah was momentarily stunned.
There was a massive increase in the budget cap for office expenses necessary to retain staff. The limit for 'activity expenses,' which required no proof of expenditure, had also been raised. And all of this was just the baseline. It meant that, depending on performance and results, a Knight’s personal budget could more than double.
The capital had practically ballooned compared to previous years, but this level of treatment surely wasn’t being handed out for free.
D-ling—!
Just then, Hannah’s terminal rang. It was an urgent summons from an informant she had planted. Today was the day of action for the mission she had been tracking.
Her expression hardened.
“I’m heading out. Something important came up.”
“...What are we supposed to do about it? Just go, man.”
“She just shows up whenever she wants, and now she’s announcing she’s leaving—”
She ignored them and immediately rushed out of the Knights Order.
At the parking garage, she slid into a car with five armed agents waiting for her. They sped off, arriving at Imperial Central District 29. They parked in front of what appeared to be a parts factory. It looked ordinary at a glance, but her informant had infiltrated this very place.
“Let’s go.”
Hannah Usar stepped out of the car. Followed by her agents, she stormed into the factory and shouted.
“Wh-what? Who are you peo—”
“Sentinel! Everyone, step back from where you are and put your hands on your heads!”
The agents swiftly subdued the factory workers. Hannah walked on, her sharp gaze surveying the interior. With her hand resting on the sword at her hip, she reached the owner’s office.
“S-Sir Knight. What brings you here...?”
On the wall was the informant’s mark. A very faint smudge of cigarette ash.
Hannah drew her sword.
Swish—!
The mana-clad blade sliced effortlessly through the wall. Beyond the collapsed plywood and concrete, a hidden secret room was revealed.
“...Hah.” Hannah frowned.
The room was packed with high-performance wiretapping and communication devices that looked highly suspicious at a single glance.
“W-wait a moment! Th-these are just necessary equipment for our factory’s business! For contacting our clients...” The factory owner stammered out a pathetic excuse, his face deathly pale.
Hannah didn’t even deign to reply. She simply reported the scene to her superior via her terminal.
“It’s true! Sir Knight!”
“You can make your excuses later.”
Hannah gave a small, cold smile and walked back outside. The agents were already handcuffing the factory’s executives, while the other workers knelt on the ground, their faces filled with terror.
A few dozen minutes passed.
— Thud.
The moment that footstep echoed from the factory entrance, the air froze.
— Thud.
The noisy workers fell dead silent, and the owner, who had been spouting endless excuses, held his breath.
— Thud.
It was all because of the single person who had arrived.
Maximilian Ebenholtz.
“Sir Knight.” Hannah bowed her head in a deep show of respect.
Maximilian gave a slight nod in return, then strode up to the owner’s office to inspect the evidence beyond the broken wall.
“What is your assessment?” Hannah asked.
“Secure it,” Maximilian ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
He then came back down and slowly swept his gaze over the faces of the factory workers. His stare felt like the physical edge of a blade.
“S-Sir Knight! There must be some kind of mistake! Those machines are...”
Maximilian drew the pistol from his hip.
— Bang.
An unhesitating shot. The mana-compressed bullet silently and precisely pierced the center of the owner's forehead. The body crumpled backward.
But it wasn’t over. Maximilian slightly angled the muzzle and shattered the temple of another executive trembling behind the owner.
Two lives vanished in an instant, leaving only two fresh corpses in their wake. Every factory worker clamped a hand over their mouth in sheer terror.
“Mana communication devices with unregistered serial numbers,” Maximilian lowered his pistol and recited dryly. “Possession by unauthorized individuals or corporations is forbidden. Grounds for summary judgment.”
It was a direct application of the newly revised National Security and Communication Control Act. He aimed the smoking muzzle at the forehead of the last executive—Izenheim.
He watched the man tremble, his face ashen, then slowly lowered the gun.
“Hannah Usar.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t need to report every single incident like this to me.” His golden eyes stared directly into Hannah’s. “Follow your own intuition and decisions.”
It was a command to bear the responsibility that came with being a Sentinel Knight, an enforcer of the Empire’s power.
“Whatever the result, the Sentinels will bear it in its entirety.”
Hannah understood the immense weight of those words. Now, she had to cast off the hesitation and fear that had been ingrained deep in her bones as a commoner.
She took a short, sharp breath.
“Yes, sir.”
Feeling Maximilian’s gaze still upon her, she gripped her sword.
And swung it.
Swish—!
The man’s head flew into the air, and red blood soaked the factory’s cement floor.
“I will take the rest into custody,” Hannah declared.
“The severity of the punishment is applied differently. But the standard is not the nature of the crime, but—”
“Aran.”
That was Hannah’s answer. Maximilian did not tell her if she was correct. He simply turned without another word and left the factory.
*
I assigned a new agent to Hannah Usar.
A Yaken trained at the Genen Annex—a hound capable of identifying the unique scent of the Izenheims.
Yes, Hannah was earning my trust. She was becoming the person I needed her to be.
It was a necessary change. After all, before my regression, Hannah Usar had been betrayed by the Izenheims, meeting a horrific end.
— Knock, knock.
The office door opened with a light knock.
“Sir Knight.” An agent approached and placed a file envelope on the table. “The report you requested on the movements of the Imperial Regular Army’s 7th Armored Grenadier Brigade.”
The Eastern Borderlands. Around this time before my regression, a rather large incident had occurred there.
“...It seems there are some rather serious internal problems. There has also been a string of suicides among low-ranking officers...”
The military, now as in the past, was a dreadfully insular group. The Eastern Borderlands, in particular, was a military post that had been continuously operating for two hundred years.
Meaning, there was a high probability that it was very, very, very corrupt.
For the sake of the future Eastern Front, it needed to be turned completely upside down.
“...Keep watching it.”
The military units in the East were crawling with quite a few figures of interest. I would have to take those I could use, discard those I couldn't, and leave the rest be.
“Closely monitor for any petitions or whistleblower reports coming from there.”
If there were any soldiers suffering from injustice or crushed by the chain of command, their last resort was the Knights Order. In fact, the same was true for all citizens of the Empire.
For the Knights Order was the place where all who had been wronged submitted their petitions as their very last resort—sometimes knowing they would never be delivered, other times desperately hoping, entrusting them with a final sliver of hope.
“Yes. Understood.”
Even if we could not grant all their wishes, we had to be able to answer their pleas from time to time. Only then could the absolute prestige of the Knights Order be maintained.