Chapter 57
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: A Lesson in Command
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The atmosphere in the barracks was as taut as a drawn bowstring.
The Centurion, who had just entered, stared at Leonhard with an unyielding gaze.
Leonhard, in turn, met his stare without a word.
The soldiers of the Punishment Squad swallowed hard, their eyes darting between the two men.
The air crackled with tension, so thick it felt like it could be cut with a knife.
“Is there a problem?”
Leonhard broke the silence, his voice low and calm.
It was a simple question, yet it carried an undeniable weight.
The Centurion’s lips curled into a smirk.
“A problem? I should be asking you that. What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. I’m talking about the training. Do you really think this is how you should be running things?”
The Centurion’s voice rose, his face contorting with displeasure.
He had expected Leonhard to be intimidated, to show some sign of deference.
But Leonhard’s expression remained unchanged, his composure unshaken.
This only fueled the Centurion’s anger.
“I’m training my men. Is there an issue with that?”
“Your men? They’re soldiers of the Empire, not your personal playthings! And this… this isn’t training. It’s torture.”
The Centurion gestured wildly at the exhausted soldiers.
“Look at them! They’re on the verge of collapse. Do you plan on killing them before they even see a battlefield?”
Leonhard’s eyes, which had been fixed on the Centurion, slowly scanned the faces of the Punishment Squad members.
They were indeed pushed to their limits, their bodies screaming in protest.
But not a single one of them met his gaze with resentment.
Instead, their eyes held a mixture of awe and a desperate desire to grow stronger.
They knew.
They knew that this grueling training was their only path to survival, their only chance to overcome the grim fate that awaited them.
Leonhard turned his attention back to the Centurion.
“And what would you know about it?”
“What?”
“You, who have never faced death. You, who have never tasted the despair of being powerless. What gives you the right to judge my methods?”
A chilling aura began to emanate from Leonhard, a pressure that seemed to suck the air from the room.
The Centurion’s face paled, his bravado faltering.
He was a Centurion, a respected officer who had risen through the ranks.
He had seen his share of battles, commanded men in the face of danger.
But the presence before him was something else entirely.
It was the aura of a true predator, a being who had walked through the valley of the shadow of death and emerged not just unscathed, but stronger.
*Thump.*
Leonhard took a single step forward.
The sound was soft, yet it echoed in the silent barracks like a thunderclap.
The Centurion instinctively took a step back, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.
“Draw your weapon.”
Leonhard’s voice was a cold whisper that sent shivers down the Centurion’s spine.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You question my command. You challenge my authority in front of my men. The only way to settle this is with steel.”
Leonhard’s spear, which had been leaning against the wall, flew into his hand as if it had a will of its own.
He didn’t even seem to move. One moment it was there, the next it was in his grasp, humming with a faint, dangerous energy.
The Centurion’s eyes widened in disbelief.
He hadn’t seen Leonhard move at all.
Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through his anger.
He was a skilled swordsman, confident in his abilities.
But the man standing before him was on a different level.
This wasn’t a fight he could win.
“I am a Centurion of the Imperial Army! Are you threatening a superior officer?”
He tried to assert his rank, his voice trembling slightly.
Leonhard simply smiled, a cold, predatory smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Rank means nothing without the strength to back it up. Here, in the Punishment Squad, there is only one law.”
He raised his spear, the tip aimed directly at the Centurion’s throat.
“The strong survive. The weak perish. You seem to have forgotten that.”
The pressure intensified, crushing the Centurion.
His knees buckled, and he struggled to remain standing.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temples.
He couldn’t breathe.
The aura emanating from Leonhard was suffocating, a physical force that pinned him in place.
He finally understood.
He had made a grave mistake.
He had underestimated the young man who had been sent to lead this squad of condemned men.
This was no ordinary noble playing at being a soldier.
This was a monster.
A monster forged in the crucible of countless battles, a warrior who danced with death as if it were an old friend.
“I… I apologize.”
The words were forced out of his throat, a hoarse whisper.
“I was out of line.”
Leonhard held his gaze for a moment longer, his spear unwavering.
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, the spear was back in its original position, leaning against the wall as if it had never moved.
The oppressive aura vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
The Centurion gasped for air, his body slumping in relief.
His uniform was soaked with cold sweat.
“From now on,” Leonhard said, his voice returning to its usual calm tone, “you will not interfere with my training. You will not question my orders. You will report to me, and me alone. Is that clear?”
“Yes… Yes, sir.”
The Centurion’s reply was immediate, his tone completely stripped of its earlier arrogance.
He had learned his lesson.
“Good. Now, get out.”
The Centurion didn’t need to be told twice.
He turned and practically fled from the barracks, not daring to look back.
Silence descended once more, but the tension was gone, replaced by a palpable sense of awe and respect.
The members of the Punishment Squad stared at Leonhard, their expressions a mix of fear and admiration.
He had faced down a Centurion without even breaking a sweat.
He had established his absolute authority with a single display of power.
Leonhard turned to face his men.
“The break is over. Get back to your positions.”
His voice was stern, but there was an undercurrent of something else, something that made them straighten their backs and grit their teeth.
It was the promise of strength.
The promise that if they followed him, if they endured his hellish training, they too could become strong.
Strong enough to survive.
Without a word of complaint, the soldiers scrambled back into formation, their movements sharper, more determined than before.
They had found their leader.
And they would follow him, even into the depths of hell itself.