Chapter – 98
“Never seen a crazier bastard than that.”
Carlyle sneered coldly.
“As if he could reform me. Even the Archduke failed at that.”
“Watch your mouth, Private Carlyle.”
Helen, due to her position, couldn’t openly agree with Carlyle’s remark and settled for a warning.
But the fact that she didn’t scold him more harshly made it obvious she had been suffering quite a bit under the new battalion commander as well.
“The Battalion Commander is someone who emphasizes discipline above all. Keep that in mind going forward.”
“Since when do people nitpick discipline on the frontlines?”
Carlyle snorted as if it was ridiculous.
To be fair, on the frontlines—where battles erupt almost daily—no one wastes time enforcing petty discipline.
When soldiers are already exhausted from the constant cycle of operations, combat, and reorganization, picking on formalities just adds mental fatigue. Thus, pointing out military discipline over trivial matters is generally avoided at the front.
“If the commanding officer says it, then that’s how it is, Private Carlyle.”
“So rank makes right, is that it?”
“If you don’t like it, get promoted higher and run things your way.”
“Hah.”
“Anyway, watch your behavior and choice of words. Otherwise, not only you, but the entire unit will suffer for it.”
“Kh.”
“Why the silence?”
Helen pressed when she saw the twisted smirk on Carlyle’s face.
“You’re not planning on entering a battle of nerves with the Battalion Commander, are you?”
“A lowly Private like me? Against the Battalion Commander? I’d probably be court-martialed and executed.”
“So you’re aware of that.”
“I said the same thing to my father.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When he threatened to block my promotion, I told him I’d request a court-martial. Said I’d rather be executed.”
“……”
Helen stared at Carlyle with a what-is-wrong-with-this-guy expression.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You really don’t know?”
“……?”
“Sigh.”
Seeing Carlyle’s cluelessly innocent face, Helen let out a long sigh and lowered her head.
“Private Carlyle.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ever since you were assigned under my command, I’ve developed migraines. My head throbs so often I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
“Then you should take medicine.”
“Just behave. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Sure. I’ll try.”
Carlyle replied with a warped grin, making Helen squeeze her eyes shut.
‘At this rate, I might become the first officer in history to resign because of a direct subordinate.’
For the first time in her military career, Helen imagined taking off her uniform.
✦ ✦ ✦
That evening.
Carlyle was able to hear from the recon team about what had been happening during his absence.
“I’m telling you, he’s insane.”
Wilson shook his head.
“He nitpicks everything all day, shows up everywhere, doles out punishment for lack of discipline. I’ve served for years, and I’ve never met a commander so irritating.”
Marder, apparently also full of pent-up frustration, burst out angrily.
“And how many recon missions does he think we can run in a single day? I’m exhausted.”
“Grrrrooo…”
Even Huginn, perched on Marder’s shoulder, drooped its head in fatigue.
“Can’t we do something?”
“About what?”
“You’re a Sigmund. Can’t you ask His Highness the Archduke to—”
“You think that would work?”
Carlyle replied flatly to Russell’s attempt at petitioning.
“If that worked, would I still be here? I’d be in the rear living the sweet life.”
“…Fair point.”
Realizing the truth in Carlyle’s words, Russell gave up quickly.
“Maybe he’ll get tired of this soon. He must be exhausted too.”
“I doubt it.”
Kudo spoke with a meaningful expression.
“I looked into it—apparently, the Battalion Commander started as a private, earned a knighthood, and rose all the way to Lieutenant Colonel.”
“……”
Silence fell over the recon team.
It was incredibly rare for someone to rise from enlisted rank to officer. Even Helen, their company commander, was seen as a near-legendary figure for such a feat—yet the battalion commander had risen even higher to command a battalion. That could only mean exceptional talent and extraordinary grit.
“I’ve heard things about him too,” Begman added.
“He’s known for currying favor with superiors. A master of survival tactics.”
“You mean a master of sucking up.”
Carlyle said bluntly.
“Call it survival or sucking up—either way, pleasing your superiors is the most important skill in the military.”
“What a lovely system.”
“When has it ever been otherwise? Bottom line is—we complain all we want, but we keep our heads down and obey. If grunts like us rebel, not only will we suffer, but Dame Helen will be dragged down too.”
At that, the recon team’s expressions darkened.
A unit’s morale reflects the temperament of its commander. And a commander as strict and ambitious as this new battalion commander was bound to make life miserable for everyone.
“Anyway, did the mage arrive yet?”
Carlyle asked, trying to shift the mood.
Talking about that annoying man any longer would only worsen their headaches.
“Eh? Mage? What mage?”
“I was promised one.”
“Promised? By who?”
“They said they’d send me a mage.”
“Seriously?!”
Color returned to Begman’s face.
“A mage?!”
“If we had even one, our situation would drastically improve!”
The recon team burst into excitement as well.
A mage drastically increases a unit’s combat effectiveness—it was news worth celebrating.
“Who promised you a mage?”
“The Archduke.”
“…Stop calling him that.”
“What’s the problem?”
“If you insist on calling him that, just call him Father instead. If you keep saying ‘Archduke, Archduke,’ it gives me chills.”
“Father sounds too personal. I’m trying to avoid that.”
“Then say ‘His Highness the Archduke.’”
“That’s too stiff.”
“…Forget I asked.”
Begman shook his head.
“So His Highness promised a mage? To us?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“How would I know? They’re not here yet, so we wait.”
“Still, it’s good to finally hear some good news.”
Begman crossed his arms and nodded.
“His Highness is good about keeping promises. If he said he’d send one, he will.”
“I hope so. Things are getting worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Barbarian numbers have increased drastically. It’s going to get tougher. They didn’t expand the fortress and increase troop numbers for nothing.”
“Great.”
“You must be tired after the trip. Rest while you can. Starting tomorrow, it’s going to be hell.”
“Got it.”
Carlyle nodded and lay down on his bunk.
‘Hm. Maybe I should desert.’
He seriously considered it—but decided the losses outweighed the gains.
If he deserted, the Sigmund knights would hunt him down, and he’d lose his profits from the Morel Mine. That would be a huge loss.
✦ ✦ ✦
Late that night.
Helen visited Kravel’s office.
Knock knock.
“3rd Company Commander reporting. May I enter?”
“Come in.”
“Salute.”
“Return salute.”
Despite the late hour, Kravel was seated at his desk, seemingly working on paperwork.
However, Helen quickly realized he wasn’t doing official work.
She had accidentally glimpsed the documents—and they weren’t unit reports, but personal letters to higher-ranking officers.
He was writing multiple letters, all clearly personal, likely to curry favor. Several completed letters were stacked beside him.
“What is it, 3rd Company Commander?”
“I have something to report.”
“Go on.”
“It’s regarding the equipment that Private Carlyle donated to the unit.”
Helen glanced at the crates stacked in the office.
“I request that after inspection, you return them to 3rd Company.”
“No need to worry. I’ll examine them and return them shortly. You know I only confiscated them because they were brought in without approval.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Kravel thought for a moment, then stood.
“Since the subject is raised, we shall inspect them now.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Open them yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Helen opened the crates and showed him the contents.
“Th-This is…”
Kravel recoiled slightly in surprise.
The weapons Carlyle had brought—crafted by dwarves—were such masterpieces that even enlisted soldiers had recognized their exceptional quality. A battalion commander certainly knew their worth.
Kravel’s eyes were instantly drawn to a particularly well-made sword.
“This… this sword is…”
He reached for it as if entranced.
Shing!
Simply touching it made a cold, resonant ring hum through the air.
‘Incredible… For years I’ve wielded nothing but scrap metal compared to this.’
For the first time in over a decade, Kravel suddenly felt like his loyal sword was worthless garbage.
The dwarven-forged blade was so exquisite that it completely captivated him.
“Ahem. Ahem, ahem.”
After clearing his throat, he spoke.
“I’m afraid I can’t return these right away.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Military equipment must meet the highest standards of safety and durability.”
“……?”
“Unverified equipment could endanger our soldiers’ lives. Imagine if a weapon breaks in a critical moment—who would take responsibility?”
“So the equipment will…”
“I will personally use them first to test their safety and durability. If I deem them reliable, then I shall return them.”
“Sir, these were crafted by dwarves of the Firehammer Clan. You are aware of dwarven craftsmanship—their weapons’ durability and safety are—”
“Watch your tone!”
Kravel snapped.
“Are you, a mere company commander, questioning the judgment of your battalion commander?”
“That’s not what I meant, sir. I’m simply saying dwarven weapons do not require—”
“Ha!”
Kravel clicked his tongue.
“You place far too much blind faith in dwarven craftsmanship, Captain.”
“…Sir?”
“Judgment is not made by you or by rumors. It is made by the commanding officer—me.”
“……”
“I will handle this matter personally. Do not bring it up again. Otherwise, I will charge you with insubordination. Is that understood?”
“…Yes, sir.”
Helen forced down the rage boiling inside her.
“Then that concludes this discussion. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir. Salute.”
“Return salute.”
As soon as Helen left, Kravel hurriedly drew the sword from the crate.
Shing!
A clear metallic resonance filled the room as a cold gleam flashed across the blade.
“Magnificent. Truly worthy of dwarven craftsmanship.”
Greed flickered in his eyes.
“To properly test its durability… I will need several years at least. Heh… heh heh.”
Muttering to himself, Kravel tossed aside his old sword and fastened the dwarven blade to his waist.
