episode_0011

It was the right choice not to wear the black uniform of the Changgi Battalion while crossing the river. Upon crossing the river, a large encampment of the Frankia Army was visible on the west side of the river. If I had been wearing the uniform of the Moskovi Army, I would have surely been suspected as a spy.

Approaching the sentries outside the encampment, I mentioned that I was a surviving Madobyeong from Sangmarg, and their bored expressions changed. Eyes filled with curiosity. It seems that the situation in Sangmarg has spread even to the frontline soldiers. I thought they would only relay controlled information due to concerns about morale decline.

The barrage of questions from the soldiers continued until the officer arrived. As I did my best to answer based on what I knew, the more I answered, the more I felt like I might be doing something wrong. Initially, it seemed that not all the information had been disclosed from above. I had only partially divulged enough to instill a sense of crisis, but as I poured out raw information, the faces of the questioning soldiers gradually turned into fearful ones, sweating coldly. When my guard duty ends and I return to the barracks, everything I’ve heard will surely spread around. It seems quite likely that I’ve made a mistake.

“I am Marian Roche, a sergeant of the 93rd Independent Guards Battalion.”

Following the guidance of a junior officer, I entered the command post. Looking at the unit flag behind the battalion commander, it was the 45th Infantry Division. A typical infantry division responsible for the kingdom’s core. Although I pretended to salute by raising an imaginary shako cap since I didn’t have one, the battalion commander receiving my salute seemed preoccupied elsewhere. After reporting everything, including the information about the Moskovi army across the river, the annihilation of the 93rd Battalion—omitting the fact that I spent a week as a prisoner—and the battle in Sangmarg, the commander’s response was contrary to the information I provided.

“Right. Sergeant. Although I initially allowed you access to the command post based on the order to send all surviving combatants from the Sangmarg battle to higher units, the story I’m about to tell you is different.”

Why does he have such a long face to make a point?

“Where are the musket and shako cap? Did you trade your military uniform for something to survive, or did you just throw it all away?”

“……”

It wasn’t an incorrect statement. The shako cap was lost when fleeing the battlefield to survive, and the musket was surrendered when joining the Royal Guards Infantry, while the military uniform was exchanged due to pressure from Sasha.

“But you’ve managed to return to the military quite well. Worried that the stench of defeat might permeate the headquarters and infect the soldiers and officers, huh?”

The stench of defeat? Please, let’s call it the scent of survival.

“It’s quite fortunate that someone with a rotting state of mind like you isn’t under my command as a soldier. The 93rd Battalion scouts were probably on par with you. I’ve heard enough, so get out.”

I risked everything to save at least one more person. If I had been at the Battle of Saint Marge, I wouldn’t have uttered such words. Seeing that division commander made my anger rise, but I couldn’t show it.

“……”

After hearing the infantry division commander’s insult and stepping outside the headquarters, tears welled up, feeling that what I had experienced was unjust. It wasn’t sadness, just a single tear of anger.

I moved to the designated location to wait for the person coming to take me to the Corps Headquarters. Along the way, I overheard soldiers discussing, and it seemed that my story was already circulating within the unit. Stories of the musket not being effective, creatures that could turn people into mist with a simple blow, and the terror of casually tearing people apart. It took less than 30 minutes for two infantry divisions and one artillery battalion present at Saint Marge to be completely wiped out. It was a dangerous tale for the soldiers. The stench of defeat was already hanging in the air, just as the division commander had mentioned.

I didn’t receive a new musket or military uniform here. There should be a Guard Battalion in the 45th Division, so they would have Madoguard uniforms and Madoguard-issue Shalville muskets, but I didn’t receive them. Perhaps I would receive proper gear after moving to the place where the survivors of Saint Marge are being gathered.

“Do they even create special units? Like a Monster Strike Company or something?”

[Chapter 1]

With a wry smile at the amateurish naming, Pic muttered to himself. How many had survived that disaster, and even if they had, how many would return as soldiers? The organization of a Mado infantry squad wouldn’t be maintained.

“Hmm?”

Suddenly, a pungent smell hit him. It wasn’t faint; it was a sharp stench that made him glance around. Had there been a battle somewhere? Or had someone been injured, shedding a lot of blood? No, the surroundings looked like an ordinary unit. Not knowing where the smell was coming from, he furrowed his brow for a moment, and something suddenly dropped to the ground with a thud.

It was a nosebleed. Hastily pinching his nose, question marks filled his mind. What’s this? Was it because I hadn’t been sleeping well for the past week? Or was it because I almost died yesterday? He didn’t even know if it was a penalty as the voice in his head suggested.

“Tch. There’s no way a mere nosebleed is a penalty.”

He roughly wiped away the blood with his sleeve. He shouldn’t act foolishly like a kid with a runny nose, but while waiting, someone soon approached.

“Captain Marianne Roche?”

The one calling me was a lanky young man. His gaunt appearance made him look like he could break if tapped. Even if you looked closely, he didn’t have the appearance of a soldier. He furrowed his brow at my appearance. To anyone unfamiliar with the situation, he would seem like a rascal. Adding to that, having just wiped away the nosebleed carelessly probably made it worse.

“Hmm. Judging by your condition, you must be a true survivor of the Sangmarg Battle. I am Lieutenant Gerald Ebroi.”

“Oh, yes. I’m Captain Marianne Roche. Did you come from the division…?”

“No, not the division, but the corps. For now, come with me to the corps headquarters. I’ll explain on the way.”

The corps? According to what I learned at the training academy, a division was the highest level of organization. “You might be hearing about the corps for the first time, but for now, it’s enough to know that it’s a larger unit than a division. But more importantly, before heading to the headquarters, you should at least receive supplies. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Of course, in the Kingdom of Frankia, it was an unfamiliar term. Controlling the manpower of a division-level or higher force as a single combat unit was not an easy task.

The distance to the Legion Command Post was considerable. While on the way there, the magical infantry of the Kingdom of Francia couldn’t stand seeing me in such a state and managed to procure a set of military attire for magical infantrymen from somewhere. I entered an empty tent, changed into the uniform, wiped away the traces of fatigue from my face with a towel, and when I came out, a carriage was waiting for me. It wasn’t a pumpkin carriage from a fairy tale, just a regular supply carriage, but it was thoughtful enough.

“Except for Colonel August’s command, you’re the first survivor,” said the soldier.

“Colonel August is alive?”

“Yes, he is. He’s the one who reported what happened at the Army Castle to the headquarters.”

If Colonel August was alive and had sent a report, then the chances of Claire being alive increased. A safe retreat for the command post. Claire, who was in the rear, must have retreated as well.

“Fortunately, the Army Castle took Colonel August’s report seriously. It sounded like a wild story before experiencing it firsthand.”

“The Army Castle didn’t fully accept that report. The Montuare family’s influence is almost everywhere in the Francian Kingdom.”

Despite being a viscount family, the Montuare family, which wielded significant influence throughout the Francian Kingdom, lent strong support to Colonel August’s statement. Their influence allowed the Army Castle to issue the absurd order to withdraw all forces from the eastern songbird region. Perhaps it was an even greater power than the royal family. Claire, serving as a junior officer in such a family, was an exceptional person. Perhaps she was a daughter, or a son, or someone at the edge of the family line.

“So, the Montuare family believed Colonel August’s words, didn’t they?”

“That’s right.”

Did the Montuare family know something? It had only been a little over a week since the cursed box fell into the dark forest. If they had a proper intelligence network, they wouldn’t be unaware. However, knowing information and understanding it properly were two different things.

“Command headquarters seems to have different thoughts. Although the corps has been organized under the command of the Army Corps to establish a defensive line, I was curious whether that was properly reported. That’s why we’re looking for survivors of the Battle of Saint Marg.”

“Is it okay to say such things?”

Gerald shrugged. The suspension-free carriage rattled, making his shrug seem even more pronounced.

“It’s a corps, a corps. In the history of the Kingdom of Francia, there has never been such a large force entrusted to a single field marshal.”

According to what was learned in Francian history class, that statement was accurate. From common knowledge of past lives, a corps would consist of a group of 2 to 3 divisions. So, the forces would number around 60,000. Throughout the extensive history, there had never been a gathering of military might greater than this. Even in battles involving over 100,000 troops, it rarely happened more than ten times. The crucial point was that nominal command authority always rested with royal figures like the king or crown prince. However, entrusting a commander on the ground with a corps-level force was truly unprecedented. It could easily turn into a rebellion, much like the Vihard Reconquest. Gerald spoke up.

“Commander, it seems that Major Wigris had such thoughts. The Montuar family handing over a force of this magnitude to someone outside their own lineage? It’s natural for me to have doubts as well, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, the situation seems to leave no other choice…”

“In any case, that’s how it turned out. We still have another 30 minutes to reach the headquarters, so take a moment to rest your eyes.”

He had been feeling drowsy for a while now. The relief of tension brought on a wave of sleep he had missed. Unable to resist heavy eyelids, he succumbed to sleep.