The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 10

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

The Empire’s Supreme Commander Has Returned — Episode 10

It was the tenth day since training had begun.
The trainees’ movements were incomparably faster than they’d been at the start.
They returned to their positions swiftly, standing at attention with everything in perfect order.
The Instructor walked through the barracks and spoke.

“I have news for you all. There’s good news and bad news—listen carefully.”
“…….”
“The good news is that training ends today. You’ll have free time until dawn two days from now. I’ll have a scribe write letters home for anyone who wishes—make your requests if you do.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“After that, you move to the Front Line.”

The Instructor’s words were brief.
But they were enough to tense every soul in the barracks.
Short, sharp intakes of breath echoed here and there.

The Instructor continued his explanation.
He spoke of the Front Line’s condition, the rewards for distinguishing oneself, the assurance that if they applied what they’d learned they’d have no reason to die—just reminders to keep their wits about them.
Of course, Delram let out a quiet snort as he listened.

‘What, does he think we’re all idiots?’

A scribe.
Someone who wrote in place of others.
It meant most of the trainees couldn’t read or write.
But they weren’t fools because they lacked education—it was simply that survival had left no time for learning, and there’d been no reason to pursue it anyway.

So that night, no one slept.
Six weeks of training—short by some measure, long by another.
Not a soul in that barracks failed to grasp what it meant to be deployed to war before even that period ended.

* * *

The Training Camp was in chaos.
Not only those whose training had finished, but trainees from week one through week three as well—
A total of one thousand soldiers were preparing to march.

After two days of rest, the trainees received their uniforms and equipment.
They also received their unit assignments.

Those who were close gathered to compare their orders.
Those assigned to the same unit found some comfort; those sent alone to different units sighed with fallen faces.

Delram fell into the latter group.
Fifteen people from his village had come together.
Yet only one had been assigned to the same unit as him.
That was Mark, the very one who’d provoked him before.

“…….”

Mark’s face had gone ashen.
Ever since Delram had taken down seventeen men alone, Mark had worn that expression constantly.
To think he’d picked a fight with such a man.
He’d spent every day since realizing his mistake trying to stay out of the way.

But that would all end today.
Of all the rotten luck—to be assigned to the same unit!

“Ahhhh…….”
“Hey, quit the sighing—you’re making me anxious. Keep that up and I might just shove you off and make a run for it. My conscience would probably haunt me for it.”
“Ahhhhhhh…….”

Delram gave Mark’s slumping shoulders a sympathetic pat.
Then he unfolded his orders again to study them.

Delram’s commission differed from those of the other recruits.
It was longer and bore distinctive markings pressed into the parchment.
The extra length came from the Training Camp Commander and Ober’s written recommendations; the markings signified not an ordinary soldier, but a Ten-Captain.

“A Ten-Captain! You’re remarkable, Delram—truly!”
“Still, don’t let your guard down. You have to survive this.”
“We’ll need you back herding sheep on the Grasslands!”
“You all will too. Listen, gather round for a moment, would you?”

Delram called together the older men from his village who’d come to see him off.
Then he shared several pieces of advice with them.

In a soldier’s first battle, nine times out of ten your eyes go wild.
But if your eyes stay wild like that, what happens then?
Your head might come off along with them.
So keep your wits about you.

If you find yourself a frontline soldier, start by saying a prayer.
When the first clash comes, throw yourself to the ground without hesitation.
If no one’s watching, play dead from a sword wound.
Knights have their aura; soldiers have their art of playing dead…….”

“Normally they’ll give you strong liquor before and after battle. Don’t just drink it thoughtlessly—examine your body carefully. If you have wounds, even just fresh ones, wash them clean, then wash them again with the liquor.”
“Wounds rot if you don’t, right? Don’t worry about it!”
“We all learned this during our own training.”

The older men spoke with confidence.
Yet Delram’s face remained clouded with unease.

Most of them.
Perhaps he’d never see all of them again.
If he were stationed with them, he could do more to help—but assigned to a different unit as he was, there was only one thing left for him to give them.

‘Good fortune in war.’

So the final night ended.
The recruits marched toward the battlefield.

* * *

An empire.
Four major elements were needed to claim that title.

[Land vast beyond measure]
[Multiple peoples or vassal states beneath one’s rule]
[Recognition from other nations]
[Overwhelming military might]

By those measures, how did Delram’s Pyor kingdom fare?
From the names of its martial techniques—the Imperial Spear, the Imperial Sword, and so forth—one could see it styled itself an empire, but in truth it fell far short.
Especially on points three and four.
Yet turn it around and consider the opposite—

‘So items one and two are basically covered.’

This was not Pyor’s first war.
Years ago, the kingdom had already conquered two neighboring realms.
Through those campaigns, Pyor had become a multinational state and acquired vast territories—enough land to equal two kingdoms combined.
The foundation of an empire had been laid.

‘So… it’ll take roughly fourteen days to reach the Front Line?’

With territory expanded, the distance to the Front Line had grown accordingly.
The Sambala Barbarians held positions at the kingdom’s far north.
This meant Delram and the trainees would be marching for all fourteen days without respite.
Even that was shortened thanks to the king—who, under the guise of promoting commerce, had in truth rebuilt every royal road across the kingdom in preparation for war.

“Combine marching formation drill with forward movement!”
“Match your stride to your comrades! When the path narrows, the rightmost column halts and falls in line behind!”

But it wasn’t entirely bleak.
The journey gave them time to make up for training gaps.
Of course, the march itself drained their strength to the point that instruction focused mainly on theory and formal drill, yet it was something.
Far better than nothing.

“There’s a stench already.”
“Huh? What kind of stench?”

Mark asked in response to Delram’s muttering.
Was it because Delram hadn’t tormented him during the march that his spirits had lifted?
Mark chirped on as though he’d never been cowed at all.

Delram found it irritating, but let it pass.
The boy would see hell soon enough—why bother tormenting him now?
His answer to that recent question would make that clear.

“It really does stink!”

After another day’s march, Mark spoke again.
But his expression had darkened.
A sickly-sweet smell, acrid yet nauseating all at once.

The smoke rising in the distance accounted for the sickly part.
But the acrid stench—what was that from?

“Uuughhhh!”

The moment Mark identified its source, he retched violently.
What they’d taken for a burning hillside was a heap of bodies.
Or rather, things that had once been people.
Blood, carrion, and the reek of the battlefield.

Dozens of trainees were busy vomiting.
But the Instructors did not rush them.
Instead, they watched with pity.
The relief that they themselves would not have to stand in the midst of such horror.
And the guilt that relief brought with it.

“Once you’re done, move on.”
“You’re not bothered by this at all?”

Mark’s face had gone ashen as he asked the question.
Delram gazed up at the distant sky.
Black smoke drifted low across the sky like a gathering storm cloud.

Did it not bother him?
Impossible.

The memory was still vivid.
The flocks of crows that had blanketed the entire battlefield in darkness.
Delram, awakening alone among countless heaps of corpses.
That final day of humanity…….

“…….”

Delram paused for a moment, observing a moment of silence.
For his comrades who had been left to rot, with no one to give them a proper burial.

* * *

“Where the hell is the 1st Unit holed up?”
“Ugh, we’re all going to die…….”

Delram dragged the muttering Mark around between the barracks.
There were nearly a thousand barracks lined up here alone.
Finding which two housed the 1st Unit wasn’t going to be easy.
Still, after asking around a few times, he managed to locate it quickly enough.

“Ah, here it is.”

The reasonably neat barracks had its entrance obscured even in broad daylight.
Delram smirked and kicked Mark in the back.
Off-balance, Mark tumbled forward through the entrance.

“Oh, fresh meat just arrived!”
“Yes, I am―”

Crack!

Mark didn’t even get a chance to introduce himself.
The moment his mouth opened, his abdomen took a blow.
Doubled over and gasping, something fell down onto his head.

“Wrap yourself in it!”

It was a thick military blanket used for sleeping.
Soon the soldiers who’d been lying in wait came swarming in.
And then they began beating Mark thoroughly.

“Ahhh! Aaaahhh!”

There was only one thing Mark could do in the midst of it all.
Scream his lungs out.

The thickness of the blanket offered little comfort.
Because the ones pounding him were frontline soldiers.
Their savage kicks and punches tore right through the blanket.

“Welcome.”

Then Delram entered the barracks.
In that brief interval, dust had been kicked up from how enthusiastically they’d been striking.
But even that dust could not hide Delram’s youthful appearance.

“Hey, who’s that? Don’t tell me another recruit?”
“Two recruits? Wait, hold on. How old are you?”

The soldiers murmured among themselves.
Delram answered them kindly.

“My age? Thirteen this year.”
“This is insane—why’s a thirteen-year-old here!”
“When the conscription officer came to my village, I volunteered.”
“Huh…….”

The soldiers’ faces darkened as if on cue.
The mood turned grave in an instant.
As silence fell outside, Mark cautiously poked his head out.
That same Mark now quietly pulled the military blanket back over himself.

“Don’t worry. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“What? What were we worrying about?”
“The war situation didn’t get so desperate that they’re drafting boys. Like I said, I volunteered, so it has nothing to do with that.”
“Whew, well, that’s a relief at least.”

The one-eyed soldier let out a breath of relief.
The others felt the same way.

Children conscripted indiscriminately?
That would mean Pyor’s defeat.
Or, at best, that they were losing badly.
Either way, everyone here would be dead.

But since that wasn’t the case, it was a mercy.
They’d been seriously considering desertion.

“But still—why’s this bastard’s tongue so short? My own boy is fourteen, waiting at home, you damn punk!”
“So is your son a Ten-Captain?”
“What? What kind of nonsense is that!”

Delram waved the commission in front of the soldiers’ faces.
Of course, most of them were illiterate and had no idea what it was.

But that was fine.
He’d shown it to them carelessly on purpose.

“Don’t worry.”
Flap.

Delram drew the cloth over the entrance.
The barracks grew dim again, as before.

“You’ll figure it out soon enough once the beatings start.”

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————