The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 21

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Imperial Commander Returns 21

Rubian caught Delram by the wrist.
Then he pushed mana through it.

Rumble-rumble-rumble!

Violent, tempestuous mana.
Yet for all Rubian’s desperation, it traced through the Mana Road without inflicting the slightest harm, searching every inch of its pathways.

“Phew……!”

A moment later, Rubian withdrew and exhaled deeply.
Misuse of a Mana Art could render someone a cripple in the worst case.
Fortunately, there was no sign of that having occurred.

“So it seems I shouldn’t have done that.”
“That’s an understatement! The Mana Road is full of things that must never be touched. Even those that seem safe can turn into bombs depending on the sequence!”

Rubian trembled as he spoke, his voice breaking with outrage a beat too late.

“You fool!”
“Ha-ha…….”

Delram laughed awkwardly at the rebuke, for all its impotence.
It was probably the harshest curse the man knew how to utter.

The reason Rubian was so poor with insults was simple enough.
Why waste breath on words when you had a greatsword?
Just ask his ex-fiancée—pulped into oblivion.

“I’ll explain how I revised it, sir.”
“Good! Don’t skip a single detail. That’s the only way I can restore your Mana Art to its original state.”

Delram recited the Vistache Art—his own version of it.
At first, Rubian listened with the expression of someone watching total ruin.
But as Delram continued, his face grew increasingly vacant.
Then disbelief crept in.
By the end, it had curdled into pure shock.

“Wait. Let me test it first, then we’ll talk.”
“Would you like me to repeat it, just in case?”
“I’ve got it all. One moment…….”

Rubian hastily cycled through the Mana Art.
Watching him, Delram noticed the flow of mana rippling through the air around him—subtly more stable than before, distinctly different from how it had been.
And judging by the increased volume of mana being drawn in, it was clear Rubian was testing the new Mana Art Delram had just taught him.

‘This one really is insane.’

Watching this, Delram let out another hollow laugh.
He had absolute confidence it was safe.
He’d created it himself, after all.

Even if something went wrong midway, it wouldn’t matter.
He’d already mastered safety’s Pleurex—so even if something broke, it would be trivial, and fixing it would be easy.

But Rubian was different.
As he’d just said, learning a flawed Mana Art could tangle the Mana Road and have him coughing blood from every pore.
Yet he attempted it directly without hesitation?

‘This must be talent.’

The moment he heard it, his intuition seized upon the truth.
That the corrected Mana Art was flawless.
That nagging uncertainty which had haunted his practice, growing sharper with each rise in Realm, had resolved itself with crystalline clarity.

Intuition that transcended common sense!
An ordinary person would fail to grasp such an action even if they died and were reborn.
But that was precisely what talent was, what genius meant.
And so Delram had no choice but to remain a Lower Knight.

Flash—

It was some time before Rubian’s eyes opened.
As his eyelids slowly parted, something altogether different emerged:
a golden luminescence of Mana lingered in his pupils, then faded away.

It was unmistakably the face of one who had attained understanding.
Still far from becoming a Lower Knight, yet he had undoubtedly taken a step closer to that threshold.

“Boy!”

Rubian lurched upright and drew Delram into an embrace.
It was their second embrace, but vastly different from the first.
Given Rubian’s considerable height, Delram found himself held in an awkward posture, and he felt the fabric of his own clothing grow damp across his stomach.

That was it.
Rubian was weeping.
After some time, Rubian released Delram and spoke.

“Thank you. You are our house’s benefactor…….”
“I’m not entirely sure what you mean, but it seems I’ve managed to correct the Mana Art well. And that has proven beneficial to your house.”
“Indeed! It is beyond measure—an enormous blessing. Is there anything you desire? Anything at all, simply name it!”

Rubian’s eyes gleamed with an intensity different from moments before.
What shone within them was blind faith, and beyond mere willingness—a desperate, fervent pleading for him to ask for something.

‘He’s overjoyed. Perhaps the house itself had been sliding toward ruin, only it wasn’t visible on the surface? That makes sense, though—with the Mana Art in such a state, it had to be…….’

The Mana Art had fallen into this condition roughly three generations ago.
Or perhaps even before Rubian’s great-grandfather.

‘Is that why he was considering a Strategic Marriage?’

Vistache had belonged to the Five Great Houses of the kingdom through military might.
But that very foundation—its martial power—had weakened?
Naturally, they had to compensate for what military strength could no longer provide through political means. And nothing served that purpose better than blood ties.
In other words, a Strategic Marriage.

-Ha ha! Master, what would a student dare to ask of his teacher? Merely to have been of service is honor enough.

In his heart, he wanted to offer such warm humility.
But Delram could not afford such a luxury now.
A heavy responsibility rested upon his shoulders!
To succeed in humanity’s salvation, he had to exploit every resource at his disposal.
And so he asked.

“In truth, I have a plan. It seems there may come a time when I need to ask for your assistance and that of your house, and I would hope you might be willing to help me then.”
“Of course! The boy’s affairs will soon become our house’s affairs. I swear it here and now—as the heir to Vistache!”
“Eh? Isn’t the heir your younger brother?”
“That fool I intend to straighten out—no, to persuade. Have you perhaps heard anything about me……?”

Rubian asked carefully.
The rumors had already spread across the entire kingdom, so Delram nodded as if he’d caught wind of it.

“You mean the talk of a strategic marriage.”
“It was my younger brother who arranged it. He got my father’s ear, which is how it happened. So I was about to deal with him—no, to have a serious talk when my father enlisted me.”
“Ah, I see…….”
“The moment this war ends, I’m going back to settle it! So my oath is the house’s oath.”

Rubian radiated killing intent.
Delram continued to dangle bait before him.

“So you’re saying you’ll help me?”
“I swear it.”
“Anything?”
“Anything!”
“You won’t regret this?”
“There’s no chance of that!”

Rubian spoke with increasing fervor.
A knight’s word weighed more than a thousand purses of gold, and as Delram kept pressing, his pride seemed wounded.

But Delram thought to himself.
Would he truly never regret it?

‘What I’m about to ask for might be treason…….’

He felt a twinge of conscience for not saying as much before securing the promise.
Delram shook his head and spoke.

“Then I’ll need a notarized document bearing your house seal.”

* * *

[Lower Knight]

It was the beginning of knighthood and the stage where one received treatment as nobility.
Even here on this battlefield, that held true.
There were tens of thousands of common soldiers, but fewer than five hundred knights in total.
So one could hardly say he lacked the qualifications.

-Let’s keep it secret for now.

After much thought, Rubian proposed carefully.
How many years had he endured hardship as a commoner!
He’d only just begun to spread his wings as a knight, and now he was being asked to hide it.
So it seemed he thought Delram would object—
but of course, he did not.

-I was thinking the same thing.

Certainly, revealing his cultivation stage would have brought better treatment.
He’d receive his own quarters and see his rank elevated.

But that was precisely the problem.
If Delram were to operate openly within the Special Operations Unit?
He could forge a reputation with a hundred-percent mission success rate.
But what if he entered among the knights?

‘I’d become the youngest.’

Knights were ranked by hierarchy, but their true divide lay in cultivation realm.
To fall among them at the lowest level—
There was no question it would be the beginning of hardship.
As the youngest, he’d be saddled with menial tasks, his training hours would dwindle, and he’d have little chance to distinguish himself in assigned missions.

And that wasn’t all.
The order was thick with knights from prestigious noble houses.
Among them, a commoner like Delram would stand out—isolated, diminished.
Even if he earned merit, they’d refuse him recognition, or other knights would claim it as their own.

‘Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a dragon.’

That was why he’d set his sights on a single goal: building his own unit.
Before the return, even with a lower realm than other knights, Delram had survived through strategy and tactics, clawing his way to Supreme Commander.
If he had a unit he could wield like his own hands and feet, creating military exploits would be nothing.

“Delram, your first assignment.”
“I’ve been waiting for it.”

Delram grinned and accepted the orders from the unit commander.
Stop the Pyor barbarians’ troop reinforcements!

Five days later.
Delram completed his first mission flawlessly.
Without a single casualty—grinding an entire tribe to dust.

* * *

Eleven months had passed since the war began.
Which meant seven months since Delram enlisted.

…….
…….

A massive tent woven from beast hides.
Thirteen chairs were arranged around a central brazier.
And occupying each of them—

Their ages, sexes, and builds all differed.
Yet they shared one unmistakable quality.

Presence.
A raw, savage aura—as if one were standing before wild beasts themselves.
All thirteen of them radiated it.

It was no accident.
They were the tribal chiefs of the Sambala Confederation.

The atmosphere hung as heavily as the battlefield itself.
The first to speak was a gaunt, middle-aged man.

“Kekeke, so Rabata has graced us with his presence? What an honor to meet a chieftain of such renown among the warriors these days.”
“…What did you say?”
“I hear your tribe’s eldest warrior disobeyed orders and slaughtered a flock of sheep. And he was so careless that a young lamb’s spear pierced his throat, sending him to join his ancestors. That’s the tale going around.”
“……!”
“Ah, don’t glare at me like that. I know it’s mere gossip, after all. Surely a warrior couldn’t really have fallen to a mere boy? Kekekek.”
“You insolent fool!”

Rabata could contain himself no longer. He drew his axe.
What shone unmistakably from the weapon was Aura itself.
In the next instant, he kicked back his chair and launched himself forward!

Whoosh!

The axe descended toward the middle-aged man’s head.
Yet there was a reason the middle-aged man remained unhurried throughout.
The axe did not split his skull.

Clang!

Instead, it rebounded with a sound like striking a bell.
Rabata twisted his body mid-air and returned to his chair.
It was a fluid motion that belied his massive frame.

“Rune Master Tamuka….”

Rabata spoke, spittle flecking his lips.
An old man had materialized before him.
The robust elder stood leaning on a Staff ornately adorned with countless feathers—the same one he’d used to deploy the protective barrier moments before.
The old man opened his mouth.

“Our situation is dire, Rabata.”
“Then you expect me to swallow such an insult!”
“Indeed. When the very tribespeople of all thirteen clans face annihilation, such things are trivial.”
“Tch……!”

Rabata ground his teeth and stowed his axe away.
But the Rune Master’s expression was no lighter than his own.
What he had said was uncomfortably true.

The tribal confederation of Sambala.
An alliance forged from thirteen clans and their fragile connections—a nation whose identity as such remained dim.

The fundamental principle of diplomacy had always been Far Relations, Near Enmities.
Fight bitterly with your neighbors; befriend those afar.

Then what of thirteen clans sitting adjacent to one another?
They had, naturally, warred among themselves for as long as anyone could remember.
For centuries upon centuries.
The current military situation had grown so dire that even these sworn enemies were forced to gather in one place and discuss their collective future.

The one saving grace was the Rune Master, Tamuka.
Sambala’s greatest sorcerer.
A true sage who had foreseen the coming war with keen foresight, brought together the warring clans, and forged them into a confederacy.

There was, however, but one weakness.
He had never encountered Delram.

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