The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 24

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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 — Chapter 24

An investigation report from the Special Forces reconnaissance squad.
Naturally, ordinary soldiers weren’t cleared to read it.

But Delam was an exception.
The Special Forces Commander had smuggled it to him in secret.
He’d begged Delam to help him devise a strategy.

Delam’s mastery of weapons was genuinely extraordinary.
Especially his uncanny command of seven different weapons—the barbarians feared him so deeply they called him the Seven Weapons Master.

But that was only the tip of the iceberg.
The Special Forces Commander had glimpsed Delam’s true gift, and it lay elsewhere.
Strategy and tactics.

It was always the same.
Armed with nothing but a simple intelligence report, he would craft operations that seemed to spring from someone who’d stood on the battlefield itself—bold yet meticulous.
Remarkably, nearly all of them succeeded.
And now Delam muttered to himself.

“Damn. We’re finished.”
“……?”

The soldiers stared at him in confusion.
Shouldn’t he at least be dancing, if not weeping with joy?
So why did he look like death had come calling?

“Is something wrong? Sir, is something wrong?”
“This. This right here.”

Delam waved the report instead of answering.
The Special Forces soldiers who’d been approaching to offer congratulations froze mid-step.
Then they began backing away, slowly and carefully.

Delam had never once faltered, no matter how perilous the assignment thrust upon him.
The process was always simple.
He’d pause to think, present a plan, deploy, and sweep through the operation like a storm—mission accomplished.

But this? What was this?
It wasn’t even an order—just an investigation report—yet he wore the face of a man who’d seen his doom.
Something had gone badly, desperately wrong.
And since Delam had just been promoted to deputy commander of the Special Forces… if luck turned against them, they could all be dragged into whatever this was.
So they kept their distance.

‘I suppose it was bound to come to this eventually.’

Delam stared at the report, turning the thought over in his mind.
The Special Forces’ primary mission was sabotage.
When it came to severing enemy supply lines and cutting down reinforcements, they were veterans without equal.

But above all else, there was Delam himself.
Because Delam drove their mission success rate to absurd heights, the barbarians’ fate had become sealed.
A slow, withering death.

‘That damned old Rune Master. Troublesome old fool.’

At most, they’d had two or three months left.
Unfortunately, it seemed the Rune Master had caught on.
The circumstances revealed by the investigation report were far from ordinary.

[Four days ago: five tribal chiefs and their inner circle identified]
[Blacksmith forge smoke increasing sharply]
[Unidentified carriages moving under heavy guard]
[Rune Master sighted near the front lines]
…….

“They’re trying to wipe out the Special Forces.”

It was Delam’s conclusion.
No matter how you looked at it, this was a trap.
A trap disguised as full-scale war preparations—meant to devour the Special Forces whole.

Yet he wasn’t particularly worried.
A trap this obvious would never catch his own forces.

And one week later.

“Commander, orders have come down.”
“…Don’t tell me all three hundred of us are to strike behind enemy lines?”
“How did you know?”
…….

Delam pressed his palm against his forehead.

* * *

Inside the Special Forces Commander’s quarters.
Only the Commander and Delam were present.
It was because of the staggering news the Commander had just brought.
Delam was the first to speak the moment they sat down.

“It’s a trap, sir.”
“…I haven’t even told you what the mission is yet.”
“It’s obvious. The Sambala are preparing a major offensive, aren’t they? The Rune Master and the other tribal chiefs—all the renowned warriors are converging on the front lines.”
“That’s correct.”
“And as for our mission, whatever it is—we’ll be hitting their rear, won’t we? If I were the Rune Master, I’d want to use this opportunity to sweep the Special Forces clean off the map.”
“That… would be reasonable.”

The Special Forces Commander’s expression darkened.
He had been a soldier for nearly twenty years now.
In the latter half of that time, he had spent his years not in ceremonial garrison duty but fighting massive campaigns with the fate of kingdoms at stake against rival powers.
A man of genuine combat experience.
Would such a commander fail to notice something amiss?

“I do suspect the barbarians are beginning to view our Special Forces as a thorn in their side. And as you say, they may well have laid a trap. But—”
“We can’t refuse the order?”
“Exactly. With a brawl raging on the front lines, they won’t let us sit comfortably on the sidelines.”
“And if command isn’t entirely foolish, the Special Forces won’t simply strike blindly at their rear—we’ll be targeting a specific individual.”
“Terrifying.”

The Special Forces Commander clicked his tongue at Delam’s words.
Even he, a man who had spent twenty years rolling through military life, had only just grasped what this one had gleaned without even hearing the mission details.

It was truly fortunate he was on their side.
And that he served as his own deputy commander.
Keep him well, and promotion was merely a matter of time.
That is… if they survived this mission.

“Our target is the shamans. They’re preparing a large-scale ritual in the rear, or so I’m told. And just so you know, it’s not a bluff—they’re actually going through with it properly.”
“A ritual… Then we’ll need to destroy the altar.”
“Remarkable. Do you have expertise in shamanism as well?”
“Just common knowledge.”
“I didn’t know that, but…”
“Not knowing doesn’t hurt anyone. What sort of ritual do our mages suspect they’re preparing?”
“I’m not certain, but they think it’s likely weather manipulation—turning the earth to mud with heavy rain to hobble our cavalry.”
“Their imagination is rather limited.”

Delam let out a hollow laugh.
Mages, every last one of them, bristled with pride.
That’s why they sometimes spouted nonsense like this, even when they knew better.

Of course, shamanism did pack less raw power than magic.
But it wasn’t without its advantages.
Synergy, namely.

When mages gathered, it was one plus one plus one.
Shamans, by contrast, produced one-times-one-times-one in power.
In other words, if there was a capable leader like the Rune Master, dozens of shamans could perform miracles beyond reckoning.
Yet they were planning to use mere weather manipulation?

‘What activated before my return was… Food Poisoning, wasn’t it?’

In the original history, Delam had been conscripted a year later.
Sambala had been in dire straits at that time.
So they’d wagered everything on a grand ritual for a reversal of fortune, yet the Piotr Kingdom’s side simply stood by and watched.
They’d judged it would be nothing more than weather manipulation, just as the Special Forces Commander had said.

But what actually manifested was something entirely different.
Food Poisoning—in Sambala’s tongue, that was its name.

True to its purpose, dysentery swept through the ranks.
On a scale where one in five fell ill.
Ten thousand soldiers, in numerical terms.
Those ten thousand then spread it to their unaffected comrades.

Of course, the Piotr command staff had scoffed.
Not some lethal poison, just food poisoning?
Were these ignorant savages so uncultured they knew nothing but dysentery?

But the command staff soon learned.
The true terror of food poisoning.
Which was this: it doesn’t kill you outright.

‘Though if you just leave it, you’ll certainly die.’

The real problem was manpower.
Did caregivers fall from the sky?
Someone to distribute medicine, someone to clean up the mess, someone to wash the soiled linens, someone to spoon-feed the patients—the list went on.
All that work fell to the soldiers themselves.
So who was supposed to fight?

‘Fight? They couldn’t fight. They were incapable of it.’

Yet they couldn’t simply let their comrades die.
To watch soldiers fall on the battlefield not because of enemy steel, but because they were too busy managing their bowels—that was unbearable.

To refuse treatment?
The morale of the troops would bottom out, inevitably.
Hundreds would desert in a single day.

In truth, the strategic gap between Piotr and Sambala was overwhelming.
Yet before the return, that war had dragged on for three years.
Six months of it was due to that food poisoning alone—which spoke volumes about how devastatingly potent the shamanic curse was.

“Tsk, well, we’re in a real bind, aren’t we?”
“That’s how it stands. Originally the council wanted to gather mid-rank and higher knights, send a small elite force—”
“But Sambala’s preparing for a full-scale war. We sent high-ranking personnel to destroy the Altar, and if a major engagement suddenly erupts, the casualties could be catastrophic.”
“In the end, there’s no one but us.”
“Damn.”

Delam exhaled deeply.
The commander, feeling oddly apologetic, added his words.

“Still, they said they could spare a few low-rank knights and mages. I took the knights gratefully and turned down the mages.”
“Those scholarly types do tend to move slowly.”
“You know your business.”
“Hmm…….”

Delam scratched his chin, mentally tallying the numbers.
Their force: three hundred Special Forces soldiers and four low-rank knights.
Could they actually overcome the traps with that?

‘Seems impossible.’

Delam knew the Rune Master well.
They’d bicker with each other for quite a long time after this, after all.
He’d ultimately come out on top—but regardless, the Rune Master he knew would never let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

‘A road to death, then.’

A hollow laugh escaped Delam’s lips.
Truth was, the best option in times like this was simply not to go.
Break your own leg, or desert.

But Delam knew better.
That everything would end in that instant.
All the achievements he’d painstakingly built in the military would vanish, and he’d never climb to a higher rank again.

‘Whatever else… the knights would never accept a coward who ran to save his own skin as a comrade or superior.’

A broken leg isn’t desertion—it’s an accident, isn’t it?
No one would believe that.

-Damn it, they say a tribal warrior champion’s coming out in tomorrow’s full engagement. Should I just break my leg and skip it……?

Every knight had entertained that fantasy at least once.
But who would fall for such a pathetic ruse?

If he deserted now, there was no coming back.
And if Delam couldn’t rise higher, he’d very likely be unable to stop the demons of the future.
He’d just have to live carelessly until then, and when the demons came, laugh himself to death.

‘But that’s not possible, is it.’

Delam checked his own capabilities once more.
Based on that assessment, he posed himself a question.

[Can you return alive, alone?]
Perhaps?
[Can you bring most of the troops back alive?]
That’s… difficult.
[Can you succeed at the mission?]
Hmm…

How long had he been weighing possibilities like this?
At last, Delam’s mouth opened.

“It might be possible.”

Delam’s mind began spinning rapidly.

* * *

Soft footfalls, whispered steps.

Deep in the rear of the Sambala Tribal Alliance’s position.
A force moved through the Oak Grove.

Three junior knights at the front, the Special Forces Commander, Delam.
Behind them, all three hundred Special Forces troops followed.

The infiltration had gone smoothly.
They should have stumbled upon a barbarian scout patrol by now, yet nothing blocked their path—they pressed forward steadily.
Of course, the longer this calm stretched on, the darker Delam’s expression grew.

‘Just as I thought…’

It was possible they’d been lucky.
But luck on a battlefield?
Delam knew this all too well.
Luck existed only to work against him.

So their failure to encounter the barbarians wasn’t fortune at all.
They were being kept away deliberately.
Delam turned to the Special Forces Commander.

“When do you think they’ll engage?”
“We can’t fight in darkness, so dawn, I’d wager.”

Delam requested a brief discussion.
The Special Forces Commander and the knights gathered close, listening intently.

“We haven’t seen a single barbarian for two days now. That means they know about our infiltration.”
“That’s quite a leap… though I can’t deny it.”
“Then we need to change our approach.”
“How so?”
“Isn’t this unease we feel precisely because we’re moving on a board someone else has arranged?”
“…Then?”

Delam stared into the distance with a hardened face.
Still darkness, before the dawn broke.

Walking into a trap had never been his preference.
But if it had to be done—

“We shatter their board entirely.”

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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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