The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 28

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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 Has Returned — Episode 28

Four days had passed since the Altar destruction mission ended.
Delram now stood in the Blacksmith at the Camp Outskirts.

“Here it is, Commander of the Special Forces.”
“Mm.”

Delram accepted the iron plate the blacksmith offered him.
An intricate pattern was etched into the palm-sized sheet of metal.
It was the Heart Protection Armor.
This piece, forged from mithril alloy, had been a gift from a knight years ago when Delram left the Training Academy.

‘Thank you, sir.’

Heart Protection Armor.
Literally, armor to guard the heart.
When he’d first received it, the surface had gleamed pristine and taut, but now it bore several deep gouges across its face, the metal ragged and torn.
They were the marks left by the War Chief’s aura.

If he hadn’t had this during that battle not long ago?
Delram would have taken fatal blows multiple times over.
Since it was the heart, he would have simply died without recourse.
In a word, it had been the greatest asset of this entire operation.

‘At least it can be repaired.’

Of course, there were limits.
The blacksmiths’ skill was sufficient, but the materials posed a problem.
Where could one find mithril to fill in the gouges?
Still, they had carefully worked in steel to patch the damage.

‘Obern was his name, wasn’t it? I ought to repay him properly. It seemed like he was driven out by political maneuvering…….’

Well, the way to repay a debt became simple enough.
He could beat those who had driven Obern out.

“You’ve done fine work repairing it. Excellent job.”
“Please, Commander—no need for such formality.”
“Commander of the Special Forces… it still feels strange.”
“Ha, it feels strange to us as well.”

The blacksmiths chuckled as they spoke.
And little wonder—Delram was barely fourteen years old.
If he went home, there would be people his age among the children there, yet here at the camp, there were plenty just like him. Not a squad leader, but Commander of the Special Forces?
It was an unprecedented, lightning-fast promotion.

What was more, the standing of the Special Forces now was nothing like it had been before.
Heaven and earth apart.
Not only had three hundred soldiers routed a thousand enemy troops in the depths of darkness and enemy territory, but they had accomplished the seemingly impossible task of stopping Grand Sorcery.

Because of this, the Special Forces had become the object of admiration.
The unit all common soldiers most wished to join!

‘Thanks to that, my own standing has risen considerably.’

It was Delram who now led that Special Forces.
At fourteen, even if a prince had come to the battlefield, it would have been difficult to claim the position of Commander of the Special Forces, yet Delram had done exactly that.
By virtue of overwhelming accomplishment alone.

‘I got a bit carried away.’

[Infiltrated enemy lines alone!]
[Killed six sorcerers single-handedly!]
[Destroyed the Altar, the source of Grand Sorcery, alone!]
[Slew the War Chief with no assistance!]

That last part was what really mattered.
The War Chief, measured by kingdom standards, was a Mid-level Knight.
A man skilled enough to command a knight order in some small domain—and yet Delram had vanquished him entirely alone. Who wouldn’t be shocked?

‘Truth is, the former Special Forces commander had the greatest influence on my becoming captain.’

Delram’s superior, the Special Forces commander.
He’d served faithfully for decades, but his final years took a harsh turn.
During a battle alongside Delram not long ago, his right arm was severed and he lost an eye—circumstances that sealed his retirement.

Yet what he did on his way out was truly kind.
He gave Delram a strong recommendation as the next Special Forces captain.
His commendation praised not only Delram’s strength, but strategy and tactics that reached toward the heavens themselves.

‘I’ve memorized the names of every bastard who opposed it.’

Even so, the resistance had been fierce.
A fourteen-year-old on equal footing with them? Achievements or no achievements?
Even if Delram came from some noble house, they’d be sick with envy—but a mere peasant from some backwater village?
They’d raged that it was impossible.

It was the commander who silenced them.
He invoked his authority and appointed Delram to the captain’s position outright.
No one dared voice objection to that.

A handful of insolent nobles and knights?
They were utterly humiliated.
Delram sparred with them before the eyes of all.
And they were beaten like dogs.

In the end, Delram succeeded.
He became the kingdom’s youngest captain, promoted in record time.

‘The stares are getting sharp.’

Thanks to that, eyes followed him everywhere he went.
Where once they’d looked at him like some curious beast, after he’d thrashed a few Lower Knights, they’d shifted to awe.
They had no desire to taste his fists themselves.

That was how Delram arrived at the Training Ground.
Rubian, who had been meditating there, offered him a greeting.

“Boy! You’ve come.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize for being late.”
“No matter. And… now that you’re a proper knight yourself, it feels strange for you to call me ‘sir.'”
“Then I’ll address you as Rubian.”
“Drop even that.”
“I can’t do that.”

Delram refused flat out.
Rubian’s expression fell slightly as he asked the next question.

“Why is that?”
“Rubian is my master, after all. As long as his Mana-circuit flows through my body, I cannot speak his name carelessly.”
“But you improved that Mana-circuit, didn’t you?”
“That’s one thing. This is another.”
……

Rubian withdrew, his expression clouded with displeasure.
Delram felt cold sweat break across his skin.

Rubian’s demeanor had grown peculiar of late.
Both emotionally and physically, the distance between them had narrowed considerably.
It wasn’t a bad development, but there was a risk of things spiraling in an awkward direction.
Perhaps he was reading too much into it—but had Delram really gone fifty years without a taste of romance?

‘I should keep some distance for a while.’

But that was impossible.
Most afternoons, like today, he spent them with Rubian.

The Greatsword sang as it left its sheath.

“Then… shall we begin?”
“You warn your opponents before fighting them?”

Rubian drew his Greatsword while Delram took his stance.
Their sparring had become a daily ritual in the afternoon hours.

It was Rubian who had first proposed it.
He offered to teach Delram the Greatsword Technique, which went hand in hand with the Mana-circuit.

Delram had accepted gratefully and trained with dedication.
The teaching happened primarily through sparring.

But the events after the Altar operation had complicated things.
A Lower Knight—Delram—had severed the War Chief’s neck?
And not in a one-on-one duel, but surrounded by enemies?

Delram hadn’t reached the rank of Mid-level Knight.
He and Rubian spent nearly every day together.
If his mastery had advanced, it would have been impossible to hide.

Yet if he had still defeated the War Chief, there was only one explanation.
A swordwork so terrifyingly precise it rendered rank itself meaningless.

Which raised another question.
What had all this training in the Greatsword Technique been for?
This was what Rubian had asked him.

-Were you concealing your true strength all along?
-No. I was concentrating on learning.
-Then do your best this time, boy!

And so the sparring began anew.
Rubian was thoroughly defeated.
By his own student, no less!

-Nngh!
-Is your pride wounded?
-…No.
-Thank goodness. I was worried I’d misunderstood. Truth is, you don’t have the skill to be wounded by pride anyway.
—……!

Rubian’s jaw clenched in rage as he charged forward.
A bout conducted with Mana-circuits suppressed, relying solely on pure swordcraft.
Once, twice, three times…….
Fortunately, Rubian possessed good sense.

—This is incredible!
He marveled after the third defeat.

—This is my utter and complete defeat.
He conceded after the fifth.

—Would you… might you possibly teach me the sword?
After the seventh defeat, he acknowledged Delram as his master.

For a knight with such a rigid mind, it was a remarkably swift judgment.
People truly listen only after they’ve been beaten.

‘Of course, correcting his Mana-circuit helped considerably.’

One might say a talent recognized another’s talent.
And so today, too, they trained with the sword.

Clang-clang-clang!

Delram’s practice Greatsword slid along the blade edge.
Simultaneously, Rubian drew up his Mana-circuit and unleashed his overwhelming strength.
Delram’s Greatsword would inevitably be stopped by the pommel anyway.
In that instant, he intended to break it downward and smash the blade clean from its hilt.

But it didn’t work on Delram.
Instead, as if he’d anticipated precisely this, Delram released his sword and stepped forward, wedging Rubian’s blade between his ribs and arm.
Then he pulled with force.

“Ugh!”
Thunk!

Rubian lost his balance trying not to let go of his Greatsword.
Delram’s front kick struck him squarely in the abdomen.
Reeling backward, Rubian finally collapsed.

“That’s enough for today.”
“Huff… good work.”
“You have a strong tendency to rely solely on raw strength.”
“Is that wrong? I was taught that the highest principle of all swordplay is to maximize one’s advantages and overwhelm the opponent.”
“In practice bouts, perhaps. But in real combat, weakness means death. When you face an enemy, don’t you always probe for his weaknesses first?”
“True enough…….”
“So don’t ignore your weaknesses. Shore them up to a survivable level. Cultivate flexibility.”

Delram offered a water flask as he counseled him.
Raw destructive power was already sufficient—the Greatsword’s weight and Mana would see to that.

“Thank you again today.”
“I’m the one who should thank you.”

Delram drank and cooled the sweat from his skin.
In the distance, the sound of soldiers training drifted across.

The Altar had been shattered in Delram’s hands like it was nothing.
The Royal Force had utterly crushed the Samba Tribal Alliance.
At first they’d held their ground reasonably well, but the moment the Grand Sorcery failed, panic seized them and they broke ranks in full retreat.

And what a chaotic retreat it was.
The barbarians scattered by tribe and fled in all directions, which meant their casualties were staggering—or so the reports said.

So now only one thing remained.
A General Assault.
It was time to end the war with Samba once and for all.

‘Two weeks from now for the final battle, then?’

Delram recalled the orders his commander had delivered.
He was to attend a high-level conference in two days.
That was likely where the decision for the General Assault would be made.

‘Hmm?’

Delram’s gaze shifted to one side.
This spot lay deep within the Training Ground, far from the main grounds.
Because of that, no one came here, which meant he could spar freely with Rubian without worrying about onlookers.

Yet someone had appeared—though when, he couldn’t say.
Just beyond the training fence.
A man standing there, staring directly at Delram with unmistakable intent.

‘That bastard’s got a hateful look in his eyes.’

The man, who appeared to be in his thirties, wore Plate Armor.
He was a knight, then, though he seemed to work in a support role.
His armor was pristine—as if it had never seen a single battle.
Moreover, his hair was slicked back with oil.

Clearly some nobleman’s son.
And Delram recognized the face.

‘Matthew, wasn’t it? I think he was some kind of staff officer…….’

It was absurd.
If he was on the staff, he should be preparing with the rest of the officers for the imminent final offensive.
So why was he here, pulling this nonsense?

The killing intent in his gaze was unmistakable.
It was the look of a man staring at the one who murdered his parents.
But Delram had no memory of killing this fool’s parents.
The answer resolved itself naturally enough.

He smiled coolly.

Delram rested his hand on Rubian’s waist beside him.
The sweat-dampened skin stuck to his palm with a damp contact.
There was nothing soft about it—hard as stone, really.
Just that told him how intense the training regimen must be.

“Hmm? Boy, what’s this about?”
“Oh, nothing. Your muscles just looked so impressive I couldn’t help myself.”
“Ha! You’re shameless.”

Rubian, who had been burying his face in a towel, let out a short laugh.
But the corners of his mouth, even as he dried his sweat, were curled upward in a smile.
A genius among geniuses marveling at his own training!
All while making a mental note to work his core harder that evening.

But there was something else visible besides Rubian’s smirk.
Matthew’s face.
His eyes bulged wide, the whites shot through with blood vessels that looked ready to burst.
After glaring at Delram for a long moment, Matthew spun on his heel and stalked away.

Matthew disappearing into the distance.
Delram could only stand there, bewildered.

‘Wait—I haven’t even come of age yet……’

Rubian, on the other hand, was twenty-nine.
A fifteen-year gap—wasn’t that more like aunt and nephew than lovers?

In the end, Delram let out a long, weary sigh.
Everyone in this war was absolutely mad.

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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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