The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 8

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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 Empire’s Supreme Commander Returns — Episode 8

Training Day Seven.
Today was meant to follow yesterday’s schedule.
Running, eating, drills, spear work, lectures……

But suddenly, the daily schedule changed mid-morning.
All nineteen trainees were assembled on the Training Grounds.

“Stand in line, you bunch of fools!”
“You already learned the drills!”

The instructors ran between the trainees, sharpening the atmosphere.
It felt more severe than usual — as though someone was about to be beaten to death.

The reason became clear moments later.
Dignitaries Delram had never seen before had arrived.
The Training Commander, the Recruitment Officer, and a senior instructor.

“Trainee Delram, step forward.”

At the senior instructor’s call, every eye turned in one direction.
Straight toward Delram.

It wasn’t Delram who looked most startled — it was the older boys from his hometown.
When their youngest’s name was suddenly called, they exchanged urgent glances.
But Delram simply shrugged his shoulders as if to tell them not to worry.

Delram stepped forward.
The Training Commander spoke for the first time.

“Your talent is that exceptional, I hear?”
“I’m just a barefoot shepherd from the countryside, sir, so I wouldn’t know. But listening to what the instructors have told me, I’ve come to realize I do have some talent after all.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen, sir.”
“I see.”

The Training Commander nodded and turned his gaze away.
It fell upon the curious trainees.

This gathering had been arranged to test Delram’s talent.
But the instructors couldn’t step forward themselves.
A senior instructor had already affirmed that he was superior to them.
And to pit an instructor against him besides?

If he lost, what would that look like to the troops?
It might damage the trainees’ discipline.

Nor could it make sense for Knight Obern to step in.
So there was only one risk-free approach.

“Today’s training is a sparring match. Is anyone willing to volunteer to spar against this young trainee here? If you win, you get a special meal.”
“……!”

Snap-snap-snap!

Hands shot up the moment the Commander finished speaking.
Dozens of them.
But there was something odd about the volunteers’ eyes.
It was tainted less by hunger for the special meal than by envy.

When he thought about it, it made perfect sense.
Hadn’t Delram alone been called away for separate training?
Many trainees had ground their teeth watching it happen.

Even on the first morning, it had been the same.
Delram had slipped out of roll call like a loach sliding through water.
From that moment on, there was an atmosphere of treating Delram like a thorn in their side.

“It’s lamentable. The opponent is hardly more than a kid.”

Obern, whose nature was scrupulously fair, clicked his tongue.
A few whose consciences were pricked withdrew their hands, but the majority held firm.
It was a chance to give the ordinarily insufferable brat a flawless beating.

“Perhaps we should select someone of similar build?”
“I think it would be better to let the trainee choose for himself.”
“The trainee, you say?”

Obern spoke, looking out at the trainees.

“Those who raised their hands—step forward. And Trainee Delram, pick your sparring opponent from among them.”
A rumbling roar.

Before the words had barely left his mouth, trainees surged forward.
There were seventeen of them in all.
Every one of them a broad-shouldered young man in his twenties or thirties.
Their builds towered over Delram’s—to exaggerate only slightly, twice the mass.

Yet Delram showed no alarm.
Rather, he seemed puzzled.
He couldn’t see the one person who should want most to strike him.

Looking closer, there in the back among those who hadn’t raised their hands—that’s where he was.
Mark, the fool from the same village.
Remarkably, his face was clouded with concern.

‘Well, well. He’s being slow to show his true colors.’

Still, better late than never?
Standing directly in front of him were plenty who hadn’t raised their hands yet.
Delram smirked and asked:

“Do I have to choose just one?”
“Hmm?”
“Could I just take them all on at once?”

At this audacious remark, Obern’s expression hardened.
The fact that the Training Commander himself would directly oversee this was an enormous opportunity.
Did the boy not realize that?
Or was he saying this knowing full well?

If the latter, it was a grave mistake.
Obern had seen such arrogant fools, trusting only in their shallow talent and leaping about like frogs—their ends were always the same.
The end of arrogance was always death.

There was no need to look far for examples.
Delram himself could die today at the hands of his fellow trainees.

Besides, a man destined to die soon held no interest for Obern.
His earlier hope extinguished, Obern spoke coldly.

“Do as you wish.”
“It won’t take long.”

Arrogance. Nothing but arrogance.
Obern’s brow twitched.

* * *

Delram was warming up on the Training Grounds.
The way he stretched his limbs in long, deliberate arcs had an almost leisurely quality to it.

He’d been issued a single wooden training spear.
But for all its name, it was identical to a real spear.
The only difference was the lack of a blade at the tip.
Since the trainees had trained in nothing but the Spear Technique anyway, it was only fitting.

Of course, his sparring opponents cared little about weapons.
Wooden training spear or not—there were seventeen of them.
A single unarmed blow from any one of them would be enough to kill Delram.

Was it the thrill of impending violence?
The trainees grinned with savage delight, each hurling taunts.

“You little bastard… you’ve been running your mouth pretty freely, haven’t you?”
“What, did you bribe the instructors? Must be nice lording it over everyone while the rest of us suffer.”
“I’m going to break your legs so badly you’ll beg for death.”
“Why should this scum get to avoid the war? Better to smash his head in—let him drool through life like a fool.”

So what was Delram’s response?

“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Delram burst into sudden, raucous laughter.
Everyone—the Training Commander and Obern included—stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
But the laughter didn’t stop.
Because he was genuinely, sincerely delighted.

The Supreme Commander.
No—long before he’d ever reached that station.
Delram had earned a fearsome reputation across the Continent through prowess beyond question.

[Weapon Master!]
[A genius of Strategy and Tactics!]
[The Undefeated Commander!]

Because of it, no one dared treat him carelessly.
Not the nobles of the great houses, nor even the royal family itself.

But to be threatened so crudely? To be regarded with such contempt?
It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it—so strange and utterly refreshing.

At the same time, his spirits soared.
Would the man he’d been before his Return have laughed at words like these?
Not likely. He wouldn’t have shown a flicker of emotion.
He’d been worn down by endless trials, dulled by the weight of it all.

Now, having been reborn into youth, that heaviness was gone.
His body had grown young again, and his spirit had reshaped itself to match.
So even at this foolish banter, he found himself grinning.
Now my spine stands straight, and so does everything else!

‘Being young is wonderful!’

But pleasure is pleasure.
And wanting to spin a spear is wanting to spin a spear.

Whirrr!

Delram lifted the wooden training spear and whirled it in a fluid circle.
Then he turned to Obern with a question.

“When shall we begin?”

Obern felt a chill crawl across his skin for reasons he couldn’t name.
It was that smile—gums showing, bright as daylight.

He was taking joy in a fight he couldn’t possibly win.
Was this madness, or was he simply born for war?

He would have his answer soon enough.
Obern turned to address them all one final time.

“You are soldiers of the Crown. To take your opponent’s life is to strike down a soldier of the Crown—a grave sin. Remember that. And this sparring match will continue until I call an end to it.”
“…….”
“Begin.”

Thump-thump-thump!

Delram tore from the ground and shot forward.
Toward seventeen grown men!

* * *

“He’s coming at us first?”
“Just charge in and grab him while he’s taking hits!”

Seventeen trainees hollered their plan and charged to meet him.
They’d even abandoned their wooden spears on the ground.

Why bother with weapons?
They wouldn’t die from a few blows anyway.

Just overwhelm him with their bodies and it would be over.
Strength and technique meant nothing in a one-against-many fight.
And with a size advantage like this, they had nothing to fear.

Of course, every man’s plan had seemed brilliant.
Right up until the first blow landed.

Stop!

Delram, charging forward, came to a sudden halt.
It was the precise distance where his spear’s reach would barely fail to connect.
As he stopped, the force that generated from the impact condensed at his feet.

The force did not end in condensation.
It traveled from his feet, through his ankles, knees, and waist, climbing all the way to his shoulders.

The last thing in his grip was the shaft of the spear, held lightly in his right hand.
The spiral of energy flowing there set the weapon in motion.
This was the secret principle of the Empire Spear, Third Form—the One-Point Thrust.

Whissssh—
Crack!

“Gkh!”

The spear struck the burly trainee who had rushed forward at the front with perfect precision.
The target was his jaw.
His head snapped sideways, teeth scattering, and he toppled.

He wasn’t crying out in pain, nor was he bellowing in outrage.
There was simply nothing left.
He collapsed like a puppet with its string cut.

“What—?”

When the large man suddenly fell, the trainees faltered.
But they gritted their teeth and charged in together at once.
As long as they didn’t all get hit, it didn’t matter!
In that window, they could close in and fold his waist right in half!

But that was the trainees’ miscalculation.
Or more precisely, their naïveté.

Those who have never faced a master of the Spear Technique don’t understand it.
A long shaft. Proper distance. Fumbling opponents.
And finally, the skill of one who has reached the heights of mastery.
When these elements combine, you discover what happens.

“Hhm!”
Whish-whish-whish-whish-whish-whack!

Standing motionless, Delram’s spear shot out like machine-gun fire.
The thrust and withdrawal happened almost simultaneously—a speed that defied the eye!
As for accuracy, there was no need to speak of it.

“Hrk!”
“Ggg!”
“Agh……!”

Each time the spear extended, a trainee fell.
All with their jaws twisted, collapsing like logs.

None of them mounted a second attack.
Always just one strike.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Eight trainees sprawled on the ground in an instant.
Among them, how many had managed to slip past Delram’s spear and close in?
Remarkably, not a single one.

The reason was simple.
Delram had not permitted it.

“Uaaah!”
“Fall back!”
“I, I’m withdrawing from the match!”

The remaining trainees cried out in belated panic.
But Delram let out a derisive snort.

‘Malice-driven volunteers?’

If they’d simply lusted after the Special Meal, he could have understood.
But these men were nothing of the sort.
They’d even boasted about crippling him.
And now they wanted to simply quit on a whim?

“If you won’t come, I’ll come to you!”

With that shout, Delram charged forward.
The half-cracked spear was already gone from his hand.
The trainees who saw this cheered in excitement.

“Hey! He’s unarmed now!”
“We can beat him! All of us, go!”

But why didn’t they understand?
That mastery of one particular weapon meant one could wield other weapons at a skilled level as well.
That the body itself becomes a weapon in the hands of such a master.
They had to learn it through their bodies.

Whoosh—crack!
Swish—crack!

Each time, it was their jaws that paid the price.
Delram moved across the ground like a specter, his fists driving outward.
With each strike came screams, teeth, and blood.

In truth, apart from blindness, the teeth and jaw were the most devastating wounds to inflict—they caused the longest suffering.
A person was forced to eat twice a day, and each time the shattering pain would return. Imagine that agony, relentless and inescapable.
Quality of life plummeted without exception.
And each time they ate, they’d remember exactly what they’d done to deserve it.

“Aaah!”
“D-don’t come near!”

Some fled again; others charged once more.
The outcome, of course, was identical.
He chased the fleers and beat them. He welcomed the rushers and beat them too.
There was no mercy for such insolent dogs.

By now, some tried to protect their jaws with their hands.
It was, naturally, pointless.

‘The human body is all vital points.’

The throat, the abdomen, the liver, the shins, even the groin.
Strike one of those five spots hard enough, and the jaw would open.
Then Delram’s small fist would slip through that gap like water finding a crack.

‘The last one!’

As he charged, Delram sprang upward, wrapping his forearm around the larger man’s neck.
Then, without pause, he drove them both toward the ground with a thunderous crash.

Delram was only thirteen, but he already weighed fifty kilograms.
All that mass crashing down onto bare earth?
It wouldn’t have been strange if a man twice his size had lost consciousness.

“Haahhh―”

Delram shook the dirt from his body and drew in a deep breath.
His breathing was a touch ragged, but otherwise he was unharmed.
Because he hadn’t been hit once.

And so it ended.
Seventeen men lay scattered across the ground, groaning and writhing.
Delram turned to the Training Commander and asked.

“Do I get a special meal too?”
“…….”

Silence descended over the Training Grounds.

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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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