novelraw Chapter 2 : Chapter 2
Chapter 2 : Chapter 2
༺ 𓆩 Chapter 2 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
"Then, I wish you good fortune. Lieutenant Colonel. Loyalty."
“Thanks. You made the trip less dull, Corporal.”
After dismissing the freckled corporal with a wave, Ain Krieg lit another cigarette.
Chhh—ssup—!!!
A swirl of smoke, laced with lemon and peppermint, scattered into the frigid air as he slung the long, rectangular black case over his back and began to walk.
Crunch—!!! Crunch—!!!
The military boot prints stood out distinctly in the white snow.
Brushing a gust of wind-blown ash-gray hair from his face, he muttered under his breath.
“Vanargand Ironblood Fortress. Who the hell came up with that name?”
The fortress loomed, vast and imposing.
No, majestic might be the better word.
Massive twin walls surrounded the installation, and along the cliffs of the Vanargand Gorge, rows of heavy artillery faced outward in neat, militarized lines.
But for Ain Krieg, who knew the origin of those walls, their grandeur was laced with irony.
After all, the fortress wasn’t originally built to guard against the north, it had been constructed to defend against the south.
“So the Empire’s southernmost gate... is now the frontline to stop the Empire itself.”
Humanity’s present.
Huddled behind walls, terrified of the creeping forces of ash that lurked beyond.
This was what was left, after surviving the incomprehensible march of the Ash Legion some two hundred years ago.
Flick—!!! Crunch—!!!
Snuffing the cigarette under his heel, he pulled down the brim of his black service cap against the wind and kept walking.
The enormous case on his back rocked slightly with each step.
His long leather coat fluttered behind him as he approached the guard post near the fortress.
'How desolate.'
That was the word that came to mind.
Though the road was surprisingly well-maintained, the outpost ahead looked far too rundown for something guarding the frontline of the Military State.
Then again, it made perfect sense.
The 13th Special Independent Brigade, the ones assigned to this hellhole, had effectively been abandoned by the Military State.
'Because of the Siegfried Line.'
A so-called “absolute defensive line,” stretching 750 kilometers across the foothills of the Vanargand Mountains, now under construction to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Military State’s founding.
It had been under construction for 97 years already.
And rumor had it the plan was to complete it in time for the 200th anniversary.
'Most regions are already defended by the Siegfried Line. This harsh fortress beyond being abandoned is just the natural order.'
And yet, it still stood.
And for one reason only.
Because when the Siegfried Line was finally completed, on the most symbolically perfect of days, this fortress would be used as a sacrificial offering.
A public gesture.
A strategic message.
And really, who could blame the Sentinels for thinking that way?
The so-called “Absolute Defense of the Military State”, this was their way of proving it.
Lost in thought, Ain walked for several more minutes.
Eventually, he reached the outpost.
There, slouched beside a rusty stove, sat a sentry nodding off.
“Hmm.”
Ain looked down at the dozing soldier with a satisfied expression.
As expected, they don't disappoint.
He entered the checkpoint and operated the radio with practiced hands.
Tzzzt—!!!
A brief static passed, then a voice came from the other side.
— What is it?
An equally carefree voice with no trace of military discipline.
"Nice to meet you."
Ain Krieg lightly patted the shoulder of the dozing Private Rokton and answered with a quiet laugh.
"The newly appointed brigade commander. Ain Krieg."
—...Pardon?
"Ah, seems I spoke a bit unclearly."
I'll give you exactly three minutes.
"Call the acting brigade commander. Right now."
If you don't want to die.
༒︎
“Cold day, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes, it is, sir.”
“Light.”
“R-right away!”
Still half-asleep, Sergeant Rokton scrambled to his feet. Ain Krieg had taken his seat and tapped his mana cigarette lightly against the armrest. The soldier, saliva still drying at the edge of his mouth, fumbled out a Zippo lighter from his coat and lit the cigarette with trembling hands.
Huff—!!!
The smoke curled upward, catching the flickering flame inside the shabby guard post. It swirled in the stale air, dancing against the firelight.
Ain crossed his legs, his posture statuesque, and fixed his gaze on the sergeant, who, despite being seated across from him, couldn’t stop sneaking nervous glances his way.
Even when Rokton had been dozing earlier, it was obvious, he had the kind of imposing build that spoke of raw strength. But his face? Honest. It was almost too honest.
Of course, in this unit, a “gentle face” meant exactly nothing.
“What were you demoted for again?”
“Eh?”
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
Ain offered a faint, almost pleasant smile, lifting the edge of his coat slightly as he adjusted the way it fell over his knee.
A glint of silver flashed beneath.
A revolver, polished, unmistakable.
Even an idiot could figure out what that little gesture meant.
Rokton swallowed down the hiccup rising in his throat and answered in a hurry.
“A-a-assaulting a superior officer, sir!”
“Unfit for duty, then.”
“W-well, the thing is...”
For a moment, frustration flickered in Rokton’s eyes.
Ain noticed it and, lips parting ever so slightly, gave a small nod, go on, explain.
The hesitation lasted all of a heartbeat.
Rokton clenched his eyes shut and confessed:
“The battalion commander in my last unit was a knight officer with ties to the Sentinel family. He kept skimming off our supply shipments whenever he got the chance.”
“And?”
“So... we paid him a visit. As a group. And beat him up.”
“Hah.”
Knight officers were part of the specialist officer corps.
To put it simply – 200 years ago, knights, mages, and priests had been restructured under the Military State into knight officers, mage officers, and military chaplains respectively.
‘A knight officer getting beat down by enlisted grunts? That’s rare.’
Granted, a knight officer raising a weapon against enlisted soldiers was considered a sign of “Petrification Syndrome” on the rise. a severe and dangerous phenomenon. Maybe Rokton and his group were counting on that precedent.
Still, Ain had his doubts.
A guy siphoning off supplies for pocket change didn’t strike him as someone who’d hold tight to ethical codes.
His conclusion came quick.
“He probably didn’t graduate from the Military Academy.”
“...Is there a difference, sir?”
Rokton blinked, scratching at his cheek. The implication was clear, he’d probably been bragging about beating down a knight officer.
“Tell me, that so-called officer, what was his uniform like?”
“What do you mean?”
“It looked the same as the standard-issue one for regular officers, didn’t it?”
At that, Rokton furrowed his brow, looked to the side, then finally nodded with a blank expression.
Ain Krieg chuckled quietly and added—
“At best, he was Grade-7. And if the claim about his Sentinel ties was even halfway true... probably no better than a Grade-9.”
“Th-then...?”
“Congratulations, Sergeant. You and your buddies jumped a guy who ranks lower than a first-year cadet. And you’re proud of that?”
“Oh...”
He didn’t have to spell it out any further.
If Rokton still didn’t realize he was being mocked, then that would’ve been the real surprise.
The sergeant flushed a deep red.
To put it bluntly, all he’d done was beat the crap out of a fraud wrapped in a knight officer’s uniform, and then strutted around bragging about it.
Maybe that sting was what made Rokton scowl slightly as he asked—
“Then what’s so different about the ones from the Academy?”
“They’re different.”
Specialist officers who graduated from the Military Academy wore full black uniforms, even down to their shirts.
So much so that they’d earned a nickname, Black Shirts.
They were elite, no question. No one below Grade-5 even counted as a real alumnus.
Which meant, of course—
"It means you should have been able to notice this much."
Ain Krieg let his eyes drift lazily half-open, a faint smile on his lips as he looked directly at Rokton.
But before the other man could react, Ain moved.
In one fluid motion, he drew the silver revolver from the holster at his side, grabbed the man by the collar, and pressed the barrel under his chin.
“I knew this place was a mess. But this? This is just pathetic.”
“...Brigade Commander?”
“Sergeant Rokton. No, that used to be your name. Let me ask: do you know where you went wrong?”
Maybe it was the tone.
Or maybe it was the way Ain said it, completely devoid of bluff or theatrics.
Whatever it was, the thing that had been masquerading as Rokton realized instantly.
And in that heartbeat, the thing wearing the sergeant’s skin gave up the act and let its disguise melt away in a sickening ripple of flesh.
But even then, even as the creature squirmed in fear, Ain whispered softly to it—
“The 13th Special Independent Brigade, or the Cerberus Brigade, if you prefer. Not a single soldier here likes me.”
They'd be lucky if they didn't just point guns at me and tell me to get lost.
What can I say? A man like me tends to attract envy.
“That’s such bullshit—!”
He pulled the trigger, and the gun spat fire.
Bang—!!! Crack—!!!
A faint magical discharge echoed within the guard post.
Ain watched as chunks of what used to be the creature’s head turned to ash, scattering across the wall and ceiling.
He casually waved his hand through the air.
“There’s supposed to be a chaplain stationed here. That should keep anyone from asking too many questions.”
Having the courage to be hated, it was often seen as admirable.
But damn if it wasn’t exhausting sometimes.
Still—
It wasn’t all bad.
Sometimes, it gave you the perfect excuse to remove a tumor before it grew too deep.
Chiik—!!! Ssuppp—!!!
He lit another cigarette.
Dark hair, streaked with blood, or something like it.
Down the bridge of his nose trickled a fluid as thick and gray as ashwater.
“Phew.”
He exhaled, smoke curling faintly through the rancid air of the guard post, where the scent of blood had long since given way to something fouler, burnt, charred, and suffocating.
A few minutes passed.
Then, a series of military vehicles rolled to a halt in the distance.
Soldiers disembarked, rifles shouldered, forming up around the outer barricade.
One figure stepped forward alone, approaching the checkpoint.
Creak—!!!
The rusty hinge squealed as the door opened, and Ain Krieg, lounging inside, raised a hand in casual greeting, cigarette still balanced between his fingers.
“Pleasure to meet you, Acting Brigade Commander. Here, a gift. Oh, and, any chance you brought a chaplain along?”
One might’ve expected surprise at his insolent ease.
But the black-haired major only frowned as she scanned the room.
She bit her lip, sighed heavily, and replied in clipped tones.
“…Acting Brigade Commander and 1st Battalion Commander, Arditi Gunther. Reporting to the Brigade Commander."
Her salute was flawless, it was sharp, mechanical, without hesitation.
No trace of open hostility.
It was a little more formal than he’d expected. Ain gave a small nod, rose to his feet, and passed by her with a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
“Well then. Let’s begin with a tour of the unit, shall we?”
“Before that.”
Just as he passed her shoulder—
Arditi Günther’s eyes remained fixed forward, her voice steady and cold.
“By authority of the acting brigade commander, and as a precaution against possible infection or contamination... I’m placing you under temporary quarantine, Lieutenant Colonel.”
“Hmm?”
He didn’t even get the chance to ask what she meant.
Click—!!!
At her order, her soldiers stepped forward as if they had been waiting all along, snapping handcuffs onto Ain’s wrists without resistance.
She walked past him without sparing so much as a glance and addressed her troops.
“Treat him with care. He is, after all, our brigade commander, for the first time in seven years.”
Aha. So she's really pissed, huh?
He couldn’t quite deny the injustice of it, but what could he say?
Chuckling quietly to himself, Ain stepped into the waiting military vehicle without protest.
Behind them, the remains of the ashborn creature that had worn Sergeant Rokton’s skin scattered in the breeze like worthless cinders.
“Well, at least they didn’t throw me in the back of a truck. Gotta admit, you’ve got some respect for rank, Major.”
"Please be quiet before I make you ride in one."
"Can I at least smoke?"
She didn’t answer.
This one, with no sense of humor.
Shame. That line even rhymed a little.
Muttering such idle nonsense, he awkwardly took out a cigarette with his cuffed hands and put it in his mouth.
"Though it's a bit much for a hazing, I'll play along for now."
What could he say? He was a man with too many sins. Indeed.
Of course, this time too, Arditi Günther said nothing in return.
END σϝ CHAPTER