Chapter 2: To The Raintlant Frontlines (1)

Chapter 2: To The Raintlant Frontlines (1)

The Reich Empire Academy’s motto was: “Accept the capable, regardless of commoner or noble status, and contribute to the Empire.”

Thanks to that, I, Peter, or rather Peter Yeager, despite being an orphan, had the opportunity to join the academy and become an officer.

If I hadn’t entered the academy, there was a high chance that I would have starved or frozen to death on the streets. If I had somehow survived, I would have been relegated to the very bottom of society. I was truly grateful to the first Emperor of the Reich Empire and my interviewer, Lieutenant Colonel Hans Weber, for giving me this opportunity.

The chance to change my status by becoming an officer, a free single-room dormitory (since there was no one to pair me with), three meals a day, and a monthly allowance of 3 gold for personal maintenance.

Thanks to this, my life for the past 3 years has been simple. It was to focus solely on my studies without worrying about survival.

Though the academy provided ample support in pursuit of its ideals, in contrast to the lofty dreams of its founding Emperor, the reality inside the school was far from ideal.

But now, there was less than a year left.

Upon graduation from the academy, I would be commissioned as an officer. From then on, my status as an officer would represent me rather than being labeled as an orphan from commoner roots.

Truthfully, those inside the academy who chose to avoid me due to my background as a commoner and an orphan were somewhat of a relief.

Before, frequently, and now occasionally in my fourth year, strangers would randomly approach me to talk, and now was one of those times.

“Cadet Yeager. Cadet Yeager. I have something to ask.”

Turning towards the voice, a noble young man with a third-year badge sneered, his eyes mocking, yet a smile played on his lips.

In normal universities, seniors might casually and playfully interact with their juniors. However, here, even when compared to Korea’s military academies, the discipline was incomparably strict.

In novels, it was depicted that first-year cadets would tremble just by making eye contact with a fourth-year, their eyes filled with fear.

In reality, an outgoing first-year girl from my batch once approached a senior, who was her cousin, to assist an instructor on the first day of training.

Though she wasn’t hit, she was severely reprimanded for over an hour.

So, it was unimaginable for a junior with no special connection to approach a senior this way.

“What do you want to ask?”

“I’ve heard that the commoners of the Empire eat bread mixed with wheat, rye, and sawdust. Is that true?”

Hearing this, I barely managed to contain my rising anger.

Pretending to be polite, he was mocking me with, ‘You must’ve eaten sawdust bread, being an orphan, right?’ tone.

While it was truly infuriating that he would dare taunt a fourth-year like me because I didn’t have a backing, being an orphan, I wish I could educate this brat properly, as my peers did.

But if I were to report him for disrespecting a senior, that brat would surely use his family connections to retaliate.

“Those referred to as beggars or the destitute occasionally eat such bread. However, they’d probably prefer to eat a watery barley porridge.”

“I see. Thank you for letting me know. I don’t know anyone else as knowledgeable about the lives of the commoners as you. I came to the right person.”

He returned to his friends, laughing.

“Milton, you lost the bet. Give me 3 silvers.”

From afar, I couldn’t see well, but I noticed her long silver hair, short stature, slender figure beneath the slightly loose academy blazer, and a calm voice.

As outstanding as her beauty was her insightful intellect.

Considering her appearance and that insight, she must be Laura von Benner, the heroine of the Empire’s prequel.

She was a year younger than the protagonist and became his lieutenant in the latter part of the story.

I wondered, could I possibly recruit this capable beauty to be under my command?

Right after all classes ended, I visited Professor Gubta’s office, who was in charge of the project for the Line-Lant frontline.

His study was filled with old books and papers, a desk coated in black lacquer, a comfortable-looking chair, and neatly hung armor and uniforms from his officer days.

Upon greeting him, Professor Gubta waved his hand dismissively and said,

“You wish to serve on the Line-Lant frontline? Fine, leave the documents on the desk and wait for a moment.”

After waiting briefly, the professor picked up my report card and remarked in a voice laden with disbelief,

“To be honest, considering your grades, it might be better for you to just graduate next year and get commissioned as a lieutenant rather than being deployed to the frontlines. Especially given your scores, you’re proficient in strategy and tactics. You’d easily achieve the rank of captain within 15 years of service.”

Even for someone from an orphanage, in an Empire where wars were frequent, there was a high attrition rate for junior officers. In the military, promotions up to the non-elite officer ranks, like lieutenants, were relatively merit-based.

The professor was likely implying that given my consistent top or near-top marks in strategy and tactics, I could reach the rank of captain.

However, the issue was that by the time I, a commoner, would get promoted to captain after 15 years, some of my noble peers would already be colonels. Even the nobles with no special skills, as long as they weren’t completely inept, would rise to at least the rank of major. Furthermore, even those lower-class nobles who didn’t attend the academy but graduated from the Imperial Officer School could outpace me in promotions.

How could I accept this?

“Is that so?”

I replied.

“Being from a common background, it might be frustrating for you not to advance beyond captain,” he continued.

“However, even if you only reach captain and then retire, you could become the head of security in a small imperial city or a lower-level administrator in a region. With that position, you can live as comfortably as any noble. But if you go to the frontline and don’t make a name for yourself...”

The professor’s implication was clear. If I applied for the Line-Lant frontline and either failed the selection or didn’t achieve any notable feats there, my career would stall, potentially never progressing beyond the rank of major. Despite being an academy graduate, if I didn’t establish a significant reputation, I might end up being branded ‘worthless’, limiting my job prospects to less desirable positions.

While I sensed goodwill in the professor’s warning,

“I want the opportunity to serve His Majesty as an officer of the Empire. I’m confident I’ll pass the selection for the Line-Lant frontline. Please let me go,” I asserted.

Rather than living another 15 years being sidelined and ignored without the chance to show my capabilities, I wanted to gain recognition here and use it as a stepping stone to reach greater heights.

While not mentioned by the other professors and students, even a commoner could occasionally achieve great accomplishments, potentially rising beyond the rank of colonel and earning a star.

Among the noble families holding titles in the Empire, there were a few who started as commoners but earned their titles and stars due to their feats. And I was determined to be among them.

Realizing he couldn’t dissuade me any further, the professor sighed and said,

“Fine, then do your best.”