I'm Not a Genius Commander

Chapter 1

The people around me were calling out the name "Arthur."

Not good.

The only thing I could grasp in this situation was that I had been possessed by a character inside the game.

If I spoke now, it might cause a huge disconnect, leading to misunderstandings among those around me.

In that case, the solution was to remain silent and find a way out of this situation.

"Ugh—"

—Thud

"Sir Arthur! Are you all right?"

I grabbed my head and deliberately collapsed. The sound of hurried footsteps rushing toward me followed.

Feigning illness was a time-honored right to remain silent.

Just like how you could go to the nurse's office when you wanted to avoid a boring class at school.

But there was another problem.

'Ugh.'

During my fall, my head hit the ground first.

On top of that, this wretchedly weak body...

My mind started to drift.

'This is insane...'

The NPC I possessed was Arthur Amilion, the commander of the northern front.

I had overlooked an important detail, having not yet fully processed the information.

This character was so frail that even a gust of wind might blow him away.

I knew about the "weak body" trait, but I hadn't expected it to be this bad.

"!!...!!!"

I heard many voices shouting, but I couldn't make out the words.

My eyes slowly closed...

***

"Gasp...!"

I regained consciousness.

Fortunately, as a commander, I had been moved safely to a tent.

If I had been an ordinary soldier, they might have just thrown me on the ground. Should I consider myself lucky?

It was a mixed feeling.

I had always thought that being possessed by a game character would be a comfortable scenario, like something out of a novel.

Not only did I play games, but I also read novels in my spare time.

And in those stories, the characters always had a certain ability.

"Status window."

—Ding!

Name: Arthur Amilion

Age: 27

Traits: [Lame], [Weak Body], [Mana Sensitivity], [Telepathy], [Accelerated Thought]

As soon as I spoke, a blue screen appeared before my eyes.

I had tried it half out of doubt, but seeing it actually work made the situation feel real.

I had truly been possessed by an NPC in Averow Saga.

"Haa..."

I waved my hand through the air, closing the status window, and lay back down on the bed.

But the sudden wave of fatigue made me feel drowsy, so I forced myself to get up.

I had only lain down for a moment, yet sleep overwhelmed me so quickly.

I would need to keep this body's weakness in mind for my future actions.

"I don't look that skinny... This is a strange body."

I wasn't too thin or too fat. In fact, I had a bit of lean muscle, enough to call it a healthy body.

Then, perhaps this was a penalty from one of the traits.

Except for [Telepathy], the other traits weren't chosen by me—they were the original traits of this character.

A useless body with no redeeming qualities.

If there was any use to be found, it might be in the character's status, but since Arthur was practically exiled to this front, it wasn't much of an advantage.

"What front? This is basically a place of exile."

The Northern Front, Proyden.

In the game's early storyline, the area fell to barbarians, leading to the game's main events.

If this was the start of the game, then in about ten days, the entire unit would be annihilated without proper resistance.

It was understandable why they were wiped out so overwhelmingly.

The barbarian force that would attack in ten days was nearly three times larger than the forces stationed here.

Moreover, Arthur Amilion, the character I had possessed and the leader of this place, was infamous as a scoundrel, not only within the Empire but also here. He died a horrible death because of it.

He used his soldiers as meat shields, trying to escape, but failed. He was beheaded by the barbarians, and his head was salted as a trophy.

If things went on as they were, that would be my fate.

'Should I run away? No, if I run, the outcome is obvious.'

There were only two ways to survive.

Either win against the barbarians attacking in ten days...

Or escape this place before they arrived.

However, there was a major flaw in the second option.

—Creak

As I stood up from the bed, an unfamiliar sensation ran through my leg.

The feeling in my right leg was faint.

So this was what the [Lame] trait meant.

It seemed that without a cane, I wouldn't even be able to walk properly.

Even if I managed to escape with this leg—an almost impossible feat—the Empire would never let a deserting commander live.

The first option was the only viable choice.

—Rustle —Rummage

I started searching through the desk drawers in the tent.

I needed reports on the status of the soldiers and supplies.

With that information, I could prepare for the upcoming situation and make a plan.

I opened every drawer, hoping to find something important, but it was all useless.

All I found were unorganized, mixed-up documents... and a bottle of poison?

"Why on earth is this here?"

—Flap!

At that moment, I heard someone entering and quickly hid the bottle, turning to face the entrance of the tent.

"Sir Arthur! Are you conscious?"

"Hmm, it's you."

A man with a shiny bald head, a bushy brown beard, and a body as plump as a pig.

I had no idea who he was.

I only knew the northern front through the game's story, so I didn't recognize most of the people here.

I asked as naturally as possible to avoid suspicion.

"...Who are you again?"

"Excuse me?"

"My vision is blurry. I can't see clearly."

"I see. I am Lieutenant Perlaug, Sir Arthur."

Still didn't ring a bell.

He must not have been a well-known character.

Before I could think further, Perlaug smiled slyly, rubbing his hands together.

"So, Sir Arthur... Shall we indulge ourselves today as well?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, come on. You know what I mean."

I wasn't clueless about what he meant.

Arthur Amilion, the character I had become, was notorious for his drunken debauchery.

From what I knew of the story, he spent most of his days drunk, wasting away in this military outpost until the inevitable invasion.

If I played along, I'd likely meet the same grisly end.

I needed to change things, and quickly.

But even if this place was only a "formal" front line, it was still a front line.

Alcohol must have been strictly prohibited, but such rules must have meant nothing to this scoundrel.

—Swoosh

Only then did I notice the pile of liquor bottles stacked in the corner of the barracks.

The pungent smell of alcohol hit my nose.

Just how much had he been drinking? About seven bottles still had dampness, not fully dried.

My expression hardened slightly.

"Perlaug. Lieutenant Perlaug."

"Yes, sir. What is it?"

"Do you know where we are?"

"Well... of course. This is Proyden, isn't it?"

"It's the front line."

No matter how much of a scoundrel Arthur was, others must also bear responsibility for the state of this front line.

It was all too clear. A lieutenant offering alcohol to his commander.

I spoke with a voice filled with anger.

"So, are you suggesting we drink alcohol on the front line?"

"Uh... but Sir Arthur, you always—"

"Silence."

Perlaug's expression immediately stiffened.

With this much said, he must have sensed something was off.

That meant I needed to firmly establish discipline right here and now.

"According to military law, a commander's orders on the front line are absolute. I am considering holding a subordinate accountable for disrupting the discipline of this front line. What do you think?"

"I-I'm sorry!"

Just yesterday, this commander had been a drunken fool, and now he was speaking like this. It must have been incomprehensible.

But I had no need to make him understand.

To restore discipline to this front line, I had to act decisively.

"Next time, I hope you will act wisely, considering the situation."

"My apologies, sir!"

Perlaug fled, his massive belly wobbling as he ran out.

Not long after, when the sound of his running had completely faded, I let out a long sigh.

The only way to survive here was to win in battle, but seeing the state of the lieutenant, I felt a deep sense of despair.

His untrained body did not match the rank of lieutenant at all.

And no matter how much of a drunkard Arthur had been, offering him alcohol in broad daylight was absurd.

"I have to win with men like that?"

It was too soon to despair.

There were still ten days until the barbarians attacked.

Wasting time with idle thoughts would be a luxury.

—Tap —Tap —Tap

Leaning on my cane, I moved toward the table cluttered with documents.

The first thing to check was the supply status and the information about the stationed soldiers.

—Rustle —Swoosh

"Cough... Cough!!"

The dust piled up was so thick it was hard to tell how long it had been neglected.

A bit of dust entered my mouth, and I started coughing uncontrollably like someone with asthma.

Still, I had to keep looking.

To survive, I needed to form a plan and assess the upcoming situation.

From daytime until dawn...

The first day was entirely consumed by gathering information.

***

"What the hell...?"

Lieutenant Perlaug.

He spent the entire day in anxiety and fear.

No wonder—Arthur had changed.

A scoundrel who would jump at the mere mention of alcohol was now acting like a proper commander.

Moreover, the anger Arthur had shown towards Perlaug was not a pretense.

A man who had survived anywhere with only his cunning, Perlaug could not help but notice.

—Swoosh

Standing outside the barracks, his teeth chattering and his feet shuffling, Perlaug finally saw Arthur emerge.

He looked far more exhausted than the day before.

"Good morning, Sir Arthur!"

Perlaug quickly hid his troubled expression and put on a pleasant smile.

But Arthur did not react at all.

What could have upset him?

Too many things came to mind, and Perlaug's anxiety only grew.

Arthur, who had been staring blankly into space, finally spoke.

"...Yes, good morning. Damn it."

"Haha... Is that so?"

It was a thoroughly awkward situation.

He had no idea what was going on or why Arthur was so upset.

The heavy atmosphere and the sweat trickling down his back were too much.

Just as he was about to bring up a light topic to ease the mood, Arthur spoke first.

"Where is the prison?"

"The... prison?"

"Just tell me the location. No unnecessary words."

At the mention of the prison, Perlaug's expression soured.

The threat of punishment under military law from yesterday still lingered in his mind.

But Arthur's intent was different from what Perlaug feared.

"I'm not planning to imprison you, so stop trembling. I'll ask one last time. Where is the prison?"

"Y-Yes! Please follow me!"

Perlaug finally relaxed, his tightly clenched belly deflating slightly.

It was hard to tell if he had released tension or if he simply had too much fat, but at least the relief on his face was clear.

—Tap —Step —Tap —Step

On the way to the prison, soldiers lay sprawled on the ground.

Considering Arthur had mentioned military law yesterday, seeing soldiers in this state would not sit well.

Perlaug raised his voice.

"You idiots! Lying around like this—"

"Shut up."

"Y-Yes, sir..."

Though his outburst was cut short, the groggy soldiers, hearing the commotion, slowly opened their eyes.

The moment they saw Arthur, their senses snapped back into place.

They scrambled to their feet, bowing at a full ninety degrees.

Some were still so dazed that they stumbled over themselves.

Arthur watched the scene, let out a deep sigh, and spoke.

"Gather in front of the platform in two hours. If even one of you is missing, I will punish you severely. Understood?"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

With that, Arthur continued walking toward the prison.

Perlaug hurried after him.

Silence filled the space between them for a long time.

The only sounds were footsteps and the tapping of a cane.

—Glance

While walking, Perlaug cautiously observed Arthur's expression and eventually asked,

"May I ask why you are visiting the prison, sir?"

"..."

Arthur remained silent for a long time.

Perlaug, feeling entirely ignored, grew more and more downcast.

—Tap —Tap —Tap

When they reached the entrance to the prison, Arthur finally spoke.

"What is the state of our unit's equipment?"

"Well... that is..."

"I already know. The only blacksmith stationed here is imprisoned, isn't he?"

The underground prison was a crude construction.

Given that this outpost had been here for three years, there had been more than enough time to build it.

"But that man is..."

"Hand me the key."

"Yes, sir..."

A metal key.

Arthur took it with one hand and descended the steps.

There were eight cells in total, but only one was occupied.

The prison where the blacksmith, Hoben, was being held.

"Is it meal time already?"

An old, worn-out voice echoed from within.