I'm Not a Genius Commander

Chapter 2

The interior of the underground prison was filled with a cold chill.

The only light source was a dim candle affixed to the wall, casting long shadows in the gloom.

Hoben, whose face was faintly illuminated by the weak light, spoke with a mocking tone.

"Oh, look who's here—the scoundrel commander himself. What brings you to this shabby old man, I wonder?"

With Arthur’s typical temperament, he wouldn’t have left anyone speaking to him like this alone.

Was that why Hoben was locked up here?

I was about to ask, but Perlaug, who stood beside me, spoke first.

"You old fool! Show some respect—"

"Stand back."

"...What?"

"Didn't you understand the first time? I said stand back."

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Perlaug fled, his belly wobbling, looking more like a pig escaping the slaughterhouse.

Hoben, seemingly sharing my thoughts, burst into laughter at the sight.

"That pig must've really upset the scoundrel commander, huh?"

"Not particularly."

"Not particularly? He ran away with his tail between his legs."

If this laughter continued, the conversation wouldn't go anywhere.

I decided to cut him off.

"We'll talk about that later."

"Heh... So, what do you want? Come to mock me?"

Mock him?

I had come here to ask for his help, but given Arthur's previous actions, it was no surprise that my image was already set in stone.

Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t say what I needed to.

I knelt on one knee in front of the prison bars and spoke directly.

"I'll get straight to the point. Hoben, I need your help."

"...When you threw me in this cell, and now you want my help? What, do you need a pretty ornament made?"

"I need weapon maintenance."

Hoben looked at me with a bit of surprise.

Until now, he had faced away, not even bothering to look at me.

But the surprise was brief—his expression quickly twisted into anger.

"...Are you messing with me? You threw me into this cold cell when I said we needed weapon maintenance, and now you need it? Ha!"

Was that why he was imprisoned?

Maintaining weapons on the battlefield was essential.

A rusty blade couldn’t cut properly, and a worn bowstring might snap before an arrow could even fly.

Keeping equipment in top shape was a basic rule of warfare.

And yet, they had locked up the only blacksmith here?

"Sigh..."

Nothing in this place worked as it should.

The morale of the soldiers was rock bottom, the lieutenant seemed more interested in leisure, and the weapons looked like they hadn’t been maintained for months.

It was shocking to discover that rock bottom had an even lower floor.

If this place was to be salvaged, it had to start now.

And the first step was to fix the equipment.

"No matter how much you beg now, I won't do as you wish."

Hoben's tone made it clear he had no intention of cooperating.

Requesting new supplies or a blacksmith from the Empire would take over two weeks.

But there were only ten days left before the barbarians attacked.

I had to persuade Hoben, no matter what.

I didn’t like bringing up personal matters, but this was no time for pride.

I took a deep breath and looked at Hoben with a cold stare.

"Hoben. I know why you came to this battlefield as a weapon technician."

"..."

"It was because of your dead son, wasn't it?"

—Bang!!

Hoben leaped at me.

But the iron bars blocked him, and his fist couldn’t reach me.

His eyes burned with a murderous glare, but I couldn’t stop now.

I continued.

"Your son died because of poorly maintained armor. Then his father came to the battlefield. Anyone could see the reason why."

"...Don't you dare. Don't you dare say that with your filthy mouth."

"To be honest, you have no reason to blame me, do you? Your son didn't die here at this outpost, after all."

The more I spoke, the more Hoben's anger flared.

It was the reaction I had expected.

Time to get to the main point.

"The state of the equipment here is abysmal. It’s not enough to kill the enemy—it’s more likely to give us tetanus and kill us that way."

"And that’s all your fault!"

"You're right. I won't deny it. I'm the one who put you in this cell, and everything that happened is because of that."

—Swoosh

I pulled out the prison key I had received from Perlaug.

The key to Hoben's cell.

If I released him now, he might strike me in his rage, but I unlocked the door without hesitation.

"You... You...!"

—Grab!

As soon as the door opened, Hoben grabbed me by the collar, staring daggers at me.

It wouldn’t have been surprising if he punched me right there, but I remained calm.

"How about a walk?"

"What...?"

"It's been a while since you've had fresh air. Let's walk and talk for a bit."

"..."

Hoben glared at me for a long moment before he finally released my collar.

I stumbled slightly but managed to keep my balance—I didn’t want to pass out again.

Barely standing upright, I saw Hoben with his fists clenched, his eyes fixed on me.

The fact that I was a commander and the third son of a baron probably held him back from swinging those fists.

"Follow me."

Leaning on my cane, I led the way out of the prison.

—Tap —Tap —Tap

As we emerged, the bright sunlight made Hoben shield his eyes.

I waited patiently for his vision to adjust.

"Hmm."

Once he could see clearly, Hoben looked around and spoke.

"...What do you want to talk about?"

"Just a little about the soldiers."

I held my cane with one hand as I led us up a hill that overlooked the outpost.

With Hoben silently following, I pointed at the soldiers below.

"Do you see that guy sitting by the barracks?"

"Not clearly, but yes."

"His name is Phlox."

Hoben's expression turned to confusion as I suddenly mentioned a soldier's name.

I ignored it and continued.

"He got kicked out of his house because he never did anything. He came here hoping for a fresh start, but nothing’s changed. This place is all about wasting time."

"..."

"The one eating oatmeal over there is Hans. He came from the distant east. He was a foreigner without status, but he hopes to earn his place in the Empire by proving himself here. At least he has some ambition."

"..."

"And that guy over there..."

As we climbed the hill, I pointed out each soldier, sharing their stories with a detached tone.

With every story, Hoben's anger seemed to dissipate little by little.

The twisted face of a man filled with rage gradually softened, revealing the weary face of an old man.

—Tap

"Lastly, that one's name is—"

"That's enough. I understand."

"...I see."

Hoben stood at the top of the hill, gazing blankly at the barracks below.

Was he feeling something?

Hoben let out a dry laugh.

"This place is a mess."

"You're not wrong."

There was no proper guard, and the soldiers were more interested in chatting and laughing.

Even if this was a "formal" outpost, the lack of command structure and the rotten individuals here had turned it into this desolate mess.

If you were to paint this scene and give it a name, "Dereliction of Duty" would fit perfectly.

The northern front was, in truth, nothing more than a place of exile.

In the midst of it all, Hoben pointed to the unlit armory.

"If the soldiers train with poorly maintained weapons, injuries will only increase... At least there don't seem to be any injured."

"That's because they don't train at all."

"Tsk... It's completely rotten."

An honest and straightforward answer.

I thought the same, and I figured anyone else would say the same if asked.

"So, why did you tell me about the soldiers?"

"Regardless of rank, we are all the same people."

"...I never thought I'd hear such words from a noble, let alone the most notorious scoundrel of a commander."

"Well, considering my past behavior, I have to accept that."

—Plop

I sat directly on the snow-covered ground.

My pants got wet, and the cold seeped into me, but I didn't mind. I kept my focus on Hoben.

In the emptiness of his eyes, a small light began to flicker.

Watching the soldiers under the bright sunlight, Hoben asked abruptly.

"...If the weapons had been properly maintained, would my son still be alive?"

"I don't know. There's no point in speculating about what has already happened."

Hoben stared into the void for a long time after hearing my answer.

The day was bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky.

In the old man's vacant eyes, a tiny light glimmered.

"You're right. There's no use dwelling on the past..."

"..."

"But if I do nothing, my son's death will also become meaningless."

"...Don't think I'm doing this for you. I'll do it so those soldiers can return safely."

"...That was the reason I came here in the first place."

"Let me ask you one last time. Will you help maintain the weapons?"

Hoben stared at me for a while before pointing towards the barracks.

"Even if I maintain the weapons... Without proper training, it won't matter. In fact, sharper weapons might cause them more harm."

"I'm just an old man who can only work with equipment. The ones holding those weapons are the soldiers, and the one leading those soldiers is you."

"So promise me this."

The wind was cold.

The sharp breeze pierced my frail body, making me feel as if I might twist apart, but I stood firm.

Hoben did the same.

"Promise me that the weapons I maintain will serve a purpose. Take responsibility."

"I promise."

Our firm gazes softened.

Hoben let out a hearty laugh and extended his hand toward me.

"...Did you suddenly have a change of heart or something?"

A change of heart.

From an outsider's perspective, it would certainly seem that way.

A commander known for his scoundrel ways suddenly trying to do what he'd never done before—such a perception was understandable.

Though the real reason was entirely different.

"People can change suddenly in life, can't they?"

"I always believed people never changed... Maybe I'm getting old. It seems there's no eternal truth. By the way, have you memorized all the soldiers' names and stories?"

"As a commander, isn't that expected?"

"No, not at all. The world is full of commanders who can't even do what's expected."

"I see."

—Tap —Step —Tap —Step

Hoben and I began to descend the hill.

With both of us too weak to support each other, we moved slowly and carefully, taking one step at a time.

On the way back to the outpost, Hoben asked me.

"Is a battle coming soon?"

"..."

"Judging by your reaction, I guess so. Is that why you were in such a hurry to find me?"

"You're right. Not long from now, the barbarians will attack this place."

"I suppose it's better if I don't ask how you know that... So, what are you going to do now?"

What will I do?

I had already decided.

"I need to train the soldiers."

"What if they don't follow you willingly?"

"Then I'll use my authority to the fullest."

I couldn't rely solely on the soldiers.

As a commander, I might not be expected to enter the battlefield directly, but I knew I'd likely face an even harder struggle.

It was time to make use of my trait, [Telepathy].

I led Hoben to the blacksmith's forge and then set out to find the lieutenant.

Though I hated wasting time on this, it had to be done.

"Hoo... Hoo..."

Fortunately, it didn't take long to find him.

Perlaug was at the entrance of the prison where we had been earlier, smoking a cigarette and nervously bouncing his leg.

He did not look good.

"Perlaug."

"Who... Who called my name—Ah, Sir Arthur?!"

"Is there a problem with calling your name?"

"N-No, sir!"

—Whip

Perlaug threw his cigarette far away and straightened his posture.

Like it or not, a lieutenant was essential for the unit.

I had used the stick long enough—it was time to offer the carrot.

"Lieutenant, there's no need to react so strongly. Your role is important to me."

"R-Really?"

"Of course."

With just a few words, his face brightened up.

Easier to handle than I expected.

"I have a task for you."

"Just say the word! I will follow your orders!"

"Can you prepare enough blindfolds for all the soldiers?"

"Blindfolds? Are you into that kind of...?"

Disgusting.

How could someone have such base thoughts? I had barely loosened the reins, and he already spewed this nonsense.

His uncouth expression wasn't just because of his features—this man was genuinely vulgar.

I shot him a look of pure disdain. Realizing his blunder, Perlaug bent over and shouted.

"I'm sorry! That was a slip of the tongue!"

"Yes... I hope you'll manage that tongue of yours better in the future."

With those words, I turned back toward my barracks.

Wondering if Perlaug would manage the task properly or if he would prove to be a disappointment once again.