Second Life as a Soldier

I was surprised. I did not think the army gave explanations for its decisions. I had never seen even a sergeant explain his orders to us, much less someone taking the time to explain a command level decision.

“Generally, sergeants are not privy to these details,” Cicero said, “but in this case, I am partly responsible, so it is my duty to ensure you understand what happened. Consider this part of your training.”

He continued calmly.

“To understand the details of your posting and the decisions surrounding it, you need to understand the nature of your squad. The criminals assigned to you have gained significant levels. Their mana cultivation has also progressed, placing them close to Tier Three in cultivation and the Adept tier in class.”

I frowned slightly.

“This makes them difficult to control,” he went on, “and even harder to release. After their contribution during the beast tide, executing them would negatively affect army morale. In such cases, there are only a few options.”

He folded his hands.

“The most common option is to assign them to what we call death squads. These squads are given tasks far harder than usual, with significantly higher casualty rates. That is what your squad is. You will receive a few more criminal conscripts in the next fifteen to twenty days, once wall reconstruction is complete.”

This was my first time hearing about death squads. Cold sweat broke out in my palms. That meant any new members assigned to my squad would also be criminals. I would have to control them while leading them on dangerous missions, and after today’s encounter, it felt like an impossible task.

“There are other ways to deal with people like them,” Cicero continued. “They can also be assigned to the Vanguard. They are better equipped to handle high-risk criminals. However, that assignment has its own drawbacks. We will not go into those.”

He paused, then met my eyes.

“Your prior record of working with criminals and producing results did not help your case, but I am also partly responsible for you being assigned as the sergeant of a death squad.”

I frowned in confusion.

“The Captain could have found another solution,” Cicero said. “He might have assigned someone else as sergeant, given your potential. But I insisted on training you. That pressure forced the Captain into this decision.”

“Why?”

The words came out harsher than I intended. My patience snapped. All of this reminded me of a conclusion I had reached long ago, that my posting here had also been someone’s manipulation. Now it felt as though I was being pushed into a dangerous role once again, shaped by the decisions and schemes of others.

The lieutenant frowned at my outburst. I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts.

“Why does this happen in the Royal Army?” I asked. “I thought this place was meant to be away from noble influence. Yet this happens again.”

“Again?” he asked.

I hesitated. Then, after a moment, I decided to voice my doubts, even if it meant stepping into dangerous territory. Even if it bordered on accusing my superior without proof but I did not care anymore.

“I believe my posting here was also influenced by external factors,” I said. Then I continued, unable to stop myself. “Are the lives of commoners truly of no importance in the eyes of nobles and those with power? Are we just pawns in their games?”

I knew full well that the man in front of me was a noble.

He studied me for a moment.

“Careful, Sergeant,” Cicero said. “I am impressed that, even without political training, you can deduce things most commoners never do. But you should be very careful with your words. They could get you executed, even in the army.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

He leaned back slightly.

“Know this. No place is free from noble influence. The rules of the Royal Army provide some protection, but do not mistake that for absolute safety. The sooner you understand this, the better.”

He continued.

“To answer your second question, yes. We are all pawns in the games of nobles, until we gain enough political power to play the game ourselves. But do not think of that as purely a bad thing.”

He fixed me with a steady gaze.

“You are a sergeant now. Let me ask you something. If one of your privates could hold off a Tier Two beast, giving the rest of your squad enough time to coordinate and kill a Tier Three beast, it would be almost certain that the soldier facing the Tier Two would die. If you do not use him and attempt another strategy, your entire squad might be wiped out, though it is not guaranteed. What would you do?”

I frowned.

I said after a moment, “I would order the privates to hold the Tier Two.”

The answer came too easily. I realized that only afterward, understanding what the lieutenant was implying. But the two situations were different, and I tried to explain that.

“In that situation, even if the whole squad is not wiped out, casualties could still be high. I would choose the option with lower overall casualties. But—”

The lieutenant raised a hand, stopping me.

“I am not justifying every noble decision,” he said. “Decisions made by nobles while sitting in their castles cannot be compared to those made on the battlefield. And I am in no way saying that all decisions made by noble houses are for a good cause. There are nobles who do not respect commoners’ lives and treat them like playthings. That is what the Royal Army exists to protect against.

But sometimes, the stability provided by noble houses comes at the cost of commoners’ lives, and they are allowed to do so because that stability protects the kingdom from external threats.”

“So we are supposed to die for their causes?” I asked, unconvinced. “Do nothing because it is for the so-called greater good? Or wait for someone in the army to file a complaint after I am dead?”

“No,” he replied calmly. “If you can fight against them, you should. But understand this. In conflicts between nobles, individual strength matters very little. To fight a noble house, you need power on a large scale. Essentially, you must become a noble yourself.”

He paused.

“And once you enter the noble world, you may act as you see fit. There is a saying in my house. ‘The noble world keeps only what can survive it.’”

I was having a hard time accepting what he said. What he was really telling me was simple. Accuse without power, and you die. Even if you are right. But if you gain enough power and public support, you can even challenge a noble house.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked. I could not understand why a noble would allow a commoner to entertain such dangerous thoughts.

Cicero said. “I want you to understand how the army and the noble world function. In my experience, the best army leaders are those who also understand politics. Just like now, there are reasons behind both my decisions and the Captain’s.”

He continued,

“I requested you under me because I liked your work ethic. You could have stopped after the second day, after earning your skill. That would have been sufficient. But you did not. You went further. You tried to understand how to make yourself useful to your squad. Surprisingly, that is rare.”

“Then why would the Captain assign me as the sergeant of a death squad because of you?” I asked. “I still don’t understand.”

Cicero exhaled softly.

“The Captain and I are not on the best of terms,” he said. “Mostly because of my fault. Once you leave this fort, you may learn more about that, but for now, this is all you need to know.”

He leaned forward.

“While death squads are given the most dangerous assignments, the position of sergeant is considered one of the safest. You can use the mana oath to ensure compliance, even in the most dangerous situations, at least guaranteeing your own safety. That applies even inside the fort. In this way, it also protects you from me. A normal private might refuse your orders. They cannot.”

For now, I attributed my assignment as sergeant to the tension between the lieutenant and the captain, especially since the lieutenant had already made it clear I would receive no further explanations. But that last sentence unsettled me. The casual way conscripts’ lives were discussed disturbed me. I did not hold criminals in high regard, but reducing them to nothing more than tools, essentially calling them meat shields, felt wrong.

“I can see you are uncomfortable with the idea of treating criminals as disposable soldiers,” Cicero said calmly as if reading my mind.

“I will not tell you how to lead your squad. But I will ask you to read their files before making any decisions.”

He slid a stack of parchments across the desk.

“The initial details you received only listed the charges they were caught for. These documents contain detailed records of their actions, what the army uncovered during its investigation, and what they did after their arrest, as well as why they cannot be released.”

He leaned back.

“You may leave now. I will excuse you for not reading the material I gave you earlier, given your current condition. But I will not tolerate failures like this in the future. In five days, your arm should be healed. By then, I want you to have finished every book I gave you.

I trust your potential, but if you are not prepared to work for it, I will not simply transfer you. I will use every connection I have to see you removed from the army without benefits, even with an Iron Merit Medal.”

He dismissed me with a wave.

As I picked up the stack, he added,

“And since you have delayed your class trial for so many days already, delay it a few more weeks. I will use that time to train you in the skills necessary to be a proper sergeant.”