The Tribal Wars

The following day, Heisen held a meeting in the room that had once belonged to Lieutenant Mospizza. He carefully explained why Mospizza was unfit to be a soldier.

"And so, Lieutenant Mospizza, I am expelling you from the Imperial Army."

"Th-that's absurd... Is such a thing even allowed?"

"I’ll overlook your tone this time because you're obviously flustered, but next time, you will face disciplinary action if you use disrespectful language."

"Ugh..."

"That's exactly the problem. Despite numerous reminders, you continue to ignore the issue. Your pride and vanity are unwarranted and are contributing to your downfall."

"I take pride in my work as an Imperial soldier."

"That pride is what taints it. Your presence is a disgrace to the Imperial soldiers."

"Ugh..."

Lieutenant Mospizza glared at him, his rudeness apparent. Heisen found it impolite, but Captain Lorenzo had instructed him to 'be lenient.'

Orders from above. As a hired soldier, Heisen had no choice but to comply.

"So, I did my best to find you a new position."

"...What?"

Lieutenant Mospizza’s eyes narrowed at the parchment he received. Heisen felt a sense of satisfaction, thinking he had found a suitable job for him.

"I believe that a senior slave serving as a magic healer would be the most fitting role for you. As a general slave, you wouldn’t be able to use your unique magical powers. In fact, there is a good employer available."

"This is terrible!"

"Terrible?"

Lieutenant Mospizza slammed his hands on the table and shouted. His reaction was unexpected, leaving Heisen perplexed.

"Senior slaves are the lowest of the low! Why would you choose that specifically for me? Is this some form of harassment?"

"Given your lowly status, it’s a fitting role for you, isn’t it?"

"Ugh..."

Lieutenant Mospizza looked shocked. Heisen sighed, wondering if his repeated explanations had still not been sufficient.

In truth, Heisen had slightly exaggerated Mospizza’s merits.

"You can’t assess yourself objectively. In your early forties, you can’t ride a horse, your swordsmanship is weak, you lack intelligence, and your stubborn pride makes you act arrogantly. The world is not kind to someone like you; finding another job will be challenging."

"This is bullying!"

"Bullying?"

Heisen asked, puzzled.

"Yes, it is. I acknowledge your capabilities. But looking down on those with lesser abilities is outright bullying."

"I see. Now that the situation has reversed, are you playing the victim?"

"What?"

"You called it 'terrible,' but weren’t you the one who killed lieutenants and warrant officers?"

Lieutenant Mospizza’s face went pale. Heisen pulled Sergeant Chomo’s diary from a shelf.

"What do you think this is?"

"Th-that is..."

"Correct. It contains proof of the 'bullying' you tried to conceal. There are records of three lieutenants and warrant officers. Your harassment persisted for a long time."

"Gah..."

Lieutenant Mospizza’s face turned ashen. Out of six suspicious deaths, half were due to his mistreatment of new lieutenants and warrant officers. Sergeant Chomo merely cleaned up after him.

"I don’t want to become like you, so I don’t engage in bullying. Based on your abilities, efforts, and achievements, I concluded that being a senior slave is the most fitting role for you. I went to considerable lengths to find this position for you."

"That can’t be true."

"Oh, but it is."

"Ugh..."

Heisen grabbed Lieutenant Mospizza by the hair and glared at him.

"Finally, understand this: a person who disgraces subordinates to the point of death doesn’t deserve to be an Imperial officer. This position is more fitting for you. Being a senior slave might even be an opportunity for you to gain some perspective. You should be grateful."

"I don’t want to be a slave."

"Then do you want to die?"

"Ugh, ugh, ugh..."

Lieutenant Mospizza began to cry, clutching at his thinning hair.

"Thanks to Captain Lorenzo, I’m sparing your life. Originally, I planned to present this evidence and have you execute it the moment I became a lieutenant. We don’t need individuals like you who bring shame upon our subordinates."

Lieutenant Mospizza had subjected capable lieutenants and warrant officers to brutal 'training,' involving beatings and psychological torment, discarding them like broken toys.

Mospizza wept uncontrollably, rubbing his head against the ground.

"I regret it! Please show mercy!"

"Did you show mercy to the lieutenants and warrant officers who begged like this? Did you show any mercy at all?"

"Ugh... I showed mercy. Yes, I did. It’s not mentioned in the diary, but I did show mercy."

"Indeed, it’s not recorded. But Sergeant Chomo said no such mercy was given."

"Th-that’s not true..."

"Don’t lie. I can tell."

Heisen could use magic to hear the voices of the dead, which helped gather evidence for Lieutenant Mospizza’s execution. The vile reports from Sergeant Chomo’s corpse had sickened him.

That moment sealed Mospizza’s fate as a slave.

Even so, Mospizza cried, repeatedly rubbing his head on the ground. Eventually, Heisen, feeling exasperated, asked him.

"Do you really not want to be a slave?"

"Y-yes!"

"Do you want to die?"

"That’s even worse!"

"Then train as if your life depends on it. I will evaluate you based on your abilities and achievements."

"Y-yes!"

Heisen sighed deeply. Even someone like Mospizza, despite his faults, needed to understand the restrictions and demands of being a soldier.

"However, honestly, I think a senior slave might be better for you."

"No! I don’t want to be a slave!"

"It’s an exclusive position, you know?"

"That doesn’t change anything! Please, spare me!"

"...Hmm."

Heisen found the situation frustrating. He genuinely believed the job offered was to Mospizza’s benefit.

"Fine."

"Th-thank you..."

"But if you show even the slightest lack of effort, you’ll become a slave immediately."

"Yes!"

"And not a senior slave. If you fail to meet expectations, you’ll be reduced to a regular slave."

"Yes!"

"...Haah."

Heisen sighed as he watched Lieutenant Mospizza’s relieved expression.

During the afternoon training session, Lieutenant Mospizza put in effort, though it was clear it was his best attempt. However, his efforts seemed rather inconsequential. After observing him for a moment, Heisen shifted his attention to the rest of the 8th Squad. Ensign Baz demonstrated exceptional leadership. Ideally, Baz would be promoted to lieutenant immediately, but non-commissioned officers were not eligible for such advancement.

"We need to change the laws," Heisen muttered to himself. Despite Lieutenant Mospizza’s incompetence, he was only demoted to the rank of lieutenant. No matter how excellent a warrant officer was, they remained stuck at their rank for life. This could lead to a decline in motivation.

Amidst this, Lieutenant Mospizza approached Heisen during a break in training, uninvited.

"Ha, ha, ha. Ensign Heisen, how am I doing?" He asked, breathless and drenched in sweat.

"..."

Mospizza’s desperate quest for approval was incredibly annoying to Heisen. His breathlessness was due to his lack of stamina, as the training regimen was easily managed by the 8th Squad’s non-commissioned officers.

“Well, at least he’s improved a bit,” Heisen thought.

"Warrant Officer Baz, I will give you Sergeant Chomo’s journal later. If you notice Lieutenant Mospizza slacking off even slightly, wave this journal and subject him to cane punishment," Heisen instructed.

"What? Ensign Heisen!" Mospizza exclaimed in shock.

"How can I trust your sudden effort? Your evaluation has only improved from minus 100 to minus 99.999. Progress requires sustained effort," Heisen replied.

Mospizza looked at him in disbelief. It didn’t matter; Heisen had no trust in him anyway.

After inspecting each squad, Heisen concluded his analysis of their combat capabilities. All squads were well-prepared for their front-line border patrol duties.

Heisen then requested that the lieutenants and warrant officers submit their training plans. One person was late: Warrant Officer Malde, who had dark circles under his eyes, likely due to lack of sleep.

"You’re the only one who hasn’t submitted yet," Heisen noted.

"I’m sorry! I worked all night on it, but being from a commoner background, I had to correct many typos and errors," Malde explained.

"If it’s readable, that’s fine. Let me see it," Heisen said.

He flipped through the documents, marking corrections in red. The pages soon turned crimson with edits.

"This is fine. You’ve understood your soldiers’ strengths well. From now on, submit on time, even if there are minor errors," Heisen instructed.

"Yes, sir. But was it challenging to read? I’m sorry," Malde apologized.

"It’s easier to read without mistakes, of course, so I corrected them. But the content is what matters. Don’t let minor details distract you from the main point. If necessary, your current level is acceptable," Heisen reassured.

"Thank you very much," Malde said, bowing deeply.

"Huh? I didn’t do anything worthy of thanks."

"Lieutenant Mospizza used to scold me for hours over any mistakes, no matter how small," Malde revealed.

"I see. No wonder all the squad reports were so meticulously neat," Heisen sighed, realizing Mospizza had been meddling unnecessarily once again.

"Tell all the squad’s lieutenants and warrant officers that the reports just need to be legible. Minor errors are tolerable; the focus should be on the content," Heisen directed.

"Understood!" Malde said happily before leaving.

"Why are you so strict about typos and errors with me?" Yang, who had been eavesdropping, complained.

"Because your content is always solid. It’s better if your work is error-free," Heisen replied.

"Not fair. You’re never kind to me. It would be nice if you could show some of the kindness you show to others," Yang whined.

"When have I ever been kind to the others?"

"Just now!"

"I wasn’t being kind. I was just giving the necessary instructions."

"Then is it okay if I make typos?"

"No, it’s not."

"Why not?!" Yang protested in frustration, trying to hit him. Heisen grasped her collar and sighed.

"Yang, you need to prepare documents on my behalf, so I don’t want your errors to negatively impact my superiors’ evaluations of me," Heisen explained.

"You want me to ghostwrite for you?" Yang asked, surprised.

"I feel you have better skills in writing. I have knowledge, but the final touches require talent," Heisen admitted.

Despite her magical abilities, Yang was not suited for combat. Her true potential lay elsewhere.

"You understand? Soldiers and you are different. For a bureaucrat, writing is essential, and many will judge you on your ability to write correctly. That’s why you need this training to minimize errors."

"Grrr…"

Heisen patted Yang’s head.

"Speed is also crucial at times, and in those cases, I won’t fuss over errors. Just do what's necessary when it's needed. I corrected you to help you improve. Understand?"

"No, I don’t!"

Despite her outburst, Yang returned to teaching Private Edal the Cumon language, albeit more sternly than usual.