The Company Commander Regressed

Ch. 13



Chapter 13

“Are you talking to me?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

I’d never been called up like this in my last life, and I couldn’t hide my confusion.

“Did I do something wrong?”

I fired off questions while trailing the Chief Instructor down the corridor.

“Or is it something I did right?”

The Chief Instructor didn’t answer.

“Guess it’s not anything good, then.”

I hadn’t done a single thing lately to stay on an Instructor’s good side.

Which meant it had to be the opposite.

“Kinjo’s the one who torched the flowerbed,” I offered. “And thorns can be weapons, right? He was testing whether they’d catch fire when—”

“That was... his doing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him I want to see him tomorrow. If I see him today I’ll half-kill him.”

Only then did the Chief Instructor speak.

Walking blindly behind him felt awful—like waiting for a slap I hadn’t earned.

Better to get it over with.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Shut it.”

“If you’d just tell me what—”

Before I knew it we were outside the Instructor’s office.

He opened the door far more slowly than usual.

The room wasn’t empty.

A man lounging inside rose to greet the Chief Instructor.

“Ah, you’re here.”

White military uniform.

A golden lion embroidered over the left breast.

Blue was for the 7th and 8th Divisions, black for the Special Task Force.

White meant the Knights—and a golden lion, not a silver one, meant the elite of the elite: the Imperial Knights.

“Did I... do something bad enough that the Knights have to discipline me instead of an Instructor?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Mago. Stop that.”

The Chief Instructor cracked a joke—actually cracked a joke—then I saluted the Knight, snapping my hand up with extra precision.

He returned the salute with a lazy flick.

“Sit.”

The Chief Instructor took a seat first.

Odd; rank-wise he was the junior here.

I bit back the question.

“He was my teacher once,” the Knight said, reading my face, and sat after the Instructor.

I followed last.

“Introductions first.”

The Chief Instructor flicked a hand toward the man.

“You know the Knights. Among them, the Golden Lion—Imperial Knights, the best of the best.”

The man supplied his own name—long and complicated; I caught none of it.

Too awkward to ask him to repeat it, I let it slide.

Only his final words stuck.

“Trainee Mago.”

He knew my name before he came.

“We asked him here because this is Mago,” the Instructor went on. “We thought you might be able to train him.”

“What kind of training, sir?”

“The thing you wrote in your report.”

“Ah...”

“Exactly. I’m a Mage, detection specialty. I believe I can help—unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

“No, sir, I’d be grateful!”

I stood and bowed at the waist.

A teacher, exactly when I needed one.

I thanked the man, then the Chief Instructor.

“Ahaha, much politer than when we first met. You really wanted this, huh?”

The Knight gave an easy laugh.

“Yes, sir. Thank you both.”

“Trainee Mago, when you read mana—what does it feel like?”

On the tip of my tongue: a lake.

I stopped.

Only Kinjo knew that detail; no one else needed to.

A limit revealed becomes a weakness.

“I... couldn’t really say, sir.”

I played dumb.

“No image comes to mind?”

“Image, sir?”

“For me it’s a desert. Others see bamboo stalks swaying, or faint tremors in the earth. Everyone’s different.”

He’d shown his first; now it was my turn.

Even the elite Imperial Knights don’t guard their secrets this loosely, so I doubt it matters.

“Ah, I see a lake.”

“Mages are impossible to follow.”

The instructor shook his head.

“Instructor, I’m not a mage.”

“If you can sense mana, you’re a mage. A damn powerful one.”

The man cut in.

“I’m not...!”

“You are a mage.”

“Why call me that? I hate it.”

“Because you’ve got the gift.”

“I’d rather hold a sword. It’s something I never could do before...”

“Why would a mage need a blade?”

“Both of you, enough.”

The instructor pressed two fingers to his temple and stepped between us.

“My mistake. Mago has a knack for magic, but his martial talent is even sharper. I should have mentioned that.”

Praise from an instructor—something I’d never heard in my life—felt awkward in my ears.

“Excuse me? He can detect mana, yet you claim he’s even more gifted at fighting? Detection is something most mages can’t manage.”

“That’s how thoroughly the gods have blessed him.”

“Hmm...”

Embarrassed, I looked away.

“Anyway, you want to learn detection magic. May we start there?”

The man redirected smoothly.

“Yes, please.”

“I see a desert. Specifically, a sandstorm. Mana feels like grains of sand and dust riding the wind.”

“Sounds chaotic.”

“Compared with your lake, absolutely. A lake is the very picture of stillness.”

“Are there limits?”

“Knew you’d ask. Duration, range, number of uses—everything’s capped.”

“Ah...”

“Don’t look so disappointed.”

“Sorry. What are the limits?”

“Two hours, forty minutes of continuous use.”

My eyes widened.

“Range is about three hundred meters. You can cast it four times a day.”

Range plus daily charges—better than I’d hoped.

“How do I improve?”

“Get familiar.”

He answered before I finished the question, as though he’d waited for it.

“Familiar...?”

“The images we summon at peak concentration—desert, lake—already exist in the real world. Visit them, breathe them, let them seep into your bones. The more natural the scene feels, the easier mana becomes to read. Easier means stronger. For you, Mago, training beside a lake is the fastest path.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

“Thank the stars it’s a lake, not an iceberg. I can actually reach a lake...”

“But it’ll take time. Familiarity never happens overnight.”

“I don’t have time—barely two months.”

“Two months might suffice. Still, you can’t pick just any lake. Only a place where mana naturally pools will do. The Empire labels them Convergence Sites. You need one that mirrors a lake.”

“Where is it?”

The man leaned closer.

“Join the Knights and I’ll tell you.”

“Pardon?”

“Enlist, Trainee Mago. Word is you’re top of the class.”

“I’m bound for the Special Task Force. And on what grounds do you ask?”

“I trust the instructor, not you. I’ve never seen him write letters or praise a cadet in front of the cadet himself. Never.”

“I won’t hide in the rear.”

The man’s face twisted.

“Mago, we’re not hiding. We protect His Majesty the Emperor.”

The words came out forceful—clearly a speech he’d repeated too often.

“I’m better at killing than protecting.”

“If that’s your answer, so be it.”

He leaned back, letting the chair take his weight.

“I’ve told you what I owed the instructor. The rest is yours to solve.”

His tone had turned cold, door shut firmly.

I bit back the obvious retort—that this petty arrogance was exactly why I despised the Knights.

“In a war where even zero-point-one percent matters, what difference does it make whether that sliver is Knight or Task Force?”

“Because that zero-point-one percent must stand beside His Majesty to put him at ease.”

“Wherever I go, I’m still the Emperor’s chess piece. Are you saying His Majesty plays favorites only with the Knights?”

“Not favoritism—proximity. The closer, the better.”

“Proximity... Most citizens will never see His Majesty, let alone stand beside him. So the majority, left at a distance, remain forever exposed to danger while he fills his inner circle?”

“Trainee Mago, what are you—”

“Tell your masters to worry more about front-line supply than palace walls.”

“Mago!”

The Instructor stepped in and barked,

“If that’s what you believe, there’s nothing left to say. Trainee Mago, find the Mana Convergence Site yourself. Then, Instructor, I’ll take my leave.”

The man bowed to the Instructor and turned away.

I kept my head down.

“Trainee Mago. No salute for a superior?”

Cursing under my breath, I stood.

Snapped to attention.

Then saluted—harder than I ever had before.

A final courtesy, dripping with contempt.

The man opened the door and left.

Once it shut—

“The Imperial Knights know nothing. They have no idea how many soldiers die on the front. All they spout is empty nonsense.”

I tried to defend myself.

“And you think you know better?”

“I know best! I know it all, down to the bone!”

“Stuck in this camp playing with wooden swords—what could you possibly know?”

I had a hundred replies.

None I could use.

* * *

“Mago. Not sleeping?”

Kinjo’s voice drifted down from the bunk above.

“Not yet.”

“Why’d they call you earlier?”

“They found out about the flowerbed I torched. You’ve got a counseling session tomorrow.”

“...You lit it?”

“No.”

“You did! Who else would?”

He lurched upright, rocking the bed.

I kicked the frame above me.

“Stay still.”

“You’re off today. Top score on the written, right?”

“Yeah, perfect score. I became Top Ranker to join the Special Task Force. Where I go is none of your business. Damn, makes me want that rank insignia even more.”

In the army, the rule was simple:

If it felt unfair, climb higher and crush the ones below.

That was all.

I lost track of how long I lay there after Kinjo fell silent.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

Then the sky broke open.

Rain hammered down.

The half-frosted window flashed blue, thunder trailing a heartbeat later.

I needed air.

Outside, midnight rain carried a sharp chill.

I leaned against the railing, staring blankly.

Stretched out my right hand to test the downpour.

Tap, tap.

Drops slid off my fingertips.

Each bead struck and sent a ripple flying,

as if I’d tossed a stone into the lake’s heart.

The blue wave spread—

wider, wider—

“Huh?”

Like a broken bulb flickering on and off,

the world blinked black-and-white, then snapped back,

over and over.


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