I Was Mistaken as a Great War Commander-Chapter 145

The train, belching black smoke as it thundered down the supply line, began to slow as a rural station came into view.

The wooden platform was bustling—soldiers unloading supplies mingled with the wounded, waiting to be transported back from the front.

SCREEEEECH—

The brakes screamed as the train came to a full stop, and Daniel stepped off with his escort company.

Naturally, the moment he disembarked, eyes turned toward him.

It was inevitable—he was a young officer wearing the National Merit Cross and the Golden Cross of Valor, and on top of that, he held the rank of Colonel.

The soldiers at the station paused what they were doing and stared blankly at him, then quickly snapped to attention and saluted.

They’d recognized him—Daniel Steiner, the man hailed as a war hero.

“Colonel!”

“You’ve finally arrived here as well!”

They all looked at him with eyes full of admiration.

And it made sense.

Daniel was the leading hero of the Nordia Invasion, the man who brought the Kingdom of Eldresia to its knees.

He’d united the Empire with his rousing Total War Speech, and on the Belmore front, he had turned the tables on an enemy offensive, capturing the crown prince in the process.

More recently, he’d arrested collaborators aiding the Allied Nations within the capital.

He was, quite literally, a living legend.

But to Daniel, the reverent stares were just uncomfortable.

Still, he couldn’t ignore their salutes—so he offered a half-hearted nod in return. As he did, a staff officer approached, flanked by several soldiers.

He wore the rank of Major.

“Colonel Daniel Steiner! It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Major Phelp, Intelligence Officer from the 7th Magitek Armored Division.”

“A pleasure. By order of His Majesty the Emperor, I’ve been assigned as Chief of Staff to the 7th Magitek Armored Division—Colonel Daniel Steiner.”

“You’re just as commanding as the stories say, Colonel. Please, come with me—I’ll escort you to headquarters.”

Daniel nodded and followed Phelp to a military vehicle parked near the station.

Phelp climbed into the seat beside him, and the driver smoothly accelerated.

Inside the moving car, Phelp turned to him.

“Colonel, I apologize for taking you straight to HQ without allowing you any time to rest. The situation on the front lines... isn’t good.”

Daniel «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» responded with a simple nod to show he understood.

To Phelp, it looked like calm, collected confidence—but in reality, Daniel was screaming inside.

“The front lines aren’t good?”

Rule number one in Daniel Steiner’s life: Preserve your own life.

Rule number two: Never break rule one.

To a man as determined to survive as Daniel, the battlefield was one of the worst places imaginable.

And a dangerous battlefield? He wouldn’t go there for all the gold in the Empire.

Unfortunately, due to a twist of fate and a few bureaucratic quirks, High Command had adopted the baffling belief that:

“If a situation’s falling apart—send Daniel Steiner.”

“Goddammit...”

He wanted to scream—but all he could do was half-close his eyes and sigh in silence.

Phelp, observing this, came to a wildly incorrect conclusion:

“He’s already calculating how to turn the situation around...”

He absolutely wasn’t.

****

Daniel received a detailed rundown of the battlefield situation from Phelp, and after half a day of travel, finally arrived at the forward HQ.

Summoned immediately by the division commander, he stepped into the command tent, where all eyes turned to him.

His sharp gaze, tall figure, and unreadable expression silently pressured the other officers.

And the weight of Daniel Steiner’s reputation hung in the air like a storm cloud.

He scanned the room quietly, then strode forward to where Commander Mordon stood.

Daniel snapped a crisp salute.

“Commander. By order of His Majesty the Emperor, I am Colonel Daniel Steiner. As Chief of Staff, I will do my utmost to support you, sir.”

Mordon, eyeing him with restrained displeasure, returned the salute.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve found something to criticize immediately—but the incident at the Lamplamp Hotel, described by the intelligence officer the day before, still lingered in his mind, holding him back.

“Welcome to the 7th Division. I assume you’ve been briefed on the current situation?”

“Yes, sir. According to the intelligence officer, we’re in a bad position. The enemy’s armored division has linked up with an infantry brigade, putting us at a numerical disadvantage.”

“Exactly. And the capital has ordered us to hold this line—retreat isn’t an option. That means we’ll have to plug the gap, even if it costs us. Do you have a plan?”

Daniel stared at Mordon, lost in thought.

“...What would it take for them to say I’m unfit for this position?”

Getting through this situation would be easy.

All he had to do was propose reorganizing the defensive line, deploying small mobile units to harass the enemy’s flanks, securing the supply route against disruption, and implementing standard tactical maneuvers.

But if he did that—and it worked—they’d keep sending him back into the meat grinder.

Daniel definitely didn’t want that.

So instead, he put on a grave expression and said,

“Have you never found it strange, sir?”

Mordon frowned.

“Strange? What do you mean?”

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“From what the intelligence officer told me, the enemy plans to advance with an infantry brigade—right into our line, through a minefield and artillery barrage. Do you really think they believe they’ll win that way?”

Even with the enemy division reinforced by a brigade, the advantage still typically lay with the defending side.

Which was exactly why their decision to initiate an offensive with only a slight numerical edge seemed suspicious.

“Why would the Allied Nations launch such a wasteful engagement?” Daniel asked. “After thinking it over, I came to one hypothesis. What if... it’s not a war of attrition they’re planning—but a guaranteed victory?”

“...A guaranteed victory?” Mordon echoed skeptically.

“Yes. What if the infantry brigade isn’t coming at us from the front—but from behind? If they manage to create a full encirclement, we’ll have no choice but to surrender.”

Mordon let out a derisive laugh.

“Have you gone mad? That’s nonsense. For them to flank us like that without being detected, they'd have to sneak around our lines. Do you really think that’s possible?”

“It’s not—if we’re talking about a full brigade. But a platoon? That’s entirely doable.”

The Eastern Front was vast.

It stretched over 2,000 kilometers—far too much ground to monitor every inch of it.

If the enemy was dead set on slipping across the line with a small unit, there was no guaranteed way to stop them.

Mordon knew that, too—but still found the suggestion absurd.

“A platoon? What are they gonna do? Thirty guys come knocking on our back door and we just collapse? Are you saying we’re the rock that needs to dodge an incoming egg?”

His mockery elicited some muted laughter from the staff.

But Daniel answered without hesitation.

“What if that egg is carrying a hammer?”

“Alright, enough with the metaphors. You’ve been spewing nothing but nonsense—”

“It’s possible with Etherlium.”

A hush fell over the tent.

Etherlium—a rare mineral that, when shattered, triggered a unique mana-reactive phenomenon that could instantaneously teleport nearby individuals.

Daniel had once experienced it firsthand—caught up in a banquet incident with Emperor Selvia involving Etherlium-based tech.

“As you know, the Allied Nations have poured astronomical resources into the tactical use of Etherlium. A year ago, I was directly involved in an incident caused by it.”

“...But Etherlium can’t target specific coordinates, can it?” Mordon challenged.

“That’s exactly what the Allied Nations have been spending all that time and money trying to solve. By now, they’ve likely succeeded.”

One of the staff officers slowly nodded in agreement.

“Colonel Steiner’s theory makes sense. If they’re using Etherlium, it’s entirely possible for the enemy to strike our headquarters from behind. All they need is for a hidden platoon to relay coordinates across the line...”

The laughter died.

If the enemy pulled this off, their forces could be surrounded—and annihilated—in a matter of hours.

Of course, it was still just one of many possible scenarios.

Etherlium was prohibitively expensive, and it was only a theory that the Allied Nations had overcome its limitations.

If someone had to place a bet, most of the officers would still choose “unlikely.”

But Daniel was determined to push this.

Because, unlike them, he wanted to fail.

“Effective immediately, we need to pull forces for a large-scale sweep of any forests or mountainous areas that can’t be covered by aerial recon. It’s highly likely the enemy’s target is this very headquarters, so we should assume there’s a platoon lying in wait nearby.”

Mordon drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought, then glared at Daniel.

“Chief of Staff. If this turns out to be nothing but your imagination, you’ll be held responsible. Redirecting troops we need for defense to a wild goose chase is a serious risk.”

Daniel offered a thin smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Because taking the blame for a failed operation—and having his record downgraded—was exactly the outcome Daniel Steiner wanted.

****

Meanwhile, in a forest cave near the 7th Armored Division’s encampment—

“Less than a week now until our forces advance, right?”

The Allied platoon that had infiltrated past the front lines to transmit coordinates and activate Etherlium was taking a short break.

They hadn’t even lit a fire, afraid of being spotted. In the cold, dark cave, a dozen or so soldiers chuckled to themselves.

“Those Imperial bastards have no idea we’re here.”

“Even if they suspected, they wouldn’t send anyone. Not without confirmation. No commander would gamble his troops on a maybe—not when the enemy could attack at any moment.”

“...Still. You never know, do you?”

At that, their squad leader scoffed.

“Sure. Let’s say someone did insist on launching a recon sweep. Why? Just for the hell of it? If they’re wrong, their career’s over. Especially during wartime—it’s dangerous. Might even cost them their uniform.”

Reassured, the other soldiers laughed.

“Yeah, seriously. What kind of lunatic orders a search party when the enemy’s pressing in from the front?”