My name is Jacques, and I'm a militia political commissar.
After we finished training, Grand Duke Lynn gave us another order: the more people we could mobilize, the higher-ranking posts we'd be given in the future. If our guerrilla units were especially effective, they could be reorganized into the Regular Army. If they were exceptionally good, with every member a holy knight, they could be directly reorganized into an elite division.
In other words, mobilizing fifteen thousand people could earn me a division-level political commissar post and the rank of major general.
This assignment was extremely dangerous, but the rewards were great.
How many men had a baron commanded in the past?
Three Knight Territories—that is, three villages. Each village had fifty households. How many people could that be?
Even though a third of the others quit, I stayed.
Then Grand Duke Lynn began earnestly talking about winning the people's hearts. We could be angry that he was pushing through reforms, but those reforms targeted the old guard. They clung to their positions and kept us down. How were we supposed to rise?
So we young people were all in this together.
At the same time, our noble status meant we had to lead from the front and stand in the most dangerous places.
We all knew how the first nobles had come to be. In this era, dueling was still very much in fashion.
Some of us had been talented from the start; others had risen from behind.
But no matter what, Grand Duke Lynn's words were truly moving.
Earn our fathers' approval?
No.
We would surpass them.
Those old bastards loved saying, "I've eaten more bread than you've lived years." Why should they get to ride on our backs?
There was another, even more important principle: wisdom didn't