The Empire's Storm

"The past is but prologue."

At the Walden Front of the Norman Empire, within the temporary station of the No. 14 Mobile Magitech Soldier Squad under the Imperial Seventh Air Force.

As he watched the endless rainstorm outside the window, John Maslow suddenly recalled that classic line written by the great author Shakespeare in his previous life.

But now, he possessed none of the broad-mindedness that literary giant had hoped the world would grasp. Instead, he was filled with despair and bitterness.

Because in his eyes, nothing could be worse than his current situation.

As a young man of the new era who had originally lived in the twenty-first century, spending every day shuttling between his workplace, foot bath parlors, and urban villages in a three-point routine.

Just seven hours ago, after being scolded at work all day and left utterly exhausted in body and mind, he had gone to his usual roadside stall for pork trotter rice. He had even planned to scroll through the newly posted borderline videos from the living Buddhas he followed on his phone, hoping to soothe his wounded heart with good food.

Yet before he could even take a bite, a massive truck flashing with magic circles had rammed him headfirst into this damned other world, turning him into a rookie commander on the battlefield.

Most crucially, after sorting through the memories in his mind, he had discovered in horror that this other world he had transmigrated into was not unfamiliar to him at all.

It was the world of a single-player sandbox game he often played, called Fall of the Empire. Whether in appearance or name, he was exactly the same as the character John Maslow he had created in the game.

The only difference was that, unlike in the game, he was not in the Allied Army camp of the main storyline. He was part of the Imperial Army being subjugated.

Simply put, he had become a villain.

To be more precise, he was probably the kind of villain who would be forced to die for the nation alongside the Emperor ten years later, when the Empire was defeated.

"Bang!"

"What kind of joke is this, you bastard?!"

Overwhelmed by grief and indignation, John slammed his fist onto the wooden table before him. He wanted nothing more than to start cursing on the spot.

Unlike those online users from his previous life who dreamed of transmigrating to another world to live happily ever after, having experienced the vibrant, colorful life of the twenty-first century, he had never entertained such thoughts.

Especially not transmigrating into this godforsaken game world and becoming an Imperial sacrifice with a start so doomed the sky had collapsed.

Even though the author of Fall of the Empire had a highly complicated set of tastes, crossbreeding practically every fantasy element imaginable into the game without a shred of restraint, with everything from beast-eared girls to uniform temptations.

The moment John thought of how, ten years later, he would be defeated alongside the Empire beneath the assault of the Allied Army's nearly ten-million-strong forces, those terrifying aerospace warships that could almost blanket the sky, and the protagonist party's crushing combat power, then be forced to shoot himself in the head under the watch of a secret unit, he wanted nothing more than to grab a bucket and run.

Yet as a veteran player of this game, he knew all too well how the Empire treated deserters.

If he truly did that, he would probably die with his grievances buried in the northwest before the day of the Empire's defeat ever arrived.

He could not flee, yet following the Empire meant he was destined to march toward defeat beneath the protagonist party's terrifying plot armor.

No matter what he chose, he would die. What the hell was there left to play?

At that thought, John slumped limply into his chair, his entire face the picture of someone with nothing left to live for.

But very quickly, his clever mind found him a path to survival.

Retirement!

He had to retire as an officer within ten years!

That way, even if the Empire was ultimately defeated, he could still survive to the end as a civilian.

Then, relying on the knowledge from his previous life and the information advantage of knowing the game's plot, he could become a wealthy man and lie flat for good!

"Retirement. That's right, retirement!"

Like a fish on the verge of dying from thirst that had just drunk the first mouthful of urine in its life, John, having found the road ahead, instantly widened his eyes.

But before he could carefully consider his grand retirement plan, the sound of a door opening interrupted his thoughts, accompanied by a somewhat cool voice.

"Captain John, we have been stationed at this temporary stronghold for a full seven hours, yet I still have not received any instructions from you regarding the squad's next move. Do you have nothing to say about that?" A young girl with chestnut, ear-length short hair entered John's sight. She was beautiful, dressed in a black-and-gold Imperial magitech soldier uniform. Her azure eyes brimmed with anger and disgust, while her thin cherry lips were tightly pressed together, as though she were doing everything she could to restrain her dissatisfaction.

John had some impression of the girl. Her name was Wendy Brown.

She was the deputy captain of the thirty-man Mobile Magitech Soldier Squad he currently commanded, holding the rank of sergeant first class.

She was two ranks below him. In the game's fixed beginner background, he had graduated from a military academy and entered service directly as the captain of a Mobile Magitech Soldier Squad under the air force, carrying the beginner's default rank of warrant officer. Nominally, she was his subordinate.

However, she clearly did not care much for this superior who had been parachuted in, nor did she show him the proper respect. It could even be called hatred.

John, who had been a proper corporate workhorse in his previous life, understood that perfectly well.

After all, we were always the ones doing the dirty, exhausting work. Not only did we get none of the benefits, but some well-connected bastard still got to sit on top of us. If it were him, he would not be able to stop himself from chirping about that backdoor-climbing scumbag behind his back either.

Of course, with his slick personality, he definitely would not have shown it as openly as she did. Wearing little shoes was no pleasant experience, after all.

But that did not stop John from appreciating this young lady.

After all, his glorious future retirement plan could not do without such a good subordinate.

Still, for now, let this senior teach you, young junior, the lessons you ought to learn in the workplace. Heh heh heh!

John muttered maliciously to himself. He calmly adjusted his collar, then put on the posture of a dog of a boss from his previous life and spoke unhurriedly.

"Wendy Brown, was it? Why did you not knock before coming in? I recall that the military academy taught basic etiquette. Even if you have already become a sergeant first class, you should not forget such rules. Or has your long military career made you forget that you must maintain a respectful attitude toward your superior at all times?"

"I..."

"For my question, you need only answer yes or no. Could it be that, as a veteran, you do not even understand rules that any soldier should know? Frankly, I cannot help beginning to doubt the quality of your squad."

Facing Wendy's reddened face, John revealed a mocking smile, then without hesitation launched another round of humiliation at her.

"Now, get out immediately. Knock on the door and wait for my reply. Do you understand, Sergeant First Class Wendy?"

"...Yes!"

Under John's cold, stern gaze, Wendy ultimately lowered her head in humiliation. Suppressing the urge to beat him senseless, she obediently left the room. After taking a deep breath, she knocked fiercely on the door, then fixed a gloomy gaze on the superior she was nominally assigned to.

"Knock, knock!"

"Enter!"

Ignoring the resentment around Wendy that was practically about to take physical form, John calmly poured himself a cup of coffee and took a leisurely sip.

What a joke. It was not as though he had never seen such a scene before. When he had been an elite corporate workhorse in his previous life, staying awake for three days and nights to revise company proposals, his resentment had been countless times greater than Wendy's was now. He had even wanted to kill his boss.

And she wanted to scare whom with that look after being humiliated by just a few little remarks?

Put plainly, even if this young lady was a veteran who killed without blinking, she was still nothing more than a newcomer in the workplace. She simply did not understand that an official one rank higher could crush you to death.

Otherwise, if she had any sense at all, she would probably already be kneeling and licking his boots.

Refusing to turn back until one had rammed into the southern wall was a common old failing among workplace newcomers. Once she got beaten bloody by capital's iron fist like he had, she would understand how to submit.

Sure enough, she was still too young!

John examined Wendy before him with a hint of sentimentality. Without saying anything, he left her standing there for a while longer. Only after finishing his coffee did he speak again.

"Not bad. You actually know to report only after receiving your superior's permission. It seems you are not as foolish as I imagined. Now, Sergeant First Class Wendy, you may formally begin your report."

(End of this chapter)