“So, here we are, preparing a meal in the middle of battle while even the division commander is out leading the frontlines. Don’t you think it’s a rather peculiar strategy, Colonel Rothschild?”

    To put it bluntly, unless the stalemate between our forces and the enemy dragged on for a long time, requiring consistent meal distribution, cooking during a battle that had just begun twenty minutes ago was pure madness.

    How could anyone calmly prepare food while the tide of battle could shift at any moment?

    “I heard this strategy was devised by our division commander. What a brilliant idea it is.”

    The proposal to fake defeat in a skirmish, retreat, and counterattack when the enemy’s lines collapse? That was my idea.

    But if word got out that I excel in devising strategies and leading operations, I’d attract even more enemies...

    To ensure that didn’t happen, I resolved to keep this fact a secret, even from the emperor and dukes.

    Unless Erica, Chris, or Chloe explicitly asked, only Baron Ducat and I would know the truth.

    “And to have the soldiers deliberately let the smell of food waft toward the starving enemy troops—what an ingenious move by the Marquis. Still, I’m not entirely sure it’ll work.”

    “Didn’t we already confirm this with our scouts? The state of their rations is utterly pitiful.”

    The soldiers of the Grand Duchy of Milania were surviving on nothing more than salted herring and hardtack.

    It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say they were eating spoiled rice mixed with bits of seafood or meat paste.@@@@

    While their logistics command wasn’t entirely incompetent and tried to provide proper meals when possible...

    “Serving one ordinary meal a week? Well...”

    If I were one of their soldiers, my first thought would’ve been figuring out the safest and most reliable way to desert.

    “That’s true, but it still feels risky. Don’t you think it’s too daring a plan? I might be old and cynical, but you’re sharp enough to know—will this work, or will we lose?”

    Over the past few months, I had grown closer to the quartermaster general through various interactions.

    He saw me as a valuable lifeline for his career advancement, while I saw him as someone who could help me secure both honor and tangible benefits.

    Though we weren’t close enough to bathe together, we’d developed the kind of camaraderie where, during a drinking party, he might jokingly insist I call him “big brother.”

    It was likely this familiarity that emboldened him to ask me such questions.

    “Still, the fewer people who know the truth, the better.”

    “If I knew the answer to that, wouldn’t I already be hailed as a genius tactician, climbing the ranks effortlessly? Let’s just trust that our imperial forces know what they’re doing.”

    Had I majored in Western military history or graduated from a military academy, I might have aimed to become a war hero rather than a merchant.

    With the knowledge I had—things unheard of in this world—I could view war with a broader perspective than even the most accomplished strategists from other nations.

    “After all, I see the world from the shoulders of giants.”

    But my qualifications amounted to no more than a master’s degree in Western history.

    That’s why I became a merchant, not an officer.

    “...Fair enough.”

    As I was chatting with the quartermaster general, a non-commissioned officer came running in, panting.

    Endlessly repeating such scenes, face-to-face with the enemy, while suffering extreme mental exhaustion from inadequate meals, had eroded the soldiers’ sanity.

    “Kill them all! Leave none alive!”

    As Lucio was about to lose himself in a frenzy, his platoon leader shouted.

    “Corporal Lucio! If you leave the formation, I’ll kill you myself before you get to loot anything!”

    The platoon leader waved his sword threateningly, making it clear that disobedience would be met with immediate execution.

    Lucio had no choice but to fall back in line.

    “If I get killed while looting, I won’t even get to marry Maria...”

    As they ran, Lucio managed to catch up with a slower soldier.

    Consumed by the madness of war, he instinctively drew his dagger and stabbed the man in the neck.

    Then he took the soldier’s sword—a cheap one, but worth some money if sold.

    “War... this isn’t so bad after all.”

    When it wasn’t clear who would win or lose, war had been unbearable. But now, being on the offensive, Lucio found a strange enjoyment in it.

    “If only my luck holds...”

    Just as he began to feel the need for a breather, the most delicious aroma he had ever smelled filled his nostrils.

    Lucio had heard rumors that the Tuscany soldiers ate exceptionally well. The scent made his mouth water in anticipation of a good meal.

    Some soldiers immediately rushed toward the cooking pots.

    “Did those Tuscany bastards really think they’d already won?”

    “It’s been so long since I’ve had a decent meal!”

    Though Lucio wanted to join them, his greed got the better of him.

    “I’ll grab a sword from one of the officers first.”

    An officer’s sword would fetch a high price, especially one belonging to a field-grade officer or higher, which could change a peasant like Lucio’s life forever.

    Driven by the desire to provide a lavish life for his fiance?e, he suppressed his hunger and continued forward.

    In the distance, several officers drew their swords, shouting,

    “It’s a trap! A trap, you fools!”

    But the soldiers, overwhelmed by the twin desires for food and loot, paid no heed.

    That is, until the moment countless muskets were trained on them.

    “Fire! Kill every last one of them!”

    And with that command, Lucio heard no more from this world.

    The battle ended in victory for those who manipulated the enemy’s desires.