"Since we are going to fight in Paratu, we must understand the battle strategies of the Paratu People." Cornelius explained rare verbosity: "Moreover, some of the strategies the Red River Tribe used to defeat the Paratu Expeditionary Force are also worth learning from."

Fritz felt a bitterness in his mouth, but nonetheless saluted stiffly: "Yes... departure? When?"

"Not determined yet, you'll know as soon as it's confirmed."

"Who are the other officers of the Southern Army?"

"No 'famous generals'," Cornelius displayed his mocking smile again, "those with some background have all managed to get into the Western Front Army."

Fritz didn't know what to say; he neither wanted to, nor had the right to, pass judgments on other officers like Cornelius, so he chose silence.

"But don't worry, the Southern Army isn't full of incompetents either." Cornelius calmly added: "Though few in number, each one was carefully selected by me."

Fritz softly asked: "Carefully selected 'like me'?"

"Of course." Cornelius nodded matter-of-factly: "I told you, I always prefer using volunteers. Once you meet your colleagues, you'll understand. Now, come with me!"

With that, the former minister strode out the door.

Fritz hesitated for a moment, quickly speaking up: "Sir, I have another question that hasn't..."

However, Cornelius was already outside, taking a lantern along the way.

Fritz hurriedly followed, finding that the former minister hadn't gone far, just standing in front of the office across, fumbling with something.

"You're not going to pick the lock...?" Fritz was taken aback.

Picking the principal's office lock was a longstanding joke among military school students. Rumor had it that inside lay the treasures of Marshal Ned Smith, left to whoever dared break in, but no one had ever dared to actually do so.

Cornelius glanced back at the former student in puzzlement: "Why pick the lock? I have the key."

Finding the keyhole, Cornelius removed a somewhat greenish brass key from around his neck, inserting it into the lock.

The lock, unused for so long, resisted the pressure.

Fortunately, with a "click" sound, the latch disengaged from the door frame, and the office door slowly swung open.

"Come in." With a lantern in one hand and covering his nose with the other, Cornelius walked into the principal's office.

Fritz hesitated again but followed suit.

"You've never been in the Old Marshal's office, have you?" Cornelius asked without turning his head.

"No." Fritz replied cautiously from behind: "When I was in school, the principal's office was already sealed."

The supposed treasure was indeed unfounded. Fritz, unsurprised, found there was nothing particularly special in the office. Just a plain desk, a hard chair, a set of writing tools, two rows of bookshelves, a few drawer cabinets... every item covered in thick dust.

"It's not when you were in school; it was sealed after Marshal Ned Smith's passing." Cornelius looked around the room sentimentally: "So everything in this room is as it was on the day the Old Marshal left, unchanged."

Upon hearing this, Fritz gazed around the room with a changed perspective.

"Actually, not everything is as it was on that day." Cornelius, holding the lantern, went to the cabinet behind the desk on the right: "Except for this."

Fritz followed and found a stand with a sword on top of the cabinet. The dust so thick, he mistook it for a teaching pointer at first glance.

"Every personal item in this room belonged to the Old Marshal, except for this sword." Cornelius said calmly: "But to be exact, this sword also belonged to the Old Marshal. He gifted it to me, and on the day this room was sealed, I returned it here."

The sword was equally simple, a hand-and-a-half sword with no ornate patterns or gemstone inlays.

The guard and pommel were polished steel, while the grip was wrapped with a fine sweat-absorbing cord.

The scabbard was of black hard leather, marked with scratches from use, with edges slightly yellowed.

Jansen Cornelius gazed at the sword without speaking.

Fritz stood with the former minister for a long time until he remembered an urgent question.

"My second question has not been answered." Fritz broke the office's silence: "Sir."

"Didn't I tell you to call me 'teacher'?" Cornelius wiped the corner of his eye and waved his hand: "Ask away."

"Actually... it's no longer one question, but two..." Fritz cleared his throat, stood with his boots heels together, and asked seriously: "Even if the Southern Army is the military's neglected branch, it is ultimately an army; how can I, merely a Major, command it legitimately? And also..."

Fritz hesitated but asked seriously: "Given your high opinion of Winters Montagne, what if I fail?"

Cornelius heard this, turned around, looked Fritz up and down, then suddenly burst into laughter, laughing breathlessly until dust fell from the ceiling.

"What are you thinking? Cadet? How could you possibly command four legions? Winters Montagne is your enemy, but how could you be his rival?"

Jansen Cornelius wiped tears of laughter away, composed himself in front of Ned Smith's sword and solemnly saluted.

Finished with the salute, he reached out and, after twelve years, lifted the sword once again.

His eyes burned in the dark:

"Winters Montagne's opponent.

"Is me."

-----------------

Meanwhile, at Maplestone City on the other end of the Two Mountains Narrow Land.

While other New Army officers anxiously awaited inevitable army reorganization and large-scale personnel changes, Pierre Mitchell received, in advance, and as the first, a commission from the new government.

He looked at the commission contents and fell into deep thought:

[Newly Reclaimed Outlands]

[Military Governor]