Chapter 58: Cleanup

What followed was a series of monotonous cleanup tasks.

Clearing the chaos left on the battlefield, recovering the fallen, salvaging or disposing of damaged equipment.

Our fallen soldiers were given proper military funerals locally.

Anything that could be handled with a calm mind, we dealt with.

Unlike the war with the Empire, where every single day felt like a desperate race against time, this felt manageable by comparison.

The northern front? That was a nightmare.

Back there, when regiment commanders and even division leaders fell in battle, their bodies couldn’t even receive proper burial rites.

We had to hastily bury them in the snow or burn them.

…Just thinking about it reignites my anger.

If it weren’t for that damn king and his incompetent crown prince, so many wouldn’t have died so miserably.

“You’ve secured their wills and personal effects, right?”

“Yes, everything has been collected without exception.”

“Make sure they’re properly sorted, no mix-ups. Their families will need to receive them later.”

“Understood, sir.”

As we do in the Korean military, we carefully loaded the wills and belongings onto a cart.

In the north, even this simple process had been difficult.

At least now, we wouldn’t have to wait months to inform families of their loved ones’ deaths.

Once the internal management of our troops was done, it was time to deal with the assets we’d secured.

“Well, well, what do we have here? This guy’s got quite the rap sheet. He was enforcing the droit du seigneur on villagers? Wasn’t that outlawed a long time ago?”

“If I’m not mistaken, it was abolished by law about 140 years ago. Even if a lord himself did it, he’d be shamed beyond belief—what kind of nerve does a mere mine overseer have to pull that off?”

“Wow, bold indeed. And what about this one? He diverted tax revenue to build himself a mansion?”

While we’d secured the key administrative personnel and military resources of the Duke of Barelmud’s territory with relative ease, we couldn’t simply take in everyone.

It wasn’t a matter of lacking capacity, but of necessity and value.

We’d initially accepted everyone without condition during the initial triage, but not all of them were bound to be competent or valuable individuals.

Even the northern front, filled with hardened veterans and toughened soldiers who had crawled out of hell, occasionally produced freeloaders.

So why would this place be any exception?

If anything, being a safe and prosperous rear area, the situation here was likely far worse.

That’s why we conducted a thorough inspection of the personnel.

We investigated how they had performed their duties, their reputations, and their past records.

“If anyone has information about another’s corruption or misconduct, report it immediately! Useful information will result in a one-year reduction of your labor sentence!”

“R-really?!”

“However, be warned—spreading baseless rumors or attempting to frame others will increase your sentence.”

To ensure accuracy, we introduced a mutual surveillance and reporting system.

We also brought in inspectors from the capital to handle the process. Professionals are professionals—they wrapped it up quickly.

Thus, we compiled a list of individuals who were irredeemable wastes of space.

These were people whose continued existence in service would actively harm the nation.

“Hang them.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Y-your Grace! Please, spare me! I was wrong! I swear I’ll never do it again, just give me one more cha—”

“–Urk.”

We dealt with them in one swift stroke.

We even gathered the locals to witness a public execution.

This served a dual purpose: to streamline administration and to win over the local populace.

No matter how justified our actions were, to the common folk, we were invaders.

To them, we were just foreigners who ousted their noble family and took over.

While we could change their perception in time through explanations, propaganda, and education, that wouldn’t happen overnight.

For now, we focused on winning their favor by targeting those they despised.

By executing corrupt officials and eliminating blatant exploitation, we positioned ourselves as enforcers of justice and reform.

“See? We’re the good guys, rooting out bad apples and punishing corruption.”

“That should about wrap up the necessary tasks.”

“It does seem so, sir.”

“Then grant the soldiers some leave. Give them a week off to visit their families or just relax.”

After all, there wasn’t much need for the troops during the executions and cleanup.

As a reward for their efforts, I handed out combat commemorative leave.

Those with family nearby were encouraged to go home and share a meal together.

For those without, they could spend their time however they liked—whether in the taverns or the brothels.

Sure, there’s always a risk of soldiers causing trouble when let loose, but these weren’t the type to lack self-restraint.

Those who couldn’t control themselves had already frozen or starved to death on the northern front.

And me?

While they took their well-deserved break, I visited a cemetery.

“We’re thinking of booking a pub nearby. Would Your Grace care to join us?”

“I’ll pass. You all enjoy yourselves.”

Back when I was still a green second lieutenant, during the early days of my career in this world—before the war with the Empire began.

The squad I led was made up of soldiers from the Duke of Barelmud’s territory.

They were good men.

Quick-witted, efficient, and reliable.

For someone like me, still adapting to the backward military technology of this world, they were an invaluable help.

Each of them was exceptional enough that I was certain they would succeed in civilian life if given the chance.

But they all died.

Less than a year after the war started.

“…So, this is where you’ve all been laid to rest.”

I still remember them all.

Their faces, the causes of their deaths, the dates—it’s all still fresh in my mind.

No matter how many years pass, I can’t forget.

Otto: Swept away in a landslide during a patrol.

Byrek: Shot through the skull by an enemy sniper.

Kastin: Caught in the explosion of a grenade during a firefight.

Oscar: Skewered like a kebab by a pike.

Trowie: Froze to death because of faulty winter clothing.

Becken: Starved to death due to embezzlement by the quartermaster.

At the time, the kingdom still had some semblance of resources, so the remains of the fallen could be sent back for proper funerals.

Well, “remains” is a generous term—it was usually just a lock of hair left behind before the battle.

But even that small gesture allowed for the creation of this communal cemetery for veterans.

“While you’ve been lying here, I’ve made it all the way to general. Can you believe that? Not even 30 years old, and I’ve got four stars on my shoulders.”

“Remember that guy who used to drink beer with you and make dirty jokes? That guy’s getting called Your Excellency now.”

I brought the finest beer I could find in the village—an entire keg—and several glass mugs.

Pouring a round for everyone, I filled a glass for myself and drank.

Letting the light buzz wash over me, I chatted away to the comrades who could no longer hear me, spilling my heart out in the quiet graveyard.

“Remember the company commander from the 3rd Battalion? The one with the rough face? Was his name Hector? Or maybe Walter? Anyway, he lasted four years, made it to regimental commander, but died the same way I nearly did—charging forward. A shell took his head clean off.”

“And that administrative officer who used to look out for us? I thought he’d last longer, stationed in the rear as he was. But no, an enemy raiding party got to him, stabbed him in the gut. He died two weeks later from tetanus.”

“Come to think of it, out of everyone who was there from the start, I’m the only one left. Even the last guy who survived until recently—he bought it a year ago, took a grenade in the trenches. The north really is a hellhole, huh?”

“Oh, and speaking of Trowie, there was this guy named Vaden who got commissioned when Trowie was still alive—”

I poured out my sorrows and regrets to those who couldn’t answer.

For hours, as the sun set and the sky grew dark, I stayed.

Even when the beer ran dry and the cold began to bite, I didn’t stop.

Only when my mouth grew tired and my body began to give out did I finally wrap up my rambling confessions.

“That’s enough for today. I’ll be back tomorrow, so hang tight.”

After five days of reminiscing, I’d finally unloaded ten years’ worth of stories.

If I went into every trivial detail, I could’ve gone on forever, but there was no need to share every last thing.

“Are all the soldiers on leave accounted for?”

“Yes, sir! No absentees across the entire unit.”

“Good. Let’s move out. Let’s finish this up and head back quickly.”

By mid-January, leaving behind my memories and connections to the past, we set out to wrap up what remained.

“I’ll give you my entire estate and title—just spare my life!”

“Our family didn’t participate in the fighting! We only provided financial support. Surely you can show mercy for that, can’t you?”

“If you need proof of goodwill, I’ll gladly offer you a generous gift. Please, I beg you for compassion….”

As expected, the process of purging the noble families allied with the Duke of Barelmud was over quickly.

Not that it was ever going to take long in the first place.

Their main forces had already been wiped out in the field, leaving them with no real means to resist.

Scraping together peasant militias? Both sides knew that was utterly pointless.

“No. No mercy. I have no intention of granting it, so stop wasting your breath.”

They begged for clemency, but mercy is only an option when you actually want to forgive someone.

We weren’t in the mood for forgiveness; we were focused on how to wipe them out as efficiently and cleanly as possible.

“Hang them.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Gurk!”

Once again, the process mirrored what we had done in the Duke of Barelmud’s lands.

The noble families were rounded up and dealt with.

Key vassals were selectively spared to serve as administrative laborers, while a public execution was staged to send a message.

All territories gained during the civil war were officially converted into royal domains.

After all, our justification for attacking these regions hinged on the claim that they had defied royal authority.

Consolidating them under the crown’s name made future management simpler.

Eventually, when the country stabilized and the war concluded, these lands would be fully nationalized.

“Finally, we can head back to the capital. It took long enough.”

“Do you have someone waiting for you? You keep checking the time.”

“Someone? Yeah, you could say that. Both professionally and personally.”

“Hmm, I think I know who it is—Arsha—mph!”

“Yes, it’s who you think it is. Now shut up, idiot.”

Once I returned, I’d sit down with her to discuss our plans for the future—maybe over a drink or two, nice and leisurely.