I Was Mistaken as a Great War Commander-Chapter 123

Daniel spent an additional day in the hospital before completing his discharge procedures and stepping outside.

As ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) the sunlight poured down, he took a deep breath and slowly raised his hand to touch his forehead.

The same spot where the brick had struck two days ago.

"It was real, wasn't it..."

Yesterday, after sending Woelrm away, Daniel had been about to rest in his hospital room when an unexpected visitor barged in.

Tom, whom he hadn't summoned, suddenly stormed in, dropped to his knees, and began apologizing profusely.

When Daniel, confused, demanded an explanation, Tom confessed: "Someone else threw the brick before I could."

In other words, Daniel hadn’t been hit by a fake brick—he had been struck by a real one.

"No wonder there was so much blood... and why it hurt so damn much..."

If the brick had hit him directly instead of grazing his forehead, he might not even be standing here now.

"Unbelievable."

Logically speaking, there shouldn't have been anyone in the protest willing to resort to violence.

The protestors were mostly acting under orders from the noble faction—if they attacked Daniel Steiner, their political adversary, in a public space, it would only put them in a disadvantageous position.

Even if they had managed to seriously injure him, leaving him in a coma, they wouldn't have been able to escape Princess Selvia's wrath.

Selvia would have seized the opportunity to mobilize the military under the pretext of investigating the forces behind the attack on Daniel, a war hero, further solidifying imperial centralization.

"And yet..."

It was baffling that someone had acted on pure emotion and thrown a brick at him.

Still, from Daniel’s perspective, this wasn’t a bad development.

He had heard that the culprit had been caught red-handed.

According to the report, the assailant was not just an ordinary protestor but a high-ranking organizer who had played a leading role in the demonstrations.

"An insider resorted to violence—now the nobles won’t be able to refute it."

Under normal circumstances, they would have countered with claims like “Daniel Steiner's staged propaganda has gone too far,” but with an internal figure caught in the act, they had no choice but to stay silent.

"If the Empire’s largest newspaper remains silent on this..."

It would plant doubt in the minds of the people—was The Imperial Daily, funded by nobles, deliberately biased in its reporting?

Even if they reluctantly published a neutral report to maintain their credibility, it wouldn’t matter.

That alone would be equivalent to them admitting that the anti-war protests had turned violent.

"They just lost one of their weapons against me—for good."

Just as Daniel was feeling satisfied with how events had unfolded—

“Oh my! Lieutenant Colonel Daniel!”

A familiar voice made him turn his head, revealing Pastor Belaf in his priestly robes.

Beside him stood Freyen.

As they approached, Belaf dramatically flailed his hands in exaggerated concern.

“I was terribly worried when I heard you were injured! But seeing you in good health is a great relief. Are you experiencing any discomfort? If there’s anything you need, please, don’t hesitate to ask—I’ll see to it personally.”

Despite the concerned tone, his true intentions were obvious.

Belaf was attempting to establish a connection with Daniel, a man who might soon rise as a new power in the Empire.

It was an opportunistic move, but since Daniel had never expected much from Belaf to begin with, he responded indifferently.

“There’s nothing I need at the moment. I’ll be heading straight to the capital.”

“Huh? But you could afford to rest a little longer...”

“The coronation is less than a week away. Before that, I need to submit my inquisition report to the Imperial Court—I don’t have time to idle around here.”

"No time to idle"—is that something a man who got hit in the head with a brick just two days ago should be saying?

Belaf exhaled in exasperation, looking at Daniel as if he were some kind of superhuman.

Uncomfortable with that gaze, Daniel cleared his throat and turned to Freyen.

“Freyen, you treated me, didn’t you? I was too caught up in everything to thank you properly.”

“It’s alright. Hearing what you just said is enough of a reward for me.”

She replied with a gentle smile, but something about it felt strangely off.

"If you just look at her like this, she seems like a perfectly normal woman..."

Had she not been tainted by such extreme ideology, things might have been different.

But in this era, soldiers steeped in nationalism were common.

Freyen’s beliefs were just a bit more extreme than most, but Daniel saw no reason to reprimand someone who had just helped him.

“It seems I have a fine subordinate. Your healing magic is impressive enough to astonish even doctors—keep honing your skills.”

It was this very ability that would eventually earn Freyen the title of Saint of the Empire.

Unlike standard healing magic, which only provided emergency first aid, Freyen’s power could completely mend wounds in a matter of moments—truly miraculous.

Until now, Daniel had never been seriously injured, so he hadn’t had a chance to witness her abilities firsthand.

But after seeing her instantly heal the gash on his forehead, he had to admit—she was indeed a Saint.

“If you say so, Lieutenant Colonel...”

Freyen’s smile grew slightly, pleased by the compliment.

“I’ll dedicate all my free time outside of duty to studying healing magic.”

“No, that’s not necessary...”

“Please let me. I want to be of help to you, Lieutenant Colonel.”

...He got the feeling he had just said something wrong.

Daniel hesitated, his expression slightly strained.

Sensing the awkward silence, Belaf interjected.

“Lieutenant Colonel, may I say something?”

Grateful for the distraction, Daniel nodded, and Belaf continued.

“Our Glorious Sacred Flame Cathedral and you, Lieutenant Colonel, are now on the same boat, are we not? In that sense, if you were to share your true goal with us, we could offer significant assistance.”

Daniel fell silent in thought.

His goal, huh?

He had been swept up in a whirlwind of events, constantly struggling to survive, yet his objective had never really changed.

A refreshing breeze blew under the clear sky.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Daniel savored the feeling of the wind brushing against his skin.

Then, he parted his lips.

“Peace.”

Slowly opening his eyes, he gazed at Belaf with a faint smile.

“My goal is to live in a world of absolute peace, one so dull and uneventful that it’s almost pastoral.”

Belaf could only offer an awkward smile in response.

“Ah... I see.”

Because there was no way in hell he could believe that Daniel truly meant it.

"If you didn’t want to tell me, you could’ve just said so..."

Belaf couldn’t believe that the man who had led countless battles to victory, orchestrated political schemes, and delivered a total war speech was someone who sincerely wanted peace.

****

That Night

Baron Hendliem’s Estate

“Damn it! Why won’t anyone believe me...?!”

Hendliem cursed under his breath as he opened the door to his estate.

As he took off his coat to hand it to a servant, he felt something was off.

Normally, a servant would have approached him by now, welcoming him back after his hard day.

Yet there was no one.

Even more unsettling, the corridor lights had not been turned on.

As he surveyed the dimly lit mansion, Hendliem resisted the urge to call out for his servants and instead proceeded forward cautiously.

...Someone has infiltrated my estate.

Yet, there were no signs of a struggle.

That meant whoever had entered was someone the servants recognized.

Did they use my name to send everyone home? But why...?

An inexplicable sense of unease crept over him as he ascended the staircase.

The aged wood creaked under his steps, the sound more ominous than usual tonight.

Still carrying his coat over his arm, Hendliem walked down the corridor and reached for the doorknob to his study.

As the door creaked open, he spotted a man sitting at his desk, casually reading a newspaper.

It was Platt, one of his informants.

Only then did Hendliem let out a relieved sigh and step inside.

“So it was you. If you had something urgent to discuss, you should have let me know in advance...”

Platt did not respond. He simply continued flipping through the pages of the newspaper.

Hendliem found it odd, but Platt had a habit of being disrespectful at times, so he chose to let it slide.

“What brings you here tonight—”

Just as he was about to sit down, Hendliem froze.

A sheet of paper lay on the desk.

A suicide note.

And not just any suicide note—one forged in his own handwriting.

Beside it, a pistol rested neatly on the desk.

His pupils trembled as he turned to Platt.

“...What the hell is this?”

Platt flipped another page of the newspaper and answered casually.

“Exactly as it looks. Kill yourself.”

Hendliem’s mind went blank.

Seeing his stunned expression, Platt kindly elaborated.

“The Duke has designated you as a traitor. You must take responsibility.”

“...A traitor? Me?! This is absurd! What kind of baseless accusation—”

“Baseless?”

Platt chuckled softly.

“Daniel Steiner himself is vouching for you. Do you really think it’s just an accusation?”

“That... That bastard is just trying to isolate me!”

“The Duke initially wanted to believe that as well. He tried to be lenient, to assume the best. But then...”

Platt folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the desk.

“...What do you make of this?”

Hendliem’s gaze dropped to the front page.

[Anti-War Protesters Turn Violent—But Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Steiner Shows Mercy]

Below the headline was a photograph of Daniel Steiner, blood trickling down his forehead, embracing and comforting what appeared to be a protestor.

Platt spoke as Hendliem stood frozen, staring at the article.

“The protests were under your jurisdiction. Isn’t that right, Baron?”

It was.

Hendliem had been discreetly funding the protests.

“But those protests turned violent. And not just any violence—they directly targeted Daniel Steiner.”

His breath hitched.

Hendliem forced himself to remain calm and lifted his gaze.

“So what? What if this was just another of Daniel Steiner’s schemes—”

“Baron, enough.”

Platt cut him off with a sigh.

“The one who threw the brick was caught red-handed. When we investigated his background, we found that he had been an active member of the protest movement for years. A high-ranking organizer.”

“...”

“The Duke, along with other high-ranking figures, is now questioning whether you and Daniel Steiner orchestrated this together.”

Platt scratched his head as if he pitied him.

“Because of this, the Duke can no longer use the protests as a weapon against Steiner. The moment one of the movement’s own leaders was caught attacking him, it was over.”

“Wait... listen to me—”

“Even if Daniel Steiner bribed that protest leader, it wouldn’t change a thing. It would only prove that you failed in your responsibilities.”

Platt had finished his business. He stood up and straightened his clothes.

“I’ll give you some time. I’ll be waiting outside the door. If there’s anything you’d like to change in the suicide note, let me know.”

With that, Platt bowed his head slightly and walked out.

The door closed behind him.

Only then did Hendliem exhale a shaky breath.

“...Ah.”

His trembling pupils fixated on the newspaper in front of him.

Daniel Steiner’s smiling face.

Ever since capturing Campbell, Daniel had used the media to politically isolate Hendliem.

He had planted doubts among the noble faction, forcing them to distance themselves.

Before Hendliem could even clear those suspicions, Daniel had traveled south, provoked the protestors, and incited violence.

And somehow—

He had managed to bribe the protest leader.

How exactly Daniel had done it, Hendliem didn’t know.

But the fact remained: Daniel had succeeded.

And now, Hendliem had lost all trust and credibility.

“...Ah...”

His body lost all strength, his knees buckling.

The man in the newspaper—wearing the kindest smile imaginable—had used devilish schemes to drive a complete stranger to his death.

As Hendliem sank to the floor, utterly defeated, he clenched his teeth and silently wept.

The Duke may have been the one to order my death...

Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.

...But the one who truly sent me to my grave—was none other than Daniel Steiner.