Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 191 - Hundred And Ninety One

The examination room in the Royal Barracks was a big difference to the festive, wine-soaked atmosphere of the Thompson estate.

It was a large, stone-walled chamber, cold and purely functional. The only decorations were old, faded banners of past victories and a large map of the kingdom spread across the central table.

Behind that table sat five men—the High Generals of the Kingdom. They were old soldiers, their faces weathered by sun, wind, and scars. They wore their uniforms not as costumes, but as second skins. Their eyes were sharp, unforgiving, and bored.

In the center of the room, standing alone like a child facing a tribunal, was Carlos.

He was sweating profusely. His new, expensive military coat felt tight around his neck, choking him. The confident swagger he had displayed in the carriage, the arrogance he had worn like armor, was gone, replaced by a nervous twitch in his left eye.

General Rogers, the most senior of them all, leaned forward. He had served with Derek’s father. He had watched Theodore grow up and die. He had no patience for fools, and even less for men who thought war was a game.

"Let us begin with logistics," General Rogers said, his voice a gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in the stone floor. "It is the backbone of any campaign. Imagine you are commanding a supply line through the northern pass in winter. An avalanche blocks the main road. Your men are starving. The enemy is flanking from the east. What is your first command?"

Carlos blinked. He swallowed hard. His mind raced, trying to remember what the book Ashlyn had given him said. Something about... wagons? Or was it morale?

"I... I would order the men to dig," Carlos stammered, his voice weak. "To clear the snow. And... and send a rider for more food."

General Rogers stared at him. The silence in the room was deafening. The other generals exchanged glances. One of them, a man with a thick grey beard, sighed loudly and rubbed his temples.

"You would have your men dig while the enemy attacks?" Rogers asked, his voice incredulous. "You would turn your soldiers into laborers in the middle of an ambush? They would be slaughtered before they moved a single shovel. They would be defenseless."

Carlos flushed. He felt the heat rising in his neck. "Well... I would fight back! Of course! After the digging!"

"With what?" another general, a man with an eyepatch and a scar running down his cheek, barked. "Your supply wagons are blocked. Your ammunition is buried. Your men are cold and hungry. How do you deploy your archers? Where do you place your cavalry in deep snow?"

Carlos’s mind went blank. Archers? Cavalry? He didn’t know the terrain. He didn’t know the formations. He had skipped those Chapters to read about victory parades.

"I would... I would charge!" Carlos blurted out, desperate to sound brave. "A direct assault! To show strength! To break their line!"

The generals looked at him with open pity. It was worse than anger. It was dismissal.

"A charge uphill in deep snow against a flanking enemy," the eyepatch general muttered, shaking his head. "That is not strength, boy. That is suicide. You would lose the entire battalion in an hour. You would hand the victory to the enemy on a silver platter."

Carlos felt the sweat trickling down his back. He fumbled with his cuff. He had written some notes on a small piece of paper hidden in his sleeve—key terms, basic strategies he had copied from the library. He needed to look at it. Just a quick glance to find a word that sounded smart.

He pretended to cough, bringing his hand to his mouth, trying to slide the paper out with his thumb.

"Are you choking?" General Rogers asked dryly. "Or are you just choking on your own incompetence?"

Carlos froze. He shoved the paper back up his sleeve, his heart hammering.

"I am fine," he squeaked.

Outside, the sun was high and bright. A plain, unassuming carriage rolled to a stop in front of the heavy wooden gates of the barracks.

The door opened, and Lily stepped out. She wasn’t wearing her maid’s uniform. She was dressed in a simple, respectable cloak, looking like a messenger from a noble house. She walked up to the guard at the gate with purpose.

"A message," Lily said, her voice low and serious. "For General Rogers. It is urgent. It concerns the integrity of the examination."

She handed him a sealed letter. It bore no crest, but the paper was expensive. Then, she leaned in and whispered something into his ear, pointing back to the carriage.

The guard’s eyes widened. He looked at the carriage, then at the letter. He signaled to his partner.

The two guards walked to the carriage. They opened the door.

They reached inside and dragged out a man. He was tied up, a gag in his mouth, his eyes wide with terror.

Lily curtsied to the guard, a small, polite movement. "Thank you."

She turned, climbed back into the carriage, and the driver snapped the reins. The carriage rattled away, leaving the guards with a prisoner and a letter that would destroy a man’s future.

The guard holding the letter turned and ran toward the main building. He hurried down the stone corridors, his boots echoing.

He reached the heavy doors of the examination room. He knocked once, hard, and then entered without waiting for permission.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Generals," the guard announced, breathless. "But it is of utmost importance."

General Rogers looked up from where he was glaring at Carlos. He looked relieved to be interrupted from the torture of listening to Carlos’s foolishness.

"It is fine," Rogers said, throwing a withering look at Carlos. "There was nothing intelligent going on here anyway. Just a waste of air and time."

Carlos flinched. The insult stung, burning his pride.

The guard walked to the table and handed the letter to Rogers.

"This was just delivered, Sir," the guard said. "Along with... a gift. A prisoner."

Rogers broke the seal. He unfolded the paper. He read it quickly.

As he read, his expression changed. The boredom vanished. His eyes narrowed. A slow, cold smile spread across his face. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a wolf who had just found the scent of blood.

"Bring him in," Rogers ordered.

The guard nodded and signaled to the hallway.

The doors opened wide. Two guards threw the tied-up man into the room. He landed on the stone floor with a grunt, rolling to a stop at Carlos’s feet.

Carlos looked down. He recognized the man immediately. It was one of the court officials. The minister of war.

"What is this?" Carlos whispered, his face draining of color.

General Rogers stood up. He held the letter up for the other generals to see.

"It seems," Rogers said, his voice booming, "that we have been played for fools. Or rather, someone attempted to play us."

He looked at Carlos with pure disgust.

"No wonder this fool didn’t have anything reasonable to say," Rogers said, shaking his head. "I was beginning to wonder how he got an audience in the first place. A man who doesn’t know a flank from a front line? A man who thinks digging in an ambush is a strategy?"

He pointed at the priest on the floor.

"Now I know," Rogers declared. "He didn’t earn his way in. He bribed his way in."

The other generals roared with outrage.

"Bribery?"

"In the Royal Army?"

"Disgraceful!"

"He mocks the memory of his brother!"

Carlos stepped back, his hands shaking violently. "No! I didn’t! This is a mistake! I didn’t know!"

"Is it?" Rogers asked. He walked around the table. He approached Carlos, invading his space.

"This letter," Rogers said, tapping the paper against his palm, "details a transaction. A payment made to secure an audience without going through the normal procedures. A payment meant to influence public opinion. And worse... it hints at gifts sent to our aides, including this man, to secure this meeting."

He leaned into Carlos’s face.

"Did you think we were corrupt?" Rogers growled. "Did you think you could buy honor with gold? Did you think you could buy the lives of men?"

Carlos couldn’t speak. He looked at the man on the floor, who was nodding frantically, terrified, confirming everything without saying a word.

"Get him out of my sight," Rogers ordered the guards, pointing at Carlos. "Throw him out. And tell the King... tell the King the Thompson family sent us a clown. Tell him this man is unfit to lead a parade, let alone an army and Duke Derek is still our choice."

Two guards grabbed Carlos by the arms. Their grip was hard, bruising.

"Wait! Let me explain!" Carlos cried, struggling. "It was my wife! She did it! I didn’t know!"

"Out!" Rogers roared.

They dragged him toward the door. Carlos kicked and struggled, his dignity gone, his coat tearing.

"I am a Thompson!" Carlos screamed. "I am the future Grand Duke! You cannot do this!"

"You are nothing!" Rogers shouted back. "You are a disgrace to the name!"