I Was Mistaken as a Great War Commander

After the dismantling of the Pallentia Branch, the Imperial Security Bureau had been achieving unprecedented success in capturing enemy spies.

There were many reasons for this, but the most significant factor was that when the Pallentia Branch was taken down, the Empire had secured the encrypted communications system used by Allied intelligence operatives.

With this information in hand, the Security Bureau immediately began tracing transmissions. The moment a spy’s location was exposed, they were swiftly arrested—or killed—by Imperial security forces during surprise raids.

Some of the captured operatives, desperate to survive, provided additional intelligence, allowing the Imperial Security Bureau to methodically dismantle the extensive Allied spy network.

From the perspective of the Allied intelligence forces, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

“Son of a bitch!”

In the basement of a tavern in the small city of Erestiom, a man wearing a woolen beret slammed his fist on the table, unable to contain his anger.

“Headquarters has cut off all contact! It’s no different from abandoning us!”

Around thirty gathered spies either sighed in frustration or sneered bitterly at his outburst.

No one could refute what he said.

Then, a man wearing a fedora casually interjected.

“Of course headquarters cut contact. When the Pallentia Branch was exposed, our primary radio frequencies and cipher codes were completely compromised. The Empire is undoubtedly monitoring every transmission. If we try to contact headquarters now, we might as well send the Imperial bastards an invitation to come arrest us.”

The man in the beret turned to glare down at the one who had spoken, who was seated casually in front of the table.

That insufferably relaxed tone made his anger flare up even more—but when his gaze landed on the deep scar running across the other man’s face, he bit back his retort.

Because the man before him was Tempret, known by the codename Red Baron.

And everyone knew that wherever Tempret passed, all that remained was a trail of blood.

The beret-wearing spy was no exception—he was well aware of Tempret’s reputation.

Tempret swirled the liquor in his glass lazily before taking a sip.

“So, only about thirty of us managed to slip past the Security Bureau and make it here, huh?” He let out a dry chuckle. “Well, I won’t waste time explaining how fucked we are. I’m sure you all already know.”

He tilted his head back and downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion before setting the glass back onto the table.

“Tch. Unfortunate as it is, we’re all just waiting to be captured, tortured, or executed. Of course, if you run, you might survive—living like a cockroach, scurrying from shadow to shadow.

“But the ones who would choose that path… wouldn’t have gathered here in the first place, would they?”