Reincarnated with a Military System in Another World

Chapter 153: The Needed Pep-Talk



Vincent entered the saloon, the door swinging shut behind him as he scanned the room. The dimly lit interior was a stark contrast to the crisp order of his office. Soldiers filled the space, their laughter and chatter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the sounds of a card game in the corner. It was a place of release, where the burdens of command could be temporarily forgotten. But not for everyone.

He spotted Harper sitting at the bar, a half-empty glass in front of him. His shoulders were slumped, his gaze fixed on the drink as if it held the answers to questions he couldn't voice. Vincent moved toward him, weaving through the tables until he reached the bar. Without a word, he took a seat on the stool next to Harper, nodding to the bartender. "Whiskey, neat." The bartender poured the drink, setting it down in front of Vincent, who picked it up but didn't immediately drink. Instead, he glanced at Harper, who still stared down at his own glass.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Major," Vincent said, his voice steady, "it's not personal."

Harper's grip on his glass tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You don't have to repeat it," he replied, his tone rough with a mix of anger and resignation. "You've already made it clear. No need to shove it in my face."

Vincent looked at him, his expression unchanging. "I'm not here to shove anything in your face," he said quietly. "I'm here because what happened wasn't just your failure. It was mine too. I placed you in a position that demanded something you couldn't provide, and that cost us dearly."

Harper let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to meet Vincent's gaze. "That's what you're here for? To absolve your own conscience?" He shook his head, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a long drink. "You did what you had to do, Sir. You made a decision, and I have to live with it."

Vincent took a sip of his whiskey, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction. "You think this is about conscience?" he asked. "You think this is about me feeling guilty for what happened? I made my decision because it was necessary, not because it was easy."

Harper slammed his glass down on the bar, causing a few nearby soldiers to glance their way before turning back to their games and conversations. "Necessary," Harper echoed. "You talk about necessity like it's a shield, like it protects you from the reality of what we're dealing with. You stripped me of my command because I made a call. I made a mistake, and now I'm here, drinking away what's left of my pride."

Vincent's expression remained stoic. "Command isn't about pride. It never was. It's about responsibility. You made a call that cost lives, Harper. And as much as it pains me to do this, I can't allow personal feelings to interfere with the decisions that need to be made. This isn't a condemnation of your service, but a recognition of what's required in your position."

Harper stared at him, his eyes clouded with a mixture of emotions-anger, guilt, and something that resembled regret. "And you think sitting here, having a drink with me, changes any of that? You think it makes me feel any better knowing that you're human enough to have regrets?"

Vincent shook his head slowly. "No, Harper. I don't expect this to change how you feel. But I need you to understand that this is about more than just you or me. It's about the soldiers, the mission. If we start making decisions based on personal feelings, we might as well surrender right now."

Silence fell between them. Harper looked away, his gaze drifting back to the rows of bottles behind the bar. The saloon, usually a place of escape for the soldiers, felt more like a prison in that moment, trapping him in the reality of his actions and their consequences.

"Do you know what the worst part is?" Harper said finally, his voice barely audible. "It's knowing that you're right. That every decision we make has a ripple effect. That every hesitation, every moment of doubt, can cost lives. I thought I was doing the right thing by not reporting. I thought I could handle it. But I was wrong."

Vincent nodded slowly. "Mistakes happen. But in our line of work, mistakes are costly. You were a good leader, Harper. But a good leader knows when to reach out for help. When to acknowledge that the situation is beyond their control. That's why you're here now, not because of what you did, but because of what you failed to do."

Harper let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping further. He swirled the remaining liquid in his glass, staring into it as if it could offer him solace. "So what now?" he asked. "Am I supposed to just move on? Pretend this didn't happen?"

"No," Vincent said firmly. "You don't move on. You learn. You live with the decisions you've made, and you strive to be better. Your demotion isn't the end of your career, Harper. It's a chance to understand the weight of command without bearing it fully. Use it."

Harper turned to look at Vincent, searching for some sign of malice or condescension in his eyes. But all he found was the same stoic resolve that had been there since the beginning. Vincent wasn't here to gloat or to revel in his demotion. He was here because, despite everything, he still saw value in Harper. Not as a general, but as a soldier who had lost his way. "Do you really think I can still make a difference?" Harper asked, his voice raw. "Come on, we have a lot of enemies here in this world. The elves almost became our enemy, the dwarves could be our enemy, humanity could be our enemy, the entire demon king forces could be our enemy..." Vincent paused, setting his glass down on the bar with a deliberate motion. "Harper, we're surrounded by threats, and they're not going to give us a moment's rest. We need every capable hand. Even those who've stumbled. If you think you can't make a difference, then you're forgetting what brought you here in the first place. You were chosen for a reason. You have the experience, the knowledge. But now, you also have the humility to understand what went wrong."

Harper shifted on his stool, looking down at his hands as he processed Vincent's words. The saloon, with its raucous noise and laughter, felt distant, a world apart from the gravity of their conversation. He had been so caught up in his failure that he hadn't considered the possibility that he could still contribute. That he could still have a role to play.

"You talk about enemies," Harper began, his voice steadying. "But what about the enemies within? The doubts, the mistakes. How do you fight those?"

Vincent leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "You don't fight them. You face them. You acknowledge their presence and use them as a reminder of what's at stake. Doubt can be a tool, Harper. It keeps you vigilant, makes you double-check your choices. Mistakes remind you of the cost of complacency. We can't afford to let either paralyze us. We have to keep moving forward, adapting, and overcoming."

Harper nodded slowly. "I can't promise I won't make mistakes again," he said, his voice carrying a note of resolve. "But I can promise that I'll face them head-on. That I'll do whatever it takes to ensure our forces are ready."

Vincent gave a slight nod of approval. "That's all I ask. Learn from this. Use it to become the leader you need to be, even if that means taking orders for now. You're not alone in this fight, Harper. Remember that."

Harper took a deep breath and let it out slowly, some of the tension easing from his

shoulders. "Understood, sir."

"Good," Vincent replied, reaching for his glass. He raised it slightly toward Harper. "To lessons learned. And to the battles ahead."

Harper hesitated for a moment before lifting his own glass. "To the battles ahead," he echoed, clinking his glass against Vincent's. He took a long sip, feeling the burn of the whiskey chase away the lingering bitterness of his earlier thoughts.

They sat in silence for a moment, the noise of the saloon filling the gap between them. It wasn't a comfortable silence, but it was a necessary one. Harper knew he had a long road ahead of him, a journey to regain not just his rank, but his own sense of purpose. Vincent had offered him a lifeline, a chance to prove that his career wasn't defined by a single failure. "What's the plan now?" Harper asked finally, setting his empty glass on the bar. Vincent glanced at him, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "The plan is for you to get back on your feet and report for duty tomorrow. There's plenty of work to be done, and Hastings will need all the support he can get. You've got experience on Akarios Island that he doesn't. Use that knowledge to help him succeed where you stumbled."

Harper nodded. "I'll be there," he said, determination seeping back into his voice.