Uncle York entered the room, casually removed his civilian clothes, hung them on the coat rack, and sank into the couch on one side.
Caesar followed suit, neatly placing his civilian attire aside before settling on the opposite couch.
Both men, now clad in their leather military shirts, sat in silence for a moment. Caesar uncorked the wine bottle, poured a glass for Uncle York, then one for himself.
"Cheers!" The two clinked glasses, downing the wine in one gulp before setting their glasses back on the table. Only then did they begin to talk business.
"You're growing more composed, kid. Seems like you've matured a lot these past years," Uncle York said with a rare tone of approval.
It was an amusing sight—the rough and seemingly carefree Uncle York offering advice on composure. Clearly, the grizzled soldier was far more perceptive than his rugged exterior let on.
"Uncle, you're flattering me. Everything I know, I learned from you," Caesar said with a sheepish grin.
"Ha! Don't pull that nonsense on me! Who taught you to be so slick, huh?" Uncle York laughed heartily, and Caesar joined in.
After the laughter subsided, Caesar refilled their glasses and hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Uncle, do you think I have a shot at promotion this time?"
Uncle York leaned back, his expression serious. "Caesar, I've watched you grow from a fresh recruit into a capable officer over these past four years. I see you as my own son, and I'll do everything in my power to back you."
"I trust you, Uncle," Caesar replied earnestly.
"But my support alone won't be enough," Uncle York continued. "I'll speak with Old Carl to get his backing too. You'll need to handle the rest."
Old Carl, the deputy squadron commander, was known for his stern demeanor but had a soft spot for the soldiers under his care. Caesar respected him deeply.
"I'll do whatever it takes, Uncle. Just tell me what needs to be done," Caesar said firmly.
Uncle York took a deep breath before explaining. "This election has two open slots. Those eligible to propose candidates are the six lieutenants from the four infantry squadrons, the cavalry captain, Baron Kyle, and his eldest son, Vice-Captain Soren."
Caesar nodded. Their battalion had four infantry squadrons and one cavalry squadron. He'd seen the cavalry in action many times—their armored charge was like an unstoppable tide on the battlefield.
"Baron Kyle and the cavalry captain won't participate in the nomination process," Uncle York continued. "That leaves us six lieutenants and Young Master Soren. I've already secured two votes for you, but you'll need at least two more."
Caesar frowned slightly. "I have some rapport with the vice-captain of the first squadron, but I don't know the vice-captain of the third squadron or the captain of the fourth very well. Aren't they both still recovering from injuries?"
Uncle York snorted in disdain. "Recovering? Hah! The fighting's over, and now it's all about looting what's left. Those two barely healed before they grabbed their men and some fresh recruits to go 'roaming.'"
In the military, 'roaming' referred to sweeping through unguarded villages for spoils. These small villages rarely had organized militias, and resistance was often minimal. The real spoils lay in towns, where merchants, nobles, and wealthier farmers resided.
Baron Kyle's cavalry had little interest in such petty gains, leaving the infantry squadrons to profit from these operations. The spoils—jewelry, hides, livestock, and even clothing—were often sold to Baron Kyle's caravan.
Soldiers generally avoided stealing food, a rule strictly enforced by higher-ups, but poultry and livestock were fair game. Caesar himself had participated in these raids and sent money home when he could.
"Uncle, we haven't gone 'roaming' in over a week. Are we preparing for something big?" Caesar asked.
"Yes," Uncle York said with a nod. "The Baron plans to join forces with Baron Kashir from the 7th Brigade to attack Phalanx City. That's why these two squadron leader positions are being filled now. Plus, there aren't any valuable villages left nearby."
City sieges were grueling and costly, but the rewards were immense. When a city fell, soldiers were often given free rein for a day to plunder, and the treasures they seized often outweighed months of regular pay.
Uncle York took another sip of wine before continuing. "The vice-captain of the first squadron is from Iron Mine Town, same as us. I have a good relationship with him. Send him a suitable gift, and I'll talk to him on your behalf. As for the others... you'll need to handle them yourself."
Military politics were complex, and friendships could be fragile. Even Caesar, who was generally well-liked, couldn't guarantee loyalty from everyone.
"I suggest you approach Young Master Soren," Uncle York added thoughtfully. "You two are about the same age and might find some common ground. Show your loyalty or offer him a meaningful gift. But if you do this, remember—you'll be tied to him from that point forward."
Young Master Soren was the eldest son of Baron Kyle, but the Baron's second son currently managed their family's territory back home. The dynamics of noble inheritance were always tangled.
"What kind of gift could I possibly give a nobleman that would make an impression?" Caesar asked, rubbing his forehead. "I'll think of something."
"I know you'll figure it out," Uncle York said, clapping Caesar on the shoulder. "That's all the help I can give you. The rest is up to you."
Caesar raised his glass. "Thank you, Uncle. I'll do my best. Cheers!"
The two clinked glasses again, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air as they drank deeply.