Chương 99: Chapter 97 - Purpose of a Death Squad

As our eyes met, Peter visibly reined in his emotions. He straightened and saluted.

"Sir, I should take my leave," he said. I studied him for a moment. The tension in his posture was obvious now. I could already guess what was going through his mind. He had lost faith in me, or at least in my judgment. And the first thing he wanted to do was report this to the lieutenant.

"I thought we planned to analyze my approach," I said evenly.

"I don't think that's necessary, sir," he replied. That confirmed it.

"Still," I said, "before you go and report me to the lieutenant, I would like to know what exactly is bothering you. I'd also like you to understand my thought process before you do." That made him stop. He hesitated, then turned back to face me fully.

"Would you join me at that table?" I asked, pointing toward the small wooden table and two chairs at the edge of the training yard, partially shaded by the wall. I had wanted his opinion. I was not going to force it out of him, but I also was not going to let him walk away without speaking his mind. After a moment, he nodded and followed. We sat opposite each other. The sounds of the training yard had dulled now, distant clanks of metal and muted voices fading into the background.

"What is bothering you?" I asked, leaning back slightly.

"Everything," he said without hesitation. That answer surprised me.

"Would you elaborate?" I asked.

"Sir," he said carefully, "my words would do little other than offend you." That only made me more curious. I knew my plan was unconventional, but I had not expected it to be so far outside accepted norms that even discussing it felt improper.

"I doubt you can say anything that would offend me," I replied. He exhaled slowly.

"I have served for six years," he said.

"I have worked with intelligence divisions and with multiple units. Though I have never served in a death squad, I have seen many of them and interacted with their sergeants." He looked me straight in the eye.

"And I can say with certainty that this is not how a death squad is led." I allowed him to continue.

"You failed to discipline a criminal who openly mocked you," he said.

"You allowed challenge to your authority without consequence." That was not how I had expected this conversation to unfold, but I remained silent.

"You also misunderstand the purpose of a death squad," he continued.

"This is not a place for growth. It is a place for criminals to pay for their crimes." I tilted my head slightly.

"Are they not paying for their crimes?" I asked.

"They fight wars they had no choice in. They receive barely the minimum. They are assigned the highest-risk missions. They can be used as expendable shields the moment their commander feels threatened." I held his gaze.

"Is giving them a small incentive, something to fight for, really such an unforgivable mistake?"

"No," he said immediately.

"Rune equipment alone might be acceptable. That part I could work with." Then his tone hardened.

"But this is different. This is naive."

"You are giving bandits the opportunity to grow," he said.

"People who killed for profit. For enjoyment. Death squad members are deliberately assigned tasks that limit growth. That is by design." Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. His tone hardened, his posture no longer that of someone speaking to a superior. He had almost forgotten the difference in our ranks. I took a slow breath. I knew he disagreed with me, but this conversation was not helping me understand why.

His arguments felt rooted in belief rather than reasoning.

"Private," I said calmly, "this discussion feels philosophical rather than logical to me." I leaned forward slightly.

"So far, all I have understood is that you believe I am not punishing them enough. That may be a problem for you." I paused.

"It is not a problem for me." I met his eyes again.

"We both have intelligence backgrounds," I continued.

"I expected a logical argument from you." The silence that followed was heavy. Peter took a deep breath and paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. When he spoke again, his tone was calmer, more deliberate. It felt as though he was consciously trying to argue from the perspective he thought I wanted to hear.

"Alright," he said.

"Even if, for now, we set aside the issue of discipline and its importance, you still fail to see that your method empowers criminals." He leaned forward slightly.

"Take Garran," he continued.

"His confirmed kill count is two. His actual kill count is unknown." He was not wrong. From what I had read, Garran had worked as a butcher since the age of four in his father's shop. It was common knowledge in his hometown that he enjoyed killing animals far more than necessary. There were also reports of travelers going missing over the years, cases that were never conclusively tied to him. And it was not as if a small town cared much about the disappearance of a few outsiders. Peter did not stop there.

"Less said about Barry and Varric," he went on.

"Both are not just notorious criminals, they caused serious trouble even after being captured. One attempted to organize a riot. The other escaped three times before being sent here." He exhaled sharply.

"But worst of all," he said, "you almost positioned Kael as your second-in-command." That caught my attention.

"Let me be clear," Peter continued.

"He may have been a town guard once, but he lost that path long ago. I doubt he was ever a good guard to begin with. Frankly, I am surprised he was not publicly executed." His eyes hardened.

"In the entire squad, he may be the most dangerous. He killed three people even after being arrested, and escaped public execution once already." That was the one point where I disagreed. I had no illusions about Kael's capacity for violence. He knew how to kill. But the circumstances surrounding his arrest were vague. The records stated he killed a debt collector. After being detained, he went on to kill three more people. What bothered me was the inconsistency.

The victims of Barry and Varric were cataloged in detail. Names, backgrounds, even minor biographical notes. Kael's file, by contrast, was sparse. Almost intentionally so. So for now, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. In all my interactions with the conscripts, Kael had appeared the most civilized. He was the only one who had thanked me for providing the armor that saved him from the Venelion, even though it had been my first attempt and was almost crude.

Meanwhile, I had yet to hear even an acknowledgment for treating Barry after he was injured during the beast tide. Until I saw something that proved Kael was truly a bloodthirsty criminal, I planned to trust him.

"I agree with some of your points," I said slowly.

"But wouldn't empowering them also help us? If our squad performs better than others, we gain military merit." Peter shook his head immediately.

"You are training them in coordination," he said.

"That alone is unheard of. It is like trying to herd predator beasts." He continued before I could respond.

"In the best-case scenario, they never truly work together and only improve individually. In the worst-case scenario, they learn coordination, trust, and shared tactics." His voice hardened again.

"That increases their chances of committing crimes together. Or escaping together." I frowned slightly.

"And you think that if I torture them, they will not unite?" I asked.

"You may not have noticed this, but those four already have coordination. They already function as a unit." I leaned forward.

"If I continue brutalizing new members, they will band together even faster."

"That is not torture," Peter snapped.

"That is discipline." He took a breath and forced his tone back under control.

"And in death squads, discipline is enforced by turning them against each other. You favor a few, punish the rest. You create resentment. You keep them divided." I rubbed my temples briefly.

"Private," I said, "if you think I am going into missions with a squad that cannot even trust each other, then I do not see how that works." I met his gaze again.

"We are not in a city, where a divided squad might survive. We are surrounded by forest, and we face beasts. That requires people who can rely on one another." Unbidden, a thought surfaced. If the Tier Two conscripts and earlier squad members had trusted each other more, maybe they could have coordinated better. Maybe Jack would still be alive. Maybe Walter too. Peter inhaled deeply.

"And what happens when you are reassigned?" he asked.

"What happens when someone else is put in charge of a squad trained your way?" He did not wait for an answer.

"They will not respond to a sergeant who does not follow your methods. That will make your replacement's job impossible." He looked at me intently.

"And you will remain stuck with death squads for the rest of your service." I could see his point. A new sergeant relying on punishment for minor mistakes would likely provoke backlash. Varric, maybe even Garran, would not endure that kind of treatment. They might kill their own sergeant even if it meant dying themselves. That was likely why Sergeant Fenward had rarely used the mana oath on them. I exhaled slowly.

"Private," I said, "believe it or not, I never wanted to be a sergeant." That surprised him.

"But I also know that refusing the position would have ended my career," I continued.

"Depending on the situation, I could have been removed from the army entirely." I held his gaze.

"You are free to report my approach to the lieutenant," I said.

"I would welcome it if he assigned someone else." I paused, then finished quietly.

"But if I am going to be a sergeant, I am not leading a squad whose morale is broken, where most of its members have no purpose other than dying."