Chapter 19 - Remember Death
Throughout the morning, the cadets practiced drill training for the Founding Declaration Day city parade. Thanks to the rigorous drill work they had already done right after joining, no one made any serious mistakes, but the sense of tension was on another level.
"You're only responding slowly because you're trying to follow the person in front of you! Again!"
The Disciplinary Officers didn't tolerate even the slightest mistake, relentlessly pushing the cadets to do better. Still, not a single cadet complained.
"It's great to see everyone working so hard. I'm relieved to see the Cadet Corps following the Cadet Commander's lead so well."
"I promise, there will never be another problem caused by my carelessness."
"Hahaha, since when has the Cadet Commander been careless? I know full well how hard you're trying."
Major General Armin Mannheim, the Headmaster, and Brigadier General Gauss Schulz, the Cadet Commander, came to the training ground in person to observe the drill training.
With them watching, it would have been strange if anyone dared to slack off.
"You third-year cadets—this is your third Founding Declaration Day city parade! The third! There will be zero tolerance for any mistakes on your part! Stay sharp!"
"Yes, sir!"
Since all the cadets of the Imperial Military Academy participated in the drill training for the city parade, everyone from first-years to fourth-years was assembled at the training ground.
"Stop! Stop! What's wrong with you all? Do you think being young means your mistakes will be overlooked?"
"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Of course, this included the cadets from the Special Training Division.
In the Special Training Division, there was no separation by school year, and as soon as someone was deemed ready for real combat, they would immediately graduate from the academy and be promoted to Senior Captain.
As a result, youths nearing the age of twenty trained side by side with children as young as ten who had just entered the academy.
Naturally, these ten-year-old cadets were constantly flustered and kept making mistakes.
More than anything, the doors to the Special Training Division were open not only to commoners, but even to street orphans and slaves.
If there were no social class restrictions, there was no reason to separate by gender either.
The cadets of the Special Training Division were from all walks of life, with men and women making up roughly equal numbers.
Could you really expect a ten-year-old boy, a former slave who couldn't even walk straight, to keep up with the drill training for the Founding Declaration Day city parade?
After repeatedly making mistakes, the young cadet was eventually pulled from the ranks and taken somewhere else, and he did not return before the training ended.
As for what was happening to him, the regular cadets neither knew nor cared. This was especially true for the first-years.
"The cadet who performs best will be given the honor of carrying the flag during the parade."
Unlike the other grades, whose flag bearers had already been chosen, the first-year's flag bearer had yet to be decided. The honor of carrying the flag representing the first-years of the Imperial Military Academy during the Founding Declaration Day city parade was not something given to just anyone. To seize that honor, the first-year cadets gritted their teeth and threw themselves into drill training.
"······."
In that sense, Ernest Krieger, a first-year cadet who couldn't focus on the drill training, stood out as quite an oddball.
Technically, it was all because of the tonic he was drinking, but still.
Ernest was too curious about everything and too easily distracted to simply go through this day, with all the cadets from the Imperial Military Academy gathered on the training ground for drills.
Quickly losing interest in the training, Ernest's sparkling dark eyes wandered restlessly across the cadets from other years.
He glanced back and forth between Gauss's smooth bald head and Armin's thick white hair, then turned his attention to the Special Training Division cadets and began observing them closely.
"Your pace is slowing! Keep up!"
"Yes!"
The younger and shorter kids were sweating buckets, struggling just to keep up with the marching speed. Since they were in the Special Training Division, that meant they were at least second-class Baltrachers—give them a single Balt Battery and they could take down dozens by themselves—but physically, there was nothing special about them.
As he watched the Baltracher cadets, Ernest soon discovered the most obvious difference between them and the regular cadets.
Fear.
After "playing" with Haires, Ernest had learned how to read countless signs that appeared on the human face and could even peek into a person's most guarded secrets.
It didn't take him long to notice it now. Most of the Baltracher cadets had a deep and haunting fear etched into their faces, like a brand burned in with hot iron. The only ones who didn't were the hereditary noble cadets.
Why is that?
The moment you enter the Special Training Division, you become a noble, don't you?
Even if you were a commoner or a slave, if you had a second-class or higher aptitude as a Baltracher and enrolled in the Military Academy, you would be granted the surname "Fiders" and, by the authority of His Majesty the Emperor, protected as a noble.
Even if you were just a minor noble, your status was secure.
'No matter how much authority an instructor or disciplinary officer has, they can't just mistreat a cadet.'
Narrowing his eyes, Ernest carefully studied the faces of the Baltracher cadets, trying to read the fear etched into their expressions.
Before long, with his well-trained eye, Ernest realized that it wasn't simply the instructors or disciplinary officers the cadets were afraid of.
So, what was it then?
"Krieger!"
"Yes!"
As Ernest was fiercely observing the Baltracher cadets, a disciplinary officer called out to him, and he responded as loudly as he could.
"A few days without seeing any girls and you're already losing your senses, huh!"
The disciplinary officer growled at Ernest.
Living together at the Military Academy with only other guys, it wasn't unusual for cadets to get distracted by the female Baltracher cadets.
"Sorry!"
Ernest wanted to protest that this wasn't the case, but it would have been awkward to try to explain things in detail, so he simply apologized.
"Heh heh..."
"Don't laugh! Did you think I couldn't see those eyes of yours darting around?"
The other cadets snickered, but at the disciplinary officer's rebuke, they were startled into feigning innocence.
Even if they acted indifferent, everyone was curious about the Baltracher cadets. During drill training, they'd all stolen glances at them more than a few times, and some were completely absorbed in the older or same-age girls among them.
"Ernest the playboy."
"You..."
"Pull yourself together!"
When Robert whispered with a snicker, Ernest shot him a glare, but with the disciplinary officer right there, he couldn't do anything more.
Ernest swore to himself that he would not forget this. He'd remember it all and pay Robert back someday—only then would he feel satisfied. Anyway, Robert really was the worst.
"The days when wars were fought by a single monarch and his army are long gone."
Much to everyone's surprise, the afternoon Military Science class proceeded normally in the lecture hall. After shocking everyone in the first class, forcing them into a mock battle in the second, not a single cadet had expected that the third session would be a straightforward lecture.
"During its conquest wars, the Mihahil Empire suffered tremendous material losses and a shortage of manpower. The front lines spread too thin, and the strain was simply unsustainable. With the conflict having grown too large to halt, the war expanded from being solely the military's task to the burden of the entire nation."
Thomas spoke in a measured tone, explaining the current paradigm of war.
Even though Thomas had announced at the start of today's lecture that there would be no more mock battles until Founding Declaration Day, the cadets still watched him with anxious eyes. That was because, after the last drills, everyone had learned that Thomas Kohler was a man who valued experience over theory.
The cadets were bracing themselves for the moment when Thomas would say, "That's why, while you're sitting here relaxed, war will come crashing down and kill you all in an instant! Will you just stand there and take it then? Hurry up, grab your equipment, and assemble!"
And in truth, Thomas was enjoying the tension on these youngsters' faces, so the class was filled with a suspense as taut as a wire pulled to its breaking point. In the end, though, Thomas finished the lecture calmly, without launching any terrifying surprise attacks to throw everyone into panic.
"I feel like I've experienced this before."
"I'm getting déjà vu too..."
The cadets immediately recalled the final battle of yesterday's Mock Battle Training. That unpleasant feeling when you're expecting the enemy to appear, but they never do—so you're left nervous and unable to relax.
"I swear, I didn't do anything wrong today."
"Oh, of course you didn't. Ever the Playboy, Teacher Ernest."
"That's not it! I just looked because I was curious about Baltrachers!"
"You sure looked curious—you were staring hot enough to burn a hole through them! So? Who is it? Who stole our Teacher Ernest's heart?"
"You all saw too! I saw you all looking as well!"
"I didn't see anything."
"Ferdinand, you definitely checked out that tall girl too!"
"I did not."
After foolishly butting into the conversation between Ernest and Robert, Ferdinand found himself in the line of fire and snapped at Ernest, his face turning red.
"You did! Four times in a row!"
"I just glanced over once, that's all."
Ferdinand forcefully denied Ernest's claim. However, Ferdinand, the fourteen-year-old boy who'd been briefly distracted by the tall older girl and snuck glances at her four times in a row, now had cold sweat soaking his back.
"Let's stop and go back to the dormitory. At this rate, we'll be late for dinner."
Only after Wilfried—who was the only first-year cadet capable of calming down this chaos—stepped in, was Ferdinand finally able to escape from Ernest, who was threatening his honor.
The truth was, even Wilfried, who mediated the situation, felt pretty threatened himself. He hadn't actually been distracted by girls, but he had paid close attention to the Baltracher cadets out of genuine interest.
"Ah, I'm hungry. Let's hurry up and go."
"Yeah, I still need to write a letter."
"Oh, right. The letter."
The cadets made a noisy exit from the lecture hall, talking over each other. Ernest, reminded of the letter he intended to write to his father, quickly got up and headed for the dormitory as the little commotion finally died down.
"…So did Hartmann really look at that tall girl four times?"
"Jimman."
Ferdinand, walking beside Ernest, threatened Robert for dredging up the incident he'd barely managed to bury. Seeing this, Ernest glanced over, then said with a completely serious face:
"I'm not sure about that, but Robert, what's certain is that you were awfully fixated on watching all the blonde-haired girls."
"Hey!"
Robert was so flustered that, for once, the guy who was always so quick to tease couldn't get out anything but a yell.
"..."
Wilfried, who had the prettiest blond hair among the cadets, looked somewhat displeased as he moved close to the edge of the hallway and quickly walked around Robert, putting distance between them.
"This, this is a false accusation!"
Robert cried out desperately, glancing around, but the cadets—who all wanted to avoid the sharp gaze of Ernest, the tireless hunter and relentless watcher—completely ignored him. The truth was, none of them had much of a clear conscience, either.
"To my father.
Father, it feels like a lot of time has already passed since I entered the Military Academy. I know it hasn't actually been that long, but so much has happened that it just seems that way."
Ernest wrote the letter he would send to Haires with careful attention. The quill, which he had trimmed short so it wouldn't get in the way, was of poor quality and a single misstep would cause the ink to spill everywhere. Ernest didn't want to write a letter to his father on cheap paper, but good quality paper was hard to come by, so he had to be very cautious as he wrote.
"Ah! Look at this, even our rakish slanderer, Teacher Ernest, gets to send a letter to his family and invite them here—how nice for you!"
Robert, who was still sulking, made some snide remark, but Ernest paid him no mind.
"I've made a friend, too. His name is Robert Jimman, and, astonishingly, he has a real talent for being frivolous and getting on people's nerves—he's a truly terrible fellow. Unfortunately, we share a room."
On second thought, maybe it was pretty important after all.
"Yesterday, we had Mock Battle Training, and I think I did reasonably well thanks to what you taught me The Instructor seemed satisfied as well."
Ernest considered writing to his father about how Senior Instructor Thomas Kohler had changed the rules just to keep him in check, but decided against it, thinking it would sound too childish.
"In fact, not long after I enrolled—"
Ernest paused, his quill made from a trimmed bird feather hovering mid-air. He began to ponder carefully, then subtly turned his head to glance at Robert.
"What, what is it?"
Robert flinched at Ernest's curious look.
"Oh, never mind."
After scanning Robert up and down with a sigh, Ernest resumed writing with his pen.
"In fact, not long after I entered, I got caught up in a minor incident because of Robert. But I handled it well, and thanks to that, I received three merit points at once."
It was true the incident happened because of Robert, and he had indeed received three merit points. But even being generous, it wasn't a small incident, nor was it well resolved, and calling it an "accident" was quite a stretch. Ernest, a diligent boy who couldn't bring himself to detail the whole truth to his respected father, could only gloss over it like this.
As a result, the Robert depicted in the letter ended up sounding frivolous, unpleasant, and someone who dragged his friend into trouble—a really awful fellow. But in the end, that didn't really matter.
"And starting today, we're doing drill training for the City Parade on Founding Declaration Day. I'll be marching in the parade I once watched with you. I know I've only just entered the Military Academy, but I already feel as though I've accomplished something. Of course, I'm making sure not to grow complacent. I'm working hard every single day."
Ernest, a little excited as he wrote, felt that his letter might come across as somewhat arrogant, so he always added at the end that he would continue to do his best.
"They say that after the City Parade on Founding Declaration Day, there will be a party at the Military Academy in the evening. They're allowing us to invite our families, and I really hope you can come, Father."
Ernest wondered if he had written the letter too hastily. However, since Haires didn't care for unnecessary words, it was probably best to get straight to the point. Maybe he felt a bit intimidated after seeing Wilfried's letter, overflowing with fancy phrases.
"I'll be waiting for your reply. From Ernest.
P.S. Have you been keeping the lights on at home? You're not just sitting alone in the dark with the whole house cloaked in shadows, are you?"
Ernest, recalling the image of his father sitting in a dark room swallowed by shadows as if he might be consumed at any moment, added the postscript with concern.
He needed to wait a moment for the ink to dry. Carefully, Ernest reread the letter he had written, checking whether he had made any mistakes, if his handwriting looked sloppy, or if the lines were crooked.
Fortunately, his letter was just like his father's—written in neat, orderly lines with clear, well-formed letters.
"So, Teacher Ernest, our womanizer and gossip, which lady stole your heart during this morning's drill?"
Just as Ernest smiled in satisfaction and nodded, Robert started to tease him again.
"Unlike you, who loses your mind the moment you see a blonde woman, I was only curious about the Baltracher cadets."
"…Aren't blondes pretty?"
"They are, but so what? Then Wilfried, too…"
"Are you insane? Say one more word and it's a duel."
"Go ahead, try it. If you think you can win."
"Damn it, I'm letting it slide because I know I'd lose."
Robert muttered, then let out a deep sigh.
"So what exactly had you so distracted? I mean, it's nothing new that you're always spacing out here and there, but this morning was on a whole other level."
Ernest had always struggled with a lack of concentration because of the tonic, and Robert was well aware that Ernest's focus was often abysmal.
Still, Ernest usually managed to keep it under control in his own way, so it was extremely rare for him to look as completely out of it as he had during this morning's drill training.
Calmly, Ernest looked down again at the letter to his father, then spoke in a low, almost whispering voice.
"That kid who was dragged away."
"What?"
Robert, who'd been sweating through drill training, hadn't seen the young boy being taken away.
Ernest slowly ran his fingertips across the desk, recalling the terrified face of the ten-year-old boy—probably admitted to the Imperial Military Academy right after this year's Balt Aptitude Test.
"It's nothing."
Ernest, in a light tone, said this and then carefully, with full concentration, folded the now-dry letter paper in neat lines. Yet despite his light voice, his eyes were heavy with concern.
Ernest sensed all too well the fear in the eyes of the Baltracher cadets that morning.
Through his "games," Haires had taught Ernest many things: the traits of soldiers, fallen nobles, adulterers, thieves, and murderers.
That's why Ernest could tell that the fear in their eyes came from the fear of death.
What kind of training were the Baltracher cadets in the Special Training Division undergoing?