Chapter 69 - Shared Responsibility (3)
The morning of the mock battle had arrived.
Not that anything was all that different from usual.
They started their morning as always, but when both the second and third years finished arming themselves and gathered at the main gate, each with their full military packs, the tension was palpable.
"..."
"..."
A stiff air lingered between the neatly lined-up ranks of the second and third years in front of the transport vehicles.
Even between the two standing at the front as commanders, tension was evident.
"At least your tiny brains seem packed with thoughts of fighting. That's a relief," Thomas remarked, striding purposefully toward the cadets, his voice booming.
"Don't disappoint me by giving up like idiots halfway through. In real combat, retreat can be a sound tactic, but right now, there are only two ways for you to end this battle."
He stopped squarely in front of the cadets, hands clasped behind his back, and addressed them with a beast-like grin.
"Either you wipe out the enemy, or get wiped out yourselves. Keep fighting fiercely until only one is left standing."
"Yes, sir!"
Satisfied with their thunderous response, Thomas nodded and jerked his chin toward the transport vehicles.
The cadets, separating by group, climbed aboard—second years in one, third years in the other.
"Marie."
"Hello."
When the second-year cadets climbed into their transport vehicle, they couldn't help but feel a swirl of emotions at the sight of the small girl curled up inside.
The Baltracher assigned to the second years was none other than Marie Fiders.
Unlike before, when Marie had always worn a fierce expression, today she sat stone-faced and greeted the second-year cadets—those she'd often seen around—with a small, quiet voice.
"Hi, Marie."
"Yeah, hi, Ernest."
As if it were only natural, everyone had left the seat next to Marie open and given Ernest a little shove so he'd end up sitting beside her.
Since they'd spent the whole winter together and met again just two days ago, there wasn't much need for an enthusiastic reunion.
Tap, tap.
Wilfried, who was riding in the same vehicle, nudged the cadet next to him with his elbow and gave a meaningful look.
That signal was passed along the row, reaching Ernest, and when Ernest turned around, he saw Wilfried widen his beautiful blue eyes meaningfully.
"Have you ever fought a Baltracher before?"
Picking up on Wilfried's hint instantly, Ernest posed the question to Marie.
Honestly, even if Wilfried hadn't given him the signal, Ernest would have asked anyway to gather intel before the battle.
"No. Today will be my first time."
"Hmmm…"
Everyone let out a small sigh at Marie's answer.
Marie had first been assigned to a mock battle just last year.
For regular cadets, a Baltracher is an overwhelming presence, but with no actual combat experience, the only thing Marie could have gained from fighting against the Baltracher back then was a crushing defeat.
And now, just a year later, Marie was being thrown into this mock battle between grade levels.
In other words, Captain Max Grimm, the Baltracher instructor, must have judged that this small girl was now ready to hold her own in battle against the Baltracher.
For the cadets who still didn't know that Marie had turned fourteen this year, it was a shock.
They were convinced that, at best, she was only twelve.
Even Ernest and Robert thought so!
"I did learn the Grand Baltracher combat techniques," Marie volunteered.
Unlike before, she was now actively trying to share information about the situation.
Part of it was because the second-year cadets had left the conversation with Marie entirely to Ernest, but more importantly, Ernest couldn't help but notice that the little Aeblonian girl was now showing the results of everything she'd experienced and learned over the winter.
Marie was no longer just a tool blindly doing as she was told—she had become someone capable of thinking and making judgments for herself.
Even if her independence was still rather limited, knowledge had set Marie free.
The cadets noticed just how much Marie had changed.
Thinking back, whenever Marie came looking for Ernest during free time, she'd bring a book with her and end up talking with him for quite a while.
Seeing this new side of Marie, the other cadets were encouraged to carefully try talking with her as well.
To their astonishment, these noble boys, who had received the Empire's finest higher education, discovered that they could hold a normal conversation with Marie.
Marie could now speak based on knowledge and logic, even if she was a bit awkward.
Most importantly, she was able to listen quietly to what others said, take time to understand, and then express her own thoughts about it.
For a noble who's learned rhetoric, that's only natural.
But for a commoner, especially one with hardly any education, it's nearly impossible.
In such situations, most commoners would simply shout and argue, insisting their way because they didn't know better.
What on earth happened over the winter?
The cadets couldn't help but be bewildered by Marie's dramatic transformation.
An Aeblonian… speaking with logic?
Some of the most extreme nationalists and racists, who had believed that Marie—an Aeblonian—was nothing more than a hairless white-skinned monkey, were thrown into utter confusion when they saw the spark of intelligence shine in her. For the noble boys, who had grown up steeped in nationalism from birth, it was like heaven and earth had been turned upside down.
"…If only you weren't an Aeblonian, it would have been wonderful."
Even Captain Max Grimm, the Baltracher instructor, who was arguably the military academy's staunchest nationalist, said this upon seeing how much Marie had changed over the winter.
That alone made it clear just how much Marie had grown.
"All right. Let's tell Ferdinand later and revise the plan."
After speaking at length with Marie, Wilfried, who disliked how his voice cracked from puberty, offered these words with a gentle smile.
He seemed—oddly—happier or lighter than usual.
The only one who picked up on Wilfried's feelings was Ernest.
Even Wilfried himself didn't seem to realize it yet.
When Wilfried noticed Ernest quietly watching him, he tilted his head in slight confusion.
Ernest just shook his head, then returned his gaze to the shadowy floor of the transport vehicle.
Once they arrived at the training ground and entered the final phase—confirming tactics before the mock battle—the message was relayed to Commander Ferdinand.
After a moment of serious consideration, Ferdinand nodded and decided to carry out one of the four plans the second-year cadets had devised together.
"Move out."
The Third Years headed into the forest, and the Second Years were supposed to advance across the plains.
That's how it should have gone—but it didn't.
"…Is that really allowed?"
The fourth-year Training Instructor asked Thomas quietly.
Thomas, lounging atop the high roof of a transport vehicle and leisurely eating dried fruit, answered,
"Are you going to fuss about rules and whatnot even in a battle where it's kill or be killed with the enemy?"
"Well, that's true."
"And besides, I never set any of those rules in the first place."
"That's true as well."
When Thomas replied with a hint of amusement, the Disciplinary Instructor let out a long sigh and then gave a wry smile.
Right after the third years entered the forest, a small Ranger Unit led by Ernest—tasked with reconnaissance, sabotage, and assassination—began stealthily creeping along the forest's edge, digging in. It was easy to imagine the carnage about to unfold.
Yes, before the mock battle began, Thomas had allowed the units to be positioned however they wished, and he hadn't defined any specific operational boundaries.
In other words, as long as they weren't discovered by the enemy, there was no problem with placing troops right in the middle of enemy lines.
As always, the ones who get beaten are fools.
The current third years, of course, were second years last year, and second years aren't allowed to be Training Instructors.
So, the third years didn't really know how dangerous Ernest Krieger was, nor did they understand just how twisted and formidable his fellow cadets had become under his influence.
The current fourth years, however—last year's third years—had heard from fellow instructors about the madman Ernest and his equally deranged companions.
They would treat the training as if it were real combat.
They could not afford even the slightest opening.
No matter what, the enemy would find a way to drive a blade in, devour your flesh and blood, and even clean out your insides.
"I've never seen cadets so utterly ferocious in all my years as an instructor," Thomas muttered quietly.
To win a battle that should otherwise be unwinnable, they'd stop at nothing, by any means necessary.
They don't even bother with sneering at words like cowardly, underhanded, or disgraceful—they simply ignore them.
If necessary, they'll pull tricks well beyond the boundaries of the mock battle, and even when they're on the losing end, instead of whining about unfairness, they swallow their pride and steel themselves for the next time.
"If only I could train him as an assistant instructor… No, if only I could make him a full instructor…"
Thinking of Ernest, who had turned the second-year cadets into their current formidable state by subjecting them to shock and awe, Thomas muttered to himself.
If he could keep Ernest on as an assistant for two years and properly train him, then somehow create a vacancy for an instructor and slot him in as his successor, nothing could be better.
Thomas was well aware that his own position was precarious.
He was doing everything he could to produce outstanding officers, but there was no shortage of people who were displeased by that.
This made Thomas feel the urgent need to bring in a capable successor for the day he inevitably lost his head.
If it were Ernest, he'd be a pleasure to work to the bone... No, if it were Ernest, even if he hadn't experienced war himself, he'd still be able to inflict just the right amount of pain, despair, anguish, and frustration on the cadets.
Becoming an instructor at the Imperial Military Academy is harder than becoming a Beowatcher.
The Academy has, over its history, produced six Beowatchers.
But not once has a new instructor been appointed from among the cadets.
That Thomas would think this way about Ernest showed how highly he regarded him.
For Thomas—a man who refused to recognize anyone as a true soldier unless they'd lived through war and tasted the pits of hell—it was an unprecedented attitude.
That was how extraordinary an outlier Ernest Krieger was.
There was no way he'd been through a war; he was just a raw youngster.
"Haires. Krieger."
Thomas murmured the name of Ernest's father, Haires, the man who had trained him.
What on earth was he thinking, what could he have done to turn his own son into that?
Bang!
A gunshot signaled the start of the mock battle.
***
"How sloppy—they didn't even send out scouts."
Waiting in the forest, the third years stationed troops at the forest's edge to monitor the movements of the second years.
After two years of traversing the woods countless times, they knew the terrain inside and out.
They had perfectly prepared for every likely route their opponents might use and how to counter them.
From the perspective of the meticulously prepared third years, the second years' tactics—charging straight in with the main force without even sending scouts—looked downright amateur.
"They're only just now becoming second years."
"Yeah, we were like that once, too."
The third years chuckled, thinking back to their own experiences.
Before facing the seniors in their own second year, each of them had been convinced they were outstanding commanders and soldiers.
Back then, they'd only faced mock battles against classmates of similar skill, so it was only natural.
But after going up against the seniors for the first time as second years, they realized—down to their bones—just how foolish and weak they truly were.
The difference between fifteen and sixteen is astonishing.
This is the age when you shoot up in height—sometimes by more than the width of three hands.
And you can't ignore the impact of an extra year's experience.
This mock battle was designed to teach the newcomers, who had just become second years, to fear their seniors.
The third years would utterly crush the second years and show them the grim reality—that they were still weak and naive, so they would learn humility the hard way
"Even with Hartmann on their side, do they really intend to fight head-on like this?"
"Hartmann may be talented, but he's still young. This is probably the best they can do."
"...Wait a second. Isn't their group a bit smaller than usual?"
"…Yeah, a few of them are missing. Wasn't the First Year class supposed to be sixty?"
"When and where did they sneak off to?"
Three third-year cadets, observing the approaching second years from the edge of the forest, anxiously glanced around.
There was a stretch behind the central hill that was out of sight—were they hiding there?
But if that were the case, someone on the opposite side should have seen them and sent a signal by now.
"Something's not right. I should report—"
Ratatatat.
"Ah!"
Just as one of the third years realized something was amiss and tried to pull back, wooden bolts rained down on their backs.
Startled, the three of them spun around—only to freeze in shock as three second-year cadets, who had crept up right behind them, stood within arm's reach, crossbows in hand.
"..."
One of the second-year cadets, having removed both helmet and breastplate and stuck grass and tree branches into his clothes, raised his mud-smeared hand and brought his index finger to his lips. His mouth, too, was hidden behind a mask.
"When did they…?"
Overcome by a chill and his own confusion, one of the third-year cadets finally spoke up.
A soft reply came back.
"The dead don't talk, you know."
Then, with the whisper of grass, the second-year cadets melted away into the spring forest.
"…What the hell are they?"
That was all he could say.
He still couldn't wrap his head around what was happening.
"Enemy ahead!"
Just then, from the other side of the hill, a third-year cadet shouted a warning as he spotted the enemy. So startled was he that it sounded less like a warning and more like the desperate cry of someone staring death in the face.
"These maniacs…!"
The third-year scout's frantic attempt to warn his comrades ended abruptly—his voice cut off as he tried to shout to the very end. And once more, the forest was wrapped in cold silence.
"Damn, looks like I slipped up."
Slowly moving along the outer edge of the central forest, picking off enemy scouts one by one, Baumann Koch clicked his tongue and muttered to himself.
"I'll have to make a note of that."
After taking down five enemies together with Baumann, Ernest spoke in a calm voice.
Judging by the lack of any further voices, it was clear they had succeeded in eliminating all the enemy scouts.
Ernest and Baumann had killed the five in Central, and considering there were three enemies on each flank, it meant that before the real combat even started, they had already taken out eleven enemies.
Including the training instructors, there were fifty-four third-years participating in the mock battle training.
Of those, eleven were now dead, leaving only forty-three. That meant more than 20 percent of their total force had been wiped out before the real fight had even begun.
And those casualties hadn't come from the defenders attacking the attackers.
It was the other way around—the side defending the forest had been struck by the attackers.
If this had been an actual battle, the third-years would have had no choice but to abandon the forest and run at this point.
They wouldn't be defending the forest anymore—they'd be trapped and surrounded!
"Hold for a moment."
At the order from Ranger Platoon Leader Ernest, Baumann quietly stayed hidden.
Ferdinand had matched Ernest with the seven fastest and stealthiest among their classmates.
Since letting such an overwhelmingly superior and unconventional force languish as mere scouts would have been a waste, Ferdinand had officially designated them as the Ranger Unit.
What could pampered noble young masters possibly do against Rangers in the forest?
There's nothing for them to do but die.
Whip! Whip!
Ernest, mask lowered, pursed his lips and mimicked a bird call with his hand.
Soon, a cadet concealed in camouflage rushed over from the right side of the forest, where moments earlier the screams had sounded.
"What about the others?"
"They were hit."
"What about the enemy?"
"There were three. We killed them all. Damn. Third Years really are on another level. Even though we ambushed them from behind, it wasn't easy."
"Alright, let's wait."
A little while later, the group sent to the left side of the forest joined them as well.
All three of them made it back safely, without any casualties.
"A head-on confrontation will be tough."
"Losing two… that's a much harsher loss than I expected."
They had sacrificed two of their own to kill as many as eleven enemies.
Still, none of them looked happy.
Seeing the Third Years up close and in person had driven home just how big and powerful they were.
And even achieving this much was only possible because they had already slipped into the woods and hidden before the fighting began.
Now, with the enemy on high alert, it would be much more difficult for Ferdinand's main force to face them head-on.
Right now, each Ranger who could tip the battle was incredibly valuable, and they'd lost two.
It was a painful mistake.
"Still, just getting into the forest safely is a huge achievement. Strengthen our guard and report any enemy approach."
"Got it."
With a cool, composed voice, Ernest gave the order and then took the lead, slipping deeper into the forest to hide himself.
The other Ranger cadets did the same, spreading out widely to take up their positions.
Inside the woods, they could hear voices issuing commands and urgent footsteps, but the enemy seemed to have figured out the situation and hesitated to move closer.
Most likely, the Third Years planned to bolster their defenses in the center of the forest and then overwhelm the Second Years in a direct clash.
Meanwhile, the main force of the Second Years made it safely into the forest without any interference.
The Third Year cadets who had been killed by Ernest's Ranger Unit could only watch in stunned disbelief, as if they'd been blindsided.
Once the main force was inside, Ernest darted over like a squirrel.
"We lost two and killed eleven. We completely secured the forest's edge, and the enemy is hunkered down in the deeper, central area."
"Good. Disband the Ranger Unit. Four will join the main force; two will go to the Detached Force. Wilfried, I'll give you seventeen. With the Detached Force, follow the plan and target the enemy's flanks and rear."
"Understood."
Ferdinand immediately disbanded the Ranger Unit.
Four, were assigned to the main force under his command, while two went to Wilfried's Detached Force.
Wilfried promptly took his team, peeled off from the main group, and began circling through the right side of the forest to dig in.
It was essential for Ernest to be part of the Detached Force, which needed to make a fast, decisive move around the forest.
The other cadets had gotten much more familiar with the forest, but none as much as Ernest.
Serving as the eyes and ears of the Detached Force, Ernest slipped quietly and swiftly around the forest's perimeter, avoiding the enemy's watchful gaze.
"Huff! Huff!"
"Slow down."
But the Detached Force couldn't keep up with Ernest's pace.
Even when he first enrolled, Ernest was tall for his age.
By now, in terms of height alone, he had nearly reached the size of a grown man; his physical development had come quickly.
There were Second Years his age who still looked like children because they'd grown more slowly, and there was no way they could match Ernest's speed.
Following Wilfried's orders, Ernest glanced back over his shoulder and slowed down considerably.
Still, his dark eyes darted busily, endlessly gathering information, and his ears never missed a sound in the forest.
"..."
Ernest, who had been silently moving forward, suddenly stopped, crouched low, and raised his left hand with a clenched fist.
The instant the others saw this, they stopped as well, clamping their mouths shut despite their heavy breathing.
Ernest pointed beyond the trees with his finger.
Everyone looked but noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
"We've been spotted."
"The enemy!"
Ernest spoke, and an instant later, the Third Years' shout echoed through the forest.
Ernest had halted at just the right moment and disappeared from sight.
Even at this very moment, the Third Year cadets still hadn't spotted Ernest.
However, they could clearly see the rest of the Detached Force trailing behind him.
No one could be blamed for this.
The Third Years, too, were on high alert and had prepared meticulously.
It was a moment that demanded a decision: should they engage the enemy here, or withdraw and look for another opportunity?
"Form up!"
Without hesitation, Wilfried, the Detached Force commander, chose to fight.
It was disappointing that they hadn't managed to push deeper into the enemy's rear, but this was enough.
Their position was on the enemy's left flank, and with the Third Years forced to split their forces to block the Detached Force and guard against further infiltration, it would help Ferdinand's main force in the direct confrontation.
They had to tie down the enemy here and put them under pressure.
"Ernest!"
As the Detached Force quickly gathered and formed ranks, Wilfried picked Ernest out and called him over.
"Three people."
Wilfried spoke briefly to Ernest, who turned back to listen.
Nothing more needed to be said.
"You, you, you. Come with me."
Ernest immediately chose the three fastest members of the Detached Force and pulled back.
Together, they dashed toward the edge of the forest, disappearing entirely from everyone's line of sight.
After giving Ernest his orders, Wilfried put him out of his mind. Wilfried had to focus on the immediate battle in front of him—facing the Third Years with their crossbows aimed directly at them.
A commander must always see the battlefield as a whole. Wilfried was more than capable of doing that. However, if he started acting on his own strategic ideas now and deviated from Ferdinand's planned tactics, everything would fall apart.
Considering the bigger picture and overall strategy, what Wilfried needed to do right now was to fight fiercely against the enemy before him.
"Fire!"
At Wilfried's command, the Detached Force opened fire on the enemy. He gave no further orders, and the Detached Force silently repeated the process of reloading and firing. The Third Years couldn't approach easily and could only wait outside the effective range.
"Spread out and take cover."
After a short pause, Wilfried, who had been standing tall with eyes as clear and blue as stars, quietly whispered. Immediately, while maintaining formation and delivering suppressive fire, the Detached Force spread out at once, each member expertly finding cover and preparing to defend.
Caught off guard by the relentless suppressive fire, the Third Years hesitated for a moment. They could do nothing but watch as the Second Year Detached Force seized the opportunity to establish a secure position.
"...."
"...."
Wilfried still stood upright, exactly where he had been at the start. From their advantageous defensive spots, the Third Years could see the Duke Ravid's son tilt his head slightly, his dazzlingly handsome looks all the more striking.
With a gentle smile, Wilfried placed a hand over his chest and offered a graceful greeting to the enemy he was about to fight to the death.
Then, keeping in mind the enemy's effective range, he calmly stepped back a little.
With all the other members of the Detached Force taking cover, from the perspective of the Third Years, it seemed as if that breathtakingly beautiful boy was standing all alone in the forest.
In that moment, Wilfried Ravid became the highest-flying flag in the small battle that was about to unfold.
The Third Years began fighting with everything they had to take down Wilfried, while the Second Years fought desperately to protect him.
The stunningly beautiful Duke's son turned the entire situation on its head simply by exposing himself rather than hiding.
Now, the Second Year Detached Force used the terrain for cover as they defended, and the Third Years were forced to dash into the forest to attack.
We're going to lose, Wilfried thought coldly, watching the Third Years advance with caution.
Even if the Second Years were uncomfortably used to forest combat because of Ernest, the overwhelming physical strength and extra year of experience the Third Years had was an insurmountable gap.
Still, it was fine.
Wilfried had already succeeded in becoming the brightest flag and luring out the enemy troops who had been guarding the left flank.
Now the main force would face battle with a clear numerical advantage.
That alone meant they'd accomplished their goal.
On top of that, if so many of them were drawn out like this, gaps were bound to appear—and there was no way Ernest would let those slip by, right?
Even as the large, intimidating Third Year seniors charged at him, Wilfried's smile shone brighter than the sun on a spring day.
They had thoroughly outmaneuvered the Third Years with tactics.
After the fight, when everyone reviewed what happened, even the Third Years would realize it.
Even if the Third Years ended up defeating the Second Years here, it would be thanks solely to their individual fighting power.
For cadets training to become officers at the Military Academy—not just ordinary soldiers—that kind of victory would be a bitter one indeed.
Knowing this, the other Second Year cadets also wore smiles on their faces.
Even if they lost in the end, it was as good as a victory for the Second Years.
Just imagining the Third Years pulling sour faces after the battle made warm smiles appear naturally on their own faces.