Chapter 98 - At Dusk (7)
All new schedules at the Royal Military Academy related to the new weapon, the cannon, were suspended.
Armin had exercised his special privilege to make a direct appeal to His Majesty the Emperor.
Despite the unease, cadets continued their training according to the existing plan.
But before long, cannon operation drills were once again scheduled, bringing confusion in their wake.
Surprisingly, several officials from the Imperial Army's research division and headquarters were severely punished.
The reason was that they had submitted overoptimistic reports about the cannon's safety in order to accelerate its deployment.
By the time word of the cannon reached the Royal Military Academy, preparations for its mass production were already underway.
Factories for barrels and shells, as well as powder production facilities, were steadily being expanded.
Most of the produced cannons were already being transported to the southern regions of the empire, having been ordered into deployment by the navy ahead of time.
In this context, the academy's headmaster, Armin, had witnessed a spontaneous explosion incident firsthand and refused to allow cadet training.
A thorough investigation followed, revealing serious safety flaws in the cannon's design.
The problem was, even so, the Empire simply could not give up this powerful new weapon.
With just a dozen, one could decimate the enemy from afar and break their lines with ease.
"I don't know… hmm… to be honest, I'm a bit skeptical about this whole thing."
Lieutenant Norman Luther, who taught everything from the Balt gun to automobiles and other weapons at the academy, still seemed troubled even after confirming the new training method was safe enough for cadets.
"It does feel a bit staged,"
Ernest, who had come to the range with Norman as an assistant instructor for cannon training, whispered quietly.
Norman glanced at Ernest, then looked back at the soldiers loading the cannon.
These were not cadets but personnel assigned specifically for this training, willing to bear all the risk in place of the students.
"The manual was flimsy, yeah, but that's only because tactics and strategies haven't been established yet. The safety warnings and protocols were written down clearly."
Norman murmured with a hand covering his mouth.
"The people at Imperial HQ aren't idiots. They wouldn't handle this kind of thing so sloppily."
Usually cheerful and well-liked by the cadets, Norman now whispered in a heavy tone, like a sticky shadow clinging to one's heels.
"This is… yeah, a performance. Like a play, or a circus act."
"Not exactly words a mere instructor should be saying to a mere cadet."
Ernest spoke quietly, reading the eyes of the soldiers.
Norman knew that too.
These weren't things he should say — especially not to a cadet like Ernest.
But as a father of two boys and someone who truly cared about his students, Lieutenant Norman Luther could not just ignore what was happening.
This was a show orchestrated by the Emperor himself — a way to push forward a powerful but unstable weapon that couldn't be abandoned.
A few scapegoats were punished for submitting false reports, and the astronomical project moved forward without much resistance.
The cannon was already in production.
The factories had been built.
There was no turning back now.
"It's all too rushed."
Norman muttered, his lips pale with unease.
"Maybe…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
But the perceptive Ernest already knew what he was going to say.
Ernest said nothing.
And neither did Norman, any further.
For a while, the academy's curriculum revolved around the cannon.
First-years were exempted since they had to learn the basics, but the upperclassmen learned almost nothing else.
"Unbelievable that I'm getting used to this."
Enduring cannon training all day every day, even Robert found himself becoming accustomed to the dreadful weapon.
Perhaps it helped that he wasn't the one directly handling it, and surprisingly, explosive accidents had become rare.
Or rather, they still happened — just not as often.
Everyone was on edge, so they never had to witness a repeat of that horrific first explosion.They fired the five cannons repeatedly until the barrels overheated and couldn't fire anymore.
At least one explosion occurred daily.
"Can't we just pour water over it to cool it down?"
"That'll crack it."
"Then be careful not to crack it."
"And get shredded by metal when it explodes during the next shot?"
"…"
The main issue was barrel overheating.
Exploding powder in a sealed space generated tremendous heat, which in turn made the barrel dangerously hot.Even Balt rifles and powder guns weren't free from overheating, but it was far worse with cannons.
Cooling the barrel took far longer than loading and firing.
"So the navy's already using this in actual combat?"
"But there's no war — can you call that actual use?"
"There are pirates, aren't there? I bet they're having a blast shooting this thing."
"This thing would be devastating in a naval battle… punch holes clean through an enemy ship. One well-placed hole, and you could sink it."
The cadets who had grown familiar with the cannon mostly discussed its tactical use.
But those accustomed to noble society and political games, like Wilfried, couldn't do the same.
"…"
Every time Wilfried saw the cannon, his pale face grew even paler, and he glared at it in silence.
"It means nothing, Wilfried."
One day, Ferdinand spoke to him in a low voice.
"Easy for someone like you, who doesn't care about anything else, to say that. Ferdinand."
"Maybe so."
Ferdinand accepted Wilfried's sharp retort with ease. But what he said next was ruthlessly cutting.
"But that probably applies to you too, Wilfried."
"…"
Leaving Wilfried frozen, Ferdinand walked off to continue the discussion with their peers.
It wasn't because Wilfried was someone who'd do anything to achieve his goal.
Wilfried Ravid simply wasn't a warrior.
Even with all he'd learned, even after becoming a strong young man who had exceeded every expectation, he was still, by nature, someone more suited to a lavish ballroom than a brutal battlefield.
"I too…"
Wilfried muttered softly.
But with no one else around to hear him, he let the words trail off into silence.
As summer drew to a close, the academy's schedule normalized.
The cannon was officially incorporated into military studies thanks to the instructors' efforts.
Still, lacking actual combat data, its practical effectiveness remained unclear.
"It's from Marie."
"Oh!"
A letter arrived from Marie for Ernest and Robert.
Thanks to Ernest's lessons, Marie had written it with neat handwriting and impeccable grammar.
She described how she was initially dismissed by her unit for being Aeblon.
But thanks to what she had learned from Ernest, she was recognized not as an ignorant white monkey but as a well-educated officer.
Most Fiders, even after training at the academy, couldn't read, nor count past their fingers.
The academy intentionally avoided properly educating them, fearing independent thought.
But Marie had received an elite education — etiquette, mathematics, science, economics, rhetoric, military science — everything a noble cadet might learn, she had learned through Ernest.
Unlike other Fiders, who were mere slaves with some strength, Marie was an intellectual who could converse and reason.
She couldn't be treated the same.
Though the tiny Aeblon girl still earned some scornful glances, she had been recognized as a confident and capable First Lieutenant — all thanks to Ernest's education.
"…"
"Crying?"
"No."
"You're crying, aren't you?"
"I'm not."
Ernest was deeply moved by the "thank you" Mari had pressed firmly into the letter.
While he didn't actually cry, Robert teased him as if he had.
But Robert himself was equally touched when Mari thanked him for helping her blend in with others — and earned the same teasing from Ernest.
Alongside the letter were two dried flowers, carefully flattened.
"What kind of flower is this?"
"Iris."
Ernest recognized them at once — irises, dried and pressed by Mari herself.
Just from the clumsy press job, he could picture her pursing her lips in concentration, sewing carefully by candlelight.
The two of them tucked the flowers carefully into their notebooks.
"Marie, who used to struggle counting to ten…"
"That savage girl who was more beast than human…"
Neither of them were even engaged to her, yet they felt like dads with a daughter.
Or perhaps like older brothers to a much younger sister — even though Marie was only one year younger.
Each wrote back to her.
Robert, as chatty as ever, filled three full pages.
Ernest wrote one neat, concise page.
Both expressed relief that Marie was adjusting well and hoped she would continue to do so.
But Ernest's letter also carefully inquired about the atmosphere in the 6th Division of the 2nd Corps, where Marie had been assigned — especially in light of the changing winds at the Royal Military Academy.
Marie had also been assigned to the 2nd Corps.
And Ernest was increasingly anxious — that a massive, inescapable storm might suddenly sweep in and devour everything.
***
Time passed, and winter arrived.
At the year-end party, grades were announced — and once again, Ernest placed first.
Three years in a row.
But this time, it was close — Ferdinand had nearly caught up.
"Looks like next year I'll be first."
"You've been second for three years. No sense breaking tradition now, Ferdinand."
Their exchange had become a tradition of its own.
"So, the Black Coat Alliance still holds?"
"Of course."
Their three-year-strong Black Coat Alliance was still going strong.
"This is driving me nuts…"
Back in their room, Robert groaned, rubbing his face.
It wasn't about his grades — he was solidly average, as usual.
"What if there really is a war?"
Robert was worried about the ominous air looming over the Empire.
The Royal Military Academy, gathering place for the sons of the highest nobility, was unusually quick to catch wind of national affairs.
Through an information exchange group led by Wilfried, suspicious signs had piled up.
Everyone feared war might actually break out.
The cadets' families were even supplying them with rare and discreet information for this purpose.
"To be honest, that would be insane."
Ernest sighed as he sank into a chair.
"Despite what we learned in history, everyone knows the Empire doesn't have an invincible army. They just keep quiet out of fear of His Glorious Majesty."
"That's not the point. It's only been sixteen years since the conquest war failed. The population hasn't recovered, there's no money, and even supplying Balt batteries — our highest priority — is falling apart."
Ernest, from a military standpoint, and Robert, from a logistical one, both agreed: the Empire wasn't ready for war.
And yet… everyone felt war was coming.
That's how thick the tension in the air had become.
"If we were thinking rationally, there wouldn't be war…"
"If people thought rationally, they wouldn't start wars in the first place. War itself is the height of irrationality."
"A cadet shouldn't say that, but… yeah, you're right."
They debated for a long time.
But there was nothing two cadets could do.
No choices to make, no conclusions to reach — only time to endure.
That tension bled into the year-end party.
Voices were hushed, whispers floated in the air. Even the drunken dared not speak freely.
"See you next year."
"…Yeah."
The next day, graduating third-years left the academy with subdued farewells.
But their tightly clasped hands still held trust and friendship — enough to offer a sliver of relief as they turned away from one another.
"Father."
"Ernest."
Once again, Ernest ran to his waiting father with a smile.
The long-separated father and son exchanged warm laughter, forgetting their heavy thoughts for a moment.
"You've grown again. By spring, we might be the same height."
"I'll be taller than you. By a hand."
"That tall and you'll be scary."
If Ernest grew a hand taller than the already-tall Haires, he'd be practically a giant.
Not even Heinz, Ferdinand's grandfather, was that tall.
"Well, I'll stop at your height then. I don't think Drek would want me getting too big."
"Isn't Drek already too small for you? Maybe it's time for a new horse."
"No, I won't ride another horse. Unless I become cavalry — then I'll need one."
At the mention of cavalry, Haires fell silent as they walked side-by-side through the winter streets.
He glanced down at his son, then back up at his face.
It was hard to accept how fast his son had grown — beyond his sight.
"You could become a Beowatcher, Ernest."
Haires said firmly.
"You're my proud son — first in your class three years running at the Royal Military Academy."
Ernest let out a soft chuckle.
"Would've been nicer to hear that at the party. Maybe while bragging to others."
"Well… maybe…"
From his faltering words, Ernest sensed discomfort and regret.
But contrary to what Ernest feared, Haires didn't seem worried — not even with the Empire in such chaos.
Did Haires truly believe Ernest would become a Beowatcher — so firmly that he didn't doubt it for a second?
So confident that his son would never be forced to die on the battlefield?
Or maybe…
Ernest shook the thought away.
Ridiculous.
It couldn't be.
Walking home, Ernest spoke about what had happened at the academy.
Nearly seventeen now, the house he returned to felt small — and he truly felt like an adult.
Tall and sturdy, with a beard needing a shave every few days, he looked every bit a man.
His jaw had grown sharper, his cheeks thinner, and his once-innocent eyes now carried a keen edge.
In the familiar home, Haires silently watched his son's back — now lit from within by an unfamiliar light.
"…You've grown too fast. It's a little… sad."
He spoke softly as he followed Ernest.
"I couldn't stay a child forever, Father."
Ernest's voice held a gentle laugh — no longer the high, clear voice of a boy, but the low, deep tone of a man.
The candleholders and lamps once set low for young Ernest were now too short for him.
When he bent down to light them, Haires couldn't see the flame through his broad back.
Only when Ernest straightened and walked forward did the light return, pushing the darkness away.
Haires stood there, silently watching his son carry the light away down the dark corridor.
Winter had come again.
Marie, now commissioned, couldn't return even for a visit.
And in the small house in Krieger, only father and son remained — with a strange sense of quiet loneliness.