Chapter 100 - At Dusk (9)
By now in his fourth year, Ernest was far more familiar with the academy than with his own home.
What's more, as a fourth-year cadet, he had become a training instructor, responsible for teaching and leading the third-year cadet instructors.
He was undeniably capable—anyone could see that—and he handled every duty with diligence and a strong sense of responsibility.
Fourth-year cadets held many interviews with the instructors and discipline officers.
Graduation and commissioning were just around the corner, and these meetings were conducted to ask cadets which units and positions they hoped to be assigned to.
"I want to become a Beowatcher."
Ernest gave the same answer in every interview.
Becoming a Beowatcher—one of the Emperor's personal guards—was nearly impossible, no matter how exceptional a cadet might be.
The academy itself could be criticized for nominating an unworthy candidate, so they usually advised aiming elsewhere.
"Hm… if there's an opening, I think I can get you in somehow. You should be fine."
But everyone said the same thing: if there was a spot, they would write him a recommendation, and he might just become a Beowatcher.
Ernest ranked among the most outstanding cadets in the history of the Imperial Academy.
His family, the Kriegers, was a noble house with a long history in Grimman.
His father, Haires, was a decorated soldier who had received the Noble Heart medal.
That the Krieger family had only two members and wielded little political power actually worked in his favor.
Becoming a Beowatcher came with massive political influence. Cadets from already powerful families were often opposed by rival houses.
But the Kriegers were so small and powerless that no one found them worth opposing.
Better to hand the seat to a Krieger than give it to a true rival—then win Ernest over to your side later.
So if a spot opened among the Beowatchers and the academy endorsed him, Ernest could find himself there without lifting a finger, thanks to the politics of the nobility.
Of course, that would come with a political marriage.
"I kept telling you to go for a love marriage, and now I see—you had political ambitions all along. Well, if you're aiming for Beowatcher, I guess it makes sense…"
"…"
The instructor who had earnestly advised Ernest to pursue a love marriage now found himself both impressed and spooked by Ernest's cool political insight.
Ernest, who simply never gave any thought to marriage and didn't consider it his concern, averted his gaze without saying anything.
"You coward. So you'll marry for politics in the end, for the sake of your family."
Cadets who were already locked into unwanted engagements shouted with frustration.
"…I just… never really thought about marriage, that's all. It's not like there are any women around me anyway."
"Exactly why we told you to come to parties and meet people! You're the one who turned down every invitation!"
Ernest had received many invitations to parties from his peers.
Even if his family wasn't impressive, he himself was like a gem, and people wanted to proudly introduce him around.
But Ernest didn't enjoy parties.
He much preferred sitting quietly by the fireplace at home with his father, reading.
Or going outside Grimman on horseback with Drek, or camping in the woods.
"And anyway, political marriage for the family isn't cowardly."
"Then let's say you're marrying for your own advancement."
"Right! If you marry into power to become a Beowatcher, what about the guy who played fair and lost because of you?!"
"You all just want to give me a hard time."
"Finally figured it out, huh?"
And so, Ernest got a lot of heat from his friends.
They couldn't stand that he could've gone for a love marriage but chose a political one.
From another angle, though, it meant they all believed Ernest really would become a Beowatcher.
"Please assign me the easiest post closest to Grimman."
"You're definitely going to the front lines."
"No! Please!"
"Supply corps suits you."
"Instructor! Please! No!"
Robert had made an offhand comment and was now in danger of being sent to a frontline supply unit.
He clung desperately to the instructor's trousers.
But the instructors at the Imperial Academy were all fully committed to sending this big-mouth to the supply corps.
In every other area, Robert was painfully average.
Squarely middle of the pack.
But when it came to logistics, his merchant's blood showed: he was astonishingly skilled.
He hated math—except when it involved money.
Then he became razor-sharp.
"You're exactly the kind of talent who needs to stay in the military long-term."
"N-Nooo!"
"I've taught over six hundred cadets, and never met one so obsessed with money. You really are a merchant's son."
"Yes! So I should become a merchant! I'm a petty noble at best—practically a commoner!"
"And yet here you are, a proud soldier of the Imperial Academy. A soldier with a merchant's talent. The military devours money. People like you are essential."
"Let me out! Please let me out!"
"I know someone in logistics. I'll make sure you end up under him. You'll never be allowed to retire."
"Waaah!"
The instructors looked on fondly as Robert wailed.
"I've informed my grandfather I want to join the 2nd Corps Field Division."
"I see. Good. Well done, Hartmann."
Ferdinand's interview was short.
Just one sentence.
He had made his decision, and Heinz had promised.
Nothing else mattered.
Whatever the instructors did, Ferdinand was going to the 2nd Corps Field Division.
"I'm aiming for the Capital Defense Forces for now."
"Hm…"
When it came to Wilfried, both the instructor and discipline officer were at a loss.
"You're serious? Not the Ravid duchy's forces?"
"Yes, I'm serious."
The Ravid duchy had its own military, of course. It was no rural backwater—it required proper governance and defense.
"Capital Defense, huh…"
The instructors looked troubled. Wilfried was an excellent cadet in his own right.
He had just been overshadowed for three years by the monsters Ernest and Ferdinand.
Still, he had always ranked in the top five.
But the Capital Defense Forces had extremely high standards.
Usually, only the cadet with the highest overall four-year record got in.
Even the third-place finisher was considered borderline.
"If the Ravid duchy pushed for you, you could get in even with your current rank. But that wouldn't do you any good."
The instructor spoke with genuine concern.
"Krieger and Hartmann may be anomalies, but it's still a fact that you're fourth overall. If you join now, there will definitely be whispers."
"Yes, I know. I'll do my best this year and rise to third."
Wilfried would've been top two in any other year.
But he happened to be in a cursed class with both Ernest and Ferdinand, and got bumped to fourth.
Ernest had the top spot locked, and even if Ferdinand somehow overtook him in the final year, their overall ranks wouldn't change.
So Wilfried had to aim for third.
From the outside, people might not understand, but anyone in the academy would know: graduating third this year would be like graduating first.
He'd be a duke's son who earned his place in the Capital Defense Forces on merit alone.
He deserved applause.
"Forget Hartmann—Krieger is basically your nemesis."
The instructor smiled wryly, either out of sympathy or sentimentality for a cadet about to graduate.
Everyone had assumed Ferdinand would be the best.
Then a monster named Ernest appeared and threw everything into chaos.
"No."
Wilfried frowned slightly and shook his head.
He seemed annoyed—perhaps even frustrated.
But there was also a look of relief on his face.
"Ernest caused me a lot of grief. But I grew because of him. Without him, I might not even have made the top ten."
"…Hmm."
The instructor nodded slowly.
"You've become a fine man, Ravid."
"…"
"The arrogant boy who entered this school so clueless—he's long gone."
The instructor smiled warmly.
Wilfried had rarely heard such praise.
He looked away awkwardly, but his cheeks flushed slightly.
If the ladies of society had seen him just then, they would've fainted one after another.
"Krieger said he wanted to be a Beowatcher?"
"What? Ah—yes."
That's when Captain Thomas Kohler, one of the academy's most revered instructors, rushed into the office and asked about Ernest.
When the instructor confirmed it, Thomas rubbed his brow in thought and nodded.
"There won't be any openings. He's not getting in."
"W-Well, that's true…"
Hearing this, Wilfried tensed up.
Ernest had said that if he couldn't become a Beowatcher, he wanted to join the Capital Defense Forces—so he could stay near his beloved father in Grimman.
'Ernest! You're blocking my path again!'
Even as the duke's son, Wilfried couldn't compete if Ernest—this disaster of a prodigy—applied with his absurd grades.
Wilfried clenched his fists, face pale.
"They're going to increase the number of instructors starting next year. A few posts will open."
"Really?!"
Thomas smiled.
Wilfried jumped to his feet in excitement.
"They're creating a new artillery branch, so training will be more specialized. More cadets, more instructors."
Clap.
Thomas placed a large, rough hand on Wilfried's shoulder and grinned.
"No matter what, I'll make him an instructor and put him under me. A lieutenant in the garrison is being promoted and transferred. I'll slot Krieger into that post, grind him for a year, then promote him and make him an instructor. So you don't have to worry about him blocking your way. Ravid."
"C-Captain Kohler…!"
Wilfried was deeply moved. He clenched his fists in awe.
'Serves you right, Ernest! You'll spend your life as an instructor at the academy!'
Wilfried was giddy, even though he knew that being an instructor at the Imperial Academy was harder than becoming a Beowatcher—and wielded immense influence.
Still, the moment felt too good to resist.
"Hahaha…"
"…What are you plotting?"
"Nothing?"
When Ernest saw Wilfried grinning at him like a kid on Christmas, he knew something was wrong.
Wilfried never smiled at him like that.
But Wilfried said nothing about Thomas's plan.
Ernest could only stare uneasily, consumed by a sense of dread.
Wilfried fed off Ernest's anxiety. Life suddenly seemed beautiful.
If Thomas had his way, he'd work Ernest like a dog.
Just thinking about it sent shivers down Wilfried's spine—in a good way.
…And if Wilfried joined the Capital Defense Forces while Ernest became an instructor, they'd both stay in Grimman.
The others would be posted elsewhere. Only they would remain.
Wilfried had plenty of complaints about Ernest.
But once they graduated, he felt he could treat him more maturely—as a fellow alumnus.
Having a friend from cadet days nearby didn't sound so bad.
Time passed, and the damp winds of Grimman began to stir again.
It wouldn't be long before the rain came down hard.
"Damn it. Another field training in the rain."
"God, I hope it doesn't pour again…"
The fourth-years shuddered at the thought of the miserable storm-training dreamed up by the detestable Thomas Kohler.
Even the instructors hated that training.
They had to camp out in the rain with the cadets.
No one liked it—except Thomas.
And even he didn't actually like camping in the rain.
He just enjoyed watching the cadets suffer.
"There's no mail."
"Yeah, nothing."
"What's going on?"
"They say there was an incident at the Imperial Postal Service. No letters are being delivered—not just to the academy, but to all of Grimman."
A major disruption had hit the Imperial Postal Service, cutting off the academy from the outside world.
The Postal Service was the fastest and most reliable in the empire.
Expensive, yes—but trustworthy.
Other private carriers still existed.
But they used horse-drawn wagons, and delayed deliveries to maximize profits by bundling mail.
Once the Imperial Service collapsed, nearly all mail in Grimman ceased.
For cadets, letters were their only link to the outside world.
Then came the spring gales.
Rain poured like the sky had torn open, and lightning split the heavens.
Few dared to go out.
Grimman, usually bustling, fell silent.
A few days after the storm began, Ernest and the other training instructors received a strange order.
"All the transport trucks… sir?"
"Yeah, bring them all out and prepare them."
"What's this about? A drill?"
Ernest asked Thomas, face stiff.
Thomas, equally tense, shook his head.
"I don't know."
Ernest studied everything—his expression, eyes, skin tone, even his breath.
He was sure Thomas really didn't know.
"Just get the trucks ready. I'll check again."
"…Understood."
Ernest and the other instructors moved the academy's entire fleet of transport trucks to the front gate.
He didn't want to drive himself, and the others wouldn't let him, so he went to the transport officer instead.
"I haven't heard anything. Are you sure Captain Kohler said that?"
"Yes."
"…All right, then."
Even the transport officer had no clue.
But Thomas wasn't the type to joke like this, so he signed off the order.
He scribbled "training" as the purpose in the corner, intending to add more details later.
"What the hell is this? There wasn't even a training schedule today."
"Damn, I'm soaked."
The instructors grumbled as they moved the trucks in the rain.
When they returned to the dorms, they found them empty.
"To the auditorium. Follow me."
"What's going on?"
"I don't know."
They followed the last remaining discipline officer to the hall.It was the venue for entrance and graduation ceremonies, national founding day parties, and year-end celebrations.
Now it was packed with cadets and officers, buzzing with uneasy noise.
Ernest flinched when he saw armed guards posted at the entrance—not to protect the hall from outsiders, but to keep everyone inside.
"Get in already!"
Soaked from the rain, the officer urged the frozen Ernest forward.
Ernest glanced around.
Everyone looked just as confused as he was.
He stepped into the hall.
That's when the uproar hit his ears like a crashing waterfall.
"They've all arrived."
Once the instructors were in place, a discipline officer reported to Brigadier General Gauss Schultz.
Gauss nodded but said nothing.
He stared at the noisy cadets with old, murky brown eyes.
Finally, Gauss walked forward.
As soon as he stepped out, most cadets fell silent. Some still whispered.
"Silence."
Gauss spoke not with thunder, but a soft murmur.
It wasn't loud enough to reach the back, and some kept whispering.
"Silence."
This time, his voice carried farther.
Finally, the hall quieted.
Moist, cold air hung heavy over them.Gauss stood tall like a statue, watching the anxious young cadets.
Step. Step. Step.
He slowly stepped aside, making way.
Major General Armin Mannheim, the headmaster, stepped forward.
"…"
He said nothing at first.
His dark eyes stared out from beneath white hair and beard.
He took a long breath.
His beard trembled.
Then he spoke.
"The Empire…"
His voice filled the hall like the sea.
"…has returned the northwestern region of Bertagne to its rightful owner, the Count of Bertagne."
"No…"
A whisper of terror rippled.
Bertagne lay on the northwest border of the Empire—once part of the Kingdom of Belliand.
"The Count, with the Emperor's authority, demanded the return of the lands beyound the border that Belliand currently holds."
This was all theater—everyone knew it.
Walter Ulrich Mihahil wanted a pretext for war.
The forest that formed the border—formerly part of Bertagne—would not be returned.
"The Count has requested military aid from the Emperor, and His Majesty has agreed."
Armin looked at the terrified cadets—some too afraid to breathe.
"Effective immediately, the Empire enters a state of war. As such, all fourth-year cadets are hereby graduated and commissioned…"
"No!"
A scream tore through the silence.
"Lieutenant Luther!"
"This can't be! They're just children!"
Norman wailed in panic.
Other instructors tried to hold him back, but he broke through like a man possessed.
"They're only seventeen!"
His scream echoed.
Armin simply watched him.
He said nothing.
Eventually, Norman was restrained and dragged away.
Armin turned back to the cadets.
"The war has begun. You must now fulfill your duty as soldiers."
Duty… What had these children done to deserve this?
But Armin, as headmaster, spoke with authority.
"By my authority, I hereby graduate the fourth-year cadets. You are now officers of the Imperial Army."
He would graduate the third-years soon.
If the war dragged on, even the younger cadets would be rushed into service.
"I sincerely hope we will meet again alive."
Armin raised his scarred right hand in salute.
Using Bertagne as a pretext, Emperor Walter had declared war.
This wasn't just about reclaiming a forest.
Belliand would fight with all its strength—and the Empire would use that to justify conquering it outright.
Thus began the Second Imperial Conquest—violent, sudden, and insane.