Chapter 101 - At Dusk (10)
"This is outrageous! A war?!"
"I-I'm dropping out."
"Drop out? Have you no honor? As nobles of the Empire, you must not run from your duty. Face it with pride!"
The cadets were in chaos.
The once-quiet auditorium was now filled with shouting that made ears ring.
The first-years, too young to grasp what was happening, stood frozen and confused.
The second- and third-years yelled protests or declared they would quit, each talking over the other.
"This is wartime. You are soldiers. We do not accept withdrawals. Training will proceed, follow orders."
Senior Instructor, Captain Thomas Kohler, spoke like a rusted machine. And at that moment, every cadet realized — unless they graduated and went to the battlefield, they would never leave the academy alive.
"New officers, return to the dormitories immediately and pack! We leave at once!"
"..."
The fourth-years — now newly commissioned officers — stared blankly at the faculty officer issuing commands.
No ceremony, no graduation.
Just a sudden shove into war.
"…Madness."
Even in the clamor, Ferdinand's bitter mutter rang louder than expected.
No one needed to ask whom or what he meant.
They all felt the same.
Emperor Walter Ulrich Mihahil, the war maniac, had dragged them into another conflict in the most absurd way imaginable.
One time burning the world hadn't satisfied that madman.
"Let's go."
"…Hartmann."
"There's no choice. Either obey orders or become traitors. There is no middle ground."
At Ferdinand's words, the new officers turned to one another, then looked toward the wide-open entrance of the auditorium.
The Royal Military Academy's guards stood there, gripping their rifles with pale, trembling hands, their faces twisted in pain.
If anyone defied orders here, they would be branded traitors.
They might not be executed on the spot, but what followed would be clear.
"…Yeah. He's right."
With a pale face, Ernest forced himself to speak calmly.
"This whole thing was planned to trap us from the start. We never had a choice."
Even without naming him, everyone understood — it was the Emperor's scheme.
If Grimman was under such tight information control, it was unlikely other regions knew anything.
And even if they had, it would've been nearly impossible to get the word out.
Only a handful of people must've known.
This wasn't an ordinary war.
There was no formal declaration.
It was an ambush, even on their own citizens.
Perhaps Belliand hadn't even refused to return territory.
Talks may not have progressed that far.
It didn't matter.
The excuse would've come either way.
Belliand would have to refuse, and upon hearing of that, Allied support would be requested.
So the Empire preempted everything — launching a cowardly surprise attack to conquer Belliand as swiftly as possible.
"Let's go to the dorms. No good comes from delay."
Ernest tried to remain as calm as he could.
Following Ferdinand's lead, he spoke, and the new officers, faces pale, began to move with resolve.
"Ravid."
As Wilfried clenched his teeth and tried to follow his friends out, a faculty officer called to him.
When Wilfried turned, the man spoke softly.
"You're to wait here."
"…What?"
"Remain. You're being assigned elsewhere."
Wilfried's lips parted in shock, but no words came out.
"Wh-where… am I being sent?"
He finally managed to stammer, and the answer came:
"You've been selected for the Capital Defense Force."
The Capital Defense Force.
Wilfried couldn't grasp the words at first.
Slowly, his neck turned and his eyes widened.
"…This is…!"
"Enough! This isn't for you to argue about!"
Before he could protest, a disciplinarian stepped forward, grabbing Wilfried by the collar. The trembling in his grip, the fear in his eyes — Wilfried felt it all.
"You know what's happening, Ravid."
The disciplinarian whispered urgently.
"His Grace pulled strings to protect you. There's been lobbying with both the General Staff and the Defense Force. Even if you refuse now, it's too late."
"I never asked for this!"
Wilfried threw off the disciplinarian's grip and shouted, fury burning in his eyes like wildfire.
"Ravid!"
"You can't…! You can't just treat me like this!"
The instructor tried desperately to protect even one of the boys they had raised — but Wilfried, now a man, would not be stopped.
"I'll make my own decisions! I'll go with my friends—!"
"Wilfried!"
Just as Wilfried was about to say something he couldn't take back, a bold voice rang through the auditorium.
He turned with a start.
"Introduce me to a pretty blonde later! One who isn't already in love with you!"
"…Robert."
Despite his pale face, Robert waved with a big grin.
"Write me, alright? Don't ignore your friend's letter just because you're lounging around in Grimman, you noble brat!"
"I-I…!"
"It's okay. Wilfried."
Robert's teasing words were echoed by his other friends, smiling gently.
"Thank you."
"..."
"We'll meet again."
Wilfried couldn't bring himself to stop them as they quietly left.
He couldn't even say he wanted to join them on the battlefield.
Thud.
He collapsed to his knees, staring at the backs of his departing friends — backs he might never see again.
They looked back, smiled bittersweetly, waved, and left.
"..."
"..."
Among them, a youth with deep, dark eyes turned back.
The one who had made Wilfried's life at the academy the hardest.
The one who'd helped him grow.
A rival, a bully, a friend — Ernst.
Ernest chuckled at the sight of Wilfried on his knees.
"Pathetic."
And with long strides, he left the auditorium.
"…Damn it…"
Wilfried muttered with his head bowed.
The Capital Defense Force only accepted the best cadets.
With Ferdinand and Ernest still around, even a third-rank was above him — so how did fourth-ranked Wilfried get chosen, now of all times?
It was unfair.
It was disgraceful.
He wanted to be with his friends.
He feared losing them.
But he couldn't stand up and say he would go to war.
Ferdinand was right.
War and battle — none of it meant anything to Wilfried.
He wasn't a warrior.
He didn't shine on battlefields.
He shone at parties.
He realized now, more than ever, just how cowardly and weak he truly was.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it…!"
He pounded the ground with his fists.
His pale hands were soaked in blood, but the pain in his heart was too great for him to even notice the pain in his body.
He was the kind of noble he'd always hated — irresponsible and afraid.
***
"Ah, I might wet myself."
"Don't."
"I'm already soaked. What's a little more?"
"Then we're not friends anymore."
"You bastard."
"You're worse."
Back at the dorm, packing what little they had, Ernest and Robert joked like always.
Ernest stuffed his things into the old bag his father had gifted him.
What about my medicine…?
He sighed, dropping in his heart meds and tonics.
Could he ask Haires to send them?
Would they even get delivered?
"No sense of reality."
Even Ernest found it absurd that he was worrying about prescriptions at a time like this.
"Oh, really? What about this?"
Robert poked Ernest in the ribs.
"Stop."
Ernest calmly warned, and Robert went back to packing.
"What do we even do now?"
Ernest didn't have an answer either.
"Leave?"
"…Let's stay just a bit longer."
They stood by the window, watching rain soak the academy — the same sight they'd seen for four years.
"I wish I could at least say goodbye to my father."
"Me too."
They both sighed. But it was obvious no one would permit such a thing now.
"Time to move! Out, now!"
A disciplinarian's voice echoed in the dormitory. His voice trembled slightly, hoarse.
"Let's go."
"Yeah."
They left their room, joining others with bags just as light. Some had accepted their fate with calm determination. Others, their eyes red from crying.
"Guess I'll stick close to dear Ferdinand."
"Don't call me that."
"Aww, did I hurt your feelings?"
"I told you, I'm going to the front."
Ferdinand refused to play along and spoke firmly.
"You won't benefit from tagging along with me."
"Still, with your grandfather and father both being general staff, you're better off than some powerless commoner."
"You're not a commoner."
"Look at me. Then look at you. I'm a fragile civilian who needs protection."
"Your mouth should be cursed, but your skills — I acknowledge."
Ferdinand responded calmly.
"You'll make a fine soldier, Robert."
"…I'm just a merchant's son."
Ferdinand ignored that mumble. Robert was average among their peers — but at the Royal Military Academy, average meant top-tier across the entire Empire.
"Sir… are you crying?"
"I am not."
"Hmm, seems like you are…"
The instructor with reddened eyes stood silently, watching the most problematic, unforgettable class in the history of the academy.
"Come back alive."
His voice cracked as he saluted.
The young officers saluted in return and left.
Even after they vanished into the rain, he couldn't bring himself to leave, covering his eyes with his hand.
***
SPLASH!
At the gate, faculty stood soaked by rain beside running transport trucks — Chief Kramer, Cadet Commander Gauss, and Headmaster Armin.
Once gathered, Armin finally spoke:
"This will be a long war."
His voice rang clear even through the storm.
"Even if we conquer Belliand, it won't end. No one knows how long it will last."
The 2nd Corps alone was enough to reclaim the forest and stop Belliand — yet they sent cadets to the battlefield.
It was clear: this was the start of the Second Conquest War.
The first lasted 28 years.
No one could promise when this one would end.
Armin Mannheim, the veteran who saw that hell from start to end, looked at the too-young officers.
"Death is no longer honorable. Nor beautiful."
He'd lived through the age of cavalry charges and infantry lines.
Back then, death had meaning.
But with guns — it became meaningless.
How could humans kill each other so easily? Even livestock were treated with more ceremony.
"Don't speak of death. Speak of life. Survive, and return to your families."
That was the most honorable thing they could achieve now.
He held out his hand.
Ferdinand stepped forward and grasped it firmly.
Ferdinand now stood taller than the Imperial Major General.
They exchanged no words.
Ferdinand moved on to shake the hands of the other officers.
Some cadets wept.
Some, like Ferdinand, passed in silence.
Ernest too shook Armin's hand — the man who had once called him the hero's son and inspired him to persevere.
"…My father…"
Ernest began, but closed his mouth again.
Armin merely watched him.
That was enough.
Ernest nodded and moved on.
"Where's Instructor Luther?"
Ernest asked Thomas as he shook his hand.
"Detained for now."
"He'll be okay?"
"Yes."
"That's a relief."
Watching Ernest worry even now, Thomas's lip trembled.
"I'll make you an instructor. I'll work you like a dog."
"..."
"Don't forget. You will come back here."
Ernest paused, then chuckled slightly.
"I haven't given up on being a Beowatcher."
"No, you won't be one. You'll be an instructor."
"Then I'd better make major before the war ends."
"Captain is your ceiling. That's the requirement."
They shared similar smiles and let go.
The young officers boarded the transport.
Cramped under raincoats, it felt like they were headed to a training ground.
"I want to go back."
Someone muttered softly.
The transport departed, vanishing into the rain beyond the wide gates — farewelled only by the salutes of the academy's officers.
"No! No!"
Only after they'd gone did people arrive in a panic, rushing through the open gates.
"Müller's son is dropping out! I have the letter!"
"My son! Where is my son?!"
Armin said nothing, just stared at the screaming crowd.
Too late.
Each house had realized what was happening, but the cadets were already gone.
"…No way…"
Cries turned to outrage at the emperor.
But no one, not even the academy officers, tried to refute it.
Thud.
"No… Please, God…"
A man in elegant clothes knelt and prayed — with brown hair, brown eyes, and the unmistakable face of a cheerful youth now headed to war.
"What have I done…?"
Oliver Jimman had believed war wouldn't come.
For profit, he'd sent his son to the Royal Military Academy — and now stared blankly at the sky.
Realizing it was too late, people scattered — to chase the trucks, to pull strings, to denounce the emperor and save their sons.
Only a few collapsed in despair at the gates.
Armin looked at them — and then at a man, dark and shadowy in the rain.
"..."
"..."
After twenty years, the two men recognized each other instantly.
Their first meeting had been in a rainy forest. Now, Armin was old, and Haires — once young — stood graying at the edge of fifty.
Armin's expression finally cracked.
Seeing that, Haires knew something had gone wrong.
He ran to Armin.
"Where is Ernest?!"
Haires shouted — the man who had always been a quiet shadow now shaken.
"He's already gone. To war."
At that, Haires's face twisted as if exploding, draining pale like a corpse.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
He grabbed Armin by the collar.
The guards rushed forward, but Armin held up a hand to stop them.
"No… No, that can't be."
Haires growled, almost praying.
"The emperor promised. Mannheim. My son is to be a Beowatcher. He must have told you."
Armin's eyes wavered slightly.
He understood now.
The emperor had made a deal with Haires — but only one side had honored it.
"…You believed him, Krieger?"
Armin asked, voice heavy.
"You believed the man who made the world a hell and threw us into it?"
Not as headmaster, but as an old comrade who'd walked through the same hell.
"Do you really think he'll just leave you alone? Your son?"
"..."
"Krieger. It's raining."
Just like the day the hell began — it rained again.
Haires, forever haunted, let go of Armin and ran.
He had to escape.
Ernest had already been taken.
If Haires was caught now, Ernest would become a hostage — and fall fully into the emperor's hands.
He had contingency plans.
If he could just get out of Grimman—
"Sir Haires."
A somber voice called from a shadowed alley.
Haires stopped.
"Please come with us."
Realization hit.
He hadn't noticed the surveillance.
He had been surrounded.
For Haires Krieger — founding director of the Special Security Bureau — that was unthinkable.
But time had dulled even a superhuman.
He had realized it too late.
Now, he was about to lose the one person he had to protect.
Only now did he understand — he had been mad.
"..."
"Sir Haires."
He stripped off his raincoat, his wool coat, his jacket — left in only a thin shirt, soaked through and revealing the scars beneath.
He tossed away his hat.
His hands hovered near his pistol and dagger.
"Please don't."
From the alley, the man who once called himself Martin Kruger pleaded.
But Haires ignored him.
A flash.
A crack of thunder.
"Don't kill him!"
Martin's cry was lost in the downpour.
Under the storm-ripped sky, Haires began doing what he had to for his son — breaking the pursuit, escaping Grimman.
He would kill, use civilians, take hostages — anything.
Martin, and even Walter, were desperate to control him.
If it came to it, Haires would aim the gun at his own head.
If only Ernest had been a bit older…
He regretted not running sooner.
But with an infant in arms, even Haires couldn't have fled back then.
If only enough time had passed for him to grow strong without me…
He realized this was inevitable.
His sins — like the rain — had soaked through him and now weighed down on his son's shoulders.
He couldn't claim he was just following orders anymore.
As he ran through the thunderstorm, Haires thought of that small, warm home.
Of a boy turning back with the light of spring in his eyes.
Of a return that would never come.