Chapter 3 - The True Warrior
The very first training Haires assigned to Ernest was none other than running.
"Stamina is the most important thing. Without stamina, you can't do anything." "Do they run at the Military Academy too?"
"No."
When his son, who didn't understand the necessity of running, asked the question, Haires answered firmly.
"Officers who graduate from the Imperial Military Academy and receive their commission rarely run on their own two legs. But stamina is still part of the evaluation criteria."
"Then how do the other cadets build their stamina?"
"They build it through horseback riding or swordsmanship sparring. But that's just a pastime for nobles. Real soldiers train with wrestling. And high-ranking nobles disdain that sort of vulgar activity."
Haires glanced over his son's small, delicate body and blinked slowly once.
"When you build some muscle, you'll learn wrestling too."
"Did you learn wrestling, Father?"
Unlike his usual obedient nodding, Ernest asked question after question.
Haires found this unfamiliar and stared at his son for a moment before shaking his head.
"That's how I learned to survive."
Ernest would come to understand the meaning of those words a little later—after he had gained muscle and begun serious martial training under Haires.
Ernest was a quiet child who preferred reading books at home, so compared to kids his age, he wasn't particularly strong.
More than anything, he had hardly ever experienced running.
He spent most of his time at home, to the point of having almost no friends.
"Haah! Haah! Ugh..."
"Ernest, what's wrong?"
"My, my head hurts..."
Because of this, Ernest didn't even realize it was unusual for his head to hurt when he got exhausted running.
Haires, running alongside him in the park, stopped his son with a stern expression after hearing him speak.
"...I heard that taking heart medication can cause headaches. That's probably why."
"If I have a heart condition, why does my head hurt?"
"It's just a side effect of the medicine."
"Can't I stop taking the medicine?"
"It's better to take the medicine and endure headaches than to leave your heart condition untreated."
Haires, who had been patiently answering his son's questions, suddenly scolded him in a cold, heavy voice.
"You have to take that medicine until you die. So don't ever say such nonsense again."
Ernest, feeling utterly terrified, silently nodded.
"...I'll look into the medicine more carefully. Until then, just run only enough so you don't get headaches."
Seeing his frightened son, Haires softened his voice and spoke a little more kindly.
In the end, Ernest's headaches were never resolved.
The heart medication was something he had to take for the rest of his life, and these side effects would remain with him until he died as well.
Still, the only side effect was the headaches, and since headaches alone wouldn't kill him, Ernest decided to endure them and continue training.
He was a patient child, quietly following the grueling training that would make most kids quit right from the start.
All while enduring headaches that felt like nails being hammered into his skull.
In fact, Ernest had tried several times to give up on Haires's training.
But not once did he say he couldn't do it in front of his father.
He didn't want to disappoint his father, and even though it was hard and painful, the time he got to spend with his father was precious.
Haires usually went out every day.
He would wake up at dawn, wash, eat, then train Ernest.
After that, he'd leave in the morning and return home just before sunset.
But Ernest had no idea what his father was doing outside.
When Haires returned home, he would check that Ernest had studied alone, then eat, wash, and go to sleep.
This routine became the daily pattern Haires repeated after Ernest was old enough to stay home alone without causing trouble.
Since deciding to train Ernest, Haires rarely went out alone.
Except for washing and sleeping, Ernest spent almost all his time with his father.
The boy was genuinely happy and joyful.
That is why he threw himself even more wholeheartedly into his training.
The exhausting workouts that made him feel like vomiting, the headaches that felt like his skull was being smashed—none of it seemed so terrible when considering it allowed him to spend time with his father.
"Ernest, come here."
"Yes, Father!"
Among all the training, Ernest's favorite was horseback riding.
It wasn't meant to build physical strength, so it wasn't grueling enough to trigger headaches.
Most importantly, Haires would ride behind Ernest, holding the reins together as they guided the horse.
Ernest couldn't even remember the last time he'd been in his father's arms.
Yet every time he mounted a horse, Haires would lift him up with a sweep of his arms, set him on the saddle, then sit behind him to ride.
But those moments didn't last long.
Ernest quickly got used to the horse.
From that point on, Haires only lifted him up when getting on and off the horse.
Even so, that was enough to make Ernest happy, and he soon came to love horseback riding itself.
This love remarkably accelerated his riding skills.
"Father, do we really need to learn horseback riding?"
One day, Ernest suddenly asked his father, looking to satisfy a question that had popped into his mind.
"I heard that officers ride Balt Automobiles. Even high-ranking nobles are already using them. They say civilian use will be commercialized soon, too."
It's already been over ten years since the military Balt Automobile was developed and put into active duty.
Now, even high-ranking nobles are starting to use Balt Automobiles one by one, and rumors are widespread that affordable civilian versions will soon be available.
But why is horseback riding necessary?
"First of all, horseback riding is an essential part of a noble's education as a form of social activity."
Haires kindly explained this to his curious son.
"Secondly, don't think you'll always be riding Balt Automobiles during wartime. The battlefield is a place full of every variable you can imagine—and those you can't even imagine. And lastly..."
After explaining the dangers and unpredictability of the battlefield, Haires stopped himself before finishing his thought.
"...there's no guarantee that Balt Automobiles will ever become widely commercialized."
A moment later, he muttered this excuse in a low voice.
Ernest didn't make a big deal out of it.
He had only asked out of curiosity.
By now, Ernest enjoyed horseback riding not as training but as a hobby.
Haires bought Ernest a small, gentle gelding.
Ernest named the horse Drek, which means "mud," because although the horse's coat was a bright brown, the fur around its hooves was a deep black-brown, as if stained with mud.
While teaching Ernest how to run and ride, Haires also began to educate him about noble society, the military system, and basic military science.
Ernest was very confident in this kind of study and, being very bright, Haires never doubted that Ernest would keep up with the lessons.
Ernest felt the same way.
However, to everyone's dismay, Ernest, who was only ten years old but had already read over a hundred books, couldn't focus on his studies at all—not even on his beloved reading!
The problem was the heart medication that gave Ernest terrible headaches.
Since he started taking the medicine, his concentration had steadily worsened.
Haires visited the doctor who prescribed the medicine several times to discuss the issue.
Each time, Ernest would clutch his chest, trembling with both hope and anxiety, waiting for his father.
But Haires couldn't find a pill without side effects that Ernest wanted.
"We'll have no choice but to reduce the dosage a little."
"..."
Ernest was so disappointed that he couldn't even respond to his father's words.
Though they did lower the dosage after that, Ernest still felt headaches when his pulse quickened from intense exercise and suffered from chronic concentration problems.
Fortunately, Ernest was exceptionally bright compared to other children, so he gradually adapted to these harsh conditions and continued to grow rapidly.
He would study with focus for a while, switch to something else for a bit, and once his attention faltered, he'd return to studying.
From an outside perspective, he looked incredibly distracted, but for Ernest, there was no other way.
"Let's keep the medicine a secret—for now, at least until you graduate from the Military Academy."
Haires told his son this as a way to cope with the medication's side effects.
From then on, Ernest and Haires began calling the heart medicine a "tonic."
A retired soldier giving his son a tonic to help train probably didn't seem too strange.
Time passed, and when Ernest turned eleven, Haires finally proposed training other than running and horseback riding for his young son.
He began teaching his young son how to fight—that is, how to kill a person.
The Balt Gun had been supplied to the Imperial Army, and other countries had also developed and advanced powder guns, deploying riflemen.
Military scholars and high-ranking officers predicted that even though infantry and cavalry armed with cold weapons were still active on the battlefield, they would disappear completely within a few years.
Still, Haires handed his son wooden sticks and taught him how to kill an opponent whenever he held a weapon, whether it was a sword or spear.
He also taught him hand-to-hand combat—difficult to define precisely as boxing or wrestling.
During these physical fights, he explained how lethal, precise, and brutal a dagger could be.
Haires's martial arts training couldn't be pinned down as any specific martial art.
To put it positively, it was a versatile form of combat suitable for various situations.
Negatively, one might just call it a hodgepodge.
Moreover, Haires took Ernest out of the Empire's capital, Grimman, spending several days staying in forests and mountains.
He taught his young son how to start a fire with bare hands, find water, build shelter, set traps, erase tracks, and treat wounds.
To teach Ernest how to stitch wounds, Haires even caught a rabbit in a trap, tied it up tightly, shaved its fur, and made an incision with a dagger.
Even when Ernest was terrified by the blood gushing from the wide-open wound or felt like vomiting, Haires made him sit still and focus on everything.
Ernest quickly became accustomed to these experiences.
Literally, Haires was teaching Ernest how to survive.
Though retired for over ten years, Haires's martial skills and survival techniques showed no sign of dulling.
Ernest wrestled with his father, got beaten up often, rolled on the ground many times, and cried a lot.
At first, Haires seemed startled by his son's crying, but that was it.
He relentlessly pushed Ernest with the same harshness as always.
Ernest would throw himself at his father until exhausted and wracked with headaches, unable to get up.
Each time, he had to be beaten until he collapsed.
Haires was careful not to injure Ernest, but it was still harsh for an eleven-year-old child.
Still, Ernest didn't particularly fear or dislike his father.
After all, Haires gently carried the exhausted Ernest in his arms.
And, despite the difficulty, Ernest enjoyed camping with his father as they moved through the forests and mountains.
As time passed and Ernest grew accustomed to this grueling training, he was finally allowed to hold a real weapon meant for killing someone.
The first weapon he held was none other than the Balt Gun that Haires kept along with his uniform.
Although Ernest had handled a dagger while camping, that was merely a tool for miscellaneous tasks.
"The Balt Gun is strictly controlled within the Imperial Army. Anyone outside the military who possesses a Balt Gun must either be a retired soldier of Field Officer rank or higher, or a high-ranking noble—at least a baron—with the authority to command troops in times of emergency over their own territory."
Ernest, who had left Grimman on horseback expecting the usual forest camping with his father, tensed up sharply when he saw the Balt Gun in his father's hands.
"Especially the firing Balt Battery has no set price. According to Imperial law, trading one without the Emperor's express permission is impossible. If caught, the punishment is execution without exception."
After saying this, Haires pulled out not the elegant white Balt Battery he usually kept with the gun, but a yellowed supply-type Balt Battery instead.
Unlike the lighting Balt Batteries, this one contained enough Balt to enable firing.
It was even shaped and processed for that use. It was clearly a firing Balt Battery.
Haires opened the chamber cover at the rear of the barrel and pressed the battery firmly inside, securing it.
He didn't explain how he had acquired such a firing Balt Battery, and curious Ernest didn't dare ask.
Click.
Haires loaded a round lead bullet into the muzzle of the gun fitted with the battery.
The lead bullet, smaller than the barrel, swiftly reached the chamber and struck the Balt Battery.
Click.
Haires pulled the hammer back.
At the tip of the hammer was a very small Balt Battery attached.
Then, almost as if he hadn't even aimed properly, Haires quickly reached out and pulled the trigger.
Ernest couldn't even register when Haires had reached out to fire.
The small battery on the hammer struck the tip of the firing Balt Battery beyond the thin groove in the chamber with great force, and their collision caused the Balt to erupt explosively.
A blue flash of Balt shot out through a small groove in the chamber, but most of the Balt surged out through the wider opening of the muzzle, powerfully pushing the bullet forward.
A flash and a roar.
Bang!
Thud.
And then the Siberian Chipmunk dropped lifelessly from the tree.
Startled, Ernest stepped back but tripped over a tree root and fell hard on his backside.
Although the chipmunk was quietly perched on a low branch of a nearby tree, the shot hit it precisely despite the lack of proper aiming.
The bullet was large enough that a hole was blasted through the chipmunk's body, and blood poured out.
"The Balt Gun is different from a powder gun. For one thing, loading is easy."
Haires glanced at his dazed son and said this, then moved his fingers fluidly and finished reloading in an instant.
If it had been a powder gun, he would have had to pull back the hammer to load, put powder in the powder pan, put powder in the muzzle, insert the bullet, push the bullet in with a ramrod, tap the gun hard on the ground, pray the shot fires properly, pull the trigger, and even if the bullet didn't fire, stay aiming for a moment in case a spark ignited.
On the other hand, using the Balt Gun is simple: open the chamber cover, check the condition of the Balt Battery, push it forward to ensure a tight seal with the barrel, close the cover, load the bullet into the muzzle, pull back the hammer, aim, and pull the trigger.
That's all there is to it.
Misfires are incredibly rare.
Unless the battery gets damaged when the hammer strikes it, or there's an issue with the contact between the battery and the barrel, it almost always fires properly.
"Next, the accuracy is incomparably better than that of a powder gun."
Haires fired quickly once again, just as before.
Bang!
Once more, the Balt discharged, flashing a sharp blue light.
Thud!
The bullet struck a tree some distance away.
Immediately after, Haires reloaded in an instant.
This time, he took aim directly down the barrel, holding his aim briefly.
His breathing was steady, and his hand unwavering.
Bang!
Thud!
Remarkably, Haires hit almost the exact same spot again.
"Unlike powder guns with so many variables, the Balt always fires with consistent force. If the barrel is long enough, as long as your aim isn't off, hitting a target within effective range is easy."
Despite having a shorter barrel, the Balt Pistol—even an outdated model from ten years ago—has a far better hit rate than powder guns with barrels as tall as a person.
That's why Balt Guns are never longer than about a meter.
The only time a higher accuracy rate is necessary is when the enemy is beyond effective range, so it's basically useless.
This was the source of the power that transformed Mihahil—from nothing more than a mere barony—into the strongest empire on the continent.
During an era when guns were merely ceremonial or symbolic items for commanders, Walter Ulrich Mihahil created the Balt Gun to arm his troops, swiftly conquered nearby territories, sparked a rebellion, and became king.
Through the subsequent wars of conquest, he seized vast lands and established a great empire.
Other countries hurried to develop powder guns, which now had sufficient combat effectiveness, but even so, they were woefully inadequate compared to the power of the Balt Gun.
Thirty infantrymen armed with Balt Guns could kill hundreds of enemies equipped with melee weapons and powder guns.
With its overwhelming range, accuracy, and firing rate, they could annihilate the enemy unilaterally in open-field battles without suffering any losses.
Moreover, the development of the Balt Automobile brought innovation in supply and transport.
Although there were issues with battery consumption and overheating, it was still far better than horse-drawn carriages.
However, in complex and rugged terrain like forests and mountains, the advantages of the Balt Gun and Balt Automobile significantly diminished.
The enemy began retreating into forests and mountains, employing brutal delay tactics.
Weary from this stagnant situation, the empire decided to pull back, bringing the Mihahil Empire's wars of conquest to an end.
"The Balt Gun has two major problems. One is heat generation, and the other is damage caused by shock when firing. These issues are even more pronounced in powder guns."
Haires detached the battery from the gun, then approached his unsteady son and placed the gun and battery into his small hands.
The Balt Gun was hotter than a human body's temperature, and the end of the standard-issue battery was crumbling to dust.
"Try loading it."
"Y-yes..."
Ernest began attaching the battery to the gun with trembling hands. Then, after pushing the bullet his father handed him into the barrel, he pulled the stiff hammer back with all his strength.
It took just 10 seconds for the Balt Gun to be ready to kill a human in the hands of an eleven-year-old boy.
Once he got used to it, Ernest would be able to reload in an instant like Haires.
"Take aim."
"A-aim at what?"
"Anything."
With trembling breath and hands, Ernest tried to imitate the movements his father had shown him.
Standing up straight with his waist and chest, he stretched out his right hand.
But Ernest's hands, making their first attempt to hold the Balt Gun, continued to shake.
The Balt Gun was heavier than it looked.
"Don't do it that way. Hold it with both hands. Let your left hand wrap over your right hand. That's it. Stretch both arms out, tuck your chin in, this here is the front sight, and this is the rear sight. Let the rear sight align with the center of the front sight."
Haires calmly embraced his son's back and patiently taught him how to shoot.
Shooting with one hand is only sufficient in urgent situations, when holding the reins while on horseback, if one arm can't be used, or when you need to shoot with dignity in formal settings.
That is, unless you're as highly trained as Haires, able to shoot roughly yet still maintain a high accuracy rate.
"Calm your breathing. Yes, slowly…"
Ernest took a deep breath, feeling his father's low voice and warm embrace.
His breathing calmed, and his startled heart eased.
"When you're ready, pull the trigger. There's no need to rush. Wait patiently. One well-aimed bullet fired calmly is far more threatening than a hundred shots fired in panic."
Haires held his younger son's hand steady without shaking. Leaning on his father's hand, Ernest maintained his aim.
"Just because reloading is quick and easy, don't take your one shot lightly. One bullet can kill an enemy. Understand that weight, and don't waste the chance."
Ernest flinched and froze at his father's words. One shot could kill an enemy. What he held in his hand now was no toy, but a deadly weapon designed to kill a human.
"Ernest."
Sensing his son's confusion and hesitation, Haires spoke in a calm, steady voice.
"Don't hesitate. The moment you point your gun at the enemy, you only have one choice. So that hesitation is unnecessary, and it will only bring you to death."
Haires offered his son kind advice in a gentle voice.
"Don't think about who your opponent is, what they are, or why they became your enemy. If you've aimed your gun and believe you can hit, pull the trigger and kill."
Haires was giving his son honest advice. That was the lesson Haires Krieger had learned surviving through the fires of war. In war, human lives are no different than flies swarming over garbage. One gesture or a single word can send them dying like flies.
Those who hesitate don't survive.
Ernest's breathing grew slightly heavier. His hands kept trembling, and sweat made the gun's handle feel too slippery. But because Haires held him firmly, Ernest's gun didn't shake at all.
"Pull it."
When Haires whispered that and Ernest snapped back to focus, the Balt Gun had already fired. A blue flash and the sharp report faded as the bullet hit the wooden post.
The bullet Ernest fired lodged just below the spot where Haires had hit twice before in the same place. Ernest was so startled by the sudden flash, the deafening bang, and the numbing sensation in his hand that he could barely catch his breath.
"Well done, son."
Haires took the gun from his stunned son's hands and patted his shoulder with praise.
Ernest looked up at his father at those kind words.
Despite his dazed state, it seemed Ernest managed a small smile.
After that, Ernest practiced shooting the Balt Gun several times to get used to it, and even handled the Powder Gun that Haires had somehow acquired.
Later, Ernest learned that obtaining a powder gun wasn't difficult. Compared to the Balt Gun, powder guns were far inferior, so there were hardly any restrictions on their trade.
"When the Balt Battery runs out on the battlefield, you have to use powder guns. But since powder guns are much harder to handle, you need to practice using them more than practicing with the Balt Gun."
For Ernest, who had done his first shooting with the Balt Gun, the powder gun was literally worthless trash. His historic first loading of the powder gun took an astonishing three minutes because he spilled all the powder after making a mistake halfway through.
Still, he quickly got used to it. That autumn, when Ernest was eleven, he used a bullet from a powder gun to shoot and kill a rabbit.
Haires patted his son on the back and stroked his head after the successful hunt.
Ernest happily dismantled the rabbit with a dagger.
The stew made from his historic first prey, the rabbit meat, was incredibly delicious.
Ernest soon became skilled at shooting.
By spring of the year he turned twelve, he could load his powder gun—almost as tall as he was—in just 40 seconds.
If he got taller, he'd be able to load it much faster.
Determined to meet his father's expectations, Ernest gave his all.
He became well-versed not only in horseback riding and shooting but also in martial arts, and he developed strong muscles.
He grew rapidly, so the weak boy who once preferred books was nowhere to be found.
He studied hard, gaining knowledge and cultivating his intellect.
Though he still took the tonic and suffered from chronic poor concentration and headaches, he'd grown accustomed to it, so it no longer bothered him much.
Ernest was still small and weak, but having learned the 'art of survival' from Haires, he already possessed the skills to function as a capable soldier.
In other words, the boy who once preferred reading books at home had acquired enough skills for killing within just two years.
Ernest had no idea of the weight of reality.
But Haires knew all too well.
It was impossible for him not to.
That's why he trained his son even more rigorously.