Chapter 6 - The True Warrior (5)
The very next day after enrollment, Ernest and Robert had to start their morning in a very unpleasant way.
"Alright, this time it's neat."
As soon as they woke up, changed clothes, and got ready to go out, the disciplinary instructor burst in to inspect the state of their rooms. What made this so unpleasant was that out of thirty freshmen rooms, only three were subject to surprise inspections. And all three of those rooms belonged to cadets who were not from the Juvenile Military Academy.
Even more disturbing was that the senior didn't knock on the door but rather picked the lock and opened it without permission.
Disciplinary instructors attached to the Cadet Corps have access to spare keys for every room in case of emergencies. However, using these keys to open doors is only allowed in special situations and is absolutely forbidden under normal circumstances. If someone barges into a cadet's private space—especially since most cadets come from influential families or military backgrounds—without permission, it's no joke; it could very well lead to a real life-or-death duel.
"Ah, alright, I mostly get it. I know what you mean."
Robert had been grumbling angrily before breakfast, but on the way back to his room after eating, he suddenly brightened and said this.
"This isn't just bullying. It's about showing respect to the seniors with sincerity. That's what this is!"
Robert interpreted this persistent harassment as a call to "show sincerity" — a clever conclusion befitting him, the son of a highly successful businessman from Grimman.
"Robert. If you show them even the slightest 'sincerity,' I won't help you."
"What?"
"What they want isn't that kind of 'sincerity' at all."
Ernest said calmly.
"There are almost no people here at the Imperial Military Academy so poor that they'd be blinded by money from a mere freshman like you. And all the disciplinary instructors in the Cadet Corps are hereditary nobles."
"Wait, you're saying all the disciplinary instructors are hereditary nobles? Are you sure?"
"Yes, absolutely. Just like all the training instructors come from military families."
Ernest would check everyone he passed by. While he couldn't analyze every detail thoroughly, he could at least identify and categorize people according to their status and key characteristics.
All disciplinary instructors in the Cadet Corps, without a single exception, come from hereditary noble families. Likewise, every training instructor in the Faculty Division, without exception, comes from a military family.
"They don't want any sincerity from you; they just despise you. To them—coming from powerful families and having followed the elite path from the Juvenile Military Academy—freshmen like you who bought noble titles with money to get into the Imperial Military Academy are objects of loathing."
Robert fell silent for a moment, his eyes darting around. Then, tapping his chin with a finger, he said,
"...I haven't done anything wrong. Right? This is a legitimate deal protected by the authority of His Majesty the Great Emperor."
"Yes, you haven't done anything wrong."
Robert knew this wasn't just a simple bribe. The buying and selling of noble titles was sanctioned by the Emperor. And the buying and selling of admission rights to the Imperial Military Academy was also authorized by the Emperor.
Behind this was the intention to cover the enormous financial losses caused by the Conquest War and to expand influence in order to govern the vastly expanded territory.
In other words, Robert's admission to the Imperial Military Academy was protected by the authority of His Majesty the Emperor.
"Hmm... alright. This is as far as I go. So, what do you think I should do?"
Robert couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do next. Besides the justification of the Emperor's sanction and the money he actually paid, he had no idea what more he was supposed to offer.
"First of all, there's no problem with the behavior of the senior cadets in the Cadet Corps. Up until now."
"What about when they opened the door and came in this morning?"
Because Robert had diligently memorized the school regulations following Ernest's lead, he knew very well that this was a violation of the rules.
"At the beginning of a freshman's admission, incidents like this happen frequently. It's just become customary."
"No use protesting."
"Still, shouldn't we at least try to protest?"
"It's too early."
"Too early... Fine. Then I guess we can't help the mess they made in the room."
"Right. That's just something that happens without a culprit."
"So, what should we do now?"
Ernest unlocked the door with his key.
Since they had only returned after breakfast, the room should have been spotless, just as it was at first.
He opened the door just a crack and peered inside through the gap. The room looked just as neat and tidy as when they left.
However, before Ernest stepped out, he noticed a loose thread stuck near the bottom of the door—surely a sign that someone had come and gone again while they were away.
"You have to become a very well-mannered honor student."
"...Before we get expelled for accumulating penalty points, but yeah, reputation is important."
Robert quickly understood what Ernest meant.
A reputation is something abstract, invisible, and can't be bought or sold with money. But its power is truly formidable. Reputation is equivalent to honor, and nobles and soldiers alike would stake their lives for the sake of honor.
"What do you plan to do after securing your reputation? No matter how good it is, if we keep getting bullied like this, it's all over."
"It's fine. We'll finish everything before that happens. We just need to make sure—well, you need to make sure—you don't get any penalty points for reasons other than untidiness."
"Damn it. Must be nice to be a hereditary nobleman's son. But if that's the case, how much debt am I racking up?"
Robert had calculated the enormous debt he owed Ernest, who saved him from the brink of expulsion the moment he enrolled in the Imperial Military Academy. The debt was unimaginably huge. It included not only the money Robert's father spent but also took into account the hereditary noble title Robert would eventually buy with the honor and authority he would earn as a graduate of the Imperial Military Academy and an officer in the military.
"For now, it's enough if you just don't forget. And…"
Ernest locked the room door himself and, after stepping inside first, turned back to Robert with a shy smile.
"I told you. I enjoy hunting."
"..."
"Watching a big prey wander around carelessly like that is pretty entertaining."
"Th-that's… no, no it's not."
Robert thought that perhaps Ernest was not in his right mind. Considering the training Ernest had received from Haires, that might not have been such a wrong assumption.
The training they received the morning after enrollment was none other than drill training.
"Attention!"
Clack!
"You're the only ones who haven't noticed how sloppy your footsteps sound, like farmers dragging their feet through cow dung! Again! Forward, march!"
"Forward, march!"
Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!
The training hall treated the freshmen harshly. It didn't seem to care whether the son of a High Noble was among them or not. Even the sons of powerful families quietly endured the drill training without a single complaint.
The hereditary nobles and sons of military families clearly understood the purpose and necessity of this drill training. While appearances aren't everything in noble society, even the smallest flaw in one's outward image quickly leads to a loss of honor. And discipline is the lifeblood of the military. They really had no complaints at all.
In fact, it was the boys like Robert—who came from great noble families but not military households—who were dissatisfied with the drill training. Because the drill instructor never explained the purpose or necessity of the drill, they couldn't understand why they had to endure such pointless hardship.
Still, Robert closely followed Ernest's lead, tense and focused, determined to earn the excellent reputation of a top student.
Ernest, in fact, had already received some drill training from his father. It hadn't been rigorous because Haires believed that while drill was necessary, it was useless on the actual battlefield. Since the Balt Gun had been distributed within the Imperial Army, warfare had undergone a dramatic paradigm shift. Now, the only time soldiers needed to maintain precise marching formations was during ceremonial parades.
So at the start of the drill training, Ernest was able to move fairly well. But after more than an hour of this damned drill, his concentration began to wane more than his physical stamina, causing small mistakes to creep in. The drill simply hadn't become second nature to him yet.
"Rest!" "Hah!"
At the long-awaited break, everyone sighed heavily as they shuffled their steps. A few of the commoner cadets collapsed onto the ground but quickly jumped up after noticing others watching. Robert nearly did the same, but Ernest quickly grabbed his arm, preventing a careless mistake.
The cadets gathered in small groups, sitting on chairs arranged at the side of the training ground, casually chatting while sipping tea prepared in advance by the servants attached to the Imperial Military Academy.
"Considering our grades so far, maybe it's better to give up on being top students? I mean, not just me — it doesn't look like you're in a great position either."
Robert smiled wryly, recalling the mistakes Ernest had made toward the end of the drill training.
"Showing that we don't give up is more important. Neither of us graduated from the Juvenile Military Academy, so we're learning everything from scratch here."
"That's a wise judgment."
The one who responded to Ernest's words wasn't Robert.
A boy stood beside Ernest and Robert's tea table, arms crossed behind his back, looking down at them. His black hair was stubbornly slicked back with oil, his brown eyes sharp, his jaw angular, and he was even taller than Ernest—who was already tall for his age—by about half a span, with broad, imposing shoulders.
"I'm Ferdinand Hartmann. May I sit?"
Ferdinand tried to keep his deepening voice low and dignified despite going through puberty as he asked politely.
"Ernest Krieger. By all means."
Ernest replied gently, motioning to the vacant chair. Ferdinand sat down immediately, and surprisingly, once seated, his body seemed even larger. He was so tall that his broad shoulders appeared somewhat smaller than they actually were.
"Oh my god! Hartmann!"
Robert recognized from Ferdinand's extravagant rank insignia that he was an inherited noble and a soldier by background. After quietly turning Ferdinand's name over in his mouth, realizing who he was, Robert was taken aback and bit his tongue to stop himself from reacting too loudly.
Robert's father had briefed him on the key figures in this class, advising him to at least make an impression and befriend them so that if he ever got expelled, he wouldn't be reprimanded. One of them was Ferdinand Hartmann, the eldest grandson of Brigadier General Heinz Hartmann, Chief of Staff of the 2nd Corps.
Robert wanted to tell Ernest who this broad-shouldered boy was. But the moment Ferdinand sat down at their tea table, a strange silence fell, as if none of the other freshmen were really ignoring him, all discreetly focused on the newcomer. Robert never got a chance to speak.
More than anything, Ernest already knew what kind of person Ferdinand was. He didn't know much about his family, only that among the first-year cadets from the Juvenile Military Academy, there were two factions—and this boy was the 'leader' of one of them.
"I know quite a few excellent soldiers in the Empire, but I just can't recall the name Krieger," Ferdinand said, sitting up straight and looking Ernest in the eye without making any undignified gestures like leaning on the desk or slouching in his chair.
"My father retired around the time I was born. He was a colonel."
"A fine man, then," Ernest said proudly.
Ferdinand admired Ernest's confident tone without any pretense. Ernest was only fourteen now, and even if his father had him fairly late, he probably hadn't been much older than forty back then. That meant he had risen to colonel at a relatively young age—he must have had a distinguished service record. Had he stayed in the military and continued his career smoothly, he might have been promoted to brigadier general before turning fifty.
Ferdinand knew well how remarkable this was, given that his grandfather Heinz Hartmann was the Chief of Staff of the 2nd Corps. If he had known that Haires retired as a colonel at the mere age of thirty-two, Ferdinand would have been genuinely astonished.
"Krieger. Let me get straight to the point. I want you to join us."
Ferdinand spoke while looking at the pin that held Ernest's rank insignia in place.
"Because of my father's rank?" Ernest asked calmly, maintaining his composure as he looked Ferdinand straight in the eye. Ferdinand met his gaze without looking away.
"That's certainly something valuable, but it only had a minor influence on my decision."
Ferdinand finally changed his stiff posture.
With hands so large and rugged it was hard to believe they belonged to a fourteen-year-old boy, he interlaced his fingers and placed them on the tea table.
"We have the same hands."
Though Ernest's hands holding the teacup were thinner and smaller than Ferdinand's, the traces of harsh training made them remarkably similar.
"And I know that your restless eyes are actually quicker and sharper than bullets that miss their mark, Krieger."
Since the entrance ceremony, Ferdinand had been carefully observing this mysterious boy who seemed to come from nowhere. He had often seen Ernest's dark eyes, seemingly wandering distractedly as if unfocused, scan the surroundings swiftly and cautiously like a hunter hidden in the shadows.
"I want to... ahem. Excuse me."
Ferdinand's voice suddenly cracked as he spoke in a heavy tone, causing him to cough awkwardly before continuing.
"I can give you what you need."
"And you will receive my small support?"
"Yeah."
Ferdinand nodded heavily as he saw Ernest glance briefly to indicate the leader of another faction.
"What do I need?"
"······."
Ernest asked Ferdinand in a calm voice what it was that he needed.
Ferdinand narrowed his eyes and stared intently at Ernest. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand beneath the desk and stood up with composed precision. Tidying his clothes, he said,
"I'm waiting for a wise decision."
After that, Ferdinand headed toward the group of his military faction supporters and began chatting with them as if it were nothing.
"Hey, hey... what are you going to do?"
Robert cautiously asked Ernest, as he was on the brink of becoming a kite with a broken string (someone about to be discarded). If Ernest joined the military faction, he would no longer have to associate with guys like Robert. In fact, thanks to Ferdinand's passionate efforts, Ernest might even be assigned a new room.
"Who knows."
Ernest said casually while sipping his tea.
But there were others watching Ernest closely—boys from the high noble families who formed the core of the noble faction.
"What exactly is the Krieger family, and what do they do?"
"There's not a single person here that knows."
"Well, we could at least try talking to them..."
"Hartmann got ahead of us. It could just be that the Krieger family was some farming clan from the countryside to begin with, so what's the point..."
"Enough."
"······."
The boys whispering about Ernest's family, the Kriegers, fell silent as if someone had flipped a switch at that one sharp command.
A blond boy whose hair glittered in the sunlight quietly set down his teacup.
His bright blue eyes traced a gentle arc as he spoke.
"I don't think it's right to judge other families carelessly."
"...Sorry, I'll be more careful from now on, Wilfried."
At the mild words of Wilfried, the fourth son of Duke Ravid—an exquisitely beautiful youth—the boy mumbling nonsense about the Krieger family gave an awkward smile and apologized. Wilfried smiled softly back. His blue eyes narrowed slightly for a moment, briefly flickering toward Ernest before returning.
The truth was, despite what he said, Wilfried was far from pleased. He had expected Ernest to come to him first to offer greetings. Instead, Ernest had arrogantly avoided making eye contact, let alone saying hello.
Ernest clearly knew about the factions. Yet, he had only observed the other cadets without showing the slightest interest.
Wilfried found this deeply unpleasant. He was very clever and sensitive to all the emotions that arise in human relationships.
From Wilfried's perspective, it seemed Ernest had judged that investing time and effort into relationships with anyone other than Robert, his roommate, wasn't worth the return. And Wilfried's assessment wasn't wrong.
Ernest had not forgotten—and faithfully followed—the teachings of his respected father. If he possessed an irreplaceable talent, that alone was enough. Factions didn't matter. So rather than wasting time entangled in factional conflicts, he would focus solely on himself.
"A disagreeable fellow."
Wilfried glanced sideways at the back of Ernest's head and gracefully sipped his tea. After that, Duke Ravid's fourth son completely stopped paying attention to Ernest. He already knew that Ernest would not join Ferdinand's military faction.
Unlike the minor noble families of commoner origins who couldn't belong anywhere, Ernest simply belonged nowhere.
But whether that was by choice or not didn't matter. As long as he stayed uninvolved, that was the end of it. He was worthless.
And Wilfried didn't have the luxury to waste resources on something so worthless.
When Duke Ravid's fourth son turned five, the duke gathered his sons and explained the inheritance they would receive in the future.
Duke Ravid did not want the family's power to weaken by dividing the inheritance evenly, so he planned to give the eldest son the dukedom along with as much as possible. The second and third sons would receive just enough to assist the eldest without being able to escape his shadow.
As for Wilfried, the fourth son, he was told he would inherit only the Ravid name—that was all.
If Wilfried was not assigned, after graduating from the military academy, to a post deemed worthy of the family's political or military investments, then all support from the family would be cut off. Therefore, Wilfried had to graduate from the Imperial Military Academy with excellent grades, and even after graduation, he needed to secure as much influence as possible to carve out his own path.
To Wilfried, Ernest, who was of no help to him, was clearly worthless. But that wouldn't be enough reason to feel annoyed by him. Wilfried decided to stop paying attention to Ernest, but just feeling irritated already meant he was investing a lot of thought in him.
'I should ask to look into the Kriegers.'
In the end, Wilfried decided to send a letter to the villa in Grimman. He didn't know what kind of family the Kriegers were, but there was no way the Ravid family's watchful eyes and ears could be evaded.
"All right, Ernest. Listen up."
Robert spoke in a calm voice.
"I've already been ordered to clean the hallways, and I've even been running hard on the training ground. And these damn bastards? At best, I have only two days left before they kick me out."
Despite his calm tone, his words were quite rough. That was unavoidable—after all, Robert had only received drill training for three days since entering the Imperial Military Academy, yet his penalty points had piled up near the limit, putting him in a precarious position.
The bullying from the upperclassmen was utterly petty and relentless. Whenever Ernest and Robert left their room, Robert's bedding was getting mess up, the books he received were smeared with ink, and even his spare student uniform was torn.
Several other freshmen were in the same predicament as Robert, but unlike Robert, they didn't have a protective ally like Ernest, so their situation was truly hopeless.
As a result, they had no choice but to beg the upperclassmen on their knees or humbly seek help from one of the two factions among the freshmen of the same year.
That groveling attitude was exactly what the upperclassmen expected from those lowly commoners. They were destined to live like servants until graduation.
In that sense, it was only natural that all the bullying was concentrated on Robert, who still hadn't bowed down to the upperclassmen. Robert was hurtling toward expulsion at a speed that would go down in the history of the Imperial Military Academy.
"Hasn't it been long enough? Isn't it time?" Robert asked Ernest, pointing to the mess that was his room.
"Yeah. It's time," Ernest finally said the words Robert had been waiting for.
"First, let's clean up the room and then go see the disciplinarian," he added.
"Oh, come on, Ernest. That excellent disciplinarian supposedly has no eyes or ears. Whenever the dogs he's raising snatch the keys, he does not even notice," Robert snapped sarcastically.
He was already disappointed not only in the upperclassmen but also in the disciplinarian and, in fact, in everything about the Imperial Military Academy.
And the certainty that Ernest could help him overcome this difficult situation was fading.
Ernest should just join Ferdinand's military faction that wanted him. People like Robert, powerless nobles from minor noble families, could be discarded anytime.
In truth, Robert couldn't understand why Ernest was helping him. Was it just because they shared the same room? Making friends? That kind of thing is all useless. How long have they even known each other?
However, to Ernest, Robert was someone worth investing his precious time and opportunities in, for various reasons.
First of all, Robert, who was clearly being treated unfairly, provided Ernest with a 'just cause' to take action. Ernest understood the importance of having a just cause—he had learned that from Haires.
And while this isn't very significant, it still slightly influences Ernest's way of thinking, so it's worth mentioning. Ernest had never had friends his own age until he was fourteen, so it wouldn't be strange if he felt this small, trivial connection was more important than it actually was.
"Having no eyes or ears is actually a good thing."
Ernest said this as he helped tidy up Robert's chaotic belongings.
"It means you can attack however you want. Right?"
"You really must be out of your mind."
"You're the rude one here."
"Ssss…"
Ernest had already acquired everything he needed.
Now, all that remained was to set the trap, catch the prey, finish it off, and claim the skin and meat.
And Ernest, who was a hunter raised by Haires, knew that the prey would inevitably step into the trap.
No, Ernest would make it happen.
A skilled hunter doesn't just set a trap and wait endlessly; he creates a situation where the prey has no choice but to step right into it.
On Ernest's face was the same smile he used to wear when searching for prey with his father, and the proud grin he would have after successfully snapping the prey's neck and receiving his father's praise.
It was a smile born from a clear certainty that he would succeed in the hunt.