Chapter 9 - The Cursed Tongue
The day after the incident had been resolved, Ernest was finally able to join the lecture he had missed due to the investigation. Though it was the first and most important lecture, Ernest did not regret having missed it. There was simply no need.
"Until just fifty years ago, Mihahil was nothing more than an ordinary small barony. But the moment our great Emperor took his first step, that small barony of Mihahil broke free from its shell and soared, transforming into a mighty empire with vast territories. Can you see? Our homeland, our empire, rules the world."
The instructor enthusiastically pointed at the empire's territory on the maps of both the past and present hanging side by side with a pointer.
"For twenty-eight years, the empire fought relentlessly and won endlessly. It repeatedly claimed glorious victories. Thus, the small barony became a kingdom, and the kingdom became an empire. We planted the flag of victory countless times and conquered the world."
The instructor glanced up at the very top of the wall, at an ornate framed portrait of the great Emperor, whose piercing blue eyes watched over everyone.
"All of this was achieved by our great Emperor. He is the first and only Master Baltracher to attain such a unique level, the creator and endower of the Balt Battery that operates all the Balt Engines, enabling the empire to fight enemies and live in peace. The Emperor, the master of Balt, watches over us with his noble power and authority."
Confidence colored the instructor's excited voice.
"You already know that Baltrachers capable of handling the Balt Battery are not common. However, the only being in this world who can create the Balt itself is none other than our great Emperor. The one with the rightful authority to rule over the Mihahil Empire—and indeed the entire world—is His Majesty, the great Emperor."
There wasn't a hint of doubt in his strong voice or in his eyes shining with reverence.
His tightly clenched fist trembled with fierce determination, as if ready to strike down the barbaric Alliance Army that dared to defy the Emperor's rule.
The cadets listened to the instructor's words with bright eyes, unable to contain their rising excitement, fidgeting restlessly in their seats.
"Instructor, at the entrance ceremony, we saw the Emperor's personal royal guard, the Beowatchers. Was His Majesty watching us then?"
"Yes. Though you were not permitted to gaze upon the Emperor directly, His Majesty watched over each and every one of you without exception. But don't be disappointed. The moment you graduate from the Imperial Military Academy, His Majesty will reveal himself before you and bless your rebirth as glorious officers of the Empire."
The cadets buzzed with whispers. They had not forgotten the Beowatchers' splendid uniforms and commanding presence from the ceremony.
"Can we become Beowatchers too?"
"The moment you become cadets of the Imperial Military Academy, you all gain the potential to become Beowatchers. But not everyone will. Only those specially chosen from among the very best cadets will become Beowatchers. So, all of you must strive diligently for the sake of the Mihahil Empire and His Majesty, the Emperor."
"Yes, sir!"
Seeing the cadets respond so vigorously, the instructor smiled with a rare look of satisfaction. However, not all cadets shared his enthusiasm. Some found no value in this moment and failed to grasp its meaning. One of them was none other than Ferdinand, the eldest grandson of Brigadier General Heinz Hartmann.
'A soldier must naturally obey orders.'
Ferdinand was well aware that this lecture was meant to strengthen loyalty to the Empire.
The same went for the days of drill training before the lecture. Even the smallest mistake during drill commands would result in harsh reprimands and cause trouble for other cadets. Naturally, everyone tried to act exactly like the others to avoid causing inconvenience. By teaching obedience and conformity first, they then moved on to loyalty education to thoroughly reshape their mindset.
Ferdinand thought this whole process was contradictory. Soldiers must obey orders by default. Those who can't aren't fit to be soldiers, much less officers of the Empire.
Like Ferdinand, there was another cadet who felt negative about this time—Wilfried, the fourth son of Duke Ravid.
'Wasting time on such pointless things. They could be teaching something far more valuable.'
As the son of a duke, Wilfried had easier access to the core of imperial power than the other cadets, and praise for the Emperor did little to stir his heart. Instead, minor frustrations rolled around inside him like small stones.
Wilfried had no time to waste on such matters. To receive support from his family, he had to graduate from the Military Academy with excellent grades.
And then there was one more cadet, completely detached from this moment when most others' eyes shone with loyalty to His Majesty the Emperor.
'Is the Emperor's gaze drawn with such bright, flashing blue because of the Master Baltracher who painted it? Or are they really that blue?'
Ernest stared intently at the Emperor's portrait hung at the highest point on the wall, lost in thought.
"If his eyes really shine that brightly, he must be able to see clearly even at night. That would be incredibly convenient. But wouldn't that also make him stand out a lot? Wandering around at night would make him an easy target for snipers. Then again, since he is His Majesty the Emperor, surely they've always been well prepared against assassination attempts. Is that why he only sneaked a quick glance from the back during the entrance ceremony? But did the other nobles not realize that person was His Majesty? If his eyes shone, they would have known. Maybe his eyes don't actually glow? Then the portrait must be painted wrong. Well, portraits of high-ranking people are usually made to look more impressive and dignified anyway. Then maybe my father's portrait is somewhere too. He was an excellent soldier and even received the Noble Heart Medal. I'd like to see my father's portrait sometime. Maybe I should write him a letter? He might even have one at home."
Ernest looked up at the Emperor's portrait with a serious and intense gaze, then nodded solemnly.
"Ah, maybe last time I made a bigger deal out of things than I should have. By the way, why does the Cadet Commander shave his head so neatly?"
Thinking about sending a letter to his father, then remembering that if he earned just two more merit points, he could get permission to go out as a reward, recalling why he earned three merit points, reviewing the previous incident, and recalling Gauss's shaved head drenched in sweat as he talked passionately in front of Major General Armin Mannheim, Ernest reached a serious conclusion.
'I want to go play in the forest.'
If Cadet Commander Gauss Schulz were to realize that Ernest, while comparing Gauss's shaved head to Armin's thick hair, was actually imagining a lush forest, he would be so furious at this insolent brat that he wouldn't be able to punish him—and veins would bulge on his smooth scalp.
"He seemed pretty distracted, but he's surprisingly focused."
The instructor glanced at Ernest, who was deeply absorbed in the Emperor's portrait, and nodded with satisfaction.
"His Majesty the Emperor strove to bring the light of civilization to these barbarians and to educate them with sharp intellect. But these unlearned savages rejected the grace of His Majesty and had the audacity to point their spears and blades at him. Yes, those barbaric spears and blades!"
As Ernest recalled the times spent with his father in the forest, the instructor suddenly launched into an impassioned speech about the Empire's enemies, his voice filled with anger.
"Blessed by His Majesty's grace, the advanced Balt Engine—and that overwhelming power! Before the Imperial Army armed with the Balt Gun, those barbarians, brandishing spears and feeble arrows, could do nothing but scream and fall. Look at those savages fleeing, mistaking the sight of the Balt Gun for the wrath of God."
When the instructor pulled aside the inner wall of the lecture hall, a large painting was revealed. It sharply contrasted the orderly ranks of the Imperial Army firing blue flashes from their Balt Guns with the shrieking barbarians cloaked in fur pelts, fleeing with their spears.
Only after seeing that magnificent painting was Ernest able to regain focus in the lesson, swallowing the words lingering on his tongue without daring to speak them.
'But in the end, the Alliance Army blocked them, and the conquest war had to be halted.'
The Imperial Army was continuously forced into attrition warfare by the guerrillas holding firm in the mountains and forests. Meanwhile, the front line expanded too far and became impossible to control properly, resulting in brutal exhaustion. Ultimately, the Mihahil Empire's conquest war was stopped.
Ernest had learned from his taciturn father how to take emotion out of the equation, view situations dryly, and make calm judgments.
The early stages of Mihahil Empire's conquest war were one-sided. However, as the Empire expanded its territory, the front lines grew continuously broader, and failing to manage this was a clear strategic mistake.
Did Emperor Walter Ulrich Mihahil still believe, despite everything, that victory was possible?
If only we had the power of the Balt Gun and Baltrachers, could we fight the Four Kingdoms right after battling the Five Kingdoms without even consolidating our strength—and still win?
Was that the foolish dream the Emperor clung to?
While Ernest harbored doubts about the Emperor's judgment, the instructor's lecture pressed on without pause.
"Still, these barbarians are a race that can be civilized. They can be turned into civilized people by the light of the Empire. But there are wicked and vile beasts that can never become civilized."
In a low, gloomy voice, the instructor spoke as if threatening the cadets.
"Those are the Saraan."
At those words, a murmur rippled through the students.
Everyone in the Empire already knew well the danger posed by that cruel, savage, and despicable people.
"The Saraans live only to cast filth upon the authority of His Majesty the Emperor.
When the Emperor personally revealed himself to show mercy even to the Saraans, they pretended to welcome His Majesty's rule, only to deceive him and then try to grasp what should never be touched with poisoned blades and poison-laced drinks.
But the glorious Emperor saw through every plot with his radiant eyes and crushed the vile Saraan's trap head-on.
Even after that, the Saraans constantly covet the Empire and His Majesty the Emperor."
The instructor spoke in a voice trembling with rage.
"If you see Saraans, don't hesitate—report them. If you don't have the luxury to do that, then don't hesitate—kill them."
"How can we tell Saraans apart? We must know how to recognize them before we can report or kill them."
"Good question. I'll give you a shop token."
"Thank you!"
In response to a cadet's question, the instructor nodded with satisfaction and even gave them a shop token. Then, with a sneering tone, he spoke to the cadets.
"The Saraans are truly barbarians. They still believe in their barbarian god."
"A god?"
The cadets sneered at the instructor's words.
"Yes, even after witnessing countless barbarians die proclaiming their gods before the great His Majesty the Emperor, the Saraans still cling to their faith in those gods."
The instructor looked pleased with their reactions and continued.
"And those who cannot be reformed cannot even renounce their barbarian gods. So, distinguishing the Saraans is very easy. Insult and spit on the Saraan's barbarian god. If you can't do that, then you are a Saraan. Report them—or kill them."
The instructor said this with a smile, as if it went without saying.
"They are not humans—they are beasts who cannot be reformed, who harm people and bar their teeth at the Empire. Those who report and kill Saraans will be duly rewarded."
The cadets whispered among themselves at the instructor's words.
For most of the younger cadets, this kind of talk still felt strange and distant. But boys like Ferdinand, who had been raised as soldiers from a very young age, silently accepted the 'orders,' and some of the more eager cadets, already excited at the thought of receiving rewards, were itching to quickly report or capture and kill a Saraan.
"Really?"
Among them, the only person who questioned the 'law' declared by the Emperor of the Empire was Ernest. He had not forgotten what he learned from his respected father.
Don't stop thinking.
Constantly doubt, analyze, understand, and reason.
The correct answer isn't given—it is something you reach.
To Ernest, who never forgot that lesson, the instructor's words felt like a very flimsy lie.
He was the only one who questioned this kind of education.
Still, there were definitely those who felt a sense of repulsion.
"······."
Wilfried Ravid narrowed his beautiful blue eyes slightly as he gazed at the painting depicting the Alliance Army, portrayed as barbarians being ruthlessly massacred by the Imperial Army.
Wilfried actually knew very well that the Alliance Army was not these ignorant barbarians.
Even the House of Duke Ravid had been the same kind of people before submitting to the Emperor.
'Disgusting.'
Wilfried muttered quietly to himself.
He couldn't even tell where this feeling of revulsion was directed.
But at least, he couldn't deny the fact that it was aimed at himself.
The mental education for the new cadets took place throughout all training hours over the course of three days.
Even afterward, it continued under the name of 'Empire's History,' and before long, everything the instructor said had become something shared by all the cadets.
Having already been trained to obey, conform, and not go against the will of the community, the young cadets came to accept this as the ultimate truth.
"Really?"
"Ernest, could you please stop with that damn 'really?' already?"
"Robert, do you honestly think the Imperial Army gave up its advance and stopped the conquest war because of some naked barbarians crawling on all fours, swinging spears, and biting with their teeth?"
"...No, well, that's not it..."
Unwillingly, Robert found himself an exception. As punishment for sharing a room with Ernest—an absolute outlier in the entire history of the Imperial Military Academy—he was forced to empty his mind and follow the community's will without question.
Robert felt deeply uncomfortable and unpleasant about himself.
When everyone else agreed without issue, only he and Ernest muttered that damned "really?"
Fortunately, Ernest and Robert's odd dynamic went unnoticed by those around them.
Both Ernest, well-trained by Haires, and Robert, educated by his capable merchant father, knew better than to let it be discovered—there was no benefit in getting caught.
But in the end, while Ernest's life at the Military Academy faced no real problems, Robert's experience was definitely flashing danger signals.
"Fire!"
Bang!
"Jimman! I've taught countless cadets as an instructor, but you're the first one with such terrible shooting skills!"
"I-I'm sorry!"
Since the mental training had been renamed "The Empire's History," the intensive training had officially begun, and Robert, the son of a common merchant, was struggling to keep up.
"This training Balt Battery is practically wasted on you! The Balt Battery granted by His Majesty the Emperor is being utterly wasted for no reason! There's not even a hint that you're improving!"
"..."
Despite firing ten shots at a target that wasn't even far away, Robert didn't hit a single one.
He couldn't even respond to the instructor's reprimand and just bowed his head.
"Fire!"
Bang!
"Hmm, excellent. Krieger, you hit the very center again this time."
"Thank you, Instructor."
On the other hand, Ernest, having just learned how to operate the latest Balt Gun issued to cadets at the Imperial Military Academy, slightly missed the exact center with his first shot but hit the bullseye on every subsequent shot.
The instructors couldn't help but be shocked at how this restless cadet reloaded astonishingly fast and then aimed and fired so swiftly and precisely that the bullets pierced the very center of the target.
His precise posture was impressive, of course.
But what truly stood out was how Ernest managed to aim and shoot in less than a single breath, hitting the exact same spot every time—a feat made possible by his terrifying level of concentration.
"A real soldier," the instructor thought.
He considered Ernest's incredible focus to be similar to the kind of concentration a battle-hardened soldier shows when facing life-and-death situations.
Haires had taught Ernest that the value of a single bullet was essentially the value of a life.
Ernest never forgot his father's words—that one bullet could take an enemy's life, and one bullet could save his own.
Although Ernest had never committed murder, he had experience killing dozens of animals through hunting.
He was well aware of the weight of a bullet.
This added a somewhat peculiar sense of urgency to his shooting.
"Fast, smooth, stable. Amazing."
Ernest was genuinely surprised by the power of the latest Balt Gun.
Haires's Balt Gun, retired 14 years ago, was old-fashioned with a muzzle-loading design.
After each shot, they had to check the Balt Battery for damage and carefully push it back in to prevent misfires caused by the jungle environment.
Because it was muzzle-loading, if the barrel was lowered, the bullet could roll right out.
But the newest Balt Gun was breech-loading.
You simply opened the chamber cover, loaded the bullet, closed the cover, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet fit snugly inside the chamber and wouldn't roll out, even if the barrel was lowered.
A spring kept the Balt Battery securely in place, preventing it from being pushed out by recoil after firing.
Cadets like Ernest, who were already comfortable with guns, didn't even need to learn new handling techniques.
Even Robert, who had never held a gun in his life, could easily load and fire after chambering a bullet.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Cadets from military families like Ferdinand's, who were already familiar with the latest Balt Gun, rested the stock firmly against their shoulder, supported the gun with the crease at the back of their left arm, gripped bullets tightly in their left hand, and maintained their aim immediately after firing.
They reloaded so quickly that they fired five shots in the blink of an eye.
Although this distinctive shooting method tended to lower accuracy, it wasn't so poor that they would miss enemies at close range.
Plus, the terrifying rate of fire was impressive enough to make Ernest's whole body break out in goosebumps the moment he saw it.
A skilled soldier could fire five rounds at a rate of one per second. Then, it took a few more seconds to reload the bullets into his left hand, and the gun barrel fired again in rapid succession.
The firepower is unbelievable.
And the latest Balt Gun is not only incredibly reliable but also significantly more accurate than the older model.
An enemy armed with just a powder gun wouldn't be able to resist—they'd be dead before they could fight back.
"Jimman!"
"Sorry!"
"So you're capable after all! You finally hit the target! It was a little off-center, a bit... a lot off, actually, but you still hit it! That means you're improving!"
"Th-thank you!"
That said, Robert's shooting skill—just barely hitting the edge of the target on his eleventh shot—was shockingly bad in the worst way.
Ernest thought that if Robert was left as he was, all the effort to shake up the Cadet Corps would be for nothing since Robert would just end up getting expelled.
His... scores were just too poor...
"Instructor, is it possible to practice shooting outside of training hours?"
Ernest asked the instructor, who was still impressed by his surprising accuracy.
The instructor assumed Ernest wanted to practice the quick shooting method shown by cadets like Ferdinand. And the instructors generally liked cadets who showed enthusiasm.
"The Balt Guns and Balt Batteries for shooting are strictly controlled. Cadets are not allowed to practice shooting alone. However, if you submit an application form after dinner, you can practice shooting under instructor supervision."
"Understood. Thank you for letting me know."
The instructor wore a very satisfied smile at Ernest's enthusiastic attitude.
When Ernest had set a trap to make the upperclassmen look like fools and break apart the Cadet Corps, the instructor had wondered what to do with this madman.
But now, watching the training proceed, he saw that Ernest was actually very competent, obedient, polite, and even humble.
While the Cadet Corps hated Ernest and dared not lay a finger on him out of caution, the Faculty Division liked him quite a bit.
The Faculty Division and the Cadet Corps were both powerful factions dividing control of the Imperial Military Academy, but at the same time, they kept each other in check and competed against each other.
Brigadier General Kramer Schaefer, the Chief of the Faculty Division, had defended Ernest—not only because he decided Ernest couldn't be punished, but also because the political dynamics within the Military Academy carried significant influence and couldn't be ignored.
Ernest carefully studied Ferdinand's shooting method.
Among cadets from military families, Ferdinand's skill stood out remarkably.
There was no reason to turn away from something one could learn by watching. He had to observe closely and learn.
"Jimman! How can this happen? You missed again! Did you deceive me? Did you just hit the target to trick me into thinking you're improving?"
"I'm sorry!"
He even prevented Robert's expulsion...
"..."
As Ernest glanced briefly at Robert, one of the cadets training in shooting, Ferdinand Hartmann, rolled his heavy, shining brown eyes and scrutinized Ernest as well.
Then, when Ernest tore his eyes away from Robert and looked straight ahead again, Ferdinand quickly started firing rapid shots as if he had never taken his eyes off the target.
Ferdinand kept shooting until his Balt gun overheated and could no longer fire, being the first to leave the shooting range.
In truth, Ferdinand didn't really need shooting practice.
Without a doubt, Ferdinand had achieved the best results in the first shooting training.
Both the instructor and the training assistant unanimously agreed to award him one extra point.
Unless something unusual happened, Ferdinand would remain the top shooter among Ernest's peers in the future.
"Hartmann, you really can't be beaten."
"His speed is incredible, and his accuracy's high too."
Following Ferdinand, the cadets loyal to him came out of the shooting range one after another.
They praised Ferdinand's skill, which wasn't just empty flattery—the marksmanship he displayed was comparable to that of well-trained soldiers.
"Even if anyone can shoot, being good at it isn't all that meaningful."
Still, Ferdinand evaluated his praised marksmanship with a low, rough voice.
How much help would it really be for an officer to be skilled at shooting?
"…Ah, y-yeah, that's true…"
The boys in Ferdinand's faction took pride in their excellent marksmanship, so they couldn't help but feel awkward in response to his words.
"..."
Ignoring them, Ferdinand glared with his sharp eyes at the back of Ernest, who was continuing to shoot.