Chapter 10 - The Cursed Tongue (2)
After dinner, not many cadets volunteered to practice shooting during the short free time given. Most cadets spent this time attending various small gatherings held within the Military Academy, building networks, exchanging information, and preparing for activities after graduation.
During this time, the hereditary noble cadets were the busiest because they had to visit numerous gatherings to find and converse with cadets from families they were close with.
Cadets from military families spent their time relatively quietly. They usually formed groups according to their military family affiliations since they expected to join their family's unit after graduation and wanted to build deeper relationships with the comrades they would go with.
Minor noble cadets also participated in various gatherings, but their roles were limited to a sort of attendant duty. This role was established through bullying by upperclassmen early in their enrollment and would continue until graduation.
In that sense, Ernest and Robert were clearly different cadets. They had never participated in any social gatherings even once. And now, Ernest and Robert submitted an application form to the instructor, requesting to practice shooting during their free time.
"I thought those two only caused trouble, but they're pretty passionate."
"They're really focused in lectures too, and their skills—well, Krieger does have skills."
"Robert's a mess, but can't you see he's making an effort?"
"They just enrolled, so we should give them some leeway."
"They might have exceptional talent in military studies—we just don't know yet since they haven't learned much."
"Given how sly they are, I think they'd be good at handling people."
"That guy, even though he's a commoner, he's from a pretty successful merchant family, right?"
"Pretty successful is an understatement. He's incredibly wealthy. It's Jimman after all."
"Hmm..."
Even if Ernest did well with whatever was asked of him, Robert's evaluation was surprisingly high compared to the abilities he had shown.
Partly because sticking close to Ernest and acting together benefited him, but also because Robert's personality was naturally bright and easygoing, yet he had an almost uncanny knack for reading the mood, slipping away or stepping in quietly when needed.
"Well, shooting skills don't really matter after graduation anyway."
"They're just practicing because they're freshmen. Isn't it just fresh and new?"
The instructors chatted with smiles. Only first-year rookies get worked up over shooting scores. By the second year, they focus on military studies, and by the third year, their grades are basically set—so they dedicate themselves to expanding their networks through social gatherings.
So the instructors were genuinely surprised when an unexpected cadet suddenly submitted an application to practice shooting late into the schedule.
There was no reason for him to do so.
"Jimman, stay calm. Got it? I said stay calm."
Lieutenant Norman Luther spoke in a low voice to Robert, who was aiming his gun.
"Nothing is threatening you. Slowly, slowly steady your breathing."
Norman's voice was surprisingly calm. But Robert was not.
Bang!
A sharp gunshot echoed too early in the darkened shooting range, followed by a flash of blue light. Instantly, a bullet faster than the human eye could perceive tore through the air as it left the muzzle.
And then the bullet vanished into the darkness, never to be seen again.
"Jimman! Please! I'm begging you, calm your breathing!"
"I-I can't do it very well..."
Norman was frustrated by Robert's pathetic shooting skills—he couldn't even hit the edge of the target—and he grasped his neatly combed hair in despair, shouting.
Robert was unnervingly tense every time he fired.
His breathing was uneven, and his hands trembled, so much so that he couldn't even hit the large target placed not far from him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Meanwhile, Ernest was steadily getting used to the shooting technique he saw for the first time today. He was able to shoot three rounds in quick succession, about every three seconds. His hands were still small and inexperienced, so holding five bullets at once for rapid fire was too much for him.
"Hmm..."
Ernest sighed as he looked at the remaining bullet holes on the target illuminated by the faint blue Balt light on the far side of the darkened shooting range.
Despite firing fairly quickly, his hit rate was quite impressive. Still, Ernest had hoped to leave just one clean hole neatly centered on the target. So even the small cluster of bullet holes, about the size of a palm, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end with discomfort.
Ernest had learned the weight of a single bullet from Haires. If his shots formed a cluster like that during training, it could mean missing in the field and risking his life. Ernest was that kind of boy—he could feel the cold fear every time a bullet strayed from the center of the target.
"Alright, Jimman. Let's take it step by step and start with reloading again."
Norman barely paid attention to Ernest, who was excessively skilled at shooting. He now saw it as his responsibility and mission, as an instructor, to at least get the merchant's son with no natural talent to hit the target.
Robert, clearly contrasting Ernest's rapid fire, reloaded slowly and methodically from the beginning in the conventional way. Norman didn't criticize Robert's slow reloading but quietly observed.
"Jimman."
At that moment, low and rough footsteps echoed across the shooting range with an unyielding presence. Ignoring everyone's startled reactions, the voice spoke again.
"Don't aim. Just shoot."
"...What?"
Robert, holding his gun lowered as instructed to avoid aiming at anything strict, turned around.
"For now, don't aim at the target. Just fire wildly, as much as you can."
"Aim later."
Ferdinand Hartmann said this as he stopped abruptly in front of Norman and handed over his Balt gun to him. Norman raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at Ferdinand before, following protocol, inserting a Balt battery into Ferdinand's Balt gun and handing him the bullets.
"Thank you."
Ferdinand skillfully placed the bullets into his ammunition pouch and took back the gun.
"Just? Just shoot? Wait, you did say that to me, right?"
When Robert asked, still confused, Ferdinand responded firmly. He narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at Robert.
"First, you need to get rid of your fear of the gun. How can you pull the trigger to kill the enemy if you're trembling, scared of the gun in your hand?"
"...What's gotten into you? I thought you saw me as nothing more than a weed growing by the roadside."
Robert scratched his head and cheekily replied to the advice given by Brigadier General Hartmann's eldest grandson. Ferdinand looked at Robert silently before moving only his lips to say:
"Even if you're a weed, if you try to bloom, then surely must be a flower."
"...Wow!"
"You!"
Robert was so surprised by that poetic phrase that he opened his eyes wide, about to say something, but Ferdinand turned away from him and strode over to stand beside Ernest, beginning to shoot.
When Ernest glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, Ferdinand's face was slightly flushed with embarrassment.
"Where did you hear that?"
"...From a book."
Ferdinand whispered his answer very quietly to Ernest's question.
The fourteen-year-old boy couldn't miss the chance to use a cool phrase he'd read in a book at just the right moment.
Bang!
Immediately after, the bullet Ferdinand fired hit dead center on the target. Instead of the rapid-fire he'd shown during daytime training, Ferdinand calmly aimed at the target and fired again after reloading.
Bang!
He fired five shots in a row like that, then lowered his gun and glared at the target. Four of the five shots slightly missed the exact center. The grouping was very tight, but Ferdinand stared at it fiercely, as if wanting to crush the tiny cluster of bullet holes.
Meanwhile, Robert was, with Norman's permission, firing wildly as Ferdinand had advised. Between the shots, Norman's heavy sighs could be heard faintly.
"Pull your pinky finger in tighter and grip the chamber cover."
As Ernest prepared to practice rapid-fire, Ferdinand gave him this advice. Following it, Ernest pulled his pinky finger in tightly and gripped the chamber cover. Ernest's small hand nearly cramped from the effort.
"You're not ready yet."
Ferdinand said that as he silently stared at Ernest's hand. Ernest's hand was still small, so he had to take his index finger off the trigger to pull back the hammer with his right thumb.
"When your hand grows a bit bigger, you'll get used to it quickly."
After saying that, Ferdinand, with his large hand as broad as his sturdy shoulder, swiftly reloaded and then unleashed a burst of rapid fire. Afterward, he began carefully shooting one shot at a time again.
Even knowing that his small hands made it difficult to do properly, Ernest kept practicing rapid fire.
The two boys stood side by side, each practicing the other's specialty. Ernest couldn't manage rapid fire well because of his small hands, and Ferdinand, having focused his training on rapid fire to get the most out of the Balt Gun, couldn't hit the exact center even when shooting carefully.
"To a soldier," Ferdinand whispered quietly, hiding his voice amid Robert's wild gunfire.
"Unnecessary thoughts are pointless. Following orders and fighting the enemy is a soldier's duty."
Bang!
Ferdinand's gun emitted a blue Balt light.
"Especially if you're the son of a soldier who has received the Noble Heart Medal."
Ernest glanced at Ferdinand at those words, then fired three shots steadily and deliberately.
"I know," Ernest replied shortly.
After Ferdinand once again calmly took aim and fired, he spoke.
"Knowing and doing are two different things, Krieger."
Ernest turned to Ferdinand.
Ferdinand was still shooting like a machine.
"What do you think?"
"About what?"
"You know that what they teach here isn't the truth."
Robert reloaded to break the prolonged silence, and Ferdinand fired again.
His finger pulled the trigger a bit hastily, causing the shot to stray far from the center.
Seeing this, Ferdinand furrowed his thick eyebrows. At the sound of the gunfire, Ernest spoke from his hidden spot.
"Even so, do you just follow the given answers?"
At Ernest's question, Ferdinand finally lowered his gun. He looked at Ernest with sharp eyes. Even though Ernest was tall for his age, next to Ferdinand, he seemed small.
Yet, in Ernest's eyes, looking up at Ferdinand—the grandson of Brigadier General Heinz Hartmann, Chief of Staff of the 2nd Corps—there was no trace of fear. Ferdinand gazed at Ernest quietly, and in those abyssal black eyes, he could see that Ernest knew more than he let on.
There was no reason for Ernest to fear Ferdinand. Despite being a small, young first-year cadet, Ernest was one of the most experienced, resilient, and ruthless hunters among all the cadets at the Imperial Military Academy.
"Yeah. That's what being a soldier is."
Ferdinand nodded heavily, satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him. At the same time, he spoke cautiously to Ernest, who, despite having a commendable father worthy of respect as a soldier, dared to entertain thoughts forbidden to soldiers.
"Even if it's an unjust order, a soldier must carry out the commands given. If the chain of command loses its strictness, the army descends into chaos with everyone following their own thoughts, and no plan can ever be fulfilled. So, Krieger."
Ferdinand lowered his gun, which was hot from overheating, and continued.
"Don't doubt, don't think—just be a good soldier who accomplishes the tasks assigned to you. Like your father, who received the Noble Heart Medal."
Ernest could clearly sense what Ferdinand left unsaid. A soldier who refuses to obey orders is worse than useless. The Imperial Army, fighting under the just rule of His Majesty the Emperor, enforces a strict chain of command that does not tolerate even minor insubordination.
Even if the order is something that should never be carried out, disobeying a superior's command can result in summary execution. No matter how much you might resent it, the correct thing is to follow the orders first, then speak up afterward—and since the complaint comes afterward, it carries no weight. So just shut up and carry it out.
"Is that what your grandfather taught you?"
Ernest asked lightly in response to Ferdinand's grave warning. Ferdinand furrowed his brows, trying to read Ernest's intent. Yet, in Ernest's face, which shone bright and white from the Balt Light, Ferdinand could find no clue.
"Yeah."
Ferdinand nodded heavily in reply. Ernest immediately continued speaking.
"Can you do that knowing that you'll die?"
"Of course. That's what being a soldier means."
"Then, would your grandfather ever order you to die?"
"..."
Ferdinand, who had answered so resolutely, suddenly froze at that question.
Ferdinand was the eldest grandson of Brigadier General Heinz Hartmann and the grandson Heinz loved even more than his own son. Could Heinz really give Ferdinand an order to die?
"What do you think, Ferdinand?"
Ernest raised his gun again and aimed at the target. Calmly, but almost as if he wasn't aiming at all even in the eyes of the other cadets and instructors, he quickly pulled the trigger.
Bang!
Despite having heard gunfire countless times before to the point of boredom, Ferdinand flinched in surprise.
Only Ernest, who pulled the trigger, would know exactly where the bullet had hit on the already shredded target.
And without even looking, Ernest could feel that the bullet had hit the spot he aimed for perfectly.
"You're going to join the 2nd Division, right?"
Ernest spoke quietly as usual, then completely ignored Ferdinand as if he wasn't there and began practicing the quick reload again.
"..."
Ferdinand quietly glared at Ernest, then turned away, clutching the gun's handle so tightly with his large, rough hands it looked like he might crush it.
After returning the ammunition and the Balt Battery to Norman, Ferdinand grabbed the still-hot gun and fled the spot as if escaping.
"Instructor, how many shots did I fire?"
"······Just, ha······. Just go ahead and do whatever you want. ···But don't do anything too dangerous."
Robert had fired so many shots that he had lost track—not just of his fear of guns, but even of how many times he had shot.
Still, Ferdinand's advice had an effect. Robert shook off his fear of guns and shooting and was able to shoot with surprising calm, managing, even if clumsily, to create a cluster of bullet holes on the target.
"Jimman, surprisingly, in all my time as an instructor, I've never felt more moved than I do right now. You really are someone who can do this."
"Hehe···. Thank you."
"You're already getting a big head. You won't last long."
"Instructor, don't worry. When that happens, we'll be standing side by side under the night sky again, spending time together just like today."
"My goodness. Please don't do this to me."
Robert had become quite friendly with Norman, who had helped him with shooting practice in this short time. For a minor noble with poor skills who had caused a huge incident the moment he enrolled, to become so close to an instructor so quickly definitely meant Robert was no ordinary cadet.
Ernest lowered the overheated gun and stared into the darkness. Trained to read the outlines of animals moving in the dark, he clearly saw Ferdinand, who had distanced himself, pause briefly and look back.
"······"
The black shadow, catching the gleam of the Balt Light reflecting off Ernest, saw Ernest's dark eyes fixed on him and hurriedly spun around and vanished.
Ernest could sharply sense, as if tracing with his fingertips, the emotion Ferdinand had felt at his question. This was thanks to what he had learned from "playing" with Haires—how to analyze a person down to their very core.
In that moment, Ferdinand felt a shame as if he had been stripped naked.
If he were assigned to the 2nd Corps where his grandfather was Chief of Staff, Ferdinand would quickly make a name for himself in a safe position and be promoted in no time.
Perhaps he might never experience commanding on the battlefield even once.
And Ferdinand vaguely sensed that reality.
So, although he knew about the battlefield from what he had heard, Ferdinand believed there would be no need for him to shoot once he became an officer. Even though he understood that when war actually comes, regardless of being an officer or not, one would have to fight barehanded just to survive.
For Ferdinand to say, "A soldier must follow orders even knowing they might die"—that would be arrogance.
At least he felt that way, if not others.
He felt deep disappointment in himself mixed with disgust. And shame that Ernest saw right through him.
In truth, Ernest thought that was only natural.
With his grandfather an active brigadier general, it would be stranger if one pushed a favored heir to fight and die on the frontlines.
"···Did I say something unnecessary?"
Ernest murmured to himself as he pictured Ferdinand's quickly disappearing back.
He didn't fully grasp just how huge an impact his words had on Ferdinand, but he was very clearly aware that something significant had shaken inside him.
After a brief moment of consideration, Ernest decided to just lose interest.
Whatever happened to Ferdinand wasn't his concern.
"Ernest! Look! I made a tight grouping on the target!"
"Yeah, that's really impressive."
"Jimman, before you say something like that, you should have seen the groupings Krieger and Hartmann made first."
"······."
Robert sighed and, looking at Ernest's and Ferdinand's targets, pursed his lips in silence.
Ernest's and Ferdinand's targets had a small fist-sized hole right at the very center from the nonstop accurate hits. Aside from that, the only other mark was one shot Ferdinand had rushed and missed.
"There's no point comparing with guys who are naturally good shooters. Isn't it more rewarding to teach someone who improves steadily rather than someone who just gets it right without any instruction?"
"You… huff… yeah, yeah. Well done. Now, go on inside."
With a good-natured smile, Robert spoke, and Norman, about to say something in response, just chuckled softly before ushering Ernest and Robert into the dormitory.
"Jimman, your hand's going to be swollen like a balloon tomorrow morning."
"What? What am I supposed to do then?"
"Ask Krieger for help."
Norman smiled and gave Robert some very fitting advice before quickly leaving to end his day and rest.
"Cool it with cold water."
"For how long?"
"As long as possible."
"Oh dear…"
Ernest gave Robert some practical advice, and that night, Robert grumbled as he soaked his hand in cold water, but soon gave up and fell asleep just like that.
The next morning, as a result, Robert went to shooting practice with his swollen hand so puffy he couldn't even make a fist.
Seeing this, Norman rubbed his face with his hand again and heaved a deep sigh.
Ernest observed Ferdinand closely.
He seemed mostly the same as usual.
But during shooting practice, Ferdinand made the mistake of dropping a bullet twice while reloading.
His bloodshot eyes, as if he hadn't slept, snapped fiercely at the fallen bullets before he slowly turned his head to meet Ernest's gaze.
"······."
"······."
Their eyes locked briefly, then passed by each other.
'What's going on?'
Watching the meaningful exchange of glances between the two boys, Wilfried Ravid frowned as if he had witnessed something very strange.
Soon, aware of the eyes around him, Wilfried composed himself and began shooting calmly.
Even his shooting posture, graceful and smooth as if dancing, made him stand out, though his accuracy and speed were just decent.
'It seems like some kind of conversation took place...'
Wilfried recalled the news that Ferdinand had requested shooting practice the night before and wondered what kind of exchange might have happened between Ernest and Ferdinand.
Unfortunately, since Ferdinand was the leader of the Military Faction and Ernest didn't socialize with any cadets other than Robert, Wilfried had no covert way to uncover what had been discussed between them.
'Krieger. Krieger. Krieger... the son of a soldier who earned the Noble Heart Medal...'
Wilfried thought more carefully than before about Ernest's value.
His thoughts became so deep that Wilfried's aim took an unusually long time, but even that looked so beautiful it was as if it had been painted, and no one found it odd.
Even the instructor was admiring the son of this beautiful peacock.
Bang!
Wilfried pulled the trigger and, without even checking where the bullet had hit, reloaded while thinking,
Trying it out once wouldn't hurt. It's not like I'd lose anything by doing so.
Wilfried was in a position where he had to make use of any advantage he could.
And the son of a soldier awarded the Noble Heart Medal was definitely a tool worth using.