Chapter 51 - The Great Illicit Letter Commotion (1)
"It's Krieger!"
"Krieger's over here!"
"Get him! Grab him!"
Ernest listened carefully to the shouts of those chasing him.
"Don't let him get away!"
"Damn it! He's too fast!"
"Stop! We can't go any further! We're being lured in!"
Those chasing after Ernest, who was darting through the forest like a squirrel, eventually had no choice but to halt their pursuit, wary of falling into a trap if they went too deep.
"Our formation broke because of the chase."
"Check the area and report back in order!"
"All clear!"
"All clear here too!"
The line briefly fell apart as they tried to stop Ernest's infiltration and chased after him.
But the First-Year Cadets, who had already gone through unspeakably terrible ordeals because of Ernest, quickly recovered and reformed their solid formation.
Rustle...
In the meantime, while Ernest seemed to have disappeared far off in the distance, he was actually already crawling on his belly like a lizard, slipping in between their ranks.
It was a simple piece of misdirection.
Of course, for those on the receiving end, it was anything but simple.
Once more, silence settled over the forest.
Every member of the Alliance Army cadets stiffened, eyes locked on the perimeter, nerves on edge.
Rustle... Thud.
...
The sentry posts within the Alliance Army's formation were manned in groups of three.
That way, even if they were ambushed, at least one person could sound the alarm.
But Ernest, creeping silently from behind the cadets keeping watch ahead, slipped an arm around one's neck and squeezed tightly, while slashing another across the throat with his wooden bayonet, and then quickly stabbing a third in the back with the same bayonet.
The first, with his throat slashed by a long, slender blade, couldn't even scream. The other, stabbed deep in the back—his lungs likely pierced—had no hope of making a sound either.
After Ernest had discarded his armor during the first training exercise, shedding armor became part of his strategy. Even if you wore armor, being hit by a bullet would still count as a fatal blow in these exercises. Still, in exchange for greater mobility, he had to expose his vulnerable chest in close quarters combat.
The cadets who were "killed" by Ernest were startled, but didn't yell.
They fully understood their situation—they couldn't physically make a sound.
"Ugh!" ...
The cadet caught in Ernest's left-arm choke reacted quickly, raising the crossbow he was holding to try to attack Ernest with the bayonet. Ernest saw that his bayonet was still embedded in the enemy's back and simply let it go, instead grabbing the cadet's arm firmly with his right hand and forcing it down to block the attack.
All that could be heard was the frantic struggle of the Alliance Army cadet desperately trying to break free. But in fact, he could have called out for help—Ernest had not tightened his choke fully, allowing enough blood flow and air for the cadet to breathe.
"Enough," Ernest whispered quietly after a moment. At that, the struggling cadet, gasping for breath, ceased his resistance.
Enough time had passed for him to lose consciousness.
And since he'd blacked out, there was only one thing left to do.
Ernest picked up the fallen bayonet from the ground and tapped it against the cadet's neck.
"..."
Having taken out three cadets in an instant, Ernest slung the crossbow—previously secured behind him—forward into a ready position and stayed alert, listening to his surroundings for a moment.
The already "dead" cadets just lay silently in their improvised sentry post, making no sound, simply watching what Ernest did.
After a brief pause, Ernest began to move, keeping his posture low.
The Alliance Army cadets, unaware that Ernest had broken through their formation and was moving freely through their rear lines, would be wiped out one by one without getting a chance to resist.
"We're done for."
"Told you so."
After Ernest left, the cadets who'd been "killed" glanced at each other and whispered quietly.
But none of them moved.
If the bodies here started moving, it would reveal that Ernest had infiltrated, which would disrupt the training.
Step. Step. Step.
A little while later, footsteps approached the improvised sentry post that Ernest had left.
...
The person approaching flinched in surprise at the sight of the "corpses" who, having already been eliminated, were now sprawled comfortably on the ground or lying on their sides with their heads propped up by their hands.
His eyes widened, and he suddenly shouted like a bolt from the blue:
"The enemy has infiltrated!"
"Damn it!"
At the shout from Patrol Squad Leader Ferdinand, a stream of curses erupted from the Alliance Army formation, and everyone started to scramble in a panic.
"Check the posts on both flanks!"
"All clear!"
"All clear!"
"...."
"We've been hit here!"
"Here too!"
"Abandon the posts and fall back!"
The judgment of the Alliance Army's Platoon Leader cadet was quick. He immediately decided to abandon the formation, which now had gaping holes in it, and pull back to the rear. The cadets moved swiftly to retreat and quickly formed a new, smaller formation.
"Ferdinand, secure the inside position."
"Understood."
Patrol Squad Leader Ferdinand led the patrol squad to search the interior of the formation.
If it was Ernest, he might have already slipped inside and found a place to hide.
"Enemy spotted!"
But there was no way the Imperial Army would miss such a golden opportunity.
The moment the Alliance Army retreated, the Imperial Army, having been closely watching the movements within the forest, immediately launched a concentrated breakthrough.
As the Imperial Army attacked a single point, the Alliance Army responded swiftly and tried to form an encirclement. Ferdinand, leading the patrol squad, also moved to protect their own rear and to fulfill the role of a reserve unit in case of emergencies.
Whoosh!
"Ugh! The Balt Wind…!"
Baltracher from the Imperial Army summoned the Balt Wind, leaving the Alliance Army, who had been preparing to fire upon the Imperials, completely helpless.
"Get down!"
The Alliance forces positioned directly in front of the Imperial Army hit the ground, taking cover, and tried to buy as much time as possible. Meanwhile, other Alliance cadets, panting with exhaustion, dashed across the forest to get into the flanks and rear of the Imperial Army.
"Patrol Squad!"
The Alliance Army's commander called for the patrol squad.
Catching Ferdinand's eye, he gave a hand signal. Ferdinand immediately led his squad to swing around to the right and attack the enemy's flank.
Of course, Ferdinand knew just how dangerous this maneuver was. It wasn't his own safety that was the issue—it was the fact that Ernest might be lingering in the rear.
Committing the patrol squad, which served as a reserve force, into combat could leave their rear dangerously exposed.
However, in the midst of battle, Ferdinand couldn't disobey the commander's orders.
In a situation this urgent, acting on personal judgment could throw everything into chaos.
Thwack.
A Wooden Bolt flew and struck the back of the patrol squad.
"Keep attacking!"
Ferdinand ordered the patrol squad to continue attacking the Imperial Army's flank.
Then, taking just two others with him, he rushed toward Ernest, who was attacking the rear.
"..."
Ernest melted into the darkness of the densely wooded forest, disappearing among the trees and thickets.
But because of this damned kid, Ferdinand, now more skilled in forest skirmishes and stealth maneuvers than any normal First Year, wasn't about to lose sight of someone he'd already spotted.
Thwack.
Staying close on Ernest's heels, Ferdinand fired just as Ernest finished reloading and turned to look back.
Ernest twisted his body gracefully, dodging the slow-moving Wooden Bolt.
He hid behind a tree, while the two remaining Alliance cadets with Ferdinand closed in fast, aiming their crossbows at him.
"Isn't it a bit of a waste to have three people go after just me?"
Ernest called out in a relaxed voice from behind the tree.
"If we can pin you down with three, Ernest, I'd say that's a bargain."
Instead of reloading and working the pulley, Ferdinand gripped his crossbow—now fitted with a bayonet—in both hands and approached the tree where Ernest was hiding.
"Guess we don't see things the same way."
"I can't just let you ravage our rear lines."
"Even though the center's already been neutralized by the Balt Wind?"
"Even so."
"Yet here you are, launching this reckless attack despite that."
"It's a reckless attack, yes, but it was also the tactic with the highest chances of success. As long as the Balt Wind is active, there's no hope for a head-on clash. In that sense, sending in the reserve patrol squad while leaving you at the rear is risky, but not a bad decision. After all, we're bound to lose the center anyway. And knowing that, rather than staying in the now-worthless central rear, you came after the reserve patrol squad, and now you're caught by the three of us. Thanks to that choice, we're effectively controlling the situation—I'd say that's no exaggeration."
As Ferdinand spoke loudly, throwing Ernest off balance with his voice, the two Alliance Army cadets moved in silence, widening their positions to encircle the tree where Ernest was hiding.
Thwack.
"Huh?"
But when they widened their angle and peered behind the tree, no one was there.
Suddenly, a Wooden Bolt came flying down from above their heads.
Just as the cadets had used Ferdinand's booming voice to approach, Ernest had used the distraction to grab onto a thick, sturdy tree branch extending low, and climbed up out of sight.
They hadn't noticed the branch shaking—still too inexperienced.
They assumed the enemy would move only along the ground, just like them, and so fell for it completely.
Thwack.
"Ugh!"
One cadet, having finally spotted Ernest up in the tree branches, shot quickly, but Ernest nimbly leapt down and dodged the attack.
Then, seeing the cadet charging at him, Ernest quickly finished reloading, fired at once, and took him out.
"Gasp!"
At that moment, Ferdinand was already right beside Ernest.
Even compared to fourth-year cadets, Ferdinand, with his strength and size, was a formidable opponent in close combat, leaving Ernest with little chance of winning.
Without hesitation, Ernest hurled his crossbow at Ferdinand with all his might and began to run.
Ferdinand hesitated for just a moment.
If he managed to seize an Imperial Army crossbow, he could fire without winding the pulley.
Having this weapon would make a big difference in the fight.
But if he let that damn kid escape here, he'd surely regret it.
Ferdinand's pause lasted for only a single breath.
Thud!
In that brief instant, the bayonet Ernest had hurled flew through the air and struck Ferdinand's right shoulder.
The blade made contact.
Now Ferdinand couldn't use his right arm.
"You bastard."
Ferdinand growled, gripping the crossbow fixed with the bayonet in his left hand, as he faced Ernest, who was now charging low.
Ernest moved like a wild animal, springing off the ground, tangled roots, and tree trunks as he sprang forward.
In his right hand, that damned Nail Clipper Knife glinted menacingly.
Their eyes met, and Ernest pushed off the tree trunk with force, feinting to Ferdinand's right and closing the gap in a flash.
"Hmph…!"
Thud!
With his right arm unusable, Ferdinand swung the crossbow clumsily with only his left hand.
Ernest used his right arm to block—not the bayonet, but the crossbow itself.
As Ernest's left hand moved with agility to seize the crossbow, his right hand was freed.
At the same time, Ferdinand let go of the crossbow and reached out barehanded, trying to grab Ernest.
Smack!
At some point, Ernest had taken a reverse grip on his knife.
So, as he moved nimbly, the butt of the knife—not the blade—struck Ferdinand's wrist.
Had it been a real attack, and if this had been an actual dagger meant to kill, the blade would have pierced straight through Ferdinand's wrist or broken the bone.
With this hit, Ferdinand could no longer use his left hand either.
Tap.
But there was no need to see more.
Before Ferdinand could even attempt anything else, Ernest's hands moved with chilling speed—he slashed the back of Ferdinand's left arm at the knee, stabbed under his armpit, and then twisted the knife, tearing the wound upward.
With his left hand, Ernest gave Ferdinand's chest a gentle push.
"...."
Ferdinand quietly stepped back, while Ernest snatched up his fallen crossbow and bayonet from the ground and sprinted away like lightning.
"Aaargh."
Letting out an awkward scream, Ferdinand collapsed on the spot.
He'd been struck by a blade in his right shoulder, and from his left wrist to the back of his knee and under his armpit, the dagger had torn him apart.
The pain must have been excruciating, but with the immense blood loss, he wouldn't even be able to take a single step.
That is, if it had been a real knife.
"I lost."
"That's right."
"Wasn't there a way to draw your dagger?"
"If I had, it would've been too late. Maybe if my right arm had been fine."
"Hmmm… There's no end to this."
"Yeah. Even after all I've been through, he came up with something new yet again."
Ferdinand calmly answered the questions from a fellow cadet sprawled out on the floor beside him.
Now, all the First-Year Cadets carried a Nail Clipper Knife like Ernest.
Of course, Ferdinand had one too, and he also knew that when facing Ernest's charge, a dagger would have been more useful than a crossbow fitted with a bayonet if he only had use of his left hand.
But there hadn't been time.
The dagger was fastened to the right side of his lower back for easy access with his right hand.
In close quarters combat, reach matters far more than you'd expect.
Even so, Ernest fought by separating the bayonet from the crossbow, and after hurling the crossbow, threw the bayonet on its own, effectively neutralizing Ferdinand, who was bigger and stronger.
If there were no or few variables, Ferdinand would have had a high chance of winning in close quarters combat with Ernest. But in real-life situations full of uncertainties, facing Ernest almost always meant defeat.
"I'm learning a lot."
"It still stings, though."
Ferdinand learned a great deal from Ernest He was satisfied with that.
But apparently, the other cadets weren't.
"You must've known you were going to lose."
"Not everyone can take it as maturely as you do, Hartmann. I mean, even with three of us attacking together, Ernest still beat us."
"You can't get hung up on individual fights. You have to look at it as a battle between the Imperial Army and the Alliance Army. This was a fight meant to be lost."
"That's exactly it—nobody else can see it that way like you."
How many times had the First-Year Cadets suffered defeat because of Ernest alone?
In the small skirmishes with him in the forest, the only way to subdue him was to have Baltracher on your side or at least five cadets together.
They were all in the same First Year, but the gap in combat ability simply didn't make sense.
"Don't you feel frustrated?"
"Not really."
"Why not?"
"Because out on a real battlefield, the enemy won't show us the consideration that Ernest does."
"..."
"It's a blessing to be able to learn things like this here. Accept it."
"You're right."
Naturally, the battle ended in victory for the Imperial Army.
With their superior weaponry and the presence of Baltracher, their win had already been certain—in addition to that, once someone as outrageous as Ernest started rampaging, there was nothing the others could do.
"He's like a fish in water."
That was the common sentiment most people shared about Ernest.
Ernest, who had already been making a name for himself, began to stand out dramatically from some point that summer.
Now, he was completely in a league of his own.
No one could even doubt that Ernest was at the top of the class.
"That sort of guy will probably become a Beowatcher someday."
People would say things like that openly.
There was little jealousy—simply because the gap was just too great.
And Ernest wasn't the type to show off his abilities or brag to those around him.
Even though he was ahead of everyone else, he put in a tremendous amount of effort, and everyone knew it.
By the time autumn approached—before the First Year was even over—Ernest Krieger had established himself as someone completely unrivaled.
After finishing Mock Battle Training and returning to the Military Academy, it was nearly time for dinner, just like always.
The First-Year Cadets, bodies weary, ate their meal and then headed back to the dormitory.
"Krieger. You've got a letter."
"Yes."
Ernest had been about to get washed up and change clothes, but at the Disciplinary Instructor's words, his face lit up and he hurried over to the Disciplinary Office It had to be a reply from Father.
Now that Haires was in Grimman, and although it wasn't all that frequent, he and Ernest exchanged a fair number of letters. Most of them were about things that had happened at the Military Academy—mainly, stories about the amazing feats Ernest had accomplished and the praise he'd received.
"Mmmm…"
However, when Ernest arrived at the Disciplinary Office, the officer who usually handed him his letters with a remark like "You and your father must be very close," was instead standing with his arms crossed, staring intently at the letter, deep in thought.
"I'm here to pick up my letter."
"Mmmm…"
Ernest approached and spoke, though puzzled, and the Disciplinary Officer turned to look at him with a grave expression.
Seeing how serious he looked, Ernest realized that something was wrong.
"Krieger, try not to be shocked. Listen calmly."
"…Yes."
The Disciplinary Officer spoke in a solemn voice, and Ernest, gripped by tension and anxiety, clenched his fists tightly in response
. Did something happen to Father? No, that can't be…
"First, here is the letter your father sent. Take it."
"Oh, yes."
For now, Ernest took the letter the officer handed him.
There were no signs that the envelope had been opened; it looked just as it normally did.
Even if they censored letters at the Military Academy through a First-Class Baltracher, they wouldn't go around talking about the contents of a letter that hadn't even been opened. So Ernest, for the moment, could breathe a small sigh of relief that nothing had happened to Father.
"And as for this letter..."
The Disciplinary Officer picked up the other letter—the one he'd been eyeing so sharply—and held it out to Ernest.
"This one arrived at the Academy today, following all official procedures. Take it."
Official procedures?
Ernest accepted the letter the Disciplinary Officer handed him and examined it.
The envelope was made of high-quality paper, flawless and elegant, sealed with red wax.
Ernest couldn't identify the family crest stamped into the wax.
But, upon seeing the sender's name written in artistic calligraphy, he immediately knew who had sent it and from where.
Count Anton Wolfram.
Ernest read the name several times, thinking he must have misread it, the handwriting was so graceful.
Still, no matter how many times he looked, it certainly said "Count Anton Wolfram," not "Anton of the House of Wolfram."
The illustrious Count himself had sent Ernest a personal letter, using his own name.
"If you read the letter, you'll understand, but let me explain the general situation first, Krieger," the Disciplinary Officer said in a calm voice to Ernest, who was staring blankly at the envelope.
"Count Wolfram is currently in Grimman. Just a short while ago, his attendant delivered a letter to the Headmaster, Armin Mannheim, formally requesting assistance. This letter was handed over at the same time, following all the official procedures."
"..."
Ernest tried to find a connection between the great Count himself making a formal request for help to the Imperial Military Academy's Headmaster, Armin Mannheim, and this letter being personally delivered to him.
He had never had any direct dealings with such distinguished figures before.
Unfortunately, however, he had been involved, in a rather unpleasant way, at least indirectly.
"There's a rumor spreading in high society in the southern Empire, where Count Wolfram's territory lies. It's said that Theresia Leimann, Gunter Wolfram's fiancée, received an 'inappropriate letter.' No one knows exactly how or where the rumor started, but both Wolfram and Leimann have ended up in a very awkward situation."
Exchanging a few inappropriate letters was nothing out of the ordinary in noble circles.
But once such things were revealed and became the talk of society, it was an entirely different matter.
It could be a scandal so serious that one might be completely ostracized from noble society!
Regrettably, while Ernest didn't know Wolfram personally, he did know who Theresia Leimann was.
Thanks to his excellent memory, he still remembered the name he had glimpsed in passing on the letter's envelope.
"And, Krieger—you probably already suspect this—but the 'inappropriate letter' in question was sent through the Imperial Postal Service in your name, as an intermediary. The sender's name was written too, supposedly a woman named Ingrid. Obviously, that must be a false name."
At this point, the Disciplinary Officer, clearly troubled, ran a hand from his forehead down the back of his neck and let out a long sigh through his nose.
"And finally, Theresia Leimann's fiancé, Gunter Wolfram, is currently a fourth-year cadet at the Imperial Military Academy."
"..."
A cadet at the Military Academy, using the name 'Ingrid,' had sent an 'inappropriate letter' to Theresia Leimann, the fiancée of Gunter Wolfram, a fourth-year cadet. Ernest had helped deliver this letter by asking his father for a favor.
Rumors about this letter had spread across the southern society of the Empire, putting both Wolfram and Leimann in a difficult position.
Count Wolfram had come all the way to Grimman himself to personally seek the Headmaster, Armin Mannheim, for help at the Military Academy, and at the same time, had sent a letter to Ernest as well.
"It seems His Excellency, the Count, intends to resolve this matter by identifying the cadet who sent the 'inappropriate letter' and forcing him to fight a duel with Gunter Wolfram, with the intention of taking his life."
Both Wolfram and Leimann's names had been completely dragged through the mud.
Whether they remained engaged or broke it off, they needed to restore their sullied honor first.
And in situations like this, the best way to handle things—at least in noble circles—was to settle scores with a bloody duel that left one dead.
If the culprit who mailed Theresia the letter were to lose and die in the duel, all the issues could be neatly wiped away.
Wolfram's family might not forget the grudge, but since it was their side who had been shamed by the scandal of a forbidden letter, no one in society could openly condemn Wolfram for it.
Moreover, from the other family's point of view, if sacrificing the life of a son they had no plans to inherit anything could erase this disastrous scandal, it might not seem like a bad trade.
"Kriger. Do you remember who gave you that letter?"
The Disciplinary Officer asked Ernest in a serious tone.
He seemed rather desperate.
"Don't try to cover for another cadet by lying to protect them. At least in this matter, there's no one who can blame you. Absolutely no one. This case is being handled by the authority of Count Wolfram and the Headmaster. So Kriger, you must answer honestly. Who gave you that letter?"
The Disciplinary Officer pressed Ernest for an answer.
"…I-I don't know."
But truly, Ernest had nothing more he could say.
"They were told to put the letters in the box…"
That's because Ernest hadn't received the 'inappropriate letter' directly; someone had quietly slipped it into the box left outside his door.
Ernest and the Disciplinary Officer stared at each other, both looking pale.
Who could have imagined that, in relationships between cadets—and with this opportunity for 'delivering someone else's scandalous letter,' which might have come in handy even after graduation—something like this could happen
"Damn it…"
The Disciplinary Officer, despairing over the only clear path to resolving this unprecedented mess being blocked, let out a curse.
Not that swearing would miraculously bring back a memory that Ernest didn't have—so it was a truly pointless thing to do.
Ernest realized just how tangled this situation had become.
If he hadn't been right at the center of all this, he could've laughed it off as just another strange incident.
But with even the chance for early resolution snatched away, the incident began just like that.