Chapter 52 - The Scandalous Letter Fiasco (2)
For now, Ernest was told to keep quiet about the incident and returned to his room, carrying both his father's letter and that damned letter from Count Wolfram.
"..."
Back in his room, the first thing Ernest did was unfold and read Count Anton Wolfram's letter.
He was sure Anton had written it himself; despite the elegant handwriting, Ernest could clearly feel the suppressed anger packed into every word.
Though Anton was a count, he wrote to Ernest—just a retired soldier's son—with extreme politeness.
That was because Anton understood Ernest was blameless, and he knew all too well the trouble Ernest had found himself in due to this mess.
Still, as expected of His Excellency the Count, Anton's letter was both polite and commanding.
He said he requested Ernest's cooperation, but the very tone made it obvious it was less a request and more an order—one he simply expected Ernest to obey.
Ernest, wanting nothing more than to escape from this headache as fast as possible, would have gladly spilled everything if he could.
Unfortunately, though he was at the center of the event, he had less information than anyone else.
He didn't even know what was written in that damned letter that had Anton so out of his mind.
Since Anton had clearly lost his composure, he must have read it himself.
So Anton likely knew much more about the whole affair than Ernest did.
But to anyone unaware of Ernest's situation, it could only appear as though he was remaining silent in order to protect the sender of that wretched letter.
"What are you doing?"
"..."
"Want some candy?"
"... Yeah..."
Robert saw Ernest bury his head on the desk while reading the letter and pulled out some candy for him. After all, it was originally Ernest's candy, so he didn't mind giving it away.
With the sweet candy on his tongue, Ernest racked his brain, trying to figure a way out of this predicament.
Knock, knock, knock.
At that moment, a knock echoed through the room. Both Ernest and Robert instinctively thought it was Marie, but she only came right before free time ended. Besides, today wasn't even her day to visit.
Crunch. Crunch.
Ernest and Robert hastily chewed up and swallowed their candy.
"Who is it?" Robert called out, his voice tinged with frustration at having to swallow his precious candy without savoring it.
"It's Gunter Wolfram, fourth year. Krieger, are you in?"
At the unfamiliar tone of the voice, Robert, who had been about to open the door, froze and slowly turned to look back at Ernest.
With a face that was the picture of despair, Ernest slowly got to his feet. He looked like a cow being led to the slaughterhouse.
"Yes, I'm here"
Robert tactfully stepped back. As if switching places, Ernest stepped forward and opened the door.
"...."
"...."
Ernest looked up at Gunter, while Gunter looked down at Ernest.
Though only seventeen, Gunter already had a thick mustache, meticulously trimmed with scissors.
He was a strapping young man, broad-shouldered and imposing.
Gunter's face flushed red with anger, the color surging across his features.
"First of all, Krieger."
Gunter spoke in a voice as deep as the ocean, his words rolling out like waves.
"I regret that you've become entangled in all this."
Although he looked as if he might draw a gun or a sword at any moment and kill someone, Gunter addressed Ernest with the utmost courtesy.
Like his father, Count Wolfram, he knew full well that Ernest bore no fault in this matter.
"I know you received the letter through the box. But if you have even the smallest clue about anything, anything at all, would you be willing to tell me?"
With one hand pressed over his chest, Gunter asked Ernest in a very polite manner.
His hand, like his face, was red with anger and visibly shaking.
Instead of blurting out that he knew nothing, Ernest decided to sift through his recollections, trying to gather as much information as possible.
"To start with, there's no one among those who directly came to me asking to send a letter who fits the bill."
Ernest replied in a calm voice.
Out of all the people who had personally approached him to hand over letters before he placed the box at the entrance, there was no Ingrid sending a letter to Theresia Leimann.
"The First Years were the first to come to me, and there was plenty of time until the Third Year arrived to entrust their letter, so I think it's unlikely that a First Year is the culprit."
Ernest spoke in a level, emotionless voice.
"That's all the information I have. Comparing handwriting samples, investigating those around the suspects, or figuring out the method of contact—those are things I'm not able to do."
Hearing this, Gunter let out a long sigh and lowered the hand that had been resting on his chest.
He studied Ernest carefully for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"All right, I understand."
Gunter realized that he couldn't get any more meaningful information from Ernest. It wasn't that Ernest was hiding something—he genuinely didn't know any more.
"I'll handle the rest myself."
"Wolfram, sir."
Ernest called out to Gunter. But he couldn't bring himself to ask what Gunter meant by "handle the rest."
From here on, this was no longer something Ernest should get involved in.
"…No, it's nothing."
"All right. Sorry to have dragged you into this."
Gunter even apologized to Ernest before striding away.
After closing the door again, Ernest, clutching his forehead with his hand against a headache he hadn't felt in a while since he started cutting back on tonic, trudged back to his desk and sat down.
"What's going on?"
Robert, who had been putting all his energy into pretending he wasn't in the room, asked quietly. Ernest buried his head in the desk.
"It's better if you don't know."
"But… I think I have a pretty good idea what's going on."
Robert wasn't an idiot. In fact, behind his cheerful exterior, Robert hid a cold and calculating side—a real piece of work. Without really wanting to, Robert had put two and two together just from listening to Ernest and Gunter talk.
"Still, wasn't it better to have remembered all of it?"
Robert asked, recalling that Ernest had advised him not to get curious about the letter and to just forget it.
"How was I supposed to know it would turn out like this?"
"Fair point. So, what now?"
"How should I know?"
Although he sounded as if he'd given up, Ernest straightened up in his chair and started scribbling something on a piece of paper. Robert glanced over Ernest's shoulder to see what he was writing.
Realizing that quick insight alone wouldn't solve this, Ernest was putting things down on paper to try and sort out the situation.
"Ugh."
Robert grimaced at Ernest's handwriting—orderly, yet somehow all over the place, though it was unmistakably inching toward a single thought.
While playing with his quill pen, Ernest suddenly froze.
"The handwriting. It was a bit strange, wasn't it."
"Huh?"
"Not just the writing on the envelope, but the other handwriting too."
"Hmm… I'm not sure?"
"They were probably trying to use a different style on purpose, knowing there might be a handwriting comparison. They must have anticipated a situation like this."
"So? Does that help?"
"…Keeping up a different handwriting style for an entire letter is tough. The easiest way is to do something with your pen or your fingers—like holding the quill pen much farther back than usual, or wearing gloves, something like that…"
"There are about 240 cadets in the Military Academy. It wouldn't be easy to get everyone to write, much less make them keep changing their writing style," Robert pointed out.
At his words, Ernest rolled the quill pen across his fingertips for a moment.
Then, with his left hand, Ernest brushed the surface of the paper. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the sensation at his fingertips as he rubbed the sheet.
"…This paper."
Ernest spoke in a faint voice.
"It was incredibly smooth."
"Well, it was meant for a beloved lady, so of course it would be top quality."
"Still, something about it felt different."
"Do you remember exactly?"
"…Not exactly. But I think I'd know it if I touched it."
"You remember that?"
"It stood out."
Robert let out a sigh and scratched his head.
"Should I contact my father? If we ask him to send us unusually smooth paper, we might be able to find the one you're looking for."
"..."
"What do you think?"
Ernest couldn't answer Robert's suggestion. If he could figure out what kind of paper it was, it might lead them to a new clue. Or perhaps he could directly examine the letter paper or envelopes the cadets had and recognize it by touch himself. But if he did find the cadet who sent the scandalous letter, he would have to duel Gunter Wolfram to the death. Was it truly right for Ernest to get involved in this?
No, even if I don't help, it might get discovered eventually. If that happens, the duel will happen without me, and someone will end up losing their life.
"...Damn it. I don't know what to do."
Ernest couldn't make up his mind. Whatever choice he made, he felt he'd end up regretting it.
"Why did you even bother being the first to go out on leave? This is all your fault."
"How was I supposed to know it would turn out like this?"
"You should've thought it all through. That's why I haven't bothered saving up Merit Points."
"You mean you couldn't save them!"
Ernest tried to calm his nerves by bantering with Robert. Robert was probably talking nonsense for the same reason.
"But aren't you going to read that letter? Didn't your father send it?"
"Oh, right."
"Yeah, 'right'. Maybe you need a slap to snap out of it."
"You want to get hit?"
"So now I can't even tell the truth?"
Ernest ignored Robert's banter and unfolded his father's letter.
"..."
Reading the usual, everyday content of the letter helped Ernest calm down.
But when he reached the final sentence, a flash of blade-like anger crossed his previously composed face.
"P.S. You don't need to worry about me."
"E-Ernest?"
Ernest read that final sentence from his father's letter over and over again. Robert, startled by Ernest's expressionless face, called out to him, but Ernest didn't respond.
"..."
He carefully folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope, then opened the drawer and neatly arranged it alongside the other letters.
Afterward, Ernest stared in silence at the blue Balt Lighting, his demeanor cold and hollow, as if he were no longer human.
Count Anton Wolfram was currently in Grimman.
Even though Ernest had been asked to deliver that letter, the one who actually sent it was Haires.
The Disciplinary Officer had also mentioned that the letter was sent under the Krieger name.
Anton Wolfram had gotten in touch with Ernest's father, Haires Krieger, and though it was unclear exactly what had transpired, it surely hadn't ended with just a pleasant conversation.
'Is Father safe?'
He asked himself the question, and then answered it inwardly.
'Of course he's safe.'
Anton has no reason to threaten or intimidate Haires.
More importantly, if Krieger were to be harmed in this situation, the noble society would not stand idly by.
Anton had already crossed the line where this could have ended quietly a long time ago.
There was simply no other way for him to clear his disgrace.
That is why he must not do anything even more dishonorable from here on out.
Even so, this incident left a very sharp scar on Ernest's heart.
Ernest realized that, because of his own actions, his father—his family—could be put in danger.
The atmosphere was so heavy that even Robert, who usually couldn't keep his mouth shut, was now silent. In that suffocating air, Ernest stood up.
"Uh, what are you planning to do?"
Just as he was about to leave the room, Ernest looked back at Robert.
After hesitating briefly, he spoke.
"Come with me."
"No, seriously, what are you trying to do?"
***
"...So..."
Wilfried pressed his elegant, pale fingers to his forehead and said,
"What exactly is it you want from me"
After saying that, Wilfried let out a sigh. He wasn't foolish enough not to understand what was going on.
"No, it's not that. What you really want is my advice on resolving this situation as smoothly as possible, isn't it?"
"That's right."
Ernest nodded.
This issue was tied up in a web of political complications, not just society. As far as Ernest knew, the only person capable and willing to help him in a situation like this was Wilfried Ravid.
"Sigh..."
Wilfried sighed again. Truly, he just couldn't figure it out. Why did Ernest trust so firmly that he would help?
...And why did he bring Robert along?
When Wilfried glanced at Robert, who was quietly standing off to the side looking confused, Robert just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
"I don't know either."
That was what his gesture meant, but in truth, Robert understood perfectly. After all, what else could it be, except that the much-aggrieved Ernest had brought Teacher Robert along to ask for help?
Wilfried felt a sense of distaste at being the Duke Ravid's son, but contrary to what he believed about himself, he was far more forgiving toward Robert, who treated him like an ordinary person and constantly joked around with him.
Because Robert was here, Wilfried would probably end up being a bit more generous toward Ernest as well.
Or maybe not.
"You really shouldn't be talking about this so openly, Ernest."
Wilfried didn't feel like being polite with Ernest right now, so he didn't hesitate to speak sarcastically. This was probably the biggest change that had happened to Wilfried since entering the Military Academy. He had come to realize that he didn't have to look perfect in front of everyone anymore.
"I did hear that I should keep this confidential."
"And yet you're still talking?"
"That's exactly why."
Ernest replied calmly.
"If I stay quiet, I'll just be dragged along without any say."
At that, Wilfried tilted his head slightly, his eyes shifting thoughtfully. Then he remembered how Ernest had once called him out on this very gesture in the past, and he consciously corrected his posture, looking Ernest squarely in the eye.
"You're right."
Wilfried's voice was gentle, but even.
"So, what's the price?"
I'll give you the advice you want, but I'm not going to do it for free. At that blunt, straightforward demand, Ernest answered right away
"I'll help you with what you're doing."
"..."
Wilfried stared silently at Ernest, his expression unchanged. It didn't take long for him to realize what Ernest meant, and he nodded in understanding.
Ernest knew that Wilfried had been collecting, organizing, and studying information about their peers. Wilfried had only started closely observing the other cadets after witnessing Ernest's own remarkable powers of observation in action.
No matter how hard Wilfried tried to hide it, Ernest couldn't be fooled. Not only did Ernest have those restless, searching eyes, but his insight into Wilfried's ever-changing tactics put him a step ahead of Wilfried himself.
"First of all, we passed the point where this could be handled quietly a long time ago. It's impossible to end things smoothly now."
Wilfried's voice was different than usual.
"If word spread through Society first, then there's no doubt this is an attack with political motives. Someone will absolutely have to bleed for this. That's why Count Wolfram made the situation as big as possible—to make absolutely sure it's settled once and for all. And now that it's reached this stage, the sender of that letter is bound to be exposed, one way or another."
Through Wilfried's explanation, Ernest was able to grasp the situation more clearly.
Yes, the moment Count Wolfram started to take action, all of this had already gone past the point of no return—regardless of what Ernest wanted. That's exactly what power is.
"Go to Gunter Wolfram and tell him. Tell him that Count Wolfram is threatening your father and that you intend to file an official accusation."
Wilfried, as if proving the Ravid blood he so despised, whispered coldly, his eyes as sharp as a snake's.
"If you don't make it an issue, then it isn't one. So you have to make it absolutely clear that this is a problem. Beyond that, spread the word so everyone at the Military Academy knows the situation you're in."
"Everyone?"
"Yes. Everyone."
Wilfried Ravid spoke just like the family he hated.
"Make sure everyone knows what's happening to you—the consequences of simply agreeing to do what another cadet asked, following tradition. Make it clear to all exactly what unfair, unjust, and disgraceful treatment you're being subjected to."
The boy, thinking like those he loathed, spoke without the slightest hint of emotion. If anything was mixed in, it would only be self-hatred.
"Not everyone's going to take your side. But at the very least, those who entrusted you with their letters will have no choice but to support you. All except one person."
"You're saying that before any official investigation begins, we need to get the cadets to demand that Ingrid turn herself in?"
"That's right."
"And if that still doesn't work?"
"Then either wait for the investigation to begin, or push her into a corner even further"
"A corner…"
"Why don't you think for yourself from here on out, Ernest?"
Wilfried spoke with an aristocratic air, and Ernest nodded.
"First, I should make a report before I act."
"Considering the chain of command, that's not a bad idea—just inefficient. You need to move right this instant, like a blaze."
Wilfried gave this extra advice to Ernest, not simply because Robert was present.
"I know how to strike first. And I know you have a just cause."
Ernest also understood that acting immediately was the only way to seize control of this situation. Of course, he grasped the subtle art of a surprise attack. And Ernest had a legitimate justification—not to denounce Count Anton Wolfram, but to spread this story through the entire Military Academy, even after the Disciplinary Officer had ordered him to stay silent.
A fourteen-year-old boy, furious and frightened after believing his family was threatened by Count Wolfram, losing control of himself, runs to the count's son and loudly accuses the count in front of everyone.
He's still just a kid—and with his only family threatened, he's got the strongest justification he could possibly have.
"But this is the Military Academy, and I'm a cadet. I'm not going to repeat a mistake I've already made once."
Ernest had already caused one massive incident before—the time right after he enrolled when he practically destroyed the Cadet Corps.
Although he had filed a report and established a legitimate reason before taking action, in reality, his actions amounted to nothing more than a reckless outburst.
In the end, Ernest was praised and even received merit points, but that was only possible because Armin, the final decision-maker, had shown him a mercy that seemed both cold and yet forgiving.
And now, after Ernest had made the same mistake again, it was hard to expect that Armin—disappointed in him—would protect him as he had before.
Besides, Ernest did not want to let down Armin, the one who had called his father a hero.
More than anything else, he didn't want to disappoint his own father.
This time, everything had to go exactly according to plan. He wouldn't reveal a single vulnerability.
"You've changed, Ernest," Wilfried said in a detached voice, just like the father he despised.
"I've grown up," Ernest replied, in a steady tone reminiscent of the father he admired.
Their voices clearly resembled each other, yet there was a decisive difference between them.
Wilfried carefully studied Ernest's eyes and realized that it truly was the case.
Ernest was still acting according to the same principles as always.
It was just that, after experiencing life at the Military Academy and learning so much, he now knew how to hide himself within society.
"I suppose this is how a barbarian turns into a civilized man…"
"…Wilfried, isn't that a bit rude?"
Startled by Wilfried's murmured words, which seemed heavy with mixed emotions, Ernest asked in a voice full of embarrassment.
"Watching you grow, I start to think that even the most wicked, cruel, and barbaric being could be reformed. Truly, I've learned a lot."
"Even if Ernest here lacks social skills, is selfish, and causes trouble for everyone around him—basically a barbarian—it's still rude to say it so directly, isn't it?"
"Oh, dear. Sorry. I just blurted out exactly what I was thinking. Can you let it go?"
"Right, right. Ernest, sometimes you have to be generous enough to forgive other people's mistakes too. You make mistakes just like anyone else."
Thanks to Robert, who jumped in at just the right moment to support him, Wilfried unleashed a tirade at Ernest and flashed a lively grin with his vivid blue eyes.
"That's right, Ernest. Just like you used to do, I only made a mistake. Forgive me, as I forgave you."
Ernest frowned as he watched Wilfried, looking happier than he'd ever seen him before.
"You've never forgiven me."
"Goodness. Now you're even doubting my feelings."
"Fine, it's all my fault."
"Ernest, I'm really disappointed in you. Even now, when your friend is hoping for forgiveness, you just coldly turn him away with that same antisocial and selfish attitude."
Ernest glanced back and forth at the two with a flustered expression, but given how much they'd put up with from him, there was no way they'd suddenly take pity on him and say it was just a joke.
"You're both just as awful as each other."
"If calling us that will make you feel any better, go right ahead."
"Wilfried, don't be too soft on Ernest. What if he grows up to be truly rotten because of it?"
"Oh, no! But I can't possibly scold him either! Whatever am I supposed to do?"
"I'm leaving."
Leaving behind Wilfried—who spoke dramatically as if he were a tragic hero caught in a dilemma—and Robert, who struggled to suppress his laughter and replied in a mock-serious tone, an irritated Ernest strode out of the room.
"So, Wilfried, the same awful guy—are you feeling any better now?
" "Hmph, hrmph..."
After Ernest left, Robert threw out the question with a smile.
Wilfried just cleared his throat awkwardly and turned away to avoid him.
"Catch."
Robert tossed something over.
Wilfried caught it reflexively.
"…Is this candy?"
"Yeah."
"Where did you get this?"
"I brought it from the room."
Wilfried stared blankly at Robert, who casually admitted to hiding candy—which was a prohibited item—in their room and was now even giving it to him.
"This is your share for helping Ernest. A deal's a deal, right?"
"…Why are you the one giving me this?"
"Where do you think I got the candy from?"
After letting Wilfried know that the candy had come from Ernest when he returned from leave, Robert gave a crooked smile, waved, and quickly walked off after Ernest.
"…This is a mess."
Wilfried let out a heavy sigh. He stared at the candy in his hand for a while and then, very cautiously, put it in his mouth.
This was truly nothing at all.
All he did was put the candy in his mouth, let it melt with his saliva, and taste it with his tongue.
Yet Wilfried found that the sweetness, mingling with the thought that he was doing something he shouldn't—breaking the Military Academy's rules—made his tongue go numb and gave him a throbbing headache.
It really felt like everything had turned into a complete mess.
But for the Fourth Son of Duke Ravid—someone who had lived his whole life meticulously keeping everything painfully well-organized—this chaotic situation brought with it a strange, indescribable thrill.
"You guys are just as bad as I am."
Muttering his complaints at Ernest and Robert, who had smuggled in prohibited candy and shared it, making him their accomplice, Wilfried closed his eyes.
The candy was so sweet that it gave him a headache, making it impossible to think straight.