Chapter 74 - Ominous Winds (2)
Last year, everyone was on edge as they prepared for the Founding Declaration Day's evening party, but this year, the atmosphere is noticeably unsettled.
Cadets in egg yolk colored outfits—once the mark of first years, now representing the second years—can be seen hurrying through the hallways, their steps a little rushed.
"So, what's going on?"
Robert asked in a cautious voice.
Ernest slowly shook his head and replied quietly.
"There's nothing we can do right now except wait for Wilfried to tell us."
"Hm…"
Still dressed in his cadet uniform, unable to bring himself to change because of the unrest, Robert let out a long sigh and finally stood up to get dressed.
"Well, let's just focus on what we can do. Let's get into our finest clothes, go to the party, and eat all the delicious food the noble lords won't even touch."
Robert wasn't foolish; he understood perfectly well what was happening here.
But worrying wasn't going to magically fix things—not when he was just an ordinary cadet.
"So, when are you finally going to wear our class color?"
With a mocking smile, as if all this anxiety and fear were nothing but a mirage, Robert teased.
For this party too, Ernest was going to wear the same outfit he'd had altered for last year's year-end party.
He'd had it let out to fit his rapidly growing frame, but with how tall he was getting, he might not be able to wear it by the end of this year.
"Even if I try other colors, there's no way I'm ever wearing that childish egg yolk colored outfit—not for the rest of my life."
Ernest shot a smirk at the very outfit Robert had popularized, and began changing into a suit of black—the true color of a gentleman.
"Let's step outside for a bit."
After finishing getting dressed and fixing his hair, Ernest spoke to Robert.
"If we're going out, we're going out. What's with 'just stepping out for a bit'?"
Robert grumbled, but quickly followed Ernest out into the hallway.
"Hey, look at this country bumpkin who can't keep up with fashion trends! Still wearing such dreary black clothes!"
As they walked down the hall, Robert teased Ernest in his usual cheerful voice, drawing the attention of passing cadets.
The tense atmosphere in the dormitory seemed to lighten a little, thanks to Robert's familiar, upbeat tone.
"Still can't let it go?"
"That's right. Ferdinand's probably wearing black too—there's no way I'm giving up."
"Oh, are you sure about that? Maybe even Hartmann's decided to wear yellow this year."
"Ferdinand isn't the kind to be swayed by someone like you, Robert."
Using the mood Robert had set as a chance, Ernest seized the opportunity to head toward Ferdinand.
Under the pretense of checking that their "Black Outfit Alliance" was still going strong, Ernest was able to approach Ferdinand, the eldest grandson of the 2nd Corps Chief of Staff and the person at the very center of all this unrest.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Ferdinand."
"Come in."
As soon as Ernest knocked and called out to Ferdinand, a response came immediately from inside.
Without hesitation, Ernest entered the room, and Robert, glancing around cautiously, slipped in behind him and closed the door.
"I haven't heard anything."
As soon as the door closed, Ferdinand spoke in a heavy voice.
Ernest gazed at him with deep, somber eyes and whispered softly.
"Wilfried is looking into it. If you know anything that could help, let me know."
"This is an issue far beyond our reach, Ernest. You know that, don't you?"
"I know. But just because it's far away doesn't mean we should ignore it."
"And what exactly can you do, even if you find out?"
"At the very least, we can be prepared."
The two boys traded words with speed and intensity, like they were fencing with rapiers—each phrase cold but passionate, with no openings.
After a brief silence, Ferdinand slowly nodded.
"I haven't heard any talk of war. Before coming to Grimman, there wasn't even a hint of it."
"And since the graduation ceremony? Have you heard anything new?"
"I checked, and it's as we heard—other military academies also had a lot of students taken away, all at once."
"Regardless of whether their families are in the military units or not?"
"It wasn't entirely unrelated."
"So, did the 2nd Corps get assigned to the Imperial Military Academy because of you?"
"It's not impossible. But at the very least, my grandfather didn't get personally involved."
Ferdinand finished speaking and fell silent again.
Ernest didn't immediately press him with more questions; instead, he watched Ferdinand's face and waited quietly.
"…I can't claim to know everything about my grandfather."
After a long pause, Ferdinand spoke, his voice much more cautious than usual.
"I don't think he's aware of this situation."
Heinz Hartmann adored his eldest grandson, Ferdinand, and Ferdinand bore a startling resemblance to his grandfather.
That's why Ferdinand could cautiously insist that he hadn't sensed a single special sign from Heinz—because he truly hadn't detected anything.
"If this really is preparation for war, I doubt anyone else would be informed when my grandfather, the Chief of Staff of the 2nd Corps, knows nothing about it.
On the other hand, if this is a political performance to bolster His Majesty the Emperor's power, then the very fact that we're all scrambling around like this means we're playing right into His Majesty's hands."
Even at his young age, Ferdinand could already be called a true soldier, his discipline razor-sharp. But that didn't mean he was ignorant of politics—not at all.
A Corps Chief of Staff isn't someone even most high-ranking nobles can treat lightly.
Heinz was a power broker with immense influence across the entire Empire, and Ferdinand understood the dynamics of politics very well.
"You really are the perfect soldier, Ferdinand."
Ernest spoke in a calm voice, but his admiration was unmistakable.
Ferdinand knew that, regardless of the true intentions behind everything happening now, it was, in the end, another one of the Emperor's sly schemes—and that, because it was the Emperor's will, following it was the right thing to do. How many intellectuals in this world could truly say such a thing and mean it?
"Well…"
Ferdinand muttered, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. Even if he was only fifteen, Ferdinand had lived his whole life, as far back as he could remember, with the single-minded goal of becoming a soldier.
So to Ferdinand, Ernest's tendency to always doubt, gather information, and search persistently for the right answer seemed completely foreign—almost blasphemous.
In the past, he would have harshly rebuked such behavior.
For a soldier to question his superior's orders?
Unthinkable.
But as he got to know Ernest, Ferdinand found he could no longer deny the value of that caution and tenacity.
A person like himself, who followed orders without question, was necessary for military operations to go smoothly.
If everyone were like Ferdinand, the plan would likely be carried out perfectly.
But if there were no one like Ernest, progress would never happen.
Ferdinand didn't know how to respond to Ernest's praise, calling him the perfect soldier.
"I'll pass this on to Wilfried. That's alright, isn't it?"
"Do as you like."
With Ferdinand's permission, Ernest started to leave the room, then stopped. Turning back, he faced Ferdinand with an unusually serious expression Ferdinand also matched Ernst's solemn expression with one of his own.
"The Black Outfit Alliance is still intact, right?"
Ernest asked, showing the clothes he was about to put on.
"Of course."
Ferdinand answered as he held up his own uniform, which he hadn't changed into yet.
Then the two exchanged faint smiles on their slightly tense faces.
Ernest left the room.
Robert, who had been quietly listening the whole time, frowned and walked out as well.
"Stubborn bastards, through and through."
Robert's muttered remark shattered what little tension remained.
"…What on earth is going on here?"
Georg Brandt, who shared the room with Ferdinand and had heard the entire conversation, asked uneasily.
Ferdinand replied with absolute conviction.
"We don't need to worry about what's really going on. Brandt, all we need to do is focus on what's right in front of us."
Ferdinand spoke solemnly.
"Are you really going to wear that childish yellow uniform?"
"…Hartmann, you and Krieger are the only second years wearing anything other than this color. We're not the strange ones—you guys are."
"You spineless lot."
"Jimman is right. It's just that you two are way too stubborn."
"It's not about being stubborn; don't you realize that black is the true color of a man?"
"What about navy blue? That's the color of the military uniform."
"That's fine for when you're wearing the uniform. But day to day, black is the way to go."
"Your stubbornness is truly something else."
Georg let out a small laugh.
He hadn't shaken off his anxiety and fear about the war, but he felt reassured, thinking that as long as he trusted Ferdinand, everything would turn out fine.
...
This time, too, Ernest was able to approach Wilfried without arousing suspicion, thanks to Robert's help.
Wilfried had already quietly approached a few other cadets and subtly planted some seeds.
In time, they would spread their roots, gather information among the cadets, and report back to Wilfried.
Only a tiny handful whom Wilfried trusted knew he was pulling the strings.
Sitting quietly in the room, Wilfried listened to Ernest, then glanced down at his neatly folded hands before slowly raising his vivid blue eyes to Ernest.
"There's no evidence this is taking us in a direction we don't want."
Wilfried spoke in a notably ambiguous manner.
He was essentially saying there was no evidence this was all in preparation for war.
"So you mean there's no proof it isn't, either."
"That's right, Krieger."
At Ernest's words, Wilfried replied with barely a movement of his lips, like a puppet.
When Wilfried addressed Ernest as "Krieger," Robert flinched in surprise, his eyes darting nervously.
Wilfried slowly lifted his right leg and crossed it over his left.
His hands, fingertips pressed together, rested neatly atop his knee.
The bright yellow clothes, which sometimes looked a bit ridiculous on other cadets, shimmered on Wilfried as if they had been woven from gold thread.
The humble officer cadet's room seemed at once transformed into a lavish banquet hall.
Or perhaps the audience chamber of a king.
"But you must not lose your composure, Krieger. Act as you always do."
With his piercing blue eyes shining, Wilfried whispered as if to advise him.
His voice, roughened by adolescence, carried a hint of wind—just for a moment, it sounded chilling, like the hiss of a snake echoing from the depths of a cave.
Wilfried, still whispering, raised his right hand in a seemingly effortless gesture.
To Robert, that motion meant nothing; it simply looked like an absentminded movement, made while talking without any particular meaning. But to Ernest, it was clear that Wilfried's beautiful blue eyes had come to rest right above his elegantly raised index finger.
Roll those restless eyes of yours, gather as much information as you can from the banquet hall, and bring it to me.
Do not arouse even a hint of suspicion.
Just act as you always do.
Every movement down to his fingertips was perfectly calculated, delivering the intended message to the intended person without leaving the slightest clue for anyone else.
This was the very ability Wilfried Ravid, the fourth son of the House of Duke Ravid—who had been told he would inherit nothing but his name—had developed and come to despise in order to survive.
"Understood."
Ernest, already quick on the uptake, instantly grasped Wilfried's intent.
He was about to leave the room when he stopped and turned back to face Wilfried.
"I'll use it now."
"A promise is a promise."
Even to Ernest's abrupt statement, Wilfried replied without hesitation.
Robert's bounty.
Wilfried pierced Ernest with a cold and aristocratic gaze—so icy it sent a chill down Ernest's spine.
"Can't you let it go now?"
"...."
"You're not a child. Isn't it a bit petty to stay angry like this…"
"Get out."
"No, Wilfried. A promise is a promise, isn't it. I'm just asking you for something you can actually do within the Military Academy…"
"Get. Out. Now. You damn bastard."
"You're always like this, only with me…"
Grumbling at Wilfried, Ernest left the room.
But in truth, Ernest knew full well that Wilfried had kept his word.
The smoldering anger on his face, in his eyes and his voice, and even the way he spat out "damn bastard"—all of it told Ernest that Wilfried had really forgiven him.
If Wilfried hadn't forgiven Ernest, he would have stayed cold as ice until the end, dignified and distant like a true noble.
"Why are you still here?"
Wilfried, clearly agitated, glared at Robert, who was still just standing there in the room.
Robert smacked his forehead with his hand.
"Oh, honestly, what am I supposed to do with this Young Master from the Duke's house?"
"What?"
"You're not a seven-year-old anymore, but you still get all sulky and throw tantrums all the way to the top of your head…"
"Get out!"
Wilfried sprang to his feet and shouted. He didn't care in the least that his voice cracked and sounded awful because of puberty.
"Yes, yes. Since you're telling me to leave, of course I'll leave. No question about it."
"…I won't forget this insult."
"So, are you going to go ask Ernest to bully me again? 'Waaah! Ernest! Robert's picking on me! Help!' Like that?"
"..."
"Oh, sorry. You're really scary, seriously."
As Wilfried glared at him coldly, Robert quickly dashed out of the room.
Left alone, Wilfried fumed.
He was so angry he couldn't even sit still, the rage burning all the way up to the crown of his head.
He knew Robert was only teasing him more harshly on purpose out of concern, but even so, this was something he couldn't just let go.
Breathing harshly, Wilfried became so absorbed in planning cruel revenge on Robert that, if only for a moment, he managed to forget the turmoil they were all facing.
And when he realized this about himself, he felt a wave of extreme anger that he now owed an unwanted debt to Ernest and Robert.
"You…! Aaaargh! Damn bastards!"
If Wilfried's peers had seen him shouting with clenched fists trembling in anger, they would have been utterly shocked and taken aback.
He had never been so fiercely enraged before.
On the other hand, if the ladies of society had witnessed the scene, they would have felt a dizzying mix of pity and distress, clutching their foreheads and nearly fainting. Some of them might have taken up a gun to personally challenge the insult done to this beautiful, pitiable boy's honor in a duel. Or, if not a gun, perhaps even with a sword.
Wilfried nursed his anger for some time, grumbling under his breath. But when a cadet arrived to deliver information, he welcomed him with a gentle smile, as if nothing had happened.
First things first—he had to deal with the problem directly in front of him.
After that, he would make sure those responsible paid the price for their insult.
As the time for the Founding Declaration Day evening party approached, the banquet hall filled with people.
The Imperial Military Academy's evening party seemed even more crowded than previous years.
With the Emperor displaying signs of preparing for war, everyone had gathered at the academy—the empire's top institution for training officers—in hopes of catching the mood.
"..."
The countless nobles gathered could only frown.
So many nobles had come together to read the Emperor's intentions.
In other words, none of them actually knew what the Emperor was thinking.
War isn't some neighborhood brawl between children; even a minor military action leaves traces everywhere.
Yet here they were, all these power brokers, hastily gathering because not a single one of them actually knew the Emperor's intentions. No one had found concrete evidence of a military action, just vague suspicions, which only lent more credence to the idea that all of this was simply a ploy by the Emperor to consolidate his power.
'That crazy old man…'
Some nobles gnashed their teeth in anger and hatred at Emperor Walter Ulrich Mihahil of the Mihahil Empire—the very man who had once set the world ablaze with war.
'This is a disaster. What is he trying to pull? Those rumors about him being gravely ill… surely they're not true?'
On the other hand, those with sharper minds couldn't help but worry about the matter of imperial succession, seeing Emperor Walter dramatically cut back on his public activities for years, only to now stage these political performances aimed at strengthening his hold on power.
The rumor that Emperor Walter had withdrawn from public life due to health problems was already common knowledge in noble society.
This vast empire had been founded and maintained by the power of a single man: Emperor Walter Ulrich Mihahil, the master of Balt—Master Baltracher.
Without Walter, the production of the Balt Battery would also come to a halt, and before long, the empire would begin to unravel at an alarming pace.
Should the Alliance Army take advantage of the opportunity to strike, the empire would be torn apart and collapse in the blink of an eye.
Unfortunately, Walter's children—not even the Crown Prince—possessed talent equal to his.
Walter was not yet seventy, but who could know the day his time would come?
If he were to die suddenly without a successor who was also a Master Baltracher, it would spell disaster for the empire.
In other words, if a new Master Baltracher were to emerge, that person would almost certainly become the next Emperor.
The empire can only be sustained by a Master Baltracher, and all imperial power would inevitably concentrate in that individual.
'The atmosphere feels strange.'
Ernest did not miss these subtle shifts among the nobles.
He sorted people by their faces and attire, and then, within that, further classified them according to the changes he read in their expressions, eyes, gestures, and even their breathing He couldn't grasp everything from just this alone.
However, Wilfried would likely be able to read the situation brilliantly with just this information.
"The third years are in red, the fourth years in green, and there's no set color for the first years."
Looking at the other years' attire, Robert seemed pleased with the new tradition he'd established at the Military Academy. Yet even Robert was acutely sensitive to the subtle tension flowing through the banquet hall.
"It's a relief that Marie didn't come."
"It really is."
To prove his point, Robert whispered quietly to Ernest, clearly relieved that Marie had skipped the party.
Marie had been satisfied with attending last year's Year-End Party once and had no intention of coming this time.
She probably wouldn't attend in the future, either.
It wasn't as if Marie had consciously picked up on the current political climate, but in the end, it turned out to be a wise decision.
For a girl from Aeblon who was a Baltracher, this was too dangerous a place to be.
Even after Armin announced the start of the party, the uneasy mood didn't lift easily.
But as the drinks began to flow, people gradually loosened up, and by the time night had fully fallen, the atmosphere grew as gentle as last year's party.
Ernest, together with Robert, wanted to ruthlessly pillage the food on offer, but—unfortunately for him—his reputation within noble society had already spread, making it hard to simply enjoy the feast.
The madman who smashed the Cadet Corps in his first year and was awarded a prize for it.
The honorable boy who gave up his own victory at the Silver Horseshoe Tournament to save a senior.
The top student who went out on leave first time last year.
The problem-solver who, despite being unwillingly dragged into the Adultery Letter scandal involving Gunter of the House of Wolfram, managed to resolve it without anyone getting hurt.
The top first-year who shattered all previous Military Science records.
And this year, Ernest was the second-year flag bearer for the Founding Declaration Day city parade.
Those who were in the know already had heard about Ernest, and many wanted to have a word with this young but exceptional cadet in person.
Dragged around by his friends, Ernest had to exchange greetings with their families, and through various connections, even greet people who had no link to his peers at all.
Poor Ernest was shuffled around, stomach growling, forced to go hungry until midnight, clutching his aching belly as he struggled with hunger.
Even so, Ernest didn't let the opportunity slip by—he took full advantage of being up close to hold direct conversations with nobles, meeting their gaze and gathering information in person.
Every so often, Ernest would catch sight of Wilfried, who sent him secret signals with subtle glances.
'For now, it seems there isn't much concern about war overall.'
Wilfried was focused on reading the mood of the banquet hall as well, and he could tell that the nobles present had set aside their anxieties about war and were feeling relieved.
Of course, he'd need to carefully review whatever information Ernest could pass along, but for now, it seemed they could both relax.
Wilfried let himself unwind a little.
He also felt genuine relief that his father, His Excellency Duke Ravid, hadn't attended the Military Academy party.
That man is honestly better off not coming.
Frankly, I don't want to see my family's faces here, either. I wish I didn't have to see them in Ravid, either.
"Phew..."
Ferdinand, uncharacteristically, let out a weary sigh as he hid himself in a corner of the banquet hall, exhausted.
Even though fears of war had already subsided, many still sought out Ferdinand—the eldest grandson of the 2nd Corps Chief of Staff—trying to gain assurances from him, and as a result, he was plagued by these approaches all through the party.
It was only well past midnight that the party finally drew to a close, allowing the cadets to return to the dormitory and rest their weary bodies. The cadets, too, realized through the party that there was no need to worry about war anymore and felt visibly relieved. Their tension melted away, and all they wanted now was to quickly wash up and fall asleep.
It takes a long time to take off wigs, wipe off makeup, change clothes, and wash up. So during this time, even the strict Disciplinary Officers and Disciplinary Instructors didn't bother to stop the cadets from wandering around and chatting past midnight.
"It doesn't look like war is about to break out anytime soon."
Seizing the opportunity, Ernest once again approached Wilfried discreetly.
Based on the information Ernest had passed along, Wilfried reached that conclusion.
"So hurry up and get out of my sight."
"Why is it always just me you say that to...?"
Wilfried issued Ernest an Expulsion Order, and Ernest grumbled as he headed back to his own room.
Since it didn't seem like war would break out right away, everyone felt relieved.
Still, there was no way to completely shake off the uneasiness that lingered in the back of their minds. Even knowing this might just be another scheme by the Emperor, it was hard to feel entirely safe when you could see the first sparks of a blaze capable of setting the whole world on fire.
Should war break out, there'd be a chance to distinguish oneself and climb the ranks.
However, within these walls of the Imperial Military Academy, there were almost no cadets who welcomed the prospect of war with open arms.
This was all thanks to the superb Senior Instructor Thomas Kohler of the Imperial Military Academy, who had made it his mission to thoroughly instill a proper sense of fear about war in them.
Here was Thomas, stationed at the Imperial Military Academy in Grimm—right in the capital of the Empire where the great Emperor himself resided—drumming into the officer cadets, "War will not be satisfied until it has killed all you brats and burned the world to ashes." He spoke as if he had a hundred lives to spare, and his efforts had certainly paid off.
In any case, Founding Declaration Day passed quietly, with nothing out of the ordinary.
All that fuss and tension now felt almost laughable, as if it had never happened.
Still, thinking that this rise and fall of emotions might have been exactly what the Emperor intended left a bitter feeling.
Just what is the Emperor after with all this?
'There are so many plausible motives, it's impossible to pin anything down He simply didn't have enough information.
As Ernest pondered the Emperor's intentions, he could only conclude to put off any judgments for now. There were so many reasonable explanations that any purpose could seem plausible, making it impossible to pinpoint just one.
Even after the tension eased, the underlying unease never completely disappeared, and not long after Founding Declaration Day, Grimman once again began to be swallowed up by a violent storm as always.
The clear spring sky was obscured by wind, rain, and lightning, completely hidden from view.
It felt as if the whole world had been plunged into darkness.