Chapter 102 - The Beginning of a Long Night
The transport vehicle that had just departed from the Royal Military Academy might as well have been a moving coffin.
The young men aboard, barely seventeen — too young to be called "young men" and still more accurately "boys" — stared gloomily at the dark floor of the vehicle.
"I know this might sound weird under the circumstances..."
Only Robert, as always, could still manage to speak in a moment like this.
"You'd have to be insane to start a war like this."
A few heads turned toward him at the bitter remark.
"I mean, seriously — you think the nobles will just let this go? Your father, for example."
"Jimman. Unfortunately, my father probably hopes I'll die bravely in battle for the glory of our house."
"For the family's sake, of course. You wouldn't understand — being a commoner and a merchant's son."
"That's discrimination, you know. Not that you're wrong."
As Robert bantered in his usual way, the heavy mood eased just a little.
"But this won't just pass. The nobles across the Empire will revolt, won't they?"
"No."
Ferdinand firmly refuted the murmur from someone.
"Not all of them will revolt. Some do want this war."
"You mean there'll be a split?"
"Yes. And either way, the military will follow His Majesty. As long as a few nobles support the emperor, that's enough."
The empire's military was heavily dependent on the Valt batteries, created by Master Valtracher — and more importantly, the military supported the Conquering Emperor who built the empire through war.
Unless all the nobles united against Walter, any division would only let things fall into his hands. If the nobles couldn't unite, the military would dominate everything.
"…We're missing something important."
Then Ernest muttered quietly.
"I can't read his intent. What's to gain from starting a war like this?"
Ernest couldn't see Walter's logic. War itself — insane as it was — could be understood. The Allied Forces were enemies they'd have to defeat eventually, and Belliand, with the continent's most fertile lands, was a prize best seized early.
But was there really any reason to begin it this suddenly, hiding it from even the nobles, and risking their backlash?
"…Damn it. If only Wilfried were here."
Robert grumbled, recalling Wilfried, who had been left behind at the academy in shambles.
Wilfried could've probably read the emperor's intent with astonishing clarity and given them a satisfying answer.
"Thinking about it won't change anything."
Ferdinand addressed his classmates calmly, cautioning them not to waste their energy. They were new officers now. All they could do was follow orders and go to the battlefield.
"But if we stop thinking, we're just being dragged around."
Ernest said firmly.
"Even if we know, can we avoid being dragged around?"
Ferdinand looked straight back at him, voice low.
"Maybe not now. But if we don't give up, we'll find the answer someday."
"..."
Ferdinand stared quietly at Ernest. His brown eyes, in the dark of the transport, looked black — like Ernest's.
Ernest and Ferdinand had always been at odds throughout academy life.
But this time, it was heavier than ever. Everyone else stayed silent, holding their breath.
"You're right, Ernest."
Ferdinand didn't deny his words — in fact, he acknowledged them.
Even though what Ernest had just said was tantamount to treason — defiance against the will of the Great Emperor himself.
"But don't forget. You're an officer of the Empire."
At Ferdinand's warning, Ernest met his gaze, then quietly nodded.
Soldiers must fight by command. Pursuing personal intentions only hinders operations.
And everyone around them could be a watcher. A careless slip of the tongue could cost a life.
Ferdinand's warning wasn't just as a soldier. It was as a friend. He didn't want to see Ernest executed for some dangerous, dissenting thought.
"…What if this chaos is His Majesty's intent?"
Breaking the silence again, Jonas spoke cautiously — a late response to Ernest's earlier question.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… what if the real goal wasn't conquering Belliand, but creating chaos within the Empire itself? Remember when we were in our second year?"
"Yeah… I remember. I get what you're saying."
Ernest ran a hand down his face.
During the founding speech in their second year, Walter had shown signs of being ready to go to war at any moment. Back then, they'd thought it was all for show — to solidify his power within the Empire.
Now that war had begun, maybe it had always been a precursor.
"Creating an external enemy through war to distract from internal problems…"
"That only works when there are internal problems. What problems does the Empire even have? Where else is more peaceful or powerful?"
Someone rebutted.
The Mihahil Empire was the greatest state in the continent's history — vast and thriving in peace since the last war.
"Maybe in the central region. But elsewhere… not so much."
Those from the Empire's distant provinces — where imperial control was weaker — knew that peace wasn't the whole truth.
"Think about the Marie… the Aeblon people. They're called white monkeys in the Empire. Do you think they're really living peacefully and happily?"
"..."
When Ernest mentioned the Mari and Aeblon people, the others felt like they were waking from a dream.
"They say people starve to death every day — in cities and villages alike. That every morning begins with clearing corpses from the streets."
"..."
"And the other races? This is an empire built on nationalism. The rest probably aren't much better."
"Ernest."
Ferdinand stopped him in a heavy voice. Despite his earlier warning, Ernest was again approaching forbidden words.
Ernest fell silent. But everyone understood what he had meant.
The Empire's policies had failed.
The Mihahil Empire was formed by conquering various nations and peoples — yet now championed hardline nationalism.
They tried to preserve order by shifting blame and burden onto others through nationalism.
And it worked — or seemed to. But it never resolved the root problems.
Only covered them.
Of course the subjugated peoples would rebel.
Bloodline cannot be overcome with effort. No matter how hard you try, your heritage will devalue every achievement. That applies to your children, and their children too.
So you either submit and become livestock, or rise and seize your rights.
If it were Ernest — he'd fight without hesitation.
And now, he realized something dreadful.
The Empire was in a horrifying dilemma.
It had grown strong by using nationalism to unify. But it had grown too big.
Now, nationalism had to be abandoned.
If they kept it, rebellions would erupt across the land.
If they abandoned it, the "pure-blooded Imperials" at the core of the regime would revolt.
Either choice might lead to collapse.
So they created a bigger problem to smother the smaller ones.
That problem — was war.
"Damn…"
The sharp graduates of the Royal Military Academy reached the truth, even without Ernest saying it.
And that realization — that the reason they had to go to war was something like that — left them in despair.
Ferdinand clenched his teeth and glared at Ernest.
He couldn't stand seeing fellow soldiers, his classmates and friends, fall into despair before even stepping onto the battlefield.
Ernest calmly met his gaze.
"That's not something we need to know."
Ferdinand spoke firmly.
"Knowing won't change anything. We should just focus on what's in front of us."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Really, Ferdinand? Do you really believe that's enough? That it's okay to be used like this, to fight not even knowing what for?"
Is it better to be blind, or to see the brutal truth?
Ferdinand believed truth would only hurt them — that it was better to stay blind if they had to fight anyway.
Ernest believed the opposite — that even if nothing changed, knowing made all the difference.
The two stared each other down. Neither yielding. Neither backing down.
"You two are scary enough as it is, so please stop it. Seriously."
Robert awkwardly stood between them. He was genuinely terrified they'd start a physical fight.
In this tight space, Ferdinand, with his size and strength, would clearly win.
But if Ernest were determined, he might let a limb break, then pull out that cursed nail clipper knife and tear Ferdinand's throat open.
Of course, they'd never actually hurt each other — they were friends.
But just watching them was enough to make anyone anxious.
"Let's find common ground, damn it. This was supposed to be Wilfried's job."
Robert groaned, bracing himself against the ceiling of the transport as he tried to mediate.
"Look, at least we know now why we're doing this damned thing. That matters, right?"
He looked to Ernest. Ernest nodded slightly for Robert's sake. Robert, relieved, turned to Ferdinand.
Ernest was the gunpowder here — volatile, dangerous. As long as he calmed down, the rest could settle.
"And we're not gonna do anything crazy with what we know. We're just kids who graduated five minutes ago, right?"
"…Yeah."
Ferdinand replied, lowering his voice.
"Then it's fine, right? Good. Great. Now can you give me five minutes to cry about going to war? You guys are making it impossible to even get a tear out."
With that, Robert sat down, muttering.
Ernest and Ferdinand continued staring at each other, but said nothing.
Not because of Robert — but because they understood each other.
Despite their fierce opposition, they understood each other's thoughts. And that was enough.
But understanding was not agreement.
Their silence held no sympathy — only a temporary truce.
They had simply given up on trying to persuade one another.
They trusted each other to do the right thing in their own way. That's why it worked.
"You two are acting like you're some grand marshals of the Empire or something. You're just new officers, remember?"
"..."
"..."
Strangely, it was the truth in Robert's words that left them speechless.
Whatever their thoughts, whatever they said, all they could do now was obey orders and fight.
"Let's talk about something more realistic."
"…Like what?"
Ernest, catching the hint, played along.
"Want some candy?"
Robert grinned as he opened his bag.
"…Did you seriously smuggle candy into the dorm?"
"Oh, dear sweet Ferdie. It's too late to snitch now — we've graduated!"
Ferdinand, who had probably never even imagined such a breach of rules, looked visibly shaken. Robert cackled and began tossing candy to his friends.
"Whoa!"
"Jeez, can't even catch?"
"Throw it properly! Give me another!"
"That was the last one. Pick it up if you want it."
"You bastard!"
"And I don't have enough for the guys in the other transport. So — you get what I'm saying, right?"
He smiled as he handed out more. Even Ferdinand received one — though he stared daggers at Robert and didn't eat it.
"Oh no! Looks like little Ferdie's not gonna forgive us!"
"Don't call me that."
"Ferdinand, you're not backing out now, are you? Eat it and join us!"
"Yeah, come on. Eat it. Hurry."
Under pressure from the others, Ferdinand hesitated.
He had never eaten candy before — and couldn't stand breaking rules.
But they had graduated. And it might not be a bad time to try one.
Ferdinand sighed and cautiously popped it into his mouth.
"..."
"What's with that face?"
The moment it touched his tongue, his face twisted, and his eyes fluttered.
"Too sweet."
"That's the point."
He fought the urge to spit it out — but swallowing seemed more polite.
"Well, Ferdie's one of us now."
"Call me that one more time and I won't hold back."
"..."
Robert decided not to push further. Ferdinand looked ready to explode.
But thanks to the jokes, the heavy air lightened.
The transports carrying the new officers drove steadily through the rain.
Along the way, they changed vehicles and said their last goodbyes to their instructors.
"Come back alive."
"Are you crying?"
"I'm not."
"Can't you cry a little?"
"Don't get cocky."
"Why not? We've graduated."
"I'm a lieutenant, you unranked brat."
"Then when I'm a captain, will you salute me?"
"Guess I'll have to. So hurry up and get promoted."
"Yes, sir. I'll rise high enough to boss you around."
"Cheeky bastard."
They parted, perhaps for the last time. The instructors lingered, watching until all their students were gone, before finally turning back to Grimman.
The officers sometimes slept at city halls or barracks — it reminded them of their second year.
But now, this wasn't training.
They were no longer cadets.
Guards watched them for desertion.
And Wilfried wasn't there.
"Wait — isn't Krieger the only heir to his house?"
"…Oh. Right."
They realized Ernest was the sole successor to his noble line.
"He should go home."
"Yeah. He has to inherit his house."
"..."
Ernest only now realized this too. But he hesitated.
To be honest, if he could go home, he'd run barefoot through the rain right now.
But watching his friends be dragged to war, he couldn't bring himself to leave.
Others took it upon themselves to notify the higher-ups. This was a serious matter. Ernest was their friend — if there was a way to get him out, they had to.
"I can't approve it."
"What? Why not? Krieger is his house's only heir!"
"No one forced you to attend the academy, did they? Krieger became a soldier by choice. He can't shirk duty now."
"That's absurd!"
"At least send him somewhere safer, then!"
"…I'll pass the word along."
But since Ernest had joined voluntarily, he couldn't escape now — not even as a noble heir.
"Damn. How could they send someone like that to war…?"
"It's fine. I'm ready."
Ernest tried to brush it off, but inside, he was breaking.
Until now, he believed there was no escape.
But the moment there seemed to be a way out, he realized he'd wanted to run.
Then it slipped away again.
He had seen a light — and now it was gone.
And that light made the darkness even deeper.
Where there is light, there is hope — but also despair.
For the first time in his life, Ernest was experiencing true despair.
He just tried not to show it.
Seventeen.
No matter how strong his mind was, it was far too young to face death in war.
As the Royal Military Academy's transport neared the edge of the central region, they encountered graduates from other military academies.
"Have you heard anything?"
"Sorry, nothing."
The Royal Academy cadets acted casually among themselves — but with others, they were formal.
"You seem afraid of war."
One of the others smirked at them.
"What did you enroll for, if not to die honorably as nobles?"
A few Royal cadets bristled — but fell silent as Ferdinand stepped forward.
"I too once swore to die for honor. I believed that was right."
"..."
Despite Ferdinand's calm tone, his massive frame and intense eyes silenced the challenger.
"But not anymore. Honor is for the living. Bullets don't care about bloodlines. Don't die for pride. Stay alive."
Rather than fight, Ferdinand gave them a quiet warning and led his friends away.
"Who does he think he is?"
"Not normal, that guy."
"…My God! That was Hartmann!"
"…What?"
They were shocked to realize they'd spoken against the grandson of the General Staff Chief.
"See? I told you it's safest to stick to brave Ferdinand."
Robert, who once teased him as "cute Ferdie," chuckled.
Ferdinand trembled with a clenched fist. He was polite — but Robert really tested him.
In a way, Robert was incredibly brave.
With Wilfried gone, he now teased the next highest in rank.
Finally, the transport reached Rübern, headquarters of the 2nd Corps.
"What's that flag?"
They whispered upon seeing an unfamiliar banner on the walls.
"That? Probably the flag of Count Bertagne — His Excellency, the one licking the road for His Majesty's grand march."
"Robert! Watch your mouth!"
Ernest quickly covered Robert's mouth.
Technically, Count Bertagne ruled this land — granted by the emperor himself.
The 2nd Corps were support troops on paper.
In truth, Bertagne was a puppet — and the 2nd Corps ran everything.
Rain fell steadily, though not as fiercely as back in the central provinces.
Ernest, now used to his raincoat, disembarked with his peers.
Graduates from other academies did the same.
"..."
He noticed men on the street watching him with fear — Bellianders, who had once lived under Count Bertagne's rule.
Now, against their will, they were being conscripted to fight their own homeland.
They stared at young Ernest — a noble, an Imperial, a newly commissioned officer — with eyes full of envy, hatred, and despair.
Ernest stared back… then quietly followed his friends into the command post.
No matter what he said — that he too had been dragged here — it wouldn't matter.
They were all people.
So how had it come to this?
Where had it all gone wrong?