Chapter 146 - Death and Honor Are Not the Same (10)
"2nd Company!"
"Yes, sir!"
Just before the sun had completely set, it had grown so dark that stars now twinkled in the sky above, visible between the leaves.
Nevertheless, Ernest and the 2nd Company, following him through the darkness, pressed forward as one, united by a mighty roar, charging ahead without a single stumble.
Everyone here had survived since Ernest was assigned to Bertagne Forest—or even earlier—and had endured Bailey's brutal training.
Ernest had deployed all of the 2nd Company's veterans to the right wing and rear, sending every new recruit to the left wing instead.
So, the troops Ernest now led in this charge were the longest-surviving members of the 13th Regiment, a force that could rightfully be called the elite of today's 13th Regiment, having endured near-annihilation time and again.
And ever since their very first battle, they had witnessed Ernest's unbelievable exploits.
After Yurgen's departure, they'd watched him become Company Commander, and their faith in Ernest was now as unshakeable as steel.
It was that faith that kept the 2nd Company running forward even in darkness so thick they could hardly see their own feet.
Right behind Ernest ran Sergeant Gustav, a veteran Non-commissioned Officer who had fought in the First War of Conquest.
Close behind him were other experienced NCOs, fully focused, guiding the soldiers in their wake and keeping them moving in the right direction.
"Waaahhh!"
"T—the enemy! The enemy's here!"
"No way!"
"Light the torches! Now!"
The 2nd Company shouted constantly—not just out of excitement but for three deliberate reasons.
First, with the darkness making it easy to trip, their shouts helped any 2nd Company member who fell behind in the dark get their bearings and catch up.
Another reason was to summon the courage to run on without being consumed by fear of the darkness.
The last was to sow confusion among the enemy.
Ernest could only navigate by recalling the terrain from memory; he had no way of knowing exactly where the enemy was.
Right now, it was impossible to fire accurately and kill the enemy.
The 2nd Company's only task was to stir up confusion throughout the enemy camp—and that was all they were realistically capable of doing.
"Damn it! What's happening out there!"
"The left wing is under enemy attack!"
"That can't be!"
"Get those torches lit, damn it!"
"Stop the charge! Stop the charge!"
"No! We have to keep going! If we fall back now, we're finished!"
The Belliang Army was in disarray, panicking in confusion.
In this kind of darkness, no one should be able to push straight into the heart of the enemy camp and stir chaos—but the enemy was doing exactly that.
To drive out the enemy infiltrators and regroup their lines, they needed to light fires.
But as soon as they did, it was obvious they'd become targets for enemy gunfire.
Just as insects are drawn to light spreading through a dark forest,
to block the infiltrated 2nd Company and restore their formation, they would have to halt the charge.
If they kept charging and sent their soldiers right into the enemy camp, any hope of reorganizing their lines would be lost.
But if they stopped the charge, they wouldn't be able to rescue the Star of Summer, and they'd also lose sight of their battle's purpose—ultimately failing to achieve their main goal.
There were two urgent decisions to be made, both demanding swift judgment, yet the command was caught in a dilemma and unable to act either way.
With Count Bertrand Belliang Lafayette, Supreme Commander of the Belliang Army, absent from the battlefield, there was no one able to step in with decisive action to restore order.
Ernest had made up his mind: he would focus on minimizing losses.
He would protect his comrades without fighting.
At this moment, the 2nd Company members under Ernest's command were not engaging in battle—they were simply charging forward, shouting at the top of their lungs.
That alone was enough to throw the enemy into chaos, paralyze their command structure, and do so without even fighting.
Here, there was no light.
Only darkness.
And in the darkness, a disoriented army with its command paralyzed had but one possible course of action left.
"Retreat!"
Ernest bellowed the order to retreat in the Belliang language.
He didn't actually expect the enemy to obey—it was obvious from his unmistakable imperial accent.
"Retreat! "Retreat!"
"Hurry, fall back!"
"Run! Quickly!"
But from among the 2nd Company Members running behind Ernest, no one would dare criticize the accents of the Belliang-born soldiers.
After all, they were genuine Belliang natives...
"What! No! Who the hell is that?"
"We can't retreat! Fight! I said keep fighting!"
"Retreat! Retreat!"
"Damn it! I said don't retreat! Who the hell is doing this?"
"Run for it!"
"They're everywhere—the enemy's all around us!"
"Stop! If you try to run, I'll kill you!"
"Please, spare me!"
"Surrender! Surrenderrr!"
Belliang-born soldiers from the 2nd Company were shouting orders to retreat at the top of their lungs, while Belliang Army commanders desperately tried to stop the withdrawal.
Meanwhile, some soldiers from the 2nd Company, who were now oddly entertained by the situation, added even more to the chaos with their very convincing acting.
As a result, the Belliang Army's formation fell into utter chaos.
"We mustn't retreat! Please! Please don't retreat! Oh, God!"
One of the Belliang Army commanders was even in tears, crying out in desperation.
All they needed was to charge forward, absorb some losses, and force close quarters combat—then, with their overwhelming numbers, victory would surely be theirs.
If that happened, Bertrand's strategy would finally unfold its wings and revive Belliang.
But now, in their panic, the soldiers only heard what they wanted to hear and instead followed the Imperial Army's shouted orders to retreat, scattering and fleeing in every direction.
This was a battle they were about to win—and a war they could have won as well.
All they had to do was nock the arrow for their beloved homeland and let it fly.
Yet now, everything was crumbling away, as futile as a sandcastle swept away by the waves.
No matter how brilliant a strategist he might be, if they lost at the tactical level—the crucial step required to implement his strategy—then everything his strategy was built on would collapse.
If the very foundation fell apart, how could that be called a sound strategy?
Bertrand had devised a plan that could shift the balance of the continent in a single move, but the legs needed to take that step—the Field Commander on the scene—had failed to hold.
Just like Bertrand, who has a brilliant mind but no talent whatsoever when it comes to handling his own body, the Belliang Army now finds itself in a situation where strategy exists, but it's impossible to execute at the tactical level.
On the other hand, the Empire is functioning at such a pitiful level that you'd wonder if any of their commanders even have brains in their heads.
Still, thanks to their overwhelming numbers and a handful of capable Field Commanders, they grit their teeth, push forward through bloodshed, and snatch victory by sheer force.
When your body is strong, your brain doesn't have to suffer.
That's the very foundation that has made the Empire the strongest nation on the continent today, and it's the most effective plan for defeating Belliang in this war.
"What's going on here?"
"Are we supposed to attack or not?"
"We should attack! Our forces are under assault—so we need to hit the enemy's flank!"
"No, you can't! It's too dark to tell friend from foe—if you attack now, you might end up hitting our own men! According to the Plan, hold your positions!"
On the right flank of the 1st Battalion, the Belliang Army, stationed in the north to maintain the encirclement, was thrown into confusion as well.
Something was happening, but no one could tell exactly what.
If you were able to realize that the enemy had pierced through the darkness, launched a bold charge, completely disrupted the Belliang lines, and was now controlling the battle with nothing but mobility and their tongues—shouting orders in Belliang to command a retreat—you'd have to be a prophet or a priest, not just a commander.
"Ah! Our forces are in retreat!"
"What? No, why?"
"I—I don't know! But they say we're pulling back!"
"So, why! Why are we retreating! That was never part of the plan in the first place!"
In any case, word quickly spread to the northern forces that the Belliang Army deployed to the west had begun to fall back.
This news plunged everyone into panic, since retreat hadn't even been considered in the initial plan.
This was a battle they could win just by holding their ground, so what kind of idiotic mistake had they made to end up retreating?
"What should we do?"
"...Damn it! We're pulling back too!"
"Are we really retreating? What about the encirclement? This wasn't something we discussed beforehand..."
"If all you're going to do is spew nonsense like that, quit being an officer! What, do you think I don't know that? If you're going to flap your mouth, come up with a solution instead!"
"...I'm sorry."
"We're not breaking the encirclement! We'll withdraw slowly and safely!"
Because the battlefield wasn't neatly organized, the Belliang Army stationed to the north couldn't possibly intervene in the fight.
If they tried to charge in now to save their allies, there was a real risk they'd end up shooting or stabbing their own men with bayonets instead of the enemy.
Darkness is equally unreasonable for everyone.
That's what makes night battles so terrifying, and the fact that Ernest pulled off this outrageous maneuver—and even succeeded at it—just proves how truly abnormal he is.
"2nd Company!"
"Yes, sir!"
"2nd Company!"
"Yessir!"
As soon as the enemy began to retreat, Ernest slowed his pace and called out to the 2nd Company in a booming voice.
The 2nd Company members answered him back just as loudly.
A moment ago, the battlefield was a chaotic tangle of Imperial and Belliang soldiers.
Now, the proud shouts of the 2nd Company of the 1st Battalion, 13th Regiment, 5th Division, 2nd Corps, echoed across heaven and earth, shaking everything to its core.
The Belliang Army's voices couldn't even lift their heads in the face of the 2nd Company's thunderous rallying cries.
"2nd Company! Rally up!"
"2nd Company! Rally up!"
When Ernest could no longer hear the Belliang Army, he finally stopped their mad dash through the darkness and ordered the 2nd Company to assemble.
2nd Company members who had fallen behind while running through that dark, tangled forest—colliding with friend and foe alike—gathered one by one at the sound of his call.
Even counting everyone left behind Ernest, not even a quarter of the original 2nd Company remained.
That's how many had been lost along the way.
But this actually worked in their favor.
Since the scattered soldiers who'd fallen behind were shouting at the top of their lungs from all directions, to the enemy it seemed as if orders to retreat were coming from everywhere and Imperial soldiers were attacking from every side.
"Enough!"
...
After enough time had passed, and as Ernest shouted like a thunderbolt, the members of the 2nd Company, who'd been calling for assembly, instantly fell silent.
For a brief moment, a vast emptiness filled the forest. The silence was so intense it made their ears ring.
"Ferdinand!"
Ernest, who hadn't stopped yelling since the moment he ordered the charge, had nearly lost his voice.
Now, hoarse and raspy, he called for Ferdinand.
"We wore her down, but we lost her!"
Instead of saying he was safe, Ferdinand replied regretfully that they'd lost the Star of Summer once again.
In the end, whether they caught her or not, it didn't really change things—but if they'd captured her, she could have been useful for negotiations.
Ernest swallowed, trying to moisten his parched throat.
"It's over!"
"We've won! Gather the supplies the enemy left behind!"
"Wooooo!"
With Ernest, overlooking the battlefield as if seeing everything from above, declaring the end of the battle, and Ferdinand, commanding the troops below, announcing victory, it was done. All that remained was to collect the supplies the enemy had abandoned, quench their thirst, fill their stomachs, and make it through tonight.
"I can't believe it worked."
"Yeah."
"I'm Robert, the 1st Platoon Leader. Who the hell are you? Is your superior your friend or something?"
"...."
"Where the hell did this guy go!"
"Just let it go, sir."
"If I catch him, he's dead meat!"
"You don't even know who it is, right? You won't catch him."
"This little punk… It's gotta be John the Blabbermouth!"
"…I'm not John."
"Yes you are!"
"You bastard!"
Robert, who'd nearly ended up treating his own subordinate like a buddy in the pitch-black darkness, bursts out laughing.
An unbelievable victory.
Truly a "Did that really just work?" kind of moment.
The 1st Battalion split into two groups.
One, led by Ferdinand and Andersen, began tending to the aftermath of battle, while the other, with Ernest at the center, set out to recover the enemy's supplies.
It was only at this point that the lighter truly began to shine—literally. They used the lighter's flame to make torches. Since there was no oil, it was hard to keep the fire going for long, but even having this much was a blessing.
"Check the waterskins on the corpses too. Even a small amount—if there's any water, we need to collect it."
"Yes, sir!"
In truth, Ernest had already pinpointed the location of the river flowing from the Bertebras Mountains to Lanosel, so he could have found the river running through the forest easily.
But what the unit needed most was a large supply of water, and the Belliang Army had almost certainly positioned themselves around the river, making it impossible for them to resupply there.
They could try to collect dew or sap from trees, but that would be nowhere near enough to supply nearly two hundred people.
Therefore, realistically, the only viable way for the 1st Battalion to get water was to seize the enemy's supplies.
Securing water was the highest priority for keeping the unit operational, so they searched with torches and even used up some of their precious remaining Balt batteries to light their way.
Unfortunately, their efforts were yielding almost no results.
Nearly a thousand soldiers from the Belliang Army had participated in the battle just before.
The 1st Battalion had thrown in fewer than two hundred troops.
In a nighttime forest—where the Balt Gun's power was severely hampered—they'd managed to overcome an enemy force five times their size and win.
Realistically, it was impossible to achieve victory by killing the enemy; they had merely driven them off by taking advantage of the confusion.
In other words, out of all those who'd charged, fewer than fifty Belliang soldiers had actually died in combat.
Even if all their waterskins were filled with fresh water, after two grueling battles in the sweltering summer forest, there wasn't nearly enough to quench the thirst of the 1st Battalion.
And since the Belliang soldiers occupying the river had been gulping down water whenever they were thirsty, most of their waterskins were less than half full.
'There must be supplies nearby.'
Even so, Ernest didn't lose hope.
He was certain they must have stockpiled supplies somewhere close.
Trying to transport food and water for a thousand soldiers little by little from a distant location would be outright madness.
It was only natural to store ample supplies nearby and replenish where needed as quickly as possible.
Without doing so, it would be impossible to sustain a unit of a thousand troops.
It wasn't even a matter of efficiency—it simply couldn't be done otherwise.
Ernest calmly continued the search, recalling the enemy's troop deployment.
With a three-dimensional map of the terrain in his mind, he could predict where the supplies would likely be based on how the enemy forces were spread out.
"Found it!"
"Wow! Ha ha ha! Supplies! We found supplies!"
"Damn! We're saved!"
At last, Ernest found the Belliang Army's supply stash that he had been searching for so desperately.
He was so overjoyed that, before he knew it, he leaped up and cheered like an innocent, ordinary seventeen-year-old boy.
The soldiers, needless to say, were ecstatic.
They burst out laughing and even cursed, rushing over as breathlessly as wild boars who'd gone three days without food, discovering a vegetable patch at last.
"What's this?"
"Hey, it's gunpowder."
"Whoa! Be careful! Move the torches away!"
"This one's food! There's even jerky!"
"Wow!"
The soldiers rummaged through the Belliang Army's supplies, gleeful as if they were a band of robbers.
Their delight was plain to see.
'There's not much here.'
However, Ernest couldn't help but frown at how few supplies there actually were. Most likely, as soon as the Belliang Army saw the 1st Battalion's movements, they started pulling the stockpiles back.
Ernest realized the situation was turning out worse than he had expected.
"This is all gunpowder and bullets, isn't it?"
"This too."
And, unfortunately, Ernest's suspicion was right.
"This is all the food there is."
"This is…"
"There's far too little."
"..."
The only food left was the single sack they'd first discovered.
It was nowhere near enough for the 1st Battalion to share.
If everyone took just one bite, it would be gone.
"We have to find water. Is there any water around?"
Ernest spoke urgently.
Water was more important than food—no, it was even more crucial than the Balt Batteries.
A hundred, a thousand times more important.
They could endure a lack of food until reinforcements arrived.
They could survive without the Balt Battery, too.
But after fighting two fierce battles in the forest and marching all day, the soldiers would collapse from dehydration before the night was over if they had no water.
"Please, please, please…"
"Search everywhere. Water isn't easy to move; it has to be somewhere."
The Veteran Non-commissioned Officers and soldiers, fully aware of how vital water was, turned pale and began searching with silent prayers. Ernest, just as desperate, also started scouring the area.
"Damn it! The bastards dumped all the water!"
Nearby, they found waterskins with punctured holes and smashed canteens—evidence the Belliang Army had destroyed them.
As soon as the Belliang Army heard that the 1st Battalion was approaching, they started moving their supplies to the rear, and when they had to retreat, they destroyed all the remaining water—a crucial resource that was easy to dispose of—instead of letting it fall into enemy hands.
"Stop! Don't touch that!"
Ernest rushed over, stopping the soldiers from venting their frustration by kicking at the containers. He crouched down and examined the ruined vessels carefully, eventually spotting a small amount of water left inside.
"If you try to lift it, it'll all leak out through the hole."
Gustav spoke in a cautious tone.
Ernest already knew this well.
He glanced around, counting the soldiers who had gathered for the search.
"…Damn it. For now, only those of us here will split what little there is."
"Yes, sir."
They couldn't move the water, and there wasn't much anyway.
So, Ernest decided the search party would divide the remaining water among themselves.
It was a miserable sight: sucking at the mouth of a punctured waterskin to draw out the last drops, or burying their faces inside a broken canteen to lick up what little water remained at the bottom.
At least Ernest, being a noble, a captain, and the company commander, had the privilege of being the first to drink.
"Share it out, little by little. If the people behind you can't get any water, that won't do anyone any good."
"Yes, sir."
Even though Ernest had the first chance to drink, he took only a single sip before stepping back and warning everyone. Following his lead, no one became greedy, and each took just a bit of water in turn.
"At this rate, by tomorrow morning, no one will even be able to stand."
Gustav whispered to Ernest, worry heavy in his voice.
Ernest chewed anxiously at his lips before he spoke.
"We'll search some more. Water isn't easy to move, and it's not easy to make new bags or containers, either. Besides, in the confusion of their retreat, they couldn't have managed to destroy every last drop of water so carefully. There has to be some left somewhere."
"Yes, sir."
Having divided at least a little water between them, the 2nd Company members began searching every inch of the area with all the desperation of people praying to God. Everyone split up, and their torches soon went out. Still, their eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and with the moon and stars faintly illuminating the sky, they could at least see ahead, slowly continuing their search.
"Please, please... There has to be something..."
Ernest muttered in desperation, feeling as if he might collapse, searching for water. Having only had a single mouthful and now scavenging through the forest like this would only drain what little moisture was left in them, but there was no other option. If they couldn't find water now, by tomorrow morning the entire 1st Battalion would be so dried out they wouldn't even be able to walk, and surrender would be their only choice Or die of dehydration.
Honestly, even now, Ernest could have found a way to save himself alone.
Water was life itself.
Haires had taught his son several methods to find water in the forest in case he ever faced dehydration.
But those methods were only enough to keep a single person from dying—barely enough water for one.
Right now, Ernest needed to find drinking water for two hundred people, including his four friends.
Raising the only Balt Lantern the 2nd Company possessed, Ernest searched the area with all his might. As he did, he found a path leading west from where they had discovered the supplies and soon realized it was the enemy's supply route.
Urgently, Ernest started running down that invisible path. His mouth was so dry it felt like he could die at any moment, but he didn't stop.
"..."
And then, with his wide-ranging gaze, Ernest managed to spot supplies abandoned among the trees and thicket beside—not on—the path.
Clutching his pounding chest, he rushed over and pressed down on the largest sack with his hand.
Ernest's eyes widened, and the face that had looked corpse-like with fear and despair now shone with joy, turning flushed and bright.
"It's water!"
"Water! Where is it?"
"Here! Over here!"
At Ernest's shout, the 2nd Company members came running, gasping for breath.
Ernest raised the Balt Lantern high, waving it as he shouted.
Among the abandoned supplies, there were only two sacks and a single container of water.
The rest was hardtack biscuits tough enough to kill a man if you hit him with one, and gunpowder.
They probably left the supplies there because they were too heavy to carry while moving, or because they had to retreat suddenly and didn't have time to dispose of them properly—so they simply tossed them by the roadside.
They never would have imagined that someone could find their supply route and search it out in this dark forest.
"Heh, heh, those idiot bastards. They just tossed it because it was too much work to carry."
"Well, it saved our skins!"
"Be careful as you carry it. Don't drop it, no matter what. This is our lifeline."
"Yes, sir!"
The 2nd Company members, though overjoyed, didn't lose their composure—they started transferring the water with utmost caution.
Ernest took the lead, holding the Balt Lantern aloft to guide the path so the soldiers carrying water wouldn't trip. A few soldiers held torches relit using Ernest's lighter, carefully illuminating the way, while others stood guard with their guns, watching the surroundings.
The water they secured wasn't really enough to supply all two hundred men.
But, together with the water the 1st Battalion already had, if they rationed carefully, it would barely get them through till morning.
In other words, if they couldn't find more water by tomorrow morning, everyone would collapse from dehydration.
"They wouldn't have piled all the supplies for that many soldiers in one spot. There must be more hidden elsewhere. If we search thoroughly after sunrise tomorrow, we might be able to find extra water."
Ernest kept whispering words of hope, not just so the company wouldn't lose heart, but so he himself wouldn't give up hope either.
"We found water! We actually found water!"
"Yaaay!"
"Don't shout. You'll lose more water from your body."
"..."
The 2nd Company returned triumphantly with the precious water and were met with a huge cheer.
But as soon as Andersen gave his warning, everyone fell silent and quietly welcomed them back.
"It's not enough. There's no way we can ration water for everyone."
"..."
Ferdinand checked the amount of water, then spoke calmly, trying to hide his disappointment.
Not only Ernest, but the other officers, and even some of the non-commissioned officers and soldiers understood exactly what he meant.
Given the current situation, those who were less important to combat—namely, the wounded—would have to have their water rations restricted.
It was cruel, but in desperate times, the weak were always the first to be left behind.
It wasn't just that they were of no help to survival; they were actually a burden.
"…For now, I'll try anything I can think of to find at least a little more water."
Ernest didn't have the energy to even discuss this problem. Ernest had moved more than anyone else in the 1st Battalion today, and he had faced far too many distressing problems. Both physically and mentally exhausted, he wanted to avoid having to make such cruel decisions himself.
Of course, if it were truly up to Ernest, he would have steeled himself and done what was needed.
But this time, Ferdinand was here.
Given the situation, if Ferdinand made the call, Ernest would trust his judgment and follow him.
"Alright, I'm counting on you," he said.
Thud.
Ferdinand patted Ernest on the shoulder with his large hand, and then gently nudged him away, letting him leave the place where a harsh decision was about to be made.
In truth, Ernest was carrying the weight of the entire 1st Battalion from the bottom up, all by himself.
Ferdinand and Andersen bore great responsibility as well, but even they were supporting the battalion while standing on Ernest's shoulders.
Ernest tried everything he could think of to find water and set the soldiers to work.
He had them bore holes into tree trunks, and wrap clothes around leafy branches.
Since there was a river nearby, he also dug deep into the ground, hoping that even a little water would seep in.
He began preparing to heat moist soil to extract whatever water it contained.
"From now on, everyone urinates here."
"Huh? Why?"
"We'll distill it to use as drinking water."
"..."
They even started collecting urine separately.
Since they could easily start a fire with a lighter, there was no need to drink urine straight. By distilling it, the smell would still be bad, but at least it would make it a little easier to drink.
In this way, they created a hellish concoction—a devilish substance, like something handed out for torture in Hell—by mixing human urine and wet soil.
Using fire lit with the lighter, they heated it and started collecting the steam to produce water.
"Ugh!"
"Argh!"
Boiling the urine produced an indescribably awful stench. Everyone struggled to hold back their nausea as they watched the distilled water slowly drip down.
'Boiling blood drained from corpses is out of the question, then.'
Watching the soldiers squirm in disgust, Ernest decided to abandon the idea of distilling blood from corpses. Even he couldn't stomach the thought of drinking human blood, though he was prepared to do it if absolutely necessary—for survival.
But if they tried that, the soldiers surely wouldn't be able to accept it.
That was, in a way… cannibalism.
In any case, Ernest had exhausted nearly every option available to him, and there was nothing more he could do.
"Huh, what's that?"
"A-are those… horses?"
And as they boiled the mixture of urine and soil, a few horses approached from somewhere. The horses that Battalion Commander Bailey and the staff officers had ridden on had run away during the battle, only to return now, drawn by the light and terrible stench made from boiling urine.
"Meat! It's fresh meat!"
"Fresh horse meat!"
The soldiers were ecstatic at the thought of eating the officers' expensive horses. The staff officers, on the other hand, looked a little glum at the idea of killing their cherished steeds, but without complaint, they agreed to it.
Anyone stupid enough to suggest keeping these beasts alive when we're desperate for food and water is an idiot bastard, and doesn't deserve to be an officer.
"…Wait. Don't kill them yet."
Ernest stopped a butcher, who was already excited and had drawn his dagger, from slaughtering the horses. Of all the horses that had scattered and returned, only five remained, and they nuzzled up to Ernest, rubbing their lips against his head and face affectionately.
With his eyes closed, Ernest let out a long sigh and gently pushed the horses away from him, enduring their affection.
"We'll kill them tomorrow morning and distill the blood for water. Until then, leave them be."
"Wow! Boiling blood for water! Who would've thought of that?"
"How much can we get?"
"With some luck, we might just last another day, right?"
The soldiers marveled at Ernest's plan and rejoiced. Right now, water was far more important than meat. Ernest, who loved horses, felt tormented by the affectionate behavior of the very animals he planned to kill and drain for blood the next morning.
Since these were the horses of noble officers, they must have been well-trained and could even understand human speech to some extent.
Yet, despite Ernest saying he would have them killed and even pushing them away, the horses still showed the same love for him that he had always given them.
One of the horses even tried to comfort him, resting its head on Ernest's shoulder and pulling him closer, as if to let him lean against its chest.
Ernest firmly pushed the horse away and kept a clear distance.
"Can't we just drink it as it is?"
"It's always better to distill, whether it's blood or urine, if you can," Ernest replied.
"And... no, never mind."
He had almost told the soldiers that they would need to ration their food as well, but realized it wasn't something he should say to them right now, so he turned back toward the command post, where the officers were still deep in discussion. Of course, all that meant was that they were huddled together, whispering anxiously.
The reason for rationing meals was that digesting food consumed a lot of water.
The more you ate, the more water you needed.
If they truly reached the point of dying from thirst, they shouldn't be eating at all.
Having finished all his tasks, Ernest approached the group of officers gathered around a single campfire who were acting as the command post. As he drew closer, he noticed that they were all standing silently, glancing at each other nervously, not saying a word.
He abruptly stopped in his tracks.
Lieutenant Colonel Bailey Hoffman, the 1st Battalion Commander, glared fiercely at everyone, his face made strangely distorted by the glow of the fire.
When he noticed Ernest approaching, his gaze turned to him, even sharper.
Ridiculously enough, Ernest realized he had completely forgotten about Bailey's existence until now.
He had dismissed him from his mind, thinking that since Bailey was of no help, it was as if he didn't exist.
No doubt, the other officers, non-commissioned officers, and soldiers had felt the same way.
Ernest felt a strange sense of nostalgia.
He remembered his childhood.
The time when he had to finish off a whole bottle of heart medicine.
It meant he really felt like his head was splitting open.
Or maybe, he just wanted to smash the head of whatever was causing this headache.