Chapter 15 - The Fierce Squirrel Lying in the Bushes (3)
The Imperial Army cadets led by Wilfried were riding high after defeating most of the Alliance cadets, including Ferdinand.
"Ernest Krieger's hiding in the woods. You never know what he'll pull or where he'll strike. Stay sharp."
Wilfried had repeatedly warned the cadets about how dangerous Ernest could be. But it didn't really help. Having just tasted a sweet victory, the Imperial Army cadets didn't believe they could possibly lose to just a handful of enemies.
Wilfried realized there was no point in warning them further.
'This is probably normal, though. Most of them just feel like they're playing at being soldiers…'
Wilfried gave a wry smile. For cadets born into powerful families, the Military Academy was just a stepping stone to climb higher.
But for Wilfried, the Duke Ravid's fourth son, the Military Academy was nothing less than a battlefield where his very life was on the line.
Out of all the Imperial Army cadets, Wilfried was the only one truly desperate about his training.
'…Maybe losing here once wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.'
Wilfried seriously considered defeat.
If, after knocking out most of the enemy on the open field, they marched triumphantly into the woods only to be utterly outwitted by Ernest and lose their flag—such a harsh lesson would make everyone grit their teeth and take training more seriously from then on.
Like it or not, Wilfried would have to keep working with these cadets who followed him, not just until graduation but even after that. He used his status as the Duke's son to gather people, became the center of relationships, and seized influence. That was the path Wilfried had chosen to survive, so now, he couldn't act as freely as Ernest did.
"Let's change formation."
Wilfried shifted the group into a double file. As both commander and standard-bearer, he took his place in the middle and moved forward at a slow pace. The center was the safest spot, naturally. Out on the field, when facing the enemy head-on, it didn't matter if Wilfried fell. But now, if he went down, the rest would instantly fall into chaos and be at Ernest's mercy, losing the match just like that.
Even though Wilfried was considering the possibility of losing to Ernest, he wanted the outcome to come from his own choices—not to have a victory forcibly snatched away by Ernest.
"Don't slack off on watching our rear."
"Got it."
Wilfried made sure not to be careless about guarding the rear.
Just because they'd already passed through didn't mean it was safe.
An enemy lying in ambush among the bushes or trees could intentionally let the front pass and strike at the center or rear.
That was a basic principle.
"…It's too quiet."
"Maybe they ran away?"
"I doubt they ran. Aren't they probably near the flag?"
"Quiet. I told you not to neglect your watch."
Even though they had ventured quite deep, with no sign of the enemy reacting, the cadets began to relax and chatter among themselves. Wilfried gritted his teeth to suppress his anger, then calmly warned them.
Tap.
"Huh?"
At that moment, the cadet walking at the very back reached up to touch his helmet and glanced around.
"What is it?"
"Not sure, did something fall?"
One cadet asked the one looking around, and the cadet checking his helmet just shrugged his shoulders.
"You're dead."
The one who revealed the answer was Ernest, already sprinting off between the trees and far out of reach.
"…What the heck!"
"I said you're dead! I hit you on the head!"
The startled cadet shouted, and somewhere off in the distance Ernest responded in a loud voice.
Only a few seconds had passed, yet it was impossible to tell how far away he already was.
"No way!"
"…That's why I told you not to neglect the rear guard."
Wilfried spoke quietly to the cadet who had been eliminated by Ernest's ambush, suppressing a sigh.
But there was no confidence in Wilfried's voice.
He really stayed vigilant and didn't let his guard down.
But even as they passed right by where Ernest was hiding, he never realized Ernest was there.
Now down to twelve, the Imperial Army moved forward slowly, hyper-aware of their surroundings and far more cautious than before.
Wilfried wanted nothing more than to drop the flag and pick up a crossbow.
However, someone would still need to carry the flag, so it was better for Wilfried to keep holding it himself.
Clatter.
"Gasp!"
The cadets advancing through the trees quickly aimed their crossbows at the left, where the sound had come from.
Tap.
"You're dead."
Suddenly, Ernest popped out from the opposite side, struck another cadet on the head, and—ever considerate, just in case the cadet hadn't realized he was out—let him know before vanishing in an instant.
"Oh no."
"I know I'm dead! Is he making fun of us?"
The recently eliminated cadet shouted in frustration amid the shell-shocked group.
From somewhere far off, Ernest's voice floated back in reply.
"Just imagine it was a gunshot!"
"..."
If this were a real battle, Ernest would have had a powder gun in his hand.
The gunshot would have split the quiet of the forest, and thick smoke would have given away his location.
Normally, you wouldn't think about such things—you'd just go for a silent surprise attack.
Terrifying.
Wilfried couldn't help but shudder as he tried to keep up with how fast Ernest moved.
After that initial ambush, Ernest had sprinted off into the distance.
Then, without a sound, he streaked through the forest again, got ahead of the Imperial Army cadets, and lay in wait for them.
The truly frightening part was that Ernest seemed to know exactly where they were going and how they'd move.
In a pathless forest, how could he possibly predict that?
"...Check where that noise came from."
At Wilfried's command, four cadets moved carefully forward.
Tap.
"Ah!"
A Wooden Bolt struck the leading cadet right in the chest.
Surprised, he stared dumbfounded in the direction the bolt had come from.
Had Ernest already run off to the other side again?
...
Then, his eyes met those of a minor noble cadet who had been hiding behind a tree root on Ernest's orders.
"You!"
The cadet who was already "dead" was startled and, out of reflex, pointed his crossbow and pulled the trigger.
The minor noble cadet jumped up and, without so much as a backward glance, took off running.
A bolt hit him in the back, but since it was fired by a "dead" cadet, it didn't count.
Incidentally, the most shocked person at that moment was none other than the cadet who had ambushed and taken down the enemy before fleeing.
He had noticed that something Ernest had set up to lure the Imperial Army cadets had gone off right under his nose, but what sent chills down his spine was that he had absolutely no idea when or how Ernest had set it up.
"...Was that what made the noise?"
The cadets, leaving the casualty behind, searched the spot where they'd heard the sound, only to find some tree branches and a few rocks, and let out a sigh of disbelief.
"It was a trap."
Wilfried examined the branches and spotted a string tied to them. Following it, he saw that it was fastened to the root of a tree on the opposite side from the path they'd just come.
"Where did he even get the string?"
"He might've torn it from a cadet uniform or a military pack. Or maybe he just brought it with him."
"...Unbelievable."
At Wilfried's level-headed explanation, the cadets finally realized what sort of situation they were in.
If this had been an actual battle, and Ernest had been given enough time to prepare and had set traps with real intent to kill, they could have been wiped out long ago!
"We're going to speed up and push through. At most, there are only five enemies left. We can overwhelm them with numbers and firepower."
Wilfried quickly made his decision, estimating how many enemies they'd already taken down out in the field.
For these clueless rookie cadets, that was probably the best tactic they could hope for.
And that went for Wilfried himself, too, since he was just one of those rookies.
Tap!
"You're dead."
And just as they started running, a crossbow suddenly emerged from the side again, taking out another cadet.
"Return fire!"
"Damn it!"
Tatatak!
The cadets fired back, but Ernest had already taken cover among the trees.
In the few seconds it took the cadets to reload, Ernest darted into the undergrowth and vanished completely from their line of sight.
"Run! From now on, if the enemy attacks, just fire back enough to hold them off! Don't stop!"
Though shuddering from fear, Wilfried shouted orders as he ran.
"Huff! Huff! Huff!"
The Imperial Army cadets soon found themselves gripped by immense terror in the midst of this supposed war game.
The only sounds echoing through the silent forest were their ragged breathing and the heavy, sticky slap of their footsteps.
They strained to catch sight of Ernest, who was surely racing ahead somewhere out there, but not a sound could be heard.
Only Ernest's phantom seemed to flicker through the shadows of tree branches and the shifting undergrowth, swaying in the wind.
Tap.
"Fire!"
Once again, a wooden bolt flew out from the undergrowth.
However, no one was hit, and at Wilfried's command, eight cadets fired back into the brush.
"Ugh!"
"Damn it, I almost had him."
Two cadets got up from the thicket, grumbling.
Leaving the shell-shocked Imperial Army cadets behind, they calmly started heading out of the forest.
Among them was the cadet who had earlier killed someone and escaped.
"So, how many are left?"
Tap.
"No idea."
"Ernest!"
So overwhelmed by the immense presence of Ernest, the Imperial Army cadets had forgotten there might be others besides themselves. Caught off guard and unable to reload in time, they didn't notice Ernest silently approaching until he took out yet another cadet.
But this time, something was different.
Ernest's voice sounded unnervingly close.
"Argh!"
Thud!
Startled, the cadets whirled around to see Ernest charging at them, clutching the wooden bayonet that was supposed to be mounted on his crossbow.
What happened next took place in the blink of an eye.
Ernest dove straight into their ranks, swinging the wooden bayonet and striking one cadet on the inside of his thigh while ramming his left arm into another cadet's neck, shoving him back with force.
Thunk.
He looked like he was about to attack the fallen cadet, but then suddenly switched direction and lightly tapped another cadet's neck with the bayonet.
"Whoa!"
Ernest ducked under the cadet who'd just been "killed" by a slash to the neck, rammed his own shoulder into the cadet's waist, grabbed the back of his knee, and hoisted him clean off the ground.
Ernest was tall but slight, so no one had imagined he could unleash this kind of power.
How could they know Ernest had been thrown around and beaten in real hand-to-hand training by his father Haires since he was eleven years old?
Even among his peers, there weren't five people—including Ferdinand—who could beat Ernest in wrestling.
Thud!
"Argh!"
Ernest hurled the lifted cadet as hard as he could, toppling two more cadets.
Not missing a beat, and before his balance was even restored, he dropped to all fours like a wild animal, lunged at another cadet, grabbed his leg and yanked him to the ground, then jabbed the wooden bayonet into the inside of the cadet's thigh.
Tap.
Then, as Ernest sprang up, hand on the ground and ready to run down another cadet and "kill" him, he froze.
"..."
Wilfried stood there, his face ghost-white, still aiming his crossbow at Ernest as if lowering it would mean unleashing Ernest's rampage on them all over again.
"You and you are instantly dead. Your chest and neck got hit," Ernest said, unfazed, tucking the bayonet back into his belt and gesturing to the cadets he'd "killed."
"The rest of you aren't instantly dead, but you took deep stabs to your inner thighs or groin, so you'll bleed out soon. And you three just got knocked down, so you're still alive."
"..."
In less than ten seconds, Ernest had killed four cadets and incapacitated three others.
Aside from Wilfried, only one cadet remained standing on his own two feet.
Wilfried glanced back at the deep blue flag lying sprawled on the ground.
In the moment of crisis, he had tossed the flag aside without hesitation.
Then he swung the crossbow from his back, took aim, and—his hands shaking—loaded a wooden bolt, firing straight at Ernest.
What if he'd missed?
...No, what if he hadn't already cocked the crossbow before slinging it over his shoulder?
What might have happened in the split second it took to draw the string?
"Sorry, I was in a bit of a rush."
"…You…"
Ernest reached out a hand to the cadet he'd knocked over by pressing a forearm to his neck.
The cadet, shaken and scared, looked at Ernest's hand, a mix of emotions flickering across his face as he tried to speak.
Then, keeping his mouth tightly shut, he accepted the hand and struggled to his feet.
He couldn't help but be startled by Ernest's rough, calloused hand and the overwhelming strength hidden in what seemed a lean body.
"…Ernest."
Wilfried called in a low voice, watching Ernest help the fallen cadets back up.
When Ernest turned, eyes gleaming darkly, Wilfried's long lashes trembled.
"…Why didn't you go for me first?"
Wilfried couldn't understand it.
The commander had been carrying the flag himself.
Wasn't he the most obvious target for elimination?
Right now, Wilfried felt humiliated by this.
However, the moment he heard Ernest's answer, Wilfried realized this wasn't meant as an insult.
"You weren't holding a weapon, so there was no need."
"..."
"Oh, I mean, if you're carrying the flag with both hands, you can't join the fight."
"That's enough. I get it. You don't have to explain anymore."
Worried that Wilfried might misunderstand, Ernest waved his hands as he did his best to explain.
After Wilfried responded weakly to him, he hesitated for a moment, then lowered the crossbow, slung it over his back again, and picked up the abandoned flag.
Ernest had simply acted based on a pure assessment of risk.
If Wilfried had been holding the crossbow, he absolutely would have targeted him first.
"So, does that mean we win now?"
Wilfried let out a long sigh and spoke to Ernest.
"Huh? Why?"
Ernest's eyes widened in surprise as he asked back.
"…We wiped out your team."
"No, you didn't?"
"...Wait, how many do you have left?"
"Uh… I can't really tell you that. By the way, did you kill anyone in the forest?"
Wilfried felt a chill run down his spine at the word "death" coming from Ernest's lips.
It was a completely different weight from when the other cadets tossed it around—it felt heavy enough to crush him.
"…Including you, three."
Wilfried spoke in a strained voice.
To that, Ernest gave a sheepish smile.
"Then it's not over yet."
"…Damn it all."
No one was shocked that such crude words had come from the Duke's son.
Everyone felt the same way.
With only five Imperial Army cadets left, Wilfried among them, they pushed forward, nerves taut, and nearly lost their minds at every noise as Ernest's traps went off all around them.
However, having taken Thomas' warning seriously, Ernest hadn't made any traps that would truly maim or kill the other cadets—all his traps did was make noise.
"Let me be clear: never, ever let Ernest have even a nail clipper. Even if it means we have to take turns trimming his nails for him, we absolutely have to take that damn thing away."
Wilfried muttered, overcome by a jumble of anger and fear. Of course, he didn't actually intend to confiscate Ernest's nail clipper and take turns triming his nails. He was just babbling, swept up in a rush of extreme emotion.
Clack.
"Whoa, there goes another one…"
Rattatat! …Rattatat!
"Wait! Stop! Stop it! I'm already dead! Stop shooting! Stop it, you bunch of perverts! I'm a corpse, damn it! Hey! You just died to me a moment ago too, you're a corpse! Stop shooting! This is assault!"
Meanwhile, Robert, who had been lying in wait in front of the red flag, managed to take out one cadet.
In the ruthless retaliation that followed, he achieved the feat of getting hit by no less than fourteen rounds alone.
Wilfried also threw down his flag and unleashed a barrage on Robert, and the cadet Robert had just "killed" gritted his teeth and kept shooting at him without pause.
"You fiends! You have no sense of honor! Laughing and shooting at corpses, you're all a bunch of sickos!"
When the shooting finally stopped, Robert unleashed a torrent of fierce criticism at the Imperial Army cadets. Wilfried didn't care, breathing hard as he picked up the flag again, strode straight to the Alliance Army's red flag, and then kicked it with all his might.
The red flag toppled, and in a burst of pent-up frustration and rage, Wilfried drove the deep blue Imperial Army flag into the ground with all his strength.
Whap!
"...Look, I was just following Ernest's orders. So, you get what I mean, right?"
Robert, having realized there were only four Imperial Army cadets left alive, raised his hands with an awkward smile. Luckily, none of the Imperial Army cadets took their frustration out on innocent Robert through violence.
"...We're heading out. Follow me."
At some point, the Training Instructor emerged from the bushes, giving the order with a peculiar expression. The cadets followed the instructor out of the forest and gathered again in front of the transport vehicle.
"..."
Captain Thomas Kohler, the senior instructor, surveyed the cadets with his hands behind his back. He slowly nodded, then spoke in a calm voice.
"I am changing the rules."
Every cadet knew exactly why Thomas had suddenly decided to change the rules before the next mock battle began.
"Moving the flag is forbidden."
First, Thomas banned moving the flag. Some cadets thought this was a response to Wilfried's tactics. However, in truth, it was to rein in Ernest's solo dominance. If Ernest were to deliberately hide the flag, no one would be able to find it.
"Next, everything gained in the previous mock battle will be confiscated."
"..."
"Ernest Krieger."
Pretending to know nothing, Ernest kept a straight face, but Thomas called him out directly.
"Hand it over. All of it."
"Yes, Instructor."
In the end, Ernest stepped forward, opened his military pack, and dumped out the contents—vines neatly coiled and stored, strips of tree bark, and branches cut to uniform lengths.
The cadets who saw this couldn't help but grimace.
He'd set all those traps and fought in the forest himself, yet no one could figure out when he'd found the time to cut and collect so much, and do it all so precisely.
"Instructor. There are still more traps and hidden supplies that Krieger left in the forest."
But that wasn't all. A senior student acting as Training Instructor spoke up, reporting even more, and Ernest shot him a small look of regret. None of the other cadets wanted to train with this maniac.
"Krieger. I won't take away that small, useful tool of yours. But I won't allow you to use anything you gathered during the previous mock battle."
Thomas made it clear that he wouldn't confiscate the small nail knife Ernest had smuggled in, but to Ferdinand and the rest of the Military Faction, who would have to face Ernest's Alliance under his direct leadership next, this pronouncement hit like a bolt from the blue.
"Yes, Instructor."
Ernest answered the order in a calm voice However, the cadets, who knew just how much this small but seasoned hunter could accomplish in a short time, couldn't relax.
In truth, no matter how exceptional Ernest was, even with a dagger barely the size of a finger, it took a lot of time to subdue an enemy or build lethal traps. To make traps powerful enough to actually kill required them to be large and meticulously planned, not to mention properly concealed. Creating even two deadly traps within the allotted time would be the most he could manage.
Of course, the mere fact that he could manufacture two lethal traps in such a short span was already proof enough that he wasn't a normal boy.
"Next…"
Thomas, uncharacteristically, paused for a moment before he spoke again, this time with renewed authority in his voice.
"We're shortening the preparation time."
It was a difficult situation—if they hoped to prevent Ernest from running away with the whole exercise, the Alliance couldn't be given extra time. Yet, from the perspective of the Alliance having to meet their enemy in the forest, not having time to prepare was something they hadn't even considered as a possibility.
Thomas agonized over this decision more than usual. Even so, with the mock battle on the brink of being derailed solely because of Ernest, he had no other choice.
So, having made up his mind, Thomas announced the next rule without hesitation.
"Finally, this rule applies only to today's training."
After stating this calmly, Thomas laid down an exceptionally rare rule—something he had never done before.
"Krieger. For the two remaining mock battles today, you are not allowed to attack the enemy directly."
"..."
"Answer me."
"Yes, Instructor."
Ernest hesitated at such an incomprehensible rule, but when Thomas pressed him, he answered. However, Thomas had never intended to impose such a restrictive rule on just one cadet.
As someone with firsthand experience of the true horrors of war, Thomas had actually appointed Ernest as a platoon leader because he wanted him to run wild and throw the other cadets into confusion and despair. The problem, however, was that Ernest was so skilled that even with the Imperial Army cadets enjoying a massive advantage, there simply was no way for them to break through and defeat the thirty-seven Alliance cadets directly led by him.
Perhaps if they cut Ernest's forces in half, or if they formed the Imperial Army out of truly capable senior students, they could have staged a more balanced mock battle.
In the tangled terrain of forests and mountains, Ernest alone could exhibit the combat strength of at least five physically superior and well-trained senior cadets. In fact, if he were given plenty of time, he could blanket the whole forest with traps and wipe out the enemy without even fighting them directly.
Who in their right mind would turn a fourteen-year-old boy into this kind of killing machine? Even for Thomas, the thought alone made his head spin.
'Still, it's not so bad.'
Looking at the tense faces of the first-year cadets, who were only now starting to grasp the situation thanks to Ernest, Thomas nodded slightly.
Right now, Ernest was a hunter and warrior who stood out glaringly among the other cadets. Yet, compared to the real Rangers of the Alliance who hid in the wilds of the mountains and forests, he was far less dangerous—they were ten times more deadly, and no one could even guess how many of them there truly were. Real combat was a hundred times more terrifying than training.
In that sense, having a mock battle like this—where they could safely experience the dangers of an actual battlefield—was a priceless opportunity.
'This kid's nearly the best there is when it comes to training instructors. No, if we hired him as a proper instructor after graduation…'
Thomas smacked his lips and looked Ernest up and down. Having someone like him as his right-hand man would be ideal. Thomas was truly confident he could put Ernest to excellent use.
The senior students, who were enduring Thomas's grueling training schedule as training instructors, looked at Ernest—who now had Thomas's keen, almost predatory interest—with a mixture of sympathy and pity.
Among the cadets, Senior Instructor Thomas Kohler, whom they secretly called "Mad Dog," had his eyes set on Ernest Krieger. If things went on like this, Ernest would be recruited as a training instructor the moment he became a third-year. Ernest had no choice in the matter. No matter what he said, Thomas would turn him into a training instructor.
There was a reason why the noble boys at the prestigious Imperial Military Academy had the honor of calling Thomas "Mad Dog" behind his back.
"The next mock battle will take place after lunch. Rest and recover your strength until then."
With a voice that was somehow brighter and more energetic than usual, Thomas delivered his order. Then, with a spring in his step that seemed a little lighter than normal, he strode off.
Ernest could understand the unusual intensity in his fellow cadets' stares, but he was utterly baffled by the lukewarm sympathy in the eyes of the senior students—training instructors—serving lunch.
"Good work."
"Huh? Oh, thank you."
Startled by the warm encouragement from a senior who had already been through it all, Ernest widened his eyes, replied, and walked away with his food, glancing back in confusion.
" Tsk, tsk, tsk… We were just like that once…"
"To think we sold away half our Academy lives for a few damn merit points at the supply store…"
The seniors who had already become slaves clicked their tongues in pity as they watched their junior—the next in line for servitude—walk away. But none of them ever warned Ernest of the danger. The reason was simple.
Why should I be the only one to suffer?
Even without a word, the senior students understood each other perfectly, exchanging warm smiles in silent agreement.