Chapter 83 - The Moon Walking in the Wake of the Sun (9)

Chapter 83 - The Moon Walking in the Wake of the Sun (9)

The cadets quietly followed Ernest as they moved.

As the Commander, Ernest should have been in the middle of the formation, but now he was at the front.

The cadets from the "Ranger Unit" who had gone to fetch water with him couldn't remember the route, nor could they spot enemy ambushes as quickly as Ernest could.

"This is truly a priceless experience."

"Damn it. I can't even deny that."

The cadets had to admit just how incredibly valuable this experience was.

Just as Thomas and the Rangers had intended, the cadets were now gripped by an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

They could feel, with painful clarity, just how weak and useless they really were.

In reality, Ernest was the only one holding this ragtag group of rookies together and protecting them, almost like a caretaker.

All the things they had learned became meaningless in the chaos and danger of the battlefield.

"If it were an open field, I could fight all day long. I'd even make a fine show of commanding the troops."

Of course, there were still a few who hadn't snapped out of it yet.

Hurt pride kept them stubborn.

"That's something anyone with a head on their shoulders can do. When you've got the Balt Gun and the Baltrachers, who couldn't manage that? But nine times out of ten, battles with the Alliance Army happen in forests or mountains."

"It's idiotic to fight in forests or in the mountains to begin with. Why fight a losing battle? We should always engage the enemy on open ground, where we have the advantage."

That's absolutely right.

Don't fight when you're at a disadvantage—only take on fights you can win.

It's the one and only truth universally acknowledged in that damned field of Military Science, where nothing ever fits perfectly except for this.

"Yeah, you're a hundred percent right. So hurry up and get promoted, become a Field Marshal in the Imperial Army, and have all those idiots who give out those stupid orders lined up and shot."

"..."

But what can you do when the bigwigs at Imperial Army Headquarters, swirling their wine and cracking jokes, come up with strategies that send tens of thousands to their deaths?

You fight.

Not that it would matter at all if Emperor Walter hadn't decided to start up this insane war again in the first place.

"Stop. It's a trap."

Leading the way in silence, Ernest suddenly spotted a trap and halted the column.

Crouching low to the ground, he scanned the surroundings from a lower vantage point.

With hand signals, he indicated the location of the trap and the key points to keep watch for, sharing the information with the Ranger Unit members at the front.

"Ferdinand."

"I'll move ahead."

At Ernest's call, Ferdinand stepped forward with a small squad. He kept watch while a Ranger Unit member carefully moved ahead to dismantle the trap.

Of course, it's effective if the trap injures or kills an enemy. But there's another tactic: ambushing those who try to dismantle the trap. Depending on the situation, this can be even more effective. Right now, the cadets have stopped because of a trap blocking their way, making them vulnerable to ambush. The distance between the leading squad and the rest has also widened.

"Brandt, cover the left side. Don't move up too far—hold your position and keep your pace steady."

"Got it."

"How about the right?"

"The right side is clear. There's no need to go in. Just stay on alert and wait."

"Understood."

Even though Ernest was positioned in the center of the formation, he kept moving around, turning his head and scanning his surroundings.

He knew well the dangers of confusing terrain, so even if a spot looked safe, he would check it from another angle.

"Tell the rear guard to watch our backs carefully."

Although Ernest had already warned the rear guard no less than four times while they were on the move, he reminded them again.

No one showed any sign of complaint.

After all, the ambush tactic Ernest favored in Mock Battle Training was to let the vanguard advance, then attack the unsuspecting rear—so everyone understood that fear very well.

"Stay alert. Be careful."

"This is terrifying. Seriously."

The cadets disarming the trap under the protection of their comrades felt chills run down their spines.

Even when Ernest pointed it out with his finger, it was hard to see, and the trap was so elaborate, with double and even triple layers, that if they tampered with it poorly, they could have been taken out immediately.

If someone crouched down to disarm the trap after spotting the low-lying wire at their feet, they would place their head in the perfect spot to get smashed by a suspended stone.

These intricate, multi-layered traps had been laid in the short time the group passed by.

"Damn it, this won't work. Fall back."

"Give me a long stick."

In the end, the cadets decided to stay back and try to disarm the trap from a distance.

Hearing this, Ernest quickly stopped them.

"No. If you're not confident you can disarm it directly, get even farther away and set it off from a safe distance. Throw anything you've got—stones, sticks, even your military pack."

"Hmm... alright."

Following Ernest's instructions, the lead group safely pulled back. Ferdinand, who was quite strong, took off his military pack and hurled it at the trap with all his might.

Whoosh!

Thunk!

The moment the pack hit the wire, a vine lashed out viciously from the right side of the narrow path. If anyone had been caught, it would've wrapped around their ankle and sent them tumbling. At the same time, something came raining down from overhead—it would have landed right on their heads if they'd poked the trap with a stick.

"What the…?"

"Ahhh!"

"Oh no!"

The cadets recoiled in terror, screaming at what had fallen from above. It was the rotting corpses of rats, swarming with bugs. They had been tied and secured to tree branches, and when the trap was triggered, they'd come tumbling down.

"They set this up ages ago. It means they planned for us to pass through here all along."

"Ugh…"

"Don't throw up. You might not get to eat anything for the next three days."

Most of the cadets, who had grown up sheltered, turned pale and gagged.

But Ernest paid them no mind and pressed on, stomping on the bugs scattering in every direction as he surveyed the area.

"Let's move out."

"Understood."

Ferdinand replied calmly to Ernest and started walking after him, squashing bugs beneath his feet.

Fortunately, the cadets managed to safely reach the stream Ernest had found.

Ernest realized that the Rangers were keeping an eye on them.

There was no way the Rangers didn't know how vulnerable these clumsy rookies were when they moved.

"Find a spot where we can put up a tent."

"Aren't we not building any tents?"

"We're not making tents to sleep in—we need a tent to store our supplies. Just one will be enough. Now get out the tent poles and ropes."

The cadets followed Ernest's orders. While some of them started setting up the tent for supplies, Ernest took that damn Nail Clipper Knife and lashed it securely to a tent pole.

Then, he wrapped the spare canvas around the middle of the pole-turned-spear to improve his grip.

Seeing this, the other cadets started making their own spears without further instruction.

Swish! Thrust!

Ernest swung and jabbed the makeshift spear with practiced ease, testing it.

The cadets had all learned bayonet fighting, so even with just a crude spear like this, they could put up a decent fight. But unlike Ernest, who had trained under Haires, none of them had real experience with polearms.

To be honest, what Ernest had learned couldn't truly be called spear fighting, either.

What he'd learned was simply how to survive. He'd been trained to turn anything he could get his hands on into a weapon—and to use it. It was a survival skill set, too broad to be called any one martial art.

What Ernest had mastered was the holistic physics of combat in close quarters—defending himself and killing his enemy at short range.

Since the Balt Gun had been widely adopted, neither officers nor ordinary soldiers were formally taught such things anymore. In a close quarters fight, the man with a loaded gun was king; wasting time on martial arts training was considered foolish.

In fact, that concept formed the foundation of the old martial arts once taught to knights of the previous era. But with the rise of the Balt Gun and the decline of the knightly class, many noble houses, desperate to survive, sold off the martial secrets they had guarded for decades or even centuries for a pittance, and so these techniques became widespread among civilians.

The cadets quickly armed themselves with makeshift spears, and just holding a long weapon brought a small sense of relief, especially to Reach.

"The tent's finished."

"We've filled up all the waterskins too."

"Good."

While this was going on, the tent was completed, and the waterskins were filled as well. Ernest made sure no one drank the water from the waterskins right away, instructing everyone to drink directly from the stream whenever possible.

"We're keeping this just in case. Always keep it on you and never lose it."

"In case of what?"

"The enemy could contaminate the water. All they'd have to do is throw waste or a dead animal up upstream, or even add poison."

"..."

"Of course, since the Rangers use this stream too, they won't do anything that would seriously pollute it."

They had secured water, ensured immediate safety, and, since it was still spring, at least had blankets and tent canvas to ward off the cold at night.

"We need to find food."

Growl...

The moment Ernest mentioned food, the cadets' stomachs growled in protest, demanding to be filled. It was well past noon, and they hadn't eaten lunch or even breakfast. It was only natural to be starving. Until now, they had been so tense they hadn't even realized they were hungry.

"First, let's build a stone dam in the stream and try to catch some fish. There might even be shrimp or crayfish."

"Sh-shrimp? Crayfish?"

"Yeah."

"But those are bugs!"

At Ernest's suggestion, a few cadets shrieked with pale faces.

On the other hand, some looked puzzled, unable to understand why anyone would call shrimp and crayfish bugs.

"How are those bugs?"

"They have hard shells and lots of legs—creepy bugs! Bugs!"

"They're not bugs. They're delicious."

"Ugh!"

The Empire was vast, and culture differed by region. Near the sea, large rivers, or lakes, people commonly ate shrimp and crayfish, regarding them as specialties. But in some inland areas, people considered them disgusting, dirty insects and wouldn't even touch them. Of course, that was mostly true for the Nobles. Hungry Commoners, when they found shrimp or crayfish, would scoop up every last one to eat.

"Fine, then don't eat them."

"What? Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Go hungry, I guess. Or maybe you can just eat real bugs if you hate shrimp and crayfish that much. Like the beetles or maggots we saw eating that dead rat earlier."

"..."

"Hey, don't throw up, okay?"

Seeing some of them look like they might vomit at any moment, everyone hurriedly tried to calm them down.

But Ernest had already given up on stopping anyone from throwing up; instead, he was thinking about how he could use it.

"Let them puke. If we collect it and toss it in the creek, it'll attract fish and shrimp."

"...No, don't throw up. Seriously, please."

Ernest's calm suggestion made everyone even more desperate. None of them wanted to eat fish or shrimp that had eaten their friend's vomit.

"Oh, that dead rat."

"Ernest. Don't."

Even before Ernest could explain the idea that had just occurred to him, Wilfried cut him off in a calm yet urgent tone.

"If we use that dead rat as bait, it should work well."

"Ugh!"

"…I guess we don't actually have to go back and get the rat. We've got a new kind of bait now."

The cadets launched into a deep discussion about which was better: eating fish that had consumed their friend's vomit, or ones that had eaten the dead rat.

In the end, they concluded that the rat was the slightly better option.

"Bring some bugs, too."

"I really don't want to!"

"You're not the one who has to eat them. We can use them to catch birds or squirrels."

"Well, if that's the case…"

"You're so disgusted by bugs, but you're fine eating a bird or squirrel that's eaten those same bugs…"

"Ernest, please, I'm begging you—stop talking about things I'd rather not even imagine."

Wilfried, struggling not to gag, clenched his teeth and urged Ernest to be quiet.

Ernest, noticing the murderous looks from his friends who looked like they might vomit at any moment, decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Let's move fast. We don't have much time."

The cadets sprang into action to find food.

They built a stone dam in the stream, letting the water continue to flow while blocking fish from getting through, and they also set traps using bugs as bait to catch birds and squirrels. Building the stone dam was tough work—they had to rebuild it several times because it kept collapsing. One of the cadets, who at least had a rough idea of how to make a fish trap, broke down the center of the stone dam and set up the trap as well.

"Is the fire ready yet?"

"Damn it! Not even close!"

They absolutely needed fire to cook their food and endure the cold nights.

But because it had rained fairly recently, everything in the forest was still damp, and even if they did manage to make a spark, it was impossible to keep the fire going.

"If we can't make a fire, we'll have to eat it raw… but I really wouldn't recommend that."

"We don't want to eat raw meat either… We're not savages…"

"That's not even the main problem—you could actually die from it."

"…Why?"

"I'm not completely sure, but my father always told me never to eat anything caught in freshwater raw. It absolutely has to be cooked thoroughly."

"Exactly! And if possible, boil your water before you drink it!"

As Ernest finished speaking, a Ranger's voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the forest.

The cadets all jumped, instantly aiming their spears and bows in that direction, but thankfully, there was no attack.

"This place is safe enough, but you never know, so be careful!"

"Are there any edible plants or mushrooms?"

Taking the Ranger's warning a step further, Ernest pressed for more information.

"I can't go through every single one for you!"

After a short pause, the answer came back.

Everyone held their breath and turned to Ernest.

"Is there anything here that's especially different from what you'd find in the Central Region of the Empire?"

Ernest asked again. This time, there was a longer silence before the reply.

"If you're absolutely sure about something, then it's safe to eat! There's not much difference between here and there! Still, just in case, call us after you gather anything. We don't want you dying from eating poisonous plants or mushrooms!"

Even though the Rangers had set up traps ahead of time to torment the young cadets, that didn't mean they wanted any of these kids to die.

"For now, keep working on the fire and try to catch whatever you can from the stream."

Ernest said, slinging one of the military packs over his shoulder.

"What are you planning to do?"

"We have to gather whatever we can eat."

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"We can't starve, can we?"

Ernest took a few cadets with him and headed into the forest. Ferdinand had gone off to gather mouse carcasses and insects to use as bait, so the only one left to command at what could barely even be called a campsite was Wilfried.

"Hoo…"

Wilfried let out a heavy sigh, frustration clear on his face.

Then, forcing himself to rally, he set about trying to solve their most immediate problems no matter what it took.

But no matter how hard he tried to get a spark going, the firewood was too wet to catch, and he simply couldn't start a fire.

Eventually, after much deliberation, Wilfried made a decision.

"Let's burn the tents."

They would use the tent fabric supplied by the Imperial Military Academy—cloth meant for camping—and burn it to start a fire.

Since the tent fabric had been heavily soaked in oil to keep out rain, it would burn readily once set alight. The real issue was getting a flame big enough to ignite the fabric in the first place.

"Everyone, think—does anyone have an idea for how we could make a bigger spark? Anything at all."

Wilfried tried to pool the remaining cadets' knowledge to start a fire, and surprisingly, it was Robert Jimman—the merchant's son, usually considered useless in situations like this—who offered up the answer.

"Cotton catches fire really well. Amazingly well, actually. Sometimes, if you just toss it into storage, it'll catch fire all by itself."

"It catches fire by itself? Why is that?"

"I have no idea. The storage keepers say the Fire Spark Beetle likes cotton, but nobody actually knows what a Fire Spark Beetle is."

Unlike wool, which is nearly impossible to ignite, or linen, which needs an already strong fire to catch, cotton burns frighteningly well.

"But where are we supposed to find cotton?"

"I have some."

Wilfried hesitated for a moment, clutching at the belt of his cadet uniform. Then, with a resolute expression, he unbuckled his belt and removed his dark blue cadet uniform, which was woven from wool.

"Oh my god! Wilfried took off his cadet uniform!"

"Robert, could you please be quiet?"

"This can't be real! He's just wearing that shirt he keeps insisting is basically underwear!"

"Shut up."

Wilfried growled a warning at the overly dramatic Robert, then, as if he were being marked by a shameful brand, spoke to another cadet.

"Cut off a sleeve from my shirt."

For Wilfried—who couldn't possibly bring himself to take off his shirt here—this really was the best option available.

The cadet cutting his shirt couldn't help but feel as though he was doing something terrible. It felt like trimming a lion's mane or shaving a noble's beard.

Unfortunately, the only cotton that could be used as tinder was from Wilfried's shirt.

The most common material for shirts was linen, and cotton had only started being used relatively recently.

Compared to linen, which has been cultivated and used since ancient times, cotton—the material used for making cotton fabric—only began to be grown relatively recently.

It was originally cultivated to make wicks for powder guns, and producing soft cotton fabric from cotton required considerable skill.

As a result, soft fabric made from cotton was astonishingly expensive—far more so than one might expect.

And here they were, planning to cut it up and burn it.

Wilfried, the Duke's son, had never asked for it, yet he had always ended up with only expensive, luxurious items.

In fact, if someone claimed his shirt was made not from cotton but from gold thread, everyone would likely believe it.

Ordinarily, people would call this madness, but when it came to Wilfried, somehow it seemed perfectly plausible.

After cutting off the sleeve of his shirt, Wilfried hurriedly put his cadet uniform back on, buttoned it up all the way to the collar, and carefully tightened his belt.

His fingertips were trembling slightly.

"Do we just burn it as is?"

"No, it's best to unravel the threads and burn those. Plus, it needs to dry a little more."

"..."

Wilfried could only avert his gaze as the sweat-soaked sleeve of his shirt hung from a string, fluttering in the wind to dry.

Fortunately, the cool spring breeze dried the sleeve quickly.

"We only get one shot at this."

"It's not just one. There's still the other sleeve...and the main part of the shirt..."

"Robert, we get one shot. There won't be a second."

"Alright. We have to start the fire this time. Let's prepare everything perfectly."

Wilfried took every precaution before trying to light the fire. Even cutting off one sleeve from his shirt was agonizing—but if he had to cut off both sleeves, or worse, take off the entire shirt, Wilfried felt he truly wouldn't be able to bear it.

He gently scraped the thoroughly dried sleeve with the knife, creating very fine, fluffy fibers, then cut and tore it apart to break it down into threads, finishing the preparation for tinder. Next, he used the knife to cut the tough tent fabric into the smallest pieces possible to use as kindling. They also gathered and prepared all the firewood they could find.

"Let's do it."

"Go ahead."

Click! Click! Click! Click!

No one could have guessed that a nail clipper knife would turn out to be this useful here.

Everyone held their breath as a cadet, clutching a stone he'd found by the stream, struck the back of the knife.

"Please, please, please..."

"Come on, catch... please..."

Every time sparks flew as the stone hit the back of the knife, they all flinched.

It always looked like the fire might catch, but as if by some cruel joke, it stubbornly refused to light.

After wrestling with it for a long time, everyone saw it clearly—a spark shot out, landed on the tinder made from Wilfried's shirt, and flickered without going out.

Not a word was spoken.

In fact, everyone held their breath, afraid even a single misplaced exhale might snuff it out.

A cadet who had experience starting fires leaned in and gently blew on it.

That tiny flame burned fiercely, as if determined not to let Wilfried's sacrifice be in vain.

They carefully placed the oil-soaked tent cloth on top, and as soon as the fire caught, they added a bit more—then a bit more, and a bit more after that.

At some point, the fire roared to life, forcing the cadets, who had been huddled together with their heads almost touching, to retreat a step.

"It's fire..."

"We did it! We have fire!"

"Stay focused! Add more firewood!"

Their joy lasted only a moment.

When Wilfried, desperate to protect what was left of his shirt, hurriedly urged them on, everyone shifted to concentrating on keeping the fire burning and making it bigger.

"Stay alert! No matter what happens, we have to protect the fire!"

"Got it!"

Wilfried stayed wary of another Ranger attack.

Cadets armed with the nail clipper knife and spears fashioned from tent poles surrounded the fire, peering out between the trees.

Without the fire, even if they managed to catch fish or shrimp, they couldn't eat it.

They would also have a hard time enduring the cold of night.

They absolutely had to protect the fire.

"I can't believe a single fire could make me this happy."

"Tell me about it," someone replied.

The cadets grinned as they felt the warmth and the smoke from the fire they'd built with grass.

They knew everything was still a mess, but somehow things felt like they were moving forward, and that gave them strength.

Ernest didn't return until around sunset, and by then, not only the other cadets but Ernest himself looked completely exhausted.

While gathering edible greens and mushrooms, he'd also set traps and scouted the area.

Ernest had barely rested since the forced march at dawn.

"We did it."

Still, when they saw the fire burning thanks to Wilfried's sacrifice, their faces lit up.

Ernest knew better than anyone how hard it was to get a fire going in this damp forest, so at their unexpected success, he grinned from ear to ear.

That wasn't the only good news.

A few small fish had been caught in the fish trap.

Using a rat carcass, they'd made a trap to catch shrimp or crayfish, and Ernest had also managed to gather some edible greens and mushrooms.

"You really know how to find things."

Even the Ranger who double-checked the foraged goods, just in case, was impressed by Ernest's keen judgment.

He'd chosen only things that were definitely edible and safe.

But despite all they'd gathered, there still wasn't enough food for even one full meal for sixty people.

Earlier, they'd thought that no matter how much food there was, without fire they couldn't eat.

Now, even with fire, they were forced to go hungry—a powerless reality for these inexperienced youths

"What? We're supposed to eat it just like that?"

"Then how else are you supposed to eat something this tiny?"

So it was only natural when Ernest told them to grill the small fish whole and eat them bones and all, including the heads—there was no need to clean such tiny catches. At first, the cadets shook their heads and balked at the idea, but the aroma of grilling fish and the gnawing hunger soon wore down their resistance.

In the end, all the cadets got to eat was a handful of wild greens and roots blanched in boiling water, and a single piece of fish so small it was hardly worth a sigh.

"There's no way we can last three days like this."

"We'll make it. As long as we have water, going three days without food isn't that hard."

"I've never gone hungry before…"

"It's okay. You won't die. For commoners, it's not unusual to go without food for over five days."

"But we're not commoners."

As night fell and both the cold and hunger set in, many cadets slipped into despair.

Rather than scold them, Ernest chose to speak gently, signaling to Wilfried with a glance.

"That's right, we're nobles. But we're also soldiers. Soldiers can't afford to whine just because they're hungry."

"..."

With the Duke's son saying that, no one could complain any further. At times like this, Wilfried's status was more useful than they had expected.

"We'll sleep gathered around the fire tonight. No matter what, we have to keep the fire going."

The campfire was too small for everyone to sleep around it, so they built two additional ones. With some cadets having to stand guard, three campfires were enough. Ernest organized a fire watch and made sure all the cadets slept armed. Traps and alarm devices were set up around the area as well, though they probably wouldn't be much help.

"I'm too tense to sleep."

"We have to sleep. Otherwise, we won't last tomorrow."

"Yeah. We have to hold out until the day after tomorrow."

"It might not even end right after three days. They could tell us to keep going until nightfall."

"Damn it."

The cadets whispered to each other in dispirited voices, but before they knew it, everyone had drifted off. They were simply too exhausted to stay awake.

But that would only last for tonight. If they barely ate again tomorrow, they'd be kept up by hunger, forced to spend a sleepless night with their eyes wide open.

Ernest decided to think positively—at least he managed to eat half of a tonic, so bringing it along had been a good idea.

He had broken out in a cold sweat sneaking it down in secret, but still. He also made sure to keep the military pack with the tonic from getting mixed in with the others.

'This might give people the wrong idea…'

If someone saw him taking the tonic, he couldn't blame them for misunderstanding.

After all, there he was with something edible, eating it alone while the others went without.

In any case, they had made it through the day. Well, it wasn't really over yet; there would probably be at least one raid during the night.

Ernest closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. Pulling an all-nighter in this state would only waste his strength. Right now, he had to trust the cadets standing watch and rest.

"..."

Morning came. Meaning he'd slept soundly straight through, without waking up even once.

Ernest stared blankly around him. The guys who had been on watch were sprawled out asleep on the ground, and every single campfire had gone out.

Ernest, who had woken early, looked around in a daze before realizing that this situation hadn't been caused by the sentries being negligent.

The cadets who had been on watch were all scattered in different spots, and each one was covered neatly with a blanket to keep them from waking up cold or falling ill.

"Rise and shine!"

"Ugh!"

At Ernest's shout, everyone jolted awake in alarm and shot to their feet.

Ernest strode over to a cadet who was sprawled on the ground, separated from the group.

"What happened?"

"Ah… uh…"

The cadet, who had slept soundly through the night, took a moment to gather his wits. But soon his face twisted in shock.

"Damn it! We've been hit!"

One by one, the other cadets got up and started talking about what had happened the previous night.

They said they had been keeping watch, eyeing the forest warily, when they were ambushed from behind. Someone had slipped in silently between the sentries, taking all the lookouts down at once and dragging them off into the woods.

Their mouths had been clamped shut with rough hands so they couldn't even scream, and some were even choked until they passed out.

After that, they were laid back down beside the campsite.

Even with other cadets lying around the campfire, not a single person noticed until the fire was extinguished. It was clear the fire hadn't gone out on its own—there were wet marks left nearby.

What was even more despairing was that the fish traps set up in the stream and all the mouse carcass traps had been completely destroyed.

If the Rangers had meant to, they could have silently slit the throat of every sleeping cadet without anyone knowing.

In fact, even veteran soldiers wouldn't have stood a chance against that attack.

"…What do we do now?"

Even Robert seemed unable to find hope in this situation. His voice, drained and listless, asked Ernest the question.

Ernest didn't have much he could say to those looking to him for answers.

"There are two options: we either hang on, doing nothing until this is all over, or we at least try something—anything—and struggle till the end."

He spoke in a calm voice.

"Maybe nothing we do will make a difference. But just giving up here and doing nothing—that's something I can't do."

For Ernest Krieger, the only son of Haires Krieger and someone who had been trained by him, waiting for all this to be over was even more excruciating than desperately struggling to the end.

"Even if whatever we do turns out to be a pointless waste of energy, even if waiting it out means we'd get home safely, I still have to try."

"…You still have the energy for that?"

Jonas asked in a weak voice, looking at Ernest who had spoken so firmly.

Ernest met Jonas's gaze with deep, dark eyes, and Jonas instinctively looked away.

Ernest glanced around at the others.

Most avoided his eyes—but there were some who met his gaze.

Among them, Ferdinand, who had already steeled himself.

And then there was Wilfried, who had already lost any place to retreat back when he was only five years old.

"We've only suffered for a day. We still have weapons and clothes, and blankets to get us through the night. There's even a stream nearby, so we can get water and food whenever we need it. And in the forest, there are edible plants, mushrooms, animals, and even insects."

"..."

"Insects are edible if you roast them."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"No. But if I have to, I'll eat them. …Yeah, I should take the initiative. I'm the commander, after all."

Ernest let out a sigh as he met the eyes of his fellow cadets watching him.

"If we can't find any food again today, I'm going to eat insects. Just take off the legs and roast them—it's fine. I won't force anyone. Only those who want to should eat."

"..."

"So if you see any bugs, catch them. You can do that, right?"

"...I'll try."

"Good."

Ernest looked up at the sky, a bit cloudy but still blue.

After a brief silence, he murmured almost like a sigh.

"I don't want to spend this valuable experience doing nothing, feeling powerless."

"Haah…"

At Ernest's words, Wilfried started taking off his cadet uniform.

He was about to cut off the shirt sleeves to use as tinder.

"It's fine. I've already gathered what we need for tinder."

Ernest stopped Wilfried from going any further. Wilfried quickly put his cadet uniform back on and asked Ernest,

"So, what are you going to use to make a fire? Will it even catch?"

"Looks like the Rangers didn't want us to completely give up, either. They left the grass we'd set aside by the fire pit to dry alone."

When Ernest pointed out the grass he'd placed near the fire pit as a precaution, one of the cadets hurried over to check.

"How is it? Is it dry?"

"It's dried out nice and crispy."

"Other than being hungrier than yesterday, nothing's gotten worse."

Ernest smiled as he spoke.

It was true.

They didn't need to march, they had a stream nearby where they could get water and some food, they knew which grasses and mushrooms were edible, and they had figured out the lay of the land.

Ernest glanced once more at his peers' faces, searching their eyes.

He could see a glimmer of hope in those faces and gazes, even if only a little.

"Don't start whining just because you missed a meal. At fifteen, you're already considered an adult. Don't act like kids."

That was as good as telling Ernest he could say what he really wanted. As long as there was some hope, they wouldn't be overwhelmed by despair—they'd get back up and keep moving forward.

"And we can't just keep letting ourselves get pushed around like this."

At those words, expressions that had been weighed down began to lighten.

The cadets who had spent the past year with Ernest understood instantly what he meant.

"Everyone gather up. It's time for a strategy meeting."

Everyone quickly crowded together, heads bowed close.

After whispering among themselves for a while, they scattered in all directions to get to work on their assigned tasks. No one quite knew what had been said, but there was a strange energy swirling around the cadets' faces, which had looked hollow and exhausted just a day before.

"Heh heh heh..."

"Robert, for the love of god, would you please stop with that vulgar laugh... Sigh... Actually, never mind. What could anyone expect from you?"

"Hey..."

Wilfried, who had been about to scold Robert once again for his extremely unpleasant laugh, gave up this time.

Let him laugh however disgustingly he wanted—what did it matter anymore?

"But do you really think this will work?"

Robert shot a quick glance at Ernest, who was busy giving orders, before asking Wilfried.

"Doesn't matter if we do or don't. No point in worrying about that now."

Wilfried sounded strangely refreshed, almost unburdened.

"Either way, all of this ends tomorrow. So today, we have to put up a fight."

"Hmmm... Spoken like a true man. To think the Young Master of a Duke's House would say something like that—Teacher Robert is truly delighted."

"I've never considered someone like you my teacher."

"...Wilfried, I think that actually hurt my feelings."

"Then be hurt. What do you expect me to do about it?"

"You really have grown, haven't you?"

Robert burst out in giggles at Wilfried's dazzling growth. Who could have ever imagined the Young Master of a Duke's House would say things like this?

'We've already taken every blow they could dish out—there's no reason to just let ourselves be dragged around anymore.'

Even as Ernest Krieger, the undeniable cause of it all, gave out orders, he kept his thoughts cool and sharp.

'I made a mistake from the start. We let ourselves get pulled along by the enemy's intentions.'

The most important thing in strategy and tactics is making sure the enemy doesn't get to realize their intent.

But even after realizing what the enemy wanted, they'd kept letting themselves be manipulated.

Not just Ernest—everyone had.

Because from the beginning, they'd all given up, believing there was absolutely no way to win against those fearsome beings known as the Rangers.

Even if it hadn't seemed that way, Ernest had given up as well.

You must never cede the initiative.

Even if it means stabbing yourself in the gut, you still have to wrest control back.

Yet now, after having given away every last bit of strength and resolve, he found nothing left in his hands.

At this point, regaining the initiative was impossible It was arrogant to expect anything more than this against the Rangers in the first place.

So now that we'd given up even our flesh, bones, and guts, I'll take the most valuable thing left for us to claim.

Even if we fail, it doesn't matter.

Our opponents are Rangers—so what?

There's nothing to be ashamed of.

But if we succeed?

'It's a cowardly move, relying on the fact that we have nothing left to lose, but so what? We're just second-year officer cadet rookies, and they're the best of the best—the Rangers.'

Suppressing the sly grin threatening to break out, Ernest issued his orders with a stern look.

It really does help to have a clear goal. It feels like my empty stomach is filling with energy.

Why is it that plotting something underhanded feels so fun? It's a mystery I can't figure out.