Chapter 94 – At Dusk (2)

Chapter 94 – At Dusk (2)

Since the entrance ceremony, Ernest had become busier than ever—because there was just too much to do for training preparations.

"Preparation for the preparation… really?"

While preparing for training designed to cultivate officers as part of building military strength for an eventual war, Ernest found himself feeling a bit cynical. Normally, he would've just kept quiet and pushed through, but there was simply too much work. Without realizing it, he grumbled aloud.

"Sometimes you even prepare for the preparation of preparations."

Fourth-year training assistant Benzen Johannsen spoke as if it were no big deal.

Benzen was quite a kind upperclassman to Ernest, all things considered. Ernest had indirectly caused a significant shake-up last year when he forced his classmates into mimicking Rangers and proceeded to decimate them in the forest mock battle. The result: the military training curriculum across every academy in the Empire had been overhauled, and numerous officials were dismissed from their posts.

There were a fair number of fourth-years who held resentment toward Ernest, but logically speaking, it wasn't really his fault.

Benzen was a rational man.

He recognized that this competent underclassman, assigned as a training assistant not by choice but by command, had no reason to be disliked.

"Training like camping exercises requires a lot of preparation in advance. And if you prepare without prepping the prep, problems can arise."

"Sounds inefficient."

"It is inefficient—but it significantly reduces the chance of things going wrong."

At Benzen's response, Ernest gave a small sigh but nodded.

It made sense.

The military was a huge, rigid structure—and a dangerous one at that.

A minor mistake could lead to unimaginable consequences.

What seemed like inefficient complexity was, in fact, a carefully optimized process meant to prevent such issues.

"But Krieger,"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to sew?"

Benzen tossed out the question casually as they were sorting through training supplies.

Ernest blinked as he looked up at him.

"I can do a few things, I suppose."

"A few?"

"Yes. Here and there."

Ernest could sew.

But calling his skills standard sewing techniques would be a stretch.

What he could do with a needle and thread included tying fishing knots, stitching wounds, and crafting traps.

"As long as you can do it, that's good enough."

"Do I really need to know how to sew?"

"You'd be surprised how often it comes up. Anyway, it's about that time. Krieger, head to the instructors' office first, would you?"

"What about the supplies…?"

"They're almost done, so I'll take care of the rest alone."

"Yes, sir."

Though it felt slightly off, Ernest followed Benzen's instructions and headed for the instructors' office. Secretly, he hoped to catch a short break there. Morning drills had just ended, so it would likely be quiet.

Ernest entered the now-familiar office and sat down in a chair to rest. At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered.

"Krieger. Do you know how to sew?"

Even before Ernest could salute, Thomas asked him that question out of nowhere.

In that split second, Ernest recalled his conversation with Benzen.

His eyes instinctively moved to Thomas's shoulder.

A memory from two years ago flickered in his mind.

'What's the greatest virtue of a soldier?'

Thomas had once posed that question to the cadets—and then, with his bare hands, had ripped off his rank insignia.

"You do know how. Stitch this back on."

Without ceremony, Thomas tossed the jacket he had just theatrically torn during the freshmen's first military lecture.

Ernest caught it like someone who had been struck in the face.

"...The rank insignia…"

"I'll bring it in a bit."

"..."

A little while later, Ernest received the torn-off insignia from a fellow third-year training assistant.

"…What happened?"

"Instructor Kohler snapped his baton with flair, tore off his insignia, ordered the cadets to disperse, and exited the room with a commanding aura.

After that, I grabbed the broken baton and insignia. I tossed the baton and passed the insignia on to you. Now it's ready to go back to its place."

"..."

"I don't know how to sew. Good luck."

Now aware of the behind-the-scenes drama behind that stunning first lecture, Ernest could only stare blankly at his fleeing classmate's back.

He soon realized that Benzen had tricked him.

Right as the supply organization was wrapping up, Benzen dumped the job of dealing with Thomas on Ernest and quietly slipped away for a break himself.

Just as Ernest opened his mouth to punish the fleeing coward for trying to sneak out on Thomas, the instructor's voice cut in.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh? I'm done with my tasks, so I was just…"

"Then get ready for tomorrow's first-year mock combat training."

"That's… yes, sir…"

Thankfully, the conniving classmate didn't make it out and got caught by Thomas, who sent him off to handle other duties.

Relieved, Ernest was able to sew in peace.

In the quiet instructor's office, only the sound of Thomas scribbling and Ernest snipping thread could be heard.

Eventually, Thomas noticed something strange and turned to look at Ernest.

For just a single insignia, the amount of thread cutting was a bit excessive.

"...What are you doing?"

"Attaching the insignia, sir."

Thomas stood and walked over to inspect his uniform.

"..."

"..."

He lifted the garment and examined the half-attached insignia carefully.

The stitching was absurdly neat—truly admirable work.

Had it been a wound instead of a rank insignia, Thomas might've expressed genuine appreciation.

"Clothes and insignias aren't alive, Krieger."

"…Yes, sir."

"You were supposed to sew it on, not perform surgery."

"Uh…"

"Do you want to see me fail to rip it off next year in front of the freshmen?"

"…No, sir."

Ernest felt more than a little wronged.

He had sewn the insignia just like he'd been taught—sturdy and tight, like suturing a wound.

In the Krieger household, most chores were done by father and son themselves—but not sewing.

Before Marie came, they relied on a neighbor; afterward, Marie handled it.

So Ernest had never properly learned to sew.

"Not helpful at all."

"…"

Thomas grumbled as he reclaimed his jacket and began tearing apart the stitches Ernest had put so much effort into—each one needing a knife to undo.

"Instructor."

"What?"

Ernest looked at him quietly, then sighed deeply.

"To be honest, I've always respected you, sir. I thought you were admirable. …Though your personality is awful…"

"I'm aware."

Thomas wasn't angry about the aside. Because it was true.

Ernest mumbled on, lips twitching.

"…But right now, not so much."

Watching the man squinting at a needle and sewing his own insignia in preparation for tearing it off next year made Ernest laugh quietly.

"Did you think you could go through life doing only cool things?"

"No, sir. I don't."

Thomas exhaled long and slow.

"I'm an instructor teaching cadets. Like it or not, that makes me an educator."

One of the most unlike educators in all the Imperial military academies said it with complete sincerity.

"And at the same time, I'm your superior."

Ernest already knew where this was going, but he listened respectfully anyway.

"Educators must be respected. Otherwise, I can't teach brats like you who think you're the greatest thing in the world without beating the crap out of you."

Ernest shuddered. He could feel his hair standing on end. Thomas might not have done it, but if he thought he could get away with it politically, he would've long since beat them all senseless.

"And it's the same for commanders. If they rely only on rank without earning respect, they'll end up with a bullet in the back of the head or a knife in the spine."

Thomas stretched out his hunched body and rubbed his tired eyes, resting briefly before resuming his sewing.

"You get it, Krieger. Glory and honor—those things are worthless. One bullet to the head, and a private or a general are just meat."

"..."

"But sometimes, even worthless things become essential. I'm not that desperate right now—but since I can't just beat whining cadets, I've got to control them with respect. That's why I'm doing this crap at my age."

Thomas finished sewing one side loosely but securely and tossed the jacket to Ernest. Watching him, Ernest picked up the needle and resumed sewing in silence.

"Become a superior who's respected by subordinates. By colleagues, too, if you can. Even your own superiors. One day, that respect might save your life."

Ernest stared at Thomas with deep, dark eyes.

Thomas looked right back.

Their gazes made each other slightly uncomfortable—but neither looked away.

"Like you, sir?"

Thomas, who kept his neck intact despite questioning the heroic founding myth of the Emperor and pointing out uncomfortable truths about the supposed greatest military force on the continent, probably commanded great respect.

Smack!

"Ow!"

Thomas's thick, knotted fist struck Ernest on the head like lightning. Ernest let out a startled yelp.

"If I'd been any good at that, I wouldn't be stuck at captain rank dealing with punks like you."

Thomas smiled wickedly.

"You've got a point, sir."

Ernest, quite unjustly smacked, mumbled back while Thomas returned to paperwork.

"You're coming with me to tomorrow's training."

"What? Me? But I worked today. I should rest tomorrow!"

"Not my problem."

"But the duty roster—"

"I'm the senior instructor. Why worry about that?"

"..."

Because of one stray comment, Ernest was now stuck with two straight days of duty.

"And tonight, I'll give you a personal lesson on tomorrow's class content."

A bonus education session from Captain Thomas Kohler himself.

Grumbling inside, Ernest resumed sewing the insignia using the technique he had just learned.

'Just wait.'

He quickly got the hang of it.

Cunningly, he stitched the insignia so that it looked loose and haphazard on the outside—but reinforced it underneath, invisible and secure.

He imagined Thomas struggling to tear it off next year and felt a bit of his bottled-up frustration melt away.

"Quite a sturdy job."

"…"

But Thomas, ever the seasoned instructor, saw right through it. He carefully inspected the stitches and recognized the trick instantly.

Plenty of cadets had tried to prank him this way.

One year, someone had stitched only the center and left the edges loose.

Thomas hadn't noticed—but when he yanked the insignia, it wouldn't come off.

Even years later, he remembered the pale face of that cadet fondly.

"Looking forward to tomorrow's training, aren't you, Krieger?"

Thomas grinned, eyes gleaming as he tugged at the insignia.

"…Yes, sir."

There was no other answer Ernest could give.

"Krieger, I heard your duty schedule changed."

"..."

"You're not blaming me, are you?"

"...No, sir…"

Meeting again at lunch, Benzen grinned cheerfully as he gently scratched at Ernest's wounded pride.

But Ernest couldn't blame him. If he'd just done what Thomas asked, he could've spent the morning in peace.

Still, how could he not try to prank Thomas Kohler?

'Damn it. That's exactly how people fall into traps.'

Everything going smoothly?

That's a trap.

A golden opportunity arriving on its own?

That's bait.

Reality isn't your friend—it hides in the bushes with a sickle waiting to take your legs out from under you.

Ernest even wondered if Thomas had smacked him on the head on purpose—to provoke him and lead him into action.

Maybe he'd done it just to give himself more opportunities to torment Ernest.

Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: Thomas put his whole soul into harassing cadets.

The sheer thoughtfulness behind his schemes was terrifying.

"First training session as an assistant. Nervous?"

Benzen smiled as he asked the tense-looking Ernest.

"Not really."

"Well, you are capable."

Sensing something in Benzen's tone, Ernest met his gaze with composure.

"I didn't mean that arrogantly."

Benzen smirked.

"I know. You're humble and honest."

Then he added quietly:

"But no matter how humbly you act, you can still come across as arrogant."

Benzen turned and walked ahead.

"You're capable, after all."

Ernest paused and watched his retreating figure. Then slowly nodded.

"Understood. Thank you for the advice."

Benzen must have heard him.

A faint smile crossed his face as he turned the corner.

Ernest had understood his intent perfectly.

At first glance, Benzen seemed to be subtly messing with him—having him sew Thomas's insignia, making barbed comments. But he always followed it with clear explanations.

It was, in a way, a roundabout act of kindness. More than Thomas's advice, Benzen's words would be the more helpful—right now.

Ernest knew he was competent.

But he hadn't fully realized that competence alone could breed jealousy and suspicion.

That was because of Ferdinand and Wilfried.

While Ernest ranked first academically, both had higher status and far more influence.

Ferdinand was a key figure in the military faction; Wilfried in the aristocratic one.

Though their factional lines had long since blurred, they had once been sharply divided.

Yet both men had recognized Ernest and treated him as an equal—even sought to learn from him.

No one else could say otherwise.

Ernest's glowing reputation was built delicately atop his raw competence, like a tower atop a needlepoint.

If even one thing went wrong, it would all come crashing down.

"Respect, huh…"

He recalled Thomas's words.

Maybe Thomas thought Ernest was walking too fine a line.

Looking back, most people who met Ernest for the first time viewed him with suspicion.

In the past, he had dismissed that.

If he was competent, what did it matter?

But now he understood better.

He'd already assimilated into his surroundings—and so hadn't noticed the shift.

'…No, that's not it. It's because of Robert.'

Lost in thought, Ernest realized just how deeply Robert had influenced his growth.

Without him, Ernest might still be a brash boy who relied solely on his own ability.

"Haa…"

With a sigh, he brushed away the thoughts.

His shift was over.

A boring Imperial History lecture awaited this afternoon, so he'd better get back to his room and rest while he could.

Tonight, he had a one-on-one session with Thomas.

Tomorrow morning, first-year mock battle prep.

All day as an assistant in the forest.

After that, gear cleanup…

"Damn it. Should've just flat-out refused from the start…"

Ernest cursed Thomas under his breath.

Not even energy pills could get him through this madness.