Chapter 46 - The Place Called Home (1)
To Ernest,
I'm sorry for my late reply.
I was away on a trip for the first time in a while and wasn't in Grimman.
I should have sent a letter beforehand, but the plans came up rather suddenly, and I didn't think of it in time.
I read your letter with great interest.
Honestly, I thought you might have a hard time adjusting to life at the Military Academy, but hearing that you've settled in and made so many friends reassures me.
I'd always felt sorry that, in the name of "training," I was taking so many opportunities away from you, but now my mind is a little more at ease.
I always knew how well you could ride, but I didn't expect you to participate in the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
That must be the influence of the friends you've made.
Though it's a shame you didn't win, I'm truly happy you received the Silver Daffodil, an honor that celebrates nobility and virtue.
Please tell me all about it the next time we meet.
You mentioned you've started taking driving lessons, but it seems to me you might be underestimating it a bit.
A car isn't like Drek, who is gentle and clever.
By now you've probably had plenty of lessons, but still—always be careful.
Unless something special comes up, I'll be staying in Grimman from now on.
Set your outing date for whenever works for you, and let me know by letter.
I'm looking forward to seeing you again.
From Haires
P.S. I'll make sure to clean the house. After all, it wouldn't make sense for you to finally come out for an outing only to spend the whole time cleaning, would it?
The cadets had gathered at the training ground for the Balt Automobile lecture, but Instructor Norman hadn't arrived yet, so they were chatting idly under the blazing sun.
"I… I really am a terrible son…"
"What's wrong with Krieger?"
"He's been like that ever since he got a letter from his father yesterday. I don't know all the details."
"Did he get scolded?"
"No, I caught a glimpse, and it looked like his father was really praising him."
"And why were you peeking? That's pretty sneaky of you."
"It couldn't be helped—he was just standing there by the door with the letter, like a statue, blocking the way."
"'It couldn't be helped,' huh? Says who?"
Robert felt completely wronged.
When he opened the door to come in, Ernest was just standing there right in front of the doorway, staring at his letter.
Even when Robert asked him to move, he wouldn't budge, so, curious, he'd just glanced over his shoulder.
'I'm… I'm such a terrible son…!'
Ever since then, Ernest started acting strange, and he's been like this ever since.
He seems wracked with guilt about something, but he hasn't told us the details, so no one knows what's going on.
At any rate, anyone looking at Ernest right now could see that he's working really hard.
The cadets only get to see their grades at the end of the year, but no one would deny that Ernest is the top of the first years.
So why—why does he have to go into this whole dramatic meltdown and make things uncomfortable for Robert, his roommate?
"Instructor Luther."
As Lieutenant Norman Luther entered the training ground for the Balt Automobile driving lecture, the cadets' attention shifted to him.
"Oh, right, right. Look at us all suffering here in this heat first thing in the morning—it's tough for me too."
"What? Not us, but you?"
"Well, you're all young. You can afford a little more suffering."
"You're young too, Instructor Luther."
"Hey, just wait till you're my age. Every morning, when I get out of bed, I feel like I could die."
"Come on."
Norman, who was most popular among the boys, waved his hand dismissively at their laughter, quickly silencing them.
He stood in front of the cadets with a slightly cocky stance, glancing at them all.
"...What's up with Krieger again?"
Norman looked at Ernest, whose condition seemed off, his own face a bit pale with concern, and asked.
"No idea. He's been like that since yesterday evening."
"Oh, I see. Krieger, let's have you sit out driving today."
Norman made that decision instantly, without a second thought.
There was no need to consider it further.
Today, Ernest would not be driving.
"No! I can do it!"
Ernest shouted energetically, clearly startled.
Not only had he broken his promise to his father, but now he might also have to skip the class?
Then what was the point of secretly taking the tonic?
If so, he'd just be a bad son, plain and simple!
"I'm too young to risk riding in a car driven by someone in your shape."
"But earlier you said you were old."
"I may be older than you, but I'm still too young to die, that's what I meant."
"I really can do it!"
"Yeah, but your opinion doesn't count for much. Today's not about driving anyway—we'll be having a lecture on servicing the Balt Automobile."
Norman chuckled as he spoke to Ernest, who was desperately insisting he could do it. Ernest stared at Norman with a blank expression, only to realize he was being teased. He let out a small sigh.
"So, are we supposed to do the maintenance ourselves?"
One of the cadets raised his hand and asked Norman. Norman nodded in response.
"As long as you're commanding in the field, you'll have to do it sooner or later. A bullet won't miss just because your driver does. When that happens, are you going to just abandon the car and run because there's no driver?"
The atmosphere, which had been playful just a moment ago, grew serious at Norman's words. As the mood shifted, Norman nodded at everyone, his gaze now earnest.
"Of course, you don't need to learn full-scale repairs. But at the very least, if something happens to the car in the field, you need to be able to figure out what the problem is, and decide whether it's something you can fix yourself or if you have to abandon the car."
After Norman finished speaking seriously and paused, Jonas raised his hand.
"Adler."
"Do we actually leave cars behind? I mean, we know they're incredibly expensive."
When Norman gave permission, Jonas asked his question. A car is unimaginably expensive. Everyone knows just how difficult it is to build a machine this precise and robust.
"Right, so you can't just abandon it—you have to destroy it to keep it from falling into enemy hands."
Norman answered Jonas's question kindly.
"For the same reason, you also need to destroy the Balt Battery so it won't fall into enemy hands. Above all else, destroying the Balt Battery is the most important. So the very first Balt Automobile maintenance technique I'm going to teach you today is how to blow up the Balt Battery and destroy the car."
Whether that really counts as maintenance, even Norman wasn't sure. But it was something they absolutely had to learn.
There is only one person in this world who can produce a Balt Battery—The Emperor, Walter Ulrich Mihahil. That's what everyone believed. But, strictly speaking, Balt Batteries were made not by Emperor Walter himself, but by countless workers of the Empire.
What made Emperor Walter special was that he alone could create the mysterious power called Balt, found nowhere else in the world. The Emperor's role was simply to charge completed Balt Batteries with Balt.
That made it all the more crucial to prevent Balt Batteries for use in Balt Engines from falling into enemy hands.
"With just a single Balt Battery for these little practice cars, you could arm over a hundred soldiers with Balt—there'd even be some left over."
Thunk! Thunk!
Norman spoke as he knocked on the roof of the practice tin can car with his fist.
"If the Balt Battery comes from a transport vehicle big enough to carry dozens of people and loads of supplies, you could arm an entire battalion with it. And transport vehicles always carry extra batteries, too."
Just one Balt Battery for firing a Balt Gun could recharge dozens of the small lighting Balt Batteries. And a vehicle-grade Balt Battery could recharge hundreds of firing Balt Batteries. Of course, lighting Balt Batteries distributed to civilians have pitifully low capacity, but vehicle Balt Batteries have ridiculously high capacity. Making a lump of metal this big and heavy run faster and longer than a horse is no easy feat.
"If the enemy captures a transport vehicle, basically, they get enough to arm a thousand soldiers with Balt Guns. The Alliance Army probably doesn't have that many Balt Guns, but even so, it's still an enormous threat. And if they just use the vehicle as is, that's a huge problem, too."
Thanks to Norman's explanation, the cadets now clearly understood why they needed to destroy such an expensive car and precious Balt Battery.
"All right, gather around."
When Norman motioned, the cadets gathered closer. Norman popped open the car's hood to reveal the Balt Engine.
"If you release this lock, you can get to the Balt Engine. Normally, you'd use something like the car key for that. That's why key management is so important."
Norman unlocked two padlocks with his key, then released the latch and opened the engine cover. The complicated structure of the Balt Engine came into view.
"This is the vehicle Balt Battery."
Norman tapped the Balt Battery, almost the size of a human torso, with his hand as he spoke
"If this explodes, the car will be completely destroyed, and there will be severe damage to a wide area around it. So don't even think about messing around and doing something reckless that could kill us all."
"Yes."
Not that anyone had planned to mess around, but with him saying that, there was no one here who would dare to try.
"Balt Batteries for firing are designed to create small, contained explosions easily, but vehicle batteries are not."
Thud! Thud!
Norman struck the Balt Battery with his fist as he spoke. Everyone flinched and took a step back, but Norman didn't even bat an eye.
"If something like this exploded so easily, this wouldn't be a car—it'd be a moving coffin. And not just for one person, but for dozens, even hundreds. Vehicle Balt Batteries are extremely stable and durable. So actually, even if a Balt Gun round hits it, it almost never explodes. I know because I've tried. It doesn't blow up."
Norman added this last part, trying to sound playful to reassure the obviously scared cadets.
"That's why we need this blasting Balt Battery."
Norman carefully pulled a small cylindrical box from his coat. He unscrewed the lid slowly, then took out a slender Balt Battery. One end of the battery was flat, the other was sharply pointed It was a long rectangular pyramid shape.
The cylindrical case was lined with a thick, soft cushioning that fit perfectly around the blasting Balt Battery to prevent any impact from being transmitted.
"At the moment, there's no Balt charged in this. There's no risk of it blowing up. Anyway, no idiot would walk around carrying a blasting Balt Battery with it already charged—unless he has a death wish."
Norman held up that terrifying explosive delicately between his fingertips, moving it slowly so everyone could see.
"When we actually use it, we charge it on the spot with the help of a Baltracher."
"What if there's no Baltracher available?" someone asked.
"Good question. I was already planning to explain that," Norman replied, grinning at the perfectly timed question.
"Balt Automobiles are valuable military assets. During real operations, the Transport Unit is responsible for all vehicle maintenance. And of course, the Transport Unit always includes a Baltracher. In regular situations, there's never a time when you don't have a Baltracher to charge a blasting Balt Battery."
After saying this, Norman added in a calm voice,
"So, if you ever do find yourself in that situation, it means the Baltracher has been assassinated—or you've exhausted every last Balt Battery, and you're in no condition to keep fighting."
The cadets fell silent. In the Imperial Army, the Baltracher is considered one of the most crucial branches. Naturally, great care is taken to protect the Baltracher. If a Baltracher has been completely neutralized, it's likely that the situation has already reached a point of no return.
"This is how it's supposed to be used."
Norman slotted the blasting Balt Battery into the groove on the vehicle's Balt Battery. It fit perfectly, like it was made for this. Next, he pulled out the long hammer attached beside the engine and twisted it into place.
"There's a spring here. So, if you pull it back and then let go..."
Norman pulled the string connected to the hammer, drawing it backward.
Snap!
And when he let go of the string, the hammer, driven by the spring, swung down and struck the blasting Balt Battery.
"That's what happens. I kept it short for demonstration purposes, but you always have to grab the very end of the string and pull it from as far away as you can. Otherwise, you'll be caught in the blast radius. Alright, now let's move on to what you do if there's no Baltracher."
Norman put away the hammer and string, then detached even the blasting Balt Battery from the engine.
"In this case—well, it's primitive and brutal, but it's the most reliable method."
He looked rather reluctant to be teaching such things to young cadets.
"You take two ignition Balt Batteries from a Balt Gun, put one into the vehicle's Balt Battery slot, and then use the other one to strike it as hard as you can to trigger an explosion."
"…That's…"
"That's right. If the engine explodes, whoever does it dies instantly on the spot."
At Norman's words, the cadets were left speechless.
"There's no need for a person to do it by hand, but when a Baltracher is neutralized and you have to blow up the car, there's no time to try this or that at your leisure. If there's a risk of the enemy seizing both the vehicle and the vehicle's Balt Battery, destroying it at the cost of a single soldier's life is..."
Every time Lieutenant Norman Luther had to say these words to these young boys, it felt as if all his guts had disappeared and his heart had dropped down into his belly.
"...Even if you have to do it this way, destroying it is the right thing."
After a long pause, Norman spoke in a firm voice.
"…Can't we adjust the stability of the Balt Battery?"
"For now, this is the best we can do. If a vehicle Balt Battery becomes any less stable, it will be too dangerous to use. And if the blasting Balt Battery is made more stable, the odds of a dud go up. If you tamper with the stability of the ignition Balt Batteries, you'll end up praying to gods that don't even exist every time you fire a shot."
Norman looked them in the eye, his voice firmer than before, giving them not even a hint of doubt as he spoke to the boys.
"So if a Baltracher is rendered useless and you have to abandon the car, don't hesitate—give the order to a soldier to blow up the Balt Battery. Understood? Give the order to a soldier. Because that is not something an officer like you is supposed to do."
Even if it was unavoidable, Instructor Lieutenant Norman Luther simply could not bear the thought of these boys he taught having to carry out such a horrific duty themselves. It was a cowardly and cruel thing to wish for, but he hoped that some common soldier—someone he'd never even met—would be the one to do it, that they would die in place of these boys.
"…Of course, the best thing would be to never find yourself in that kind of situation at all."
Norman forced a smile, trying to sound as usual, though his face had gone a little pale.
"That's why you need to study hard and get into the Capital Defense Force. Don't just think about goofing off all the time, you little punks."
"How many of us are actually going to make it into the Capital Defense Force…? It's basically impossible…"
"Oh, come on. By that logic, if we're all going to die someday anyway, why bother living at all? And, for your information, the smart officers all scramble to recruit people like you. You can always end up as a staff officer or section chief."
"I want to be an instructor, though."
"Ha! An instructor? You? Hey, you think it's easy being an instructor? Just because I let you mess around, do I look like a pushover or something? Huh?"
"What? I never said you looked like a pushover…"
"Since you all seem to think being an instructor is easy, I suppose I'll have to show you otherwise. There's going to be a test tomorrow, so keep that in mind."
"Aaaargh!"
The first-year cadets erupted in protest at Norman's announcement. Their eyes burned with blame at the classmate whose remark had inspired this sudden test.
"Hey! Future officers of the Mihahil Empire, complaining and throwing tantrums just because you don't want to take a test! Well, pay attention—because now I'm really going to teach you maintenance, so straighten up!"
Norman snickered, amused to see these boys of noble birth acting just like ordinary kids their age.
Yet when one cadet had confessed he actually wanted to become an instructor, Norman had found himself, for a moment, genuinely hoping it could happen.
There was no safer position in the Imperial Army than being an officer at the Imperial Military Academy.
Unless Grimm itself was captured by the enemy, the academy would never see combat, and even in peacetime, its officers were shielded from all manner of political strife by the authority of His Majesty the Emperor and Major General Armin.
That was why, for these young cadets, becoming a military academy officer was nearly impossible—an even tougher feat than joining the Capital Defense Force.
In fact, it was no exaggeration to say it was harder than being accepted into the Emperor's own Beowatcher unit.
After all, since the founding of the Imperial Military Academy, there had been cadets who became Beowatchers, but not a single one had ever become an instructor.
There was, however, one person who had managed to get two of the academy's disciplinary officers dismissed—a feat that would go down in the academy's history.
Norman glanced over at Ernest Krieger, the renegade who had caused such a scandal. Lately, Ernest seemed more focused, but today, he looked glum and distracted, sighing so deeply and so often that he clearly wasn't paying attention to the lesson at all.
'Oh, damn it. This is really bothering me.'
Lieutenant Norman Luther, always popular for the way he cared for and got along with his cadets, couldn't ignore the troubled look on this exceptionally talented but worryingly unstable first-year cadet.
"Make sure you memorize it all! The test is first thing tomorrow!"
"Aaah, Instructor!"
"What do you mean, 'aaah!'? Save the whining for your future wives!"
After wrapping up the morning lecture, Norman called out to Ernest, whose shoulders drooped more than anyone else's as he grumbled his way back to the dormitory.
"Krieger."
"Yes, sir."
When Ernest replied weakly and turned around, Norman gestured for him to come over.
"Good luck getting scolded!"
Robert called out to Ernest with a big grin as he was summoned by Norman.
"Yeah, since you didn't pay attention in class, you should at least put some effort into getting chewed out."
"You guys are the worst…"
With a gentle smile, Jonas gave Ernest's back a supportive pat, and Ernest grumbled in response. The others all chuckled and headed back to the dorm ahead of him.
Norman motioned for the training assistants to leave as well, then pointed his thumb at a bench, signaling for only Ernest to stay behind at the training ground.
"Get in."
"…In the driver's seat?"
"Do you really think I'd willingly ride in a car you're driving unless I'd lost my mind?"
"Yeah… I guess that makes sense…"
Norman got into the driver's seat, while Ernest hesitated before climbing into the passenger seat.
"Hey, watch carefully how your big brother drives. Got it?"
"Big brother…?"
"Hey, when I say I'm your big brother, that's what I am."
Norman might get along well with the cadets, but he's not exactly young. He's well past thirty, already married, and has two kids—a proper grown-up nearly twenty years older than Ernest.
Norman began driving leisurely, taking the training ground loop.
The way he handled corners was so smooth, it was something someone like Ernest couldn't even imagine.
With this tin can of a car, probably only someone with Norman's skill—enough to be chosen as an instructor at the Imperial Military Academy—could drive like this.
Norman was a top expert in his field, able to master just about any tool powered by a Balt Battery, from the Balt Gun to the Balt Automobile.
"You've been doing well lately, so what's up with you today?"
Norman deliberately slowed down as he spoke to Ernest. The tin-roofed car, baking under the summer sun, made sweat trickle down Ernest's forehead.
"I'm sorry…"
"Of course you should be sorry. Here I am talking my head off and you're not even pretending to listen."
"I was listening, though…"
"Oh, really? You remember everything? Not a single thing missing?"
"Yes."
"…Ah, I see."
Hearing Ernest respond so matter-of-factly that he remembered everything, Norman found himself at a loss for words.
With anyone else, he'd have threatened them to prove it on tomorrow's test, but with Ernest, there was no need—he'd get a perfect score without question.
If only he drove as well as he remembered things…
"So, what's going on?"
Norman finished a slow lap around the training ground before steering the car out toward the Transport Division. It wasn't far, which is why he was taking his time.
"…."
Ernest, uncharacteristically, fidgeted with his fingers in hesitation. Catching this out of the corner of his eye, Norman spoke in a calm tone.
"I told you, just think of me as your big brother."
At least for this moment in the car, he was a brother, not an instructor. So don't worry—just talk to me comfortably. Realizing what Norman meant a moment later, Ernest relaxed a bit and spoke up, carefully.
"I made a promise to my father a while back."
Ernest let out a sigh as he spoke, slipping into a more casual tone.
"But recently, somehow…"
"You broke it?"
"…Yes."
"Hm."
Norman exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Is it a really big deal?"
He didn't pry about what exactly the promise was.
"Well, I'm not sure…"
Ernest hesitated, answering vaguely—because he himself didn't know if it was truly a big deal or not.
The tonic—actually his heart medicine—he'd started taking less of on his own. In truth, that probably did make it a serious matter. But after reducing his dosage, Ernest had felt much better than when he'd taken the full amount. There hadn't been the slightest hint of trouble with his heart.
"…It might not be a big deal for me, but for my father, it probably is."
After agonizing over it, that's what Ernest finally said.
Even though he wanted to quit the medicine entirely, he was still taking at least half. For Ernest, he could brush it off, telling himself that as long as he was still taking the medicine, everything was fine.
But for Haires—who had once sat huddled in a dark room, hands clasped in prayer while his ten-year-old son struggled to breathe, stalked by death—for a father with a son, this would be a serious matter.
"I see."
Norman gave a brief reply to Ernest's words, but inwardly, his thoughts were tangled.
No matter how slowly you went, the Transport Division inside the Military Academy wasn't that far away.
As Norman entered the division before he realized, he spoke to Ernest in a much softer voice than usual.
"I have a son too. Two, actually."
Norman chuckled softly.
"Those little troublemakers. Honestly, if there's a way to get into trouble, they'll find it. Then, trying their best not to get caught, their eyes dart all over the place as they try sneakily to hide things—but it's completely obvious."
Norman's face overflowed with love as he remembered his two young sons.
"You know what I mean? I've watched those kids since the moment they were born. Just a look at their faces and I know right away. Besides, how well can kids even hide things?"
"So… you caught them every time and scolded them?"
"Most of the time, I'd say this. I'd ask, 'Don't you have something to tell Dad?' Of course, most of the time my wife would beat me to it before I even got the chance."
"And do your kids tell you then?"
"What about you?"
"Um… I've never really been in that kind of situation."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"You must've been such an obedient kid."
"Ah, uh, thank you…?"
Ernest Krieger, who had been unbelievably quiet, well-behaved, and always listened to his father, had simply never experienced anything like that.
"Well, sometimes they'll tell me, and other times they won't."
Norman spoke as he parked the vehicle in the Transport Division.
"If the kids are honest with me—unless it's something truly outrageous—I just let it go. That's just how kids are. But when they try to hide something, that's when I start to feel a little disappointed."
Even after parking, Norman remained seated and continued.
"It's not disappointment in them, really—it's disappointment in myself. I start to wonder, 'Do they really not trust me enough to even tell me something like this?' That's the kind of thing I start thinking about."
Norman let out a sigh as he stared straight ahead, still holding the steering wheel.
"When that happens, honestly, I have no idea what to do. Sure, I could force the truth out of them, but I really don't want to do that to my kids. My own father used to do that a lot. And since I hated it when it was done to me, I can't just turn around and do the same to my son. Right?"
"R-right, of course."
Ernest felt a bit awkward, realizing he'd ended up listening to Norman's parenting worries when the roles should have been reversed.
"Not every father is like me, of course, Krieger."
Norman gave him a broad grin.
"If it were me, as long as my son is honest, I'd forgive just about anything."
"…And what if it's not 'just about anything'?"
"Well, then he'd need a scolding. Hey, if someone does something really serious and expects to get away with it scot-free, isn't that a bit shameless?"
At Norman's slightly incredulous look, Ernest nodded very seriously and slowly.
"You're absolutely right."
"Good, I'm glad you've realized you're not that shameless after all. Now go on—get yourself some lunch"
"Yes, thank you, Instructor."
"Alright, alright."
Ernest got out of the car and saluted Norman, who waved him off with a lazy flick of his hand in response. Ernest strode out of the Transport Division. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late for the lunch assembly.
"Ugh, I'm drenched in sweat."
Norman stepped out of the car, shaking out his sweat-soaked hair, sticky from the heat. He couldn't believe how much he'd sweated in just a short while.
"They're still just kids after all…"
Watching Ernest's retreating figure, Norman muttered this with a sigh.
For all his brilliance and maturity, Officer Cadet Ernest was, in the end, just a fourteen-year-old child.
...
Norman suppressed a sigh that threatened to escape. Cadets were deployed to the field as soon as they graduated—barely in the spring of their eighteenth year.
Fourteen-year-olds might see eighteen as full-fledged adults, but to Norman, a father of two sons, whether fourteen or eighteen, they were all just inexperienced kids.
"War…"
Back during the Mihahil Empire's wars of conquest, Norman became a soldier and was deployed to the field just as the fury of war began to subside.
Because of this, he never truly experienced the full horrors of war firsthand.
That's precisely why Norman couldn't help but fear war.
He'd come to realize that the hell he'd endured was only the mildest, gentlest part of what war could be.
He couldn't even begin to imagine what truly lurked in the deepest depths of that dark abyss.
"Because the war is over."
But in truth, the war had ended long ago.
The Empire and the Alliance Army were finding stability, maintaining a delicate balance.
At least for a while, there would be no need to worry about another war.
Most importantly, the Empire had yet to fully recover from the damages of the last conquest war. And the Alliance Army was surely making thorough preparations as well, so recovery alone wouldn't be enough—they would need to be more ready than ever before. Surely, there would be no need to fear another full-scale conflict like the last one for at least another ten years.
Norman started walking slowly. He too needed to get lunch and prepare for his afternoon lectures.
Yet as memories of the war surfaced for the first time in a while, Norman couldn't shake the feeling that the world around him—this place, this ordinary day—felt almost like a dream, rather than reality.
If he woke from this happy, peaceful dream, would he find himself in a rain-soaked forest crawling with Alliance Army traps, opening his eyes next to a comrade's corpse—bloated and rotting from the wet?
Walking through the bright summer sunlight, Norman slowly slipped his hand into his chest. Feeling the small locket tucked inside his officer's uniform, he reminded himself that all this really was reality.
As long as the locket holding his two sons' portraits was here, it meant this wasn't a dream—it was real.
"Ah, I just want to go home early."
With a calm, familiar look on his face, Norman kept walking as usual. He just wanted to clock out and get back to his family.