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Margrave Dietrich looked down at the training ground from his vantage point atop the hill. He sat cross-legged on a chair. The supervisor beside him bowed and spoke.
“Thanks to the Marquis, the training center's facilities have improved, and the training has become more systematic, resulting in a higher percentage of excellent trainees than in previous years.”
"Facilities don't have to be fancy. It's a lazy race's nature to lie down whenever there's a place to stretch out."
Margrave Dietrich spoke cynically, taking out his pipe and asking. The supervisor, who had been rubbing his hands beside him, immediately took out his lighter.
“I will do it for you.”
The overseer politely accepted the pipe from the Marquis and took a charring. The puffed tobacco lit. The overseer personally placed the finished pipe in the Marquis's mouth.
Although cigars, which are relatively easy to use, have become popular in recent years, most aristocrats still clung to pipes, believing cigarettes were frivolous.
The Marquis held his breath for a while before opening his mouth.
"Just let them survive. If too many useless things survive, there will only be more mouths to feed."
“Of course. But the children are so uneducated and savage... if we allow them to kill, chaos will ensue, so we’re trying to prune them as much as possible at this stage.”
“Who are the standouts in your graduating class?”
“There are quite a few. One of them... well, you might remember him, Benjamin Holland. He’s the trainee who visited the Marquis’s mansion last time.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Yes, yes. He’s a good guy.”
“Hmm.”
The Marquis nodded halfheartedly and took another bite of his pipe. Boom. The final signal flare signaling the end of training was fired.
"Now the trainees are coming back. I wonder how many of them will survive this time, haha."
Shortly after the signal flare was fired, heads appeared rising from the hillside. The trainees who arrived presented their flags and name tags to the instructor, who then scored them.
Exhausted trainees collapsed here and there. Those injured were immediately treated or, in severe cases, transported.
Suddenly, a commotion was heard beyond the starting line. Marquis Dietrich turned his gaze in that direction.
A black-haired trainee stumbled up from below. Even from a distance, his injuries were quite severe.
One shoulder was dislocated, hunched over, and his injured thigh was bound with clothing. He was also clutching his side. It looked as if a bullet or knife had grazed it.
Injuries of that magnitude were commonplace here. The moment the Marquis averted his gaze in disinterest, the supervisor spoke.
"It's Heiner. I heard he's no ordinary guy."
“Is he a graduating class?”
“No, he must be in the third year.”
The Marquis looked at the trainee again, his face filled with surprise. He was larger than most graduating trainees.
The instructor's eyes widened as he received the flag and name tag from him. He asked Heiner a few questions in disbelief, then showed the name tags to the instructor next to him. The Marquis, watching, tilted his head.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll check it out too... and come back.”
The supervisor walked up to the instructor and asked what was going on. After hearing the situation, he returned to the Marquis, a look of bewilderment on his face.
“I heard that Benjamin Holland, whom I mentioned earlier, is dead.”
“Isn’t he a senior? He participated in this?”
“If you show any signs of insincerity or disobedience, you may be removed from the survival game at the instructor’s discretion.”
"What a waste. Why are you letting a talented trainee, whom you've invested money in raising until graduation, die at the last minute?"
"It's simply a warning, so we're providing good weapons. Also, since victory in survival training doesn't mean much to the graduating class, they usually stick together. They can't easily be defeated..."
The supervisor hesitated for a moment, then continued speaking as if he himself was hesitant.
“It is said that all four of the graduating class members who participated this time were all attacked by one guy.”
“What? One guy?”
“Yes. That’s him. He’s badly injured...”
The Marquis's gaze returned to Heiner. Heiner was receiving first aid. As he removed his training jacket, blood gushed from his side, where the bullet had grazed him.
"He is Heiner Valdemar, a third-year student.”
After survival training, Heiner was bedridden for a while.
His left shoulder was dislocated, his thigh was wounded, and a bullet grazed his side, tearing off a chunk of flesh.
In addition, he suffered injuries, large and small, all over his body. His face, hit during the fight, was so swollen and bruised that his original features were barely recognizable.
Even a trained doctor would be amazed at how he could move with such a body.
“Still, it’s brave of you to have dealt with those guys and only got hurt this much, man.”
Yugo clicked his tongue and handed Heiner a glass of water. Heiner poured the medicine into his mouth and swallowed it with the water.
“How on earth did you kill them all? Four of them at once.”
"...just."
"How can you just kill four graduating students? Make sense of it."
Heiner lay back down on the bed without a word. Yugo tilted his chair back and asked.
“Did you avenge Ethan?”
“Not really.”
"Anyway, that's the result. Now, no one can dare attack you, hey."
Heiner closed his eyes and said nothing. He felt neither joy nor sorrow. He was simply tired.
Suddenly, without a knock, the door swung open. Heiner and Yugo turned to look at the door at the same time. The instructor in charge was standing in front of the room.
Yugo sprang to his feet and saluted. The chair he was sitting in fell backwards with a thud. Heiner, too, tried to get up from his bunk, but the instructor waved him off.
“Just stay. How are you feeling?”
"It's okay."
Unable to bear lying down, Heiner forced himself to sit up. The instructor stopped him once again as he tried to stand.
"I told you to just stay there. There's an infirmary at the entrance on the first floor of Building A. Get treatment there as soon as it's light."
“Yes, I understand.”
“And the Marquis has invited you to his next dinner. This Saturday evening, at the Rosenberg Mansion.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Yes. Get treatment and recover quickly.”
The instructor, having briefly conveyed the matter, left the room. A brief silence fell. Yugo, who had been silently astonished, jumped and turned to look at Heiner.
"Hey!"
Yugo poured out his words with an excited face.
"Did you hear that? Did I hear that correctly? 'Get treatment and recover quickly'? Is that what that devil bastard said? And besides, Building A is the instructor's building, so they're letting you use the infirmary there?"
Yugo immediately grabbed Heiner's shoulder and was about to shake him, but fortunately, he didn't do so, perhaps because he was worried about injury.
"And the Marquis's dinner! That's only for the top students of the graduating class! Damn, you're crazy. The Marquis must have taken a liking to you. You've paved the way for this kid's life."
Attending the Marquis's banquet meant that one's chances of becoming his subordinate increased.
Margrave Dietrich, a high-ranking nobleman and military leader, was the head of the Special Operations Unit. And the Special Operations Unit was the place every trainee aspired to join.
For those who graduated from training camps, enlisting in the regular military and promotion was a near-impossible task. They had to demonstrate their skills and loyalty by achieving numerous feats in operations.
However, the existence of the training camps was a necessary evil for the Padanian royal family. They entrusted them with all sorts of dirty work that the regular army couldn't handle, while at the same time keeping them out of the public eye.
As a result, most of the training camp graduates died in action without receiving recognition for their achievements, or suffered trauma for the rest of their lives.
However, joining the Special Operations Unit was an exception. Since they were under the direct jurisdiction of the Marquis, it was practically a path to enlistment in the regular army.
Heiner, who had been quietly listening to Yugo's words, muttered with a blank expression.
“Is it really okay to accept this invitation so positively?”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
"Benjamin and Grita were also invited to the dinner. They had a high chance of joining the Special Forces Unit upon graduation. From his perspective, I killed those people..."
"Hey, hey, that's a gross overestimation of us. To the Marquis, we're just one of many chess pieces."
Yugo shrugged and chuckled.
“...I’m about to become a knight.”
“You’re great, you punk.”
“Ethan would be jealous if he saw that.”
"That's right. His lifelong wish was to join the spy agency. He sang about wanting to set foot in the Rosenberg mansion just once..."
Yugo's face turned bitter. He let out a long breath and waved his hands.
"What's the point of telling them now? Get ready for your new roommate."
Changing roommates was common. They knew how to grieve. They knew how to get used to loss.
Heiner's gaze lingered for a moment on the empty bed. The white sheets shimmered in the dim candlelight. He quickly averted his gaze.
“Thanks to the Marquis, the training center's facilities have improved, and the training has become more systematic, resulting in a higher percentage of excellent trainees than in previous years.”
"Facilities don't have to be fancy. It's a lazy race's nature to lie down whenever there's a place to stretch out."
Margrave Dietrich spoke cynically, taking out his pipe and asking. The supervisor, who had been rubbing his hands beside him, immediately took out his lighter.
“I will do it for you.”
The overseer politely accepted the pipe from the Marquis and took a charring. The puffed tobacco lit. The overseer personally placed the finished pipe in the Marquis's mouth.
Although cigars, which are relatively easy to use, have become popular in recent years, most aristocrats still clung to pipes, believing cigarettes were frivolous.
The Marquis held his breath for a while before opening his mouth.
"Just let them survive. If too many useless things survive, there will only be more mouths to feed."
“Of course. But the children are so uneducated and savage... if we allow them to kill, chaos will ensue, so we’re trying to prune them as much as possible at this stage.”
“Who are the standouts in your graduating class?”
“There are quite a few. One of them... well, you might remember him, Benjamin Holland. He’s the trainee who visited the Marquis’s mansion last time.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Yes, yes. He’s a good guy.”
“Hmm.”
The Marquis nodded halfheartedly and took another bite of his pipe. Boom. The final signal flare signaling the end of training was fired.
"Now the trainees are coming back. I wonder how many of them will survive this time, haha."
Shortly after the signal flare was fired, heads appeared rising from the hillside. The trainees who arrived presented their flags and name tags to the instructor, who then scored them.
Exhausted trainees collapsed here and there. Those injured were immediately treated or, in severe cases, transported.
Suddenly, a commotion was heard beyond the starting line. Marquis Dietrich turned his gaze in that direction.
A black-haired trainee stumbled up from below. Even from a distance, his injuries were quite severe.
One shoulder was dislocated, hunched over, and his injured thigh was bound with clothing. He was also clutching his side. It looked as if a bullet or knife had grazed it.
Injuries of that magnitude were commonplace here. The moment the Marquis averted his gaze in disinterest, the supervisor spoke.
"It's Heiner. I heard he's no ordinary guy."
“Is he a graduating class?”
“No, he must be in the third year.”
The Marquis looked at the trainee again, his face filled with surprise. He was larger than most graduating trainees.
The instructor's eyes widened as he received the flag and name tag from him. He asked Heiner a few questions in disbelief, then showed the name tags to the instructor next to him. The Marquis, watching, tilted his head.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll check it out too... and come back.”
The supervisor walked up to the instructor and asked what was going on. After hearing the situation, he returned to the Marquis, a look of bewilderment on his face.
“I heard that Benjamin Holland, whom I mentioned earlier, is dead.”
“Isn’t he a senior? He participated in this?”
“If you show any signs of insincerity or disobedience, you may be removed from the survival game at the instructor’s discretion.”
"What a waste. Why are you letting a talented trainee, whom you've invested money in raising until graduation, die at the last minute?"
"It's simply a warning, so we're providing good weapons. Also, since victory in survival training doesn't mean much to the graduating class, they usually stick together. They can't easily be defeated..."
The supervisor hesitated for a moment, then continued speaking as if he himself was hesitant.
“It is said that all four of the graduating class members who participated this time were all attacked by one guy.”
“What? One guy?”
“Yes. That’s him. He’s badly injured...”
The Marquis's gaze returned to Heiner. Heiner was receiving first aid. As he removed his training jacket, blood gushed from his side, where the bullet had grazed him.
"He is Heiner Valdemar, a third-year student.”
***
After survival training, Heiner was bedridden for a while.
His left shoulder was dislocated, his thigh was wounded, and a bullet grazed his side, tearing off a chunk of flesh.
In addition, he suffered injuries, large and small, all over his body. His face, hit during the fight, was so swollen and bruised that his original features were barely recognizable.
Even a trained doctor would be amazed at how he could move with such a body.
“Still, it’s brave of you to have dealt with those guys and only got hurt this much, man.”
Yugo clicked his tongue and handed Heiner a glass of water. Heiner poured the medicine into his mouth and swallowed it with the water.
“How on earth did you kill them all? Four of them at once.”
"...just."
"How can you just kill four graduating students? Make sense of it."
Heiner lay back down on the bed without a word. Yugo tilted his chair back and asked.
“Did you avenge Ethan?”
“Not really.”
"Anyway, that's the result. Now, no one can dare attack you, hey."
Heiner closed his eyes and said nothing. He felt neither joy nor sorrow. He was simply tired.
Suddenly, without a knock, the door swung open. Heiner and Yugo turned to look at the door at the same time. The instructor in charge was standing in front of the room.
Yugo sprang to his feet and saluted. The chair he was sitting in fell backwards with a thud. Heiner, too, tried to get up from his bunk, but the instructor waved him off.
“Just stay. How are you feeling?”
"It's okay."
Unable to bear lying down, Heiner forced himself to sit up. The instructor stopped him once again as he tried to stand.
"I told you to just stay there. There's an infirmary at the entrance on the first floor of Building A. Get treatment there as soon as it's light."
“Yes, I understand.”
“And the Marquis has invited you to his next dinner. This Saturday evening, at the Rosenberg Mansion.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Yes. Get treatment and recover quickly.”
The instructor, having briefly conveyed the matter, left the room. A brief silence fell. Yugo, who had been silently astonished, jumped and turned to look at Heiner.
"Hey!"
Yugo poured out his words with an excited face.
"Did you hear that? Did I hear that correctly? 'Get treatment and recover quickly'? Is that what that devil bastard said? And besides, Building A is the instructor's building, so they're letting you use the infirmary there?"
Yugo immediately grabbed Heiner's shoulder and was about to shake him, but fortunately, he didn't do so, perhaps because he was worried about injury.
"And the Marquis's dinner! That's only for the top students of the graduating class! Damn, you're crazy. The Marquis must have taken a liking to you. You've paved the way for this kid's life."
Attending the Marquis's banquet meant that one's chances of becoming his subordinate increased.
Margrave Dietrich, a high-ranking nobleman and military leader, was the head of the Special Operations Unit. And the Special Operations Unit was the place every trainee aspired to join.
For those who graduated from training camps, enlisting in the regular military and promotion was a near-impossible task. They had to demonstrate their skills and loyalty by achieving numerous feats in operations.
However, the existence of the training camps was a necessary evil for the Padanian royal family. They entrusted them with all sorts of dirty work that the regular army couldn't handle, while at the same time keeping them out of the public eye.
As a result, most of the training camp graduates died in action without receiving recognition for their achievements, or suffered trauma for the rest of their lives.
However, joining the Special Operations Unit was an exception. Since they were under the direct jurisdiction of the Marquis, it was practically a path to enlistment in the regular army.
“Well, someone like him is certainly worthy of joining the Duke's household. Still, it's truly unusual for a third-year to be invited to the Marquis's banquet.”
“Is it really okay to accept this invitation so positively?”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
"Benjamin and Grita were also invited to the dinner. They had a high chance of joining the Special Forces Unit upon graduation. From his perspective, I killed those people..."
"Hey, hey, that's a gross overestimation of us. To the Marquis, we're just one of many chess pieces."
Yugo shrugged and chuckled.
“Not a knight, but maybe a pawn."
“You’re great, you punk.”
“Ethan would be jealous if he saw that.”
"That's right. His lifelong wish was to join the spy agency. He sang about wanting to set foot in the Rosenberg mansion just once..."
Yugo's face turned bitter. He let out a long breath and waved his hands.
"What's the point of telling them now? Get ready for your new roommate."
Changing roommates was common. They knew how to grieve. They knew how to get used to loss.
Heiner's gaze lingered for a moment on the empty bed. The white sheets shimmered in the dim candlelight. He quickly averted his gaze.
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