Chapter 175 - Respect and Insult (3)
Although the 13th Regiment was given free time, that didn't mean they could just relax.
Since they needed to put on a perfect display during the parade, they kept inspecting, re-inspecting, and inspecting again everything that had already been checked.
"Ugh, I've had enough of this," Robert complained.
As a graduate of the Imperial Military Academy, he was thoroughly sick of this process, having taken part in city parades every year on Founding Declaration Day.
Ernest, Baumann, and Ferdinand felt much the same.
Every day was packed with preparations for the parade, and it seemed they wouldn't get any more free time until it was over.
Finally, when Lieutenant General Olaf Cohen, commander of the 2nd Corps, arrived in Narvaing, the parade—or what was supposed to be a parade—finally began.
But in truth, this ceremony had so many problems that it could hardly be considered a proper parade.
First of all, parades like this were meant to honor victorious generals, but the Emperor himself—who should have praised the victorious Olaf Cohen—wasn't even present.
Even if Crown Prince Konrad Walter Mihahil had attended, it would have been more fitting, but in reality, no one was there to lead the ceremony; Olaf Cohen was left to drum and blare the trumpets on his own.
On top of that, a parade couldn't just be held anywhere one liked.
In the Mihahil Empire, the only officially recognized location for such a ceremony was Grimm, where His Majesty the Emperor resided.
There were plenty of other trivial issues as well, but the most important problem was that the Empire hadn't actually won yet.
The Empire had practically defeated Belliang and King of Belliang had announced his surrender, but he still hadn't signed the surrender documents.
On paper, Belliang was still a kingdom ruled by its king, its sovereignty remained with its monarch, and the Empire was, officially at least, still at war.
In other words, this parade was one in name only.
In reality, it was a surrender ceremony staged in Belliang's capital, Narvaing, choreographed so that everyone could witness the King of Belliang bow his head and sign the surrender before Lieutenant General Olaf Cohen of the Mihahil Empire's 2nd Corps.
It was a performance designed to trample even the last shreds of Belliang's pride.
"This is just too much, even for them," someone muttered.
Even among the Imperial Army's noble officers, a few remarked that such cruelty was going a bit too far.
Still, he's the king of a nation, and yet he has to bow his head and surrender before an Imperial Army lieutenant general.
"Is there anything more disgraceful than this?"
As nobles who prized honor, some believed that even the honor of a foreign royal should not be dismissed.
They shook their heads, thinking that while they hadn't cared about the massacre of civilians during the war, seeing a king lower his head was heartbreaking.
"Really? We didn't even hang the king; all we're doing is making him sign a surrender. And you're calling that disgraceful?"
Conversely, many thought that simply letting Belliang's king live was mercy enough.
If the Empire intended to govern Belliang as a colony, the royal family would be an obstacle.
The Empire could have chosen to wipe them out entirely, or force them to marry into the Imperial line to dilute their blood.
So, wasn't it an act of exceptional generosity to require nothing more than a signature on the surrender documents?
"I just want this over with so we can finally rest."
"Heard there's a party afterwards."
"Who cares?"
"Yeah, seriously."
But since this subject had already been discussed before, Ernest and Robert weren't interested—they just wanted to get things over with and rest. Maybe it was because memories of Founding Declaration Day were coming back to them. Even then, all they'd wanted was for it to end quickly so they could take a break.
"It's starting now."
The sound of drums and trumpets reverberated. Ernest, who had played a major role in conquering Belliang by unintentionally defeating Bertrand but had never truly received recognition for it, set out for the parade, indifferent.
Still, there was at least one good thing about all thisasus rog scope iiasus rog scope iiasus rog scope iiasus rog scope ii.
Despite everything, being a company commander gave Ernest enough status to ride a horse during the city parade.
The nameless, masterless horse carrying Ernest walked with a bearing ten times more dignified than any other, earning the envy of all the other horses.
Ernest himself couldn't care less about the victory celebration—he simply focused on stroking the horse he rode.
The Imperial Army marched through the streets of Narvaing, while the citizens, under the watchful eyes of the soldiers, threw flower petals and colored papers in the air, cheering as instructed.
Still, when the Imperial soldiers started tossing bread to them, their joyful cheers became genuine.
The Imperial Army continued their march up to the royal palace, where only the nobles—those officers who were of noble birth—were allowed to enter the palace gardens.
What had once been an opulent garden, designed to showcase Belliang's splendor, had been stripped bare—every bothersome flower, tree, and sculpture removed, leaving it desolate.
Belliang's nobles, their faces ashen, stood at the edge of the barren garden, glaring at the Imperial soldiers trampling through on their horses.
Yet, when the King of Belliang stepped forward to sign the surrender documents, they dismounted out of minimal respect—after all, he was still technically king, for now.
At this point, however, even respect felt like an insult.
Lieutenant General Olaf Cohen, commander of the 2nd Corps, strolled forward and gave a lazy wave of his hand.
At his signal, Imperial officers brought out a table and placed the surrender documents, a quill pen, ink, and such atop it.
Is that Count Lafayette's uncle…?
Ernest wondered to himself, watching the trembling old man, shoulders shaking from humiliation.
To Ernest, he felt less like the King of Belliang and more like Bertrand's uncle—that's how memorable Bertrand had been to him.
Hands trembling, the king picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and, in order to sign the documents placed deliberately on a low table, he had to bow deeply, lowering his head in front of Lieutenant General Olaf Cohen, the Imperial officers, and beyond them, the soldiers lined up before the palace.
When he finally finished signing and lifted his head, he was no longer the King of Belliang, and Belliang was no longer a kingdom.
He looks like a corpse.
Ernest looked at the king's face and realized he had lost the will to live—that he was, for all intents and purposes, already a corpse.
With this, the war was, in effect, over.
Now the Empire would halt its advance, and Konchanya, forced to fight the Empire without Belliang's support, would no longer wish to continue the war.
Yet Ernest felt little joy.
He knew that, in the end, as long as the Allied Nations kept falling into the Empire's grasp, new wars would keep erupting over and over.
And just like the lifeless face of that old man who had become nothing, new deaths would endlessly follow.
Belliang was now, officially, a colony of the Empire.
While Narvaing rang with the victorious cheers of the Imperial Army, Ernest could only watch the collapsing old man with a somber expression.
For a while, Narvaing plunged into chaos as the Imperial Army indulged in the intoxication of victory.
The soldiers, granted free time, tore through the city. What had once been the beautiful capital of Belliang was now strewn with garbage, filth, and drunken soldiers rampaging through the streets, making it feel as if some plague had broken out.
The Belliangians could do nothing but hide and wait for this madness to end.
The soldiers, high on excitement, committed every sort of crime—not only against the citizens of Narvaing, but the nobles as well.
There were assaults, there was looting, there was even rape.
Things only began to change after an incident: an Imperial soldier, trying to lay hands on a noble Belliangian lady, was stabbed to death by her.
Only then did Olaf start to bring the madness overwhelming Narvaing under control.
After that, the soldiers finally regained their senses.
In just three days, they began withdrawing from the cesspool that Narvaing had become, pretending as best they could at dignity.
The devastation was beyond words.
The soldiers' rampage had gone so far that even female Baltrachers serving in the Imperial Army had to be cautious for their own safety.
Marie, too, had to barricade herself in her room, keeping her Balt Battery with her at all times, while soldiers took shifts guarding her door. Even Ernest and Robert were unable to see her—under these circumstances, just the sight of Marie speaking to another man might give some bastards the wrong idea.
The brutality of war had stripped everyone of their reason, and as soon as people believed the war was over, they let go of all restraint, swept up in a wave of madness and committing every imaginable atrocity.
It made Ernest wonder if this was what the end of the world would look like.
After all the madness had finally ended, Ernest and Robert were at last able to step out onto the street with Marie.
"Um… uh… this is the place, right?"
"…Yeah."
And so, standing in front of the gourmet dessert shop they had promised to visit together, they could only look at one another with heavy hearts. The shop, once elegantly and lavishly decorated for its noble clientele, now didn't have a single unscathed corner left after the soldiers' merciless violence and looting.
The door had been smashed in and was temporarily blocked with wooden planks, and what was visible through the broken window made it seem impossible to even consider going inside.
"I can't believe the people who did this are still among us as if nothing happened."
Ernest muttered as he spotted bloodstains amidst the wreckage visible through the shattered window.
Most of those who had instigated this near-riot were commoner soldiers.
The nobles, at least, had tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.
Ernest knew this difference stemmed from a lack of education.
Even knowing that, he couldn't fully suppress the creeping disappointment and disgust rising in his chest toward the commoners.
"Should we try looking for another place?"
Noticing the obvious disappointment on Marie's face, Robert carefully suggested it, though she kept her mouth shut and pretended she was fine.
"It's all right. I've had it once before."
"Please, come in"
The moment Marie spoke in a composed voice, a firm voice rang out from inside the shop. Then, the wooden board blocking the entrance in place of a door was pushed aside.
"..."
The man who, just a few days ago, would have stroked his stylishly groomed beard with an air of self-importance now stood battered from a beating, pointing inside the store.
His face was covered in bruises, his beard had been cut off, and both his hands, torn and swollen, were wrapped in layers of bandages.
Even so, he was immaculately dressed in snow-white clothes that had been carefully ironed, his hair slicked back with oil. Though his body was a mess from the beating, he held himself straight and acted with dignified poise.
There was not a trace of fear on his face.
He was proud, and completely unbowed.
Ernest glanced at the man and gave a small nod, then stepped into the shop.
Robert and Marie, clearly uncomfortable, followed Ernest inside.
"I must apologize for the state of my shop. If you don't mind, I'd like to seat you somewhere more private in the back. Will that be all right?"
The man continued to insist on speaking in Belliang.
"We'd appreciate that," Ernest replied politely.
The man led them to the back.
The rear of the shop was the kitchen, and unlike the rest of the ravaged building, it was solemnly neat and orderly.
They sat around a small table tucked in one corner of the kitchen.
Without even taking their order, the man began to make desserts.
Not the "Glace" they'd had before, but a variety of confections—almost as if to demonstrate the range of what he could create, he worked in silence. He prepared many desserts at once, serving the ones ready sooner first so the guests wouldn't have to wait too long, but always arranging them in a careful sequence so that the flavor of one wouldn't overshadow the next.
"These are at their best right after being made. Please eat them right away, and cleanse your palate with the tea."
He served warm tea as well, offering it to Ernest, Robert, and Marie.
Normally, people enjoy dessert alongside tea, but this man—full of pride—seemed to consider tea merely a palate cleanser for his desserts.
"Wow… You're amazing at things other than Glace too, aren't you?"
Having received such unexpectedly generous hospitality, Robert spoke to the man much friendlier and more politely than last time. The man gave a haughty smile, even with his battered, bruised face.
"Money doesn't discriminate."
He placed a gloved hand elegantly over his chest—since his bandaged hands couldn't cook bare—and spoke in Imperial Language.
"But I do. I never sell to boors who can't appreciate the joy of eating my creations."
"Even after what you've been through, you haven't changed a bit. Robert, you lose."
"That's true. I give up. But since I get to enjoy this wonderful treatment, in the end I'm the real winner."
"I suppose that's true. Marie, is it good?"
"Yeah."
"Yes, it's delicious."
"Yeah."
Marie was too busy eating to pay much attention to the conversation. The shop owner raised an eyebrow as he watched her.
It was obvious at a glance that Ernest and Robert had grown up privileged, while Marie just as clearly appeared to have come from hardship.
Thanks to Ernest's relentless and exacting training, her posture and manners were proper enough, but to a man used to dealing with nobles from Belliang, Marie's background was clear.
Still, he didn't stop her from eating his food. On the contrary, noticing that Marie didn't have much of an appetite, he adjusted her portions accordingly.
"Why is mine so small?"
"If you fill up now, you'll regret it if you can't try other tasty things later, right?"
"…That's true."
He gave generous portions to Ernest and Robert—who looked like they could chew through rawhide—and just a tiny bit to Marie.
It wasn't discrimination; he simply knew she wouldn't be able to finish any more than that.
His keen eye was spot-on, and by the time they got up after having the final Glace, all three of them were pleasantly full, but not overstuffed.
"All right, Ernest. Time to pay up."
"Don't go around telling people you're the son of Oliver Trading Company. You'd just embarrass your father."
"Robert, are you broke?"
"Yeah, I don't have any money right now. But don't forget that after the war, when I return to the Empire, I'll be the son of a wealthy father who could buy you a lump of gold as small as your little head."
"I don't need your money."
They had been joking and laughing as they prepared to pay when the man's firm words made them pause.
"I had a good time, so in my eyes, you've already paid."
"What! Do I look like a beggar to you, too?"
"..."
Robert flared up at the proud shopkeeper's words.
Robert Jimman, the only son of the Oliver Trading Company, huffed as he reached into his coat and pulled out a notebook.
"What, I thought you were taking out your wallet," Marie muttered under her breath.
Robert grew even more furious at Marie's remark, glaring at her fiercely.
"Just wait! No, wait—can I borrow a pen and some ink?"
"Just use charcoal."
"It smudges!"
"Ugh. Could you please lend us a pen and some ink?" Marie asked.
The shop owner shot Robert a doubtful look, but went to the back to fetch a pen and inkwell.
Robert snatched the pen, angrily dipped it in ink, and scribbled something fiercely into the notebook.
"Here! Hold on to this!"
Robert, having torn out a sheet of paper, handed it to the man.
The man took it and read.
"To show this pauper the meaning of money. Written in Narvaing by Robert Jimman, son of Oliver Jimman."
"And who are you to call a pauper?"
The shop owner, clearly annoyed by the word "pauper," frowned and confronted Robert.
Robert scoffed.
"You'd better keep that safe. And don't forget—remember the name Robert Jimman, son of Oliver Jimman, owner of the Oliver Trading Company! Oh, and if anyone from the Oliver Trading Company comes by, show this to them."
If anyone could sniff out a profitable opportunity, it was Oliver Jimman; there was no way he wouldn't expand his business into Belliang.
The Oliver Trading Company would surely open a branch in Narvaing as well.
"…And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?"
"They'll help you out. Maybe by expanding your shop, or helping you start a new business entirely. Let's go"
Robert strutted out of the shop, flaunting his father's wealth.
Ernest and Marie looked at each other, and then Ernest spoke to the man.
"You might want to hang on to that. Aside from the Duke's son among my friends, Robert comes from probably the wealthiest family."
The man's face twitched slightly at the mention of the Duke's son.
Ernest gently placed a hand on Marie's shoulder and led her outside.
"Thank you for the meal,"
Marie said politely, turning back to give her thanks. Seeing his much younger sister behave so admirably, Ernest smiled with satisfaction—even though, in truth, they were only a year apart in age, and Ernest himself only believed them to be three years apart.
"What kind of kids are they…?"
Now alone, the man muttered in bewilderment.
A guy who counts the Duke's son as a friend, a boy who claims to have so much money but just mooches free food, and that prim little Aeblon girl.
He couldn't help but wonder just what sort of people they were.
"So, what should we do now?"
Robert, puffed up with pride as he stepped outside, looked up at the autumn sky and spoke.
Ernest glanced discreetly down at Marie.
"Want to go look at some clothes?"
"...No, it's fine."
Marie hesitated at Ernest's question, then shook her head.
"I don't mean we should buy something for you to wear—just that Belliang's clothes are probably different from the Empire's."
...
In the Empire, you could see the clothing of many different peoples. But you couldn't see the fashions of the Allied Nations. In Narvaing, they would be able to see the styles that were popular in Belliang, and maybe even the clothes from nearby Konchanya.
"Come on! Ernest will treat us, right?"
"Uh..."
Robert started nudging Marie forward. Ernest laughed and followed after them. However, in the ruined Narvaing, they couldn't find a single shop operating normally.
Naturally, just browsing clothing wasn't easy, and even the merchants seemed reluctant to interact with anyone. In the end, it was only after they managed to purchase a single outfit from a shop that was in the middle of clearing out its ruined stock that Marie was finally able to take a good look at Belliang attire.
"Try to examine it bit by bit whenever you have the time—just like you used to. But since it's all we've got, make sure you're careful."
Ernest said this, recalling how Marie used to disassemble and reassemble clothes back at House Krieger. The outfit he bought for Marie was something intended for a noble lady, but instead of picking out some elaborate dress—which would have been a burden for a soldier like Marie to carry around—he chose a simple everyday garment.
When Marie tried it on, it looked so big on her that it was as if she were sneaking around in her mother's clothes. Of course, he hadn't bought it for her to actually wear anyway; the real purpose was for her to take it apart, study it, and learn from it.
"Okay."
Despite insisting she was fine and didn't need anything, as soon as Marie received the clothes, she was so distracted that she could barely focus. She nearly tripped several times while walking, too absorbed in examining the garment. Seeing her like this, Ernest felt that his gift had been worthwhile.
Evening was approaching. It was time for them to part ways again. They couldn't even promise to meet the next day; starting tomorrow, the 5th Division and 6th Division would be heading toward the border with Konchanya, and no one knew when they would see each other again.
"Be careful."
"Yeah, please try not to get hurt. There's barely any room on that tiny body for injuries anyway."
"Okay. Ernest, Robert, you both be careful too."
"Hang in there, Marie."
"Stay strong. Use all your strength. If you do, maybe you'll still get a little taller."
"I'm already past the age where I'll grow anymore. Both of you, take care. Don't get hurt."
With those words, they said their goodbyes and parted ways. Marie carefully hugged the gifted clothes in one arm while energetically waving the other. Ernest and Robert also waved back to her.
"That reminded me."
"Of what?"
"When I was little, I always wanted a younger sibling. And just now, I realized that wish has come true."
Robert said this with a pleased grin.
Of course, if he'd actually had a real little sister, he would never have dared to say such cocky things. After all, those adorable, sweet-tempered little sisters just don't exist in reality.
"I never really wanted one, since I didn't have a mother."
"Even if you don't have a mother, you could still want a sibling, you know."
"How could I want a sibling if I didn't have a mother?"
"You can just wish for one! Kids do that!"
As they exchanged these silly remarks on their way back, they found a stack of letters waiting for them.
Among the letters from Grimman was one sent by Robert's parents.
Knowing he'd probably only be disappointed, Ernest went to pick up his own letter anyway.
Since it was from Grimman, there might be a letter from the Young Master of the Duke's House.
"..."
Then he received the letter.
"Father."
It was the letter from his father, Haires Krieger—the letter he'd been longing for all this time.