Chapter 15: Duel (4) On the morning of the decisive day, Hugo de La was able to get up and eat his breakfast in a great mood.
Sure, the breakfast menu was excellent, but more than anything, he couldn't stop imagining legally crushing that Guillaume punk—an upstart brat who didn't know his place but kept acting out.
He couldn't settle things honorably with swords, but a duel was still a duel.
It was a contest fought with both sides' honor and prestige on the line.
At first, Hugo wondered if he'd fallen for the kid's trick, but after thinking it over for a week, he realized this duel format actually benefited him more.
Hugo de La, renowned, marching in with dozens of men at his back.
And Guillaume de Toulon, trudging off in defeat with at most one or two half-baked followers who couldn't even speak French properly.
Ah—what a perfect picture.
Hugo de La headed toward the academy, his steps lighter than usual.
"…Right? …Guillaume? Hey—hey!"
"Huh…? Yeah, yeah."
At Guillaume's words, Hugo snapped out of his thoughts and took in the scene again.
Contrary to what he'd expected, Guillaume de Toulon showed up at the meeting place with a full thirty men.
A few of them were faces Hugo recognized.
They were clearly country bumpkins and commoner-born.
And those bastards were lined up in perfect ranks, even carrying a flag with the words "Equality Legion" embroidered in gold thread.
Hugo reflexively turned around.
There were about thirty men behind him as well.
If anything, the average build on his side was bigger and sturdier.
But not a single one of them was standing properly.
They had hands shoved into pockets, legs crossed, lounging like they couldn't be bothered.
Hugo didn't like the idea that refined Paris nobles would look sloppy in front of those country hicks and lowly commoners instead of looking impressive.
But what could he do?
They were friends who had answered his emergency summons during their sweet vacation.
He couldn't order them around like subordinates.
Hugo's eyes returned to Guillaume and the Equality Legion.
"…They came prepared, full of venom."
Realizing the difference in how the two sides looked, Hugo thought,
"Still, we're way bigger. This isn't a fight we lose."
"Ugh!"
"Ah! Aagh!"
"Ugh—my head!"
Within thirty minutes of the battle starting, the Paris faction's assault—nearly twenty men pushing for our flag—was completely halted by Mathieu and the nine sturdy men under him.
No, "halted" wasn't even the right word.
Most of the Paris faction who got hit by snowballs thrown by seventeen-year-old hot-blooded boys were clutching the impact spots and rolling around on the ground.
"…What the hell is happening…?"
Watching that, Hugo spoke without meaning to.
"Did they put rocks in their snowballs or something?"
But the snowball that landed beside Hugo shattered into pieces, as if to prove there was nothing inside it.
"Kkyah-hooo! Take this!"
"Don't let those Paris bastards go back alive!"
"Forget everywhere else! Heads! Aim for their heads! Kkiyoyot!"
The Equality Legion's flag defense squad, soaked in madness, hurled snowballs at every Paris faction head they could see.
"…This is fun."
Mathieu said it as he nailed one Paris guy approaching close by right on the crown of the head.
Beating up Paris bastards was never going to be unfun.
But if it was one-sided—
And hard?
"This can't not be fun. Did Napoleon and Guillaume predict all of this and prepare it? Damn."
Mathieu spoke again as he struck another Paris guy's head—approaching from the ten o'clock direction—with a snowball.
Hit dead-on on the crown, the Paris faction cadet grabbed his head and started rolling on the ground.
It was a battle worthy of being called the Grenelle winter street massacre.
"All right, everyone, gather up!"
"What is it, Guillaume?"
I lifted the cookie basket and set it down where everyone was.
"What, cookies?"
"No. Shells."
"Huh? Sh… shells?"
"No, I'm just saying. This is our secret weapon."
As I spoke, I pulled back the cloth covering the cookie basket.
"What? It's just snowballs."
"I thought it'd be food."
As soon as I uncovered it, everyone grumbled.
Seriously—these people.
Right before the showdown with history's greatest villains, and they were looking for snacks.
"Stop whining and try touching them."
"What kind of secret could a snowball possibly have?"
"Huh? What is this!? Why is it so hard!?"
"Yeah—this is basically a rock."
Under my confidential order, the snowballs the People of Isaac cooks had prepared froze outside overnight and turned into near-rocks.
I'd asked each cook to make two cookie baskets, thirty baskets total.
That was more than enough—one basket per person—to use as personal weapons.
"But if this hits someone, doesn't it kill them?"
Mathieu-hyung said, gripping the near-rock and tapping it against the ground like he was testing how hard it was.
"Hyung, you know something?"
"What?"
"People don't die that easily."
Ah—by Guillaume's blessing, a mere trivial snowball became a sacred weapon to strike down villains who trampled society's justice.
"Heeheeheehee—serves you right, heh."
Watching our base's flag defense squad crush Paris bastards' heads, I was so pleased with how well the "special snowballs (ice-loaded)" I'd delivered that morning were performing that I laughed out loud.
"Hey, Guillaume, you don't have time to be happy! We can celebrate later!"
Napoleon-hyung said, thumping my back.
"All right—those bastards' first assault failed. Now it's our turn, right?"
"I thought I was going to die waiting."
I said, hoisting my share of the snowball basket onto my shoulder.
Hugo, you bastard. Put your head right there.
"…So how many are injured right now?"
"Six are down. One guy's raising hell saying his arm is definitely broken, but he's probably talking nonsense…"
"…Morale must be in the gutter."
"They came because it was a chance to legally beat up country bumpkins. They didn't come to get hit by them. It can't be helped, Hugo."
"Still, what choice do we have? If we can't take their flag, that'll be more humiliating than getting hurt by snow. Let's go again. This time I'll go with them."
"Then who guards our flag?"
"Leaving three or four behind should be enough, shouldn't it?"
"Mm… all right. I'll tell the others first."
"Yeah. Thanks."
When his friend went off to speak to the others, Hugo took a deep breath.
Even though it was February, the cold, crisp winter air poured into his lungs like a stream—but it didn't clear the tightness in his chest at all.
The country bumpkins' defensive line was solid.
He hadn't expected them to crumble in the first attack, but he definitely hadn't expected that sending about twenty men would result in six making a huge fuss just because snow hit them.
If this were real war, Hugo would have been the worst kind of incompetent commander—sacrificing a fifth of his force without even getting close to the objective.
What was he supposed to do?
The enemy's defense was strong.
And the enemy's weapon was better than theirs.
Hugo recalled what he'd learned at the military academy.
"If the enemy holds advantageous terrain, what do you do?"
"Flank or charge. Using both together is most efficient."
"But if the enemy is in a key position, you can't flank. And charging demands far too many casualties."
"That's why cavalry exists. Use cavalry's superior mobility to flank, then have the infantry—your anvil—close in and strike together."
But there was no cavalry here.
At best, they were just light infantry who ran a bit fast.
"To think I learned all that and can't even use it."
In Hugo's eyes, the figures of twenty men running for the flag appeared again.
"Hey. That guy—Hugo, right?"
The cadet at the very front spoke quietly, and I crouched and shuffled up beside him, peering in the direction he indicated.
"Yeah. That's him."
Finally—time for payback on that bastard.
Our commando unit had circled around the academy and taken position on the Paris faction's rear.
If we charged now, we were close enough to grab those bastards by the back of the neck and shake them.
"Guillaume, what do we do? I think we can win even now."
The lead cadet looked at me and spoke quietly.
"Still no. A plan's a plan."
"Tch. Fine."
It was 3:37 p.m.
About three minutes remained until the planned time.
"We execute the plan at 3:40."
"Why that exact time?"
"If our anvil holds their first assault, it'll drag for about thirty minutes. And if those bastards want to go back in, they'll need at least ten minutes, right? The moment they leave their base to smash their heads into our defense line again—that's when we hit."
Mm. Is this the man who'll become an unmatched commander later?
Is military talent something you're born with?
The more I listened to Napoleon-hyung, the more it felt impossible to lose.
I checked the street clock again, waiting impatiently.
"Huh? Guillaume! Look at that!"
"Huh!? This…"
When I turned my eyes again toward where the lead cadet was shouting and pointing, I saw the Paris faction—more than twenty of them—running back toward our base.
The moment to attack had come.
"Waaaaah!"
"The flag! Go for the flag!"
"Hey, you bastards! Just follow Napoleon's ass, you hear!"
"…What the—"
About three minutes after the Paris faction started running again to steal our flag, we surged out like a flood from behind and beside their base.
From our three o'clock direction, we could see Napoleon-hyung charging with several men.
"Ugh! Aaaagh! Ugh!"
"Ha! Take this!"
Of course, as we ran, we also hurled the snowballs from our baskets nonstop.
Some even kept pelting the Paris faction guys who'd gone down after getting hit.
When I climbed up over the defensive line they'd set, I saw their planted flag flapping in the wind.
I sprinted with everything I had, yanked it free, and shouted,
"We wooooon!"
It was the Equality Legion's great victory.
Carrying the Paris faction's flag we'd pulled down over our shoulders, we strode proudly back to our base.
The Paris faction—who'd gotten right up to our flag—could only trudge back, stunned.
More than anything, Hugo de La's face was the best part.
From the moment he saw the flag we'd taken, Hugo kept a blank, stunned expression the entire time, then shuffled off toward his home.
The "Paris faction's leader" Hugo probably wouldn't exist anymore.
How could someone who'd gotten his friends' honor smashed by country bumpkins keep acting like a leader?
Hugo would have to live quietly until graduation.
Our Equality Legion was the complete opposite.
"Long live the Equality Legion!"
"Did you see those Paris bastards' faces? Heh."
"Man, I'm exhausted. Tonight I'm eating something simple and going straight to bed. Hehe."
Even Mathieu-hyung—easygoing and nice, though stubborn—was in such a good mood that he kept humming the entire walk back to our boardinghouse.
Landing a punch on those stuck-up Paris snobs who had bullied us relentlessly—this was a huge joy for people like us who'd always lived as the minority.
Everyone except one person.
Napoleon—who'd been shouting to follow him and all that just moments ago—was now silently staring into empty space even while everyone else hummed and cheered.
Hm. As his younger brother, this is uncomfortable.
"Hyung, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing. Mind your own business."
Napoleon-hyung waved it off like he was fine, then leaned against the wall again, staring blankly, lost in thought.
Well, everyone has at least one worry inside they don't want to show others.
Napoleon-hyung must have his reasons.
I bit into the "victory commemoration cookies" Madame Pluie had made and didn't think much of it.
And I didn't find out what Napoleon-hyung was worrying about until the next day.
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