Author's Note:
This is a brief reply to PRT Numerical Reply King's most recent review:
"Your Story makes No SenseThe Fact Tbat Edelgard Can Not Do Anything To Prevent the professor from becoming a fugitive means A Different Route has Happen and The Church was Not Defeated or reformed"
We're still on the route where she's attempting to conquer Fodlan. If all the people who think your husband is a war criminal are dead, well... who's to say he's a war criminal?
Anyway, don't fuss too much about the destination, my friend! Enjoy the journey. You're getting caught up in content that is roughly 1.5 million more words in the future. I've pre-written this over the past two years or so, and had to rewrite the damn thing all over again because of Cindered Shadows. Although Winter is quite perceptive, I can promise that nothing here has been changed to meet reviewers preferences. The house of cards this narrative is sitting on would fall if so. That said, I'm digging your feedback and hope you continue. Rake me over the coals, my friend. I like it hot.
Cheers.
"We could get Bernadetta into an overwatch position here…"
A steady hand of mine glides a protractor in a sweeping circle across a topographical map of Zanado pilfered from the library, assigning Bernadetta, who I've penciled in as "Be" to one of the strategic overlooks in front of the bandits' main camp site.
"...And that would give us a hundred yards of crossfire covering that end of the canyon."
My father scrutinizes the plan thoroughly over a frosted, frothy mug of Itha Stout, an IPA he prefers from Faerghus. Recently, I learned that both Sylvain and Felix's families share ownership of that territory, which provides most of the hops for beer consumed across Fodlan.
The two of us are currently sharing a table at Celica's.
I mentioned Caspar's Bergliezauer to him upon arriving, but he quickly dismissed the Imperial wheat beer as "piss". I immediately came to the defense of the drink, in spite of never having tried it. Amused, he suggested that I order a mug.
So I did.
And it was truly awful.
This is clearly a case of one's father knowing best.
I take a sip of my second libation for the afternoon, the Enbarr Gin and bergamot tonic. My father's eyes squint, as if he's found a weak point in the plan of attack.
"Not bad, but how are you gonna handle the Western approach there?"
His large, weathered index finger presses down on a narrow staircase that, if ascended by the enemy, would expose Bernadetta to an attack from the rear. If he had let me finish the actual plan, I would've shown him – but I guess it's worth getting his pre-emptive perspective rather than no perspective at all.
I pencil in a "By" and an "E" right next to each other at the head of the steps, and then drag my pencil down and through, curling off the line in a tipped arrow to indicate forward movement.
"I'll cover that flank with Edelgard." I say as I make the notation. "The object is for Ferdinand to draw the enemy towards the right wing to catch the enemy in a cross-fire with Bernadetta and the Mages. Edelgard and I can then slam into the leader. My guess is that he'll hang back."
My father frowns.
"...You're not taking any ranged units with you?" he asks, tilting his head.
"Edelgard can use a handaxe." I offer with a shrug.
He's clearly unsatisfied with this response.
"...Not even a mage?"
I frown and assess the plan again. On the Eastern approach, I have the letters "H", "D", and "L" penciled in behind "P" and "C". These are Hubert, Dorothea, Lindhardt, Petra and Caspar respectively. Another arrow is moving in a sweeping motion back and forth labeled as "F" – this is a feint by Ferdinand. I had planned for the six of them to function as an overly potent Maurician diversionary force. Does such a large force seem justified, I find myself wondering?
"I want them demonstrating on the right wing so that the enemy commits to that flank." I explain.
"...But the leader's tent is back there. You think they're gonna take that bait?"
His finger swings back to the corner of the crater, where I indicated the leader's camp with an "X". It's a bit secluded from the principal bandit camp in the center.
He's made a fair point. The Bandit King might simply see myself and Edelgard as a more enticing target to defeat in detail, and attempt to strike the numerically inferior group. But the bandit leader has a clear idea of our capabilities. Why would he be so eager to test us again? I selected the two of us to handle that approach for that very reason. It would also take us longer to get around the flank than it would be for the rest of the Eagles to simply push forward in a straight line after clearing any preliminary defense put forward by the bandits. Logically, the Bandit King shouldn't be moving against the two of us first. Especially if Ferdinand is demonstrating.
"Ferdinand is… good at being the center of attention." I note.
My father brings a hand to his hair.
"That's… Redhead who got caught in the net, right? Is he also leading it?"
I shake my head, twirl the pencil, and tap the eraser of my pencil on the "H".
"I was going to delegate command of that wing to Hubert."
"Hubert… that's Pretty Princess's ugly attendant, right?"
A hooded, shortstuff monk sitting not far from us snorts out their drink, a fruity crimson cocktail. That short monk is accompanied by a rather tall monk, and at first, the pair strike me as quite similar in size to Hubert and Edelgard. But I'm already quite familiar with their observation technique with the plague doctor outfits, so I don't think this is them. These two must finally be the expected tails from Seteth. No doubt his agents are on the prowl again, as Edelgard returned earlier this afternoon. I suspect he still wants to meet with us.
When my father rapped on my door to ask me out to lunch, I quickly gathered my map and protractor to complete the battleplan over fried pheasant wings and beer. As I stepped out, I took a sideways glance at a bright red, horse-drawn carriage with a massive golden Eagle emblazoned on it. My father mentioned that it was the Imperial Livery. No doubt it was dropping her off at the dormitories. I noticed a figure step out, and we may have made eye contact from that distance, but it was hard to tell that it was Edelgard specifically, as Hubert immediately blocked my vision before I could focus my eyes on the person. Either way, I doubt she knows that I'm here – or made an effort to follow me to something so basic as a lunch with my father.
"He's competent." I say, assessing my Marquis of Pickled Sausages.
I catch the tall monk shaking his head at the short monk in my periphery. They're quite animated. Seteth must not be sending his best.
My father clears his throat after a long swig of the beer. He's got a frothy mustache from his efforts, which contrasts amusingly with his dour expression.
"Even so, kid…this plan… There are a lot of moving parts. That… isn't a bad thing, but I wouldn't get too attached to all the theorycraft they've got you teaching here."
I stare at him blankly. He seems to have more to say.
"What I mean is… you're fighting with kids. Don't forget that. If some of the professionals in our old company would find this convoluted, you better believe your class is."
Leaning back in my seat, I grant that his reply makes a very fair point. Ferdinand managed to make a mess of the initial diversion by running headfirst into a net-trap that Caspar clearly spotted well before the start of the battle. He did this for "noble" reasons. Knowing that, there's little to no reason why I should be expecting him to follow this diversionary strike to the letter, either. In fact, the likelihood exists that he might end up getting himself killed for the same "noble" reasons that formed the nexus of his insubordination during the mock battle.
My father notes that I'm stewing in my logic and attempts to rescue me.
"But hey, you've got a month to fine-tune it. A few tweaks and I can see it working well, kid."
His mention of our old employees is more at the front of my mind now then his attempt to spare my feelings. If I can get a hold of a few, they'll be eminently useful for the lesson plan I have kicking around for the first week of classes.
"Speaking of the company… could I borrow a few of them?" I ask.
My father raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"I might be able to pry some loose from the siege detail, but for what?"
"To block off the entrance to the mock battlefield."
"...For what?" he repeats.
"So Lindhardt and Bernadetta don't try to sneak back to their dorms."
My father seems to consider my words for a moment, and then nods with a smirk. It occurs to me that he probably can't actually place my Eagles by name yet, but he clearly saw them fight at the mock battle – so he might be running through their performances on the field quite like his identification of Ferdinand.
"Ah… Seteth wants you to give them survival training too, yeah?"
I nod.
"I may have them camp out for a few days." I reply.
The already present smirk on my father's face widens at the thought.
"That other professor… Hanneman, was it? He's having me give Faerghus's noble brats a crash course of that stuff on the quad in a couple of weeks. Just a single day, though. Looks like your flock isn't getting off as easily."
It occurs to me that Seteth didn't mention being able to draw on the Blue Lions insofar as the mission to Zanado.
"What are they doing for the month?" I ask.
"Building a new palisade for Remire. Blondie seems real excited – he came up to me yesterday with a fancy outline. I think he wanted to run it by you as well, but you were out… Anyway – he shows me the paper and it's got circumvallated fortifications, owl messenger stations, quicksilver wells, the whole nine yards. I don't have the heart to tell him that there are only about a hundred villagers left. There's no way on this side of Fodlan to man all the posts that kid came up with."
That does sound an awful lot like Dimitri. It occurs to me that I haven't had a chance to catch up with him since my intervention at the Mock Battle. I probably should, especially if he's in the same funk he was in after the incident at the training grounds.
"I'm impressed."
My father nods.
"I'm still surprised you didn't pick them. That kid thinks the world of you. They all do strangely enough – but him in particular, I figure."
When I was first appointed a professor, my father really never proffered an opinion on what class I should've chosen. Looking back, that's kind of a strange thing because I wasn't really in the habit of making decisions without consulting him first. Even now, I'm back into my old habit – giving him the opportunity to pore over my early strategy for tackling the bandits in the canyon.
All that being said, it's not like I approached him with that choice, either. From the beginning, I knew what my choice was going to be – even as I ate the sweet buns that Dimitri's gang had baked for me in what was a clear demonstration of their enthusiasm about me as a teacher. I suppose it was also in appreciation for saving their Lord, too. They seemed like a pretty tight clique, all things considered.
No one in the Black Eagles had done any of that. In fact, my first meeting with them was consumed with them all selfishly bickering.
In fact… the only one who even expressed any relief at my rescue of Edelgard in the first place was Hubert, and it's clear he was only doing so as a segue into prying her away from me.
"Me too." I reply at last.
My father shakes his head.
"I didn't even mention the Deer for that matter. You know Holst's sister is– ah, Speak of the Devil."
Something catches my father's peripheral vision, and he turns ever so slightly towards it with a grimace.
I turn and notice what he's grimacing at, and grimace myself. Claude, Hilda, and Lorenz have entered the front door of Celica's. I can't seem to lose the first two in particular, although I always look forward to hearing Lorenz's perspective on things. He's a fine fellow, in my estimation.
Claude leads the way, sauntering past the two monks and towards our corner table in the bar.
"Yo, is that Teach and Cap?" he says upon finally reaching earshot.
"Hiya Professor! Hiya Captain Jeralt!" Hilda yips not a moment after.
My father, ignoring Claude's greeting, points at Hilda.
"That hair… well, I know a Goneril when I see one. Hilda, was it?"
"Wow, Captain – you knew! And yeah, Professor said you used to fight with my big bro, too!"
"I just sat back and watched, girly. My boy and your brother were two peas in a pod, though. They both don't know when they're about to get hurt. He saved Holst's ass twice, though."
Hilda then wrapped her arms around my neck and shoved the side of my head into her bosom.
Just after this, the sound of glass shattering on the floor is heard. My father glances over to the two monks. As I turn my head into Hilda's ample chest, I can just see the shortstuff monk picking up the shards from over the Doe's shoulder.
"Professor's, like, totally the best, don't you think, Captain?" she says, elated at what she must have thought was a nuzzle on my part.
My father raises an eyebrow at me, and I nonchalantly pivot my head back to where it was initially.
"We do wish he could've taken responsibility for us Deer, but alas." Lorenz says with a rueful, if disaffected tone.
My father then gets up. Looking squarely down at me, he says:
"Well, I've got to go bug Alois about your request. Let me see your big plan when you're done tweaking it."
"Leaving so soon, Cap?" Claude says with a hint of displeasure. I don't sense that it's particularly affected, either.
"I ain't your teacher, kid. My salary isn't about to go into your booze bank." He says giving Claude a fake punch in the gut – clearly indicating what he meant by booze bank. Claude being Claude, flinches.
Hilda frees me from her vice-grip and waves my father goodbye. Claude, quick on the rebound, has already slid into my father's seat and is assessing the map.
"...You're already planning for the battle, Teach?"
I don't proffer a reply, and instead turn to see that my father is in conversation with the two monks. The short one has their hands folded together and seems to be pleading with my father for some reason. Perhaps he realized that they were spying on us on Seteth's behalf.
"Oooooh, Professor? Is, like, that "H"... could it stand for Hilda?"
I turn to my left, where I realize Hilda is now sitting. She's pointing at the "H" on that map that stands for "Hubert". From my periphery I can notice that Lorenz has taken the seat next to Claude. He's staring at the map quite intensely as well.
"Professor, I would be honored if you would place me at the head of this engagement with the bandits instead of the rear. I wish to challenge such low-lifes and remind them about the virtue of House Gloucester."
No doubt he's mistaken the "L" for Lorenz instead of Lindhardt.
"I don't see a C at all… what's up with that?" Claude asks, scrutinizing the plan. This is beyond stupid, because there's a "C' for Caspar in the front row.
"Aren't the Deer just observing?" I ask.
Hilda seems relieved at this news.
"That's fine with me, Professor – I hate fighting, actually!"
I question the truthfulness of Hilda's opinion given her proficiency with the handaxe that she showed during the mock battle. His Deceitfulness, in turn, seems a bit frustrated.
"Ah, Teach – you've got to think bigger than that. You can bring any of us along if you really want to… you know you've got a magic arrow, right?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"...You really don't know?" Claude asks.
This earns a shake of my head. Claude pulls out a crumpled sheet of yellow paper from his uniform pocket, and hands it to me. He adds a flourish of his hand before his next words.
"The Mission Support form, of course!"
As I take a look at the form that Claude handed me, the Dagdan waitress appears to take drink orders. Looks like I'll be stuck babysitting the Deer for awhile, yet again. The mission support form is clear enough – I will endeavor to recreate the format below:
Officer's Academy at Garegg Mach
Temporary Transfer (Mission Support)
Student: Raphael Kirsten
Class from: Golden Deer
Class to: Blue Lions
Transfer Date Start: 1st of Harpstring Moon
Transfer Date End: 25th of Harpstring Moon
Mission: Refortification of Remire Village
Description of Duties: Manual Labor
Recipient Professor Signature
Hanneman v. E.
Transferring Professor Signature
Manuela Casagrande
Directions for Form Duplicates
White Copies: Held by Professors
Yellow Copies: Issued to House Leaders
Pink Copies: Forward to Director Seteth
As my eyes go back to Claude, I notice him giving an expectant expression.
"Raphael's the big guy?" I ask
"Yup– The Beast of Leicester himself! Professor Manuela figured he'd be good for the job. But he'll be back by mission day."
I nod and hand the yellow card back to Claude.
"I'll look into it." I reply earnestly.
"That's all I'm asking for, Teach." He adds with a wink.
I'm able to part ways with Claude, Hilda, and Lorenz before the Academy proper closes up for the night. The duo of monks, who I had mostly forgotten about in the course of my conversation with the three Deer, had apparently left long before I did. Their table was already cleaned up by the waitress when my eyes fell upon it on the way out.
When I return to my dormitory, a message and a fresh splattering of owl feces are awaiting me.
Kid,
Lt. Falstaff's platoon is a-go for your camping trip. You've got eight brats in the class, right? They'll have the tent kits with them so you can head right over. Told them to post at the entry gate & keep their eyes on the bookish ones.
The Bookish Ones.
That's a good description for Lindhardt, I think. But is it so for Bernadetta?
I have to wonder, if only because I've seen so little of her. Lindhardt, although perpetually groggy, has a similar presence to a cat – when he's present mentally as well as physically, he makes himself known. At times, he's downright chatty – and he's rather sly and dry to boot. I think back to the comment he made about Edelgard's attitude at the mock battle, or his commentary about crests and lucid dreaming from the celebration that evening.
But Bernadetta… well, I just know she doesn't like to be outside. And enjoys peach sorbet.
And that's about it, really.
Since I'm more or less going to be forcing her to camp with the rest of the Eagles against her will, next week is probably as good a time as ever to set about the project of seeing what makes her tick. Considering I'm giving her a very essential role that requires independent operation in the battle to come later this month, it would be foolish to do that in total ignorance of her personality and preferences.
I guess the question that naturally follows that is: will she let me?
