Thors Officer School - ToCS1 Outside the Fairytale
A/N: This chapter should make it abundantly clear just how different my version of Thors is compared to canon. The chapter also grew, and grew, and grew, because my mind didn't stop to come up with additional head canon. Rean also makes his debut and seriously, the guy is difficult to write. From now on, thanks to the suggestions of reviewers Apex85 and rikotch, I will add explanations for specialized terms at the end of the chapter. And thanks for the new reviews, followers and favorites.
Chapter 4 The Beginning of Class VII
Hello Rean,
it's been about two years since we last met each other face to face. My, how time flies. Your father has send me a letter about your tenure at that military academy in Roer, bragging about your accomplishments and how you have grown. I mean, without others bragging for you, you sure aren't going to come forward to talk about your own deeds. Instead you dismiss them as something to be taken for granted by others and the world around you.
Kindness, a helping hand that stems from the heart, are never to be taken for granted. Not even yours, as hard as it is for you to wrap your obstinate head around the thought. Give yourself some credit.
I've been wandering the lands of the East the last few years, drinking in the breath and beauty of the landscape, enjoying some adventures, rescuing a pretty damsel here and there . Believe me when I say that this old man still hasn't lost his touch with the ladies. But all ribaldry aside, the situation is dire. Desertification continues to encroach on soil which once carried the bounty of life and the pulse of the Dragon Stream is erratic. But don't worry about it. Your master is keeping an eye on the situation. Once things calm down, I'll make a stint to Erebonia again. Perhaps visit this officer school you're attending, catch up with an old friend, take in the sights and flirt with the pretty lady officers there. If you are diligent until then, I will show you some advanced techniques.
Oh right, sword fencing. As you see, I have attached three scrolls to my little package. They shall instruct you in the Way of Strategy in accordance to Hachiyou Itto Ryu, guiding you to the intermediate level. The scrolls are numbered. Begin by reading the first, working your way up to the third. Only open the following scroll if you are sure to have understood the contents of the former.
I'm going to let you in on a little secret: the basic teachings are always the same, but when it comes to intermediate instructions, I tailor them to the respective student. I take so few of you under my wing, coming up with an improvised curriculum for you doesn't even count as work. Your case is special though, for I have nudged you to follow the Seventh Form, the most elusive of all… except the Eighth of course. But even I haven't mastered that one and I probably never will.
Back to the Seventh Form. Wielding this one is not a matter of physical strength, dexterity, speed, skill or even a honed mind for tactical and strategic thought. The core of the Form cannot be conveyed by words. Still, as long as you take the instructions I send you to heart, you shall come closer to reaching the true meaning of Void.
As for me stopping your instructions back then, it wasn't because I considered you unworthy. Looking back though, that was probably how you perceived it. Part of it was due to yourself blocking your own approach, your fear of your Ogre Form was it? Another part was that teaching the Void Form is a delicate process. Something easily ruined by brute force training. Different than nearly all other martial styles from the East, it is not a mere accumulation of relentless training and unbroken dedication. It goes against the simple mold of Gongfu, which is widely spread in my culture. But curiously enough the Seventh also doesn't reveal its secrets to the heavenly gifted, the Tiancai who so often find shortcuts to martial mastery.
No, the Void is empty and formless. It cannot be grasped, it cannot be forced, it cannot be perceived.
Think about this carefully and don't be frustrated. As far as I can judge, your time at the academy brought you much closer to the truth of the Seventh than mere instruction in sword-fencing ever could.
You are already walking the correct Path.
Don't stray from it.
Sincerely yours, Yun Ka-Fai
Rean folded the letter and put it back into the envelope, mind and emotions racing. Seems like all the time he considered himself a mere quitter of the Eight Leaves One Blade, he supposedly never left the Path? He never stopped to train with the blade, clinging to the thought of being a mere swordsman with a smidgen of skill. By attending Baldurs military academy, it was inevitable he had to step outside the Way of the Sword. Instructions in military issued firearms. Mounted combat. He even dabbled in Court Fencing.
He was so desperate to find something he could make his own, changing clubs on the fly, trying to submerge himself in all manners of skills without ever committing. All the while, he was haunted by the nagging thought that he was diluting and staining the teachings of the Eight Leaves. He ended up as the universal gofer for Baldurs academy, gently steered by student council president Towa. Rean cracked a smile when his mind wandered to the diminutive girl with a big heart and a bigger workload. He hoped she learned to take it a little bit easier at Thors, but…
Nah, who was he kidding?
Still, Master Ka-Fai claimed him doing all the random stuff during his two year tenure was in truth exactly what he needed to do? He stroked his chin. It wasn't until he read the letter he became aware of being on any specific Path of the Eight Leaves at all, but the legendary Seventh? That boggled the mind. To his knowledge, the only practitioner who had truly mastered the Void Form was the founder himself. It was said that mastering the Seventh unlocked the secrets of the six forms preceding it. At least now, he understood why Master Ka-Fai was so circumspect concerning his training progress back then. As the letter correctly surmised, he took it as a dismissal, as the 'Sword Hermit' letting him down gently. A foolish boy with delusions of grandeur, thinking himself fit of receiving the instructions of a living legend.
If Master Ka-Fai told him back then he was rearing him to follow the Seventh? He would have freaked. Heck, even now he was clamping down on his emotions, so he wouldn't freak. Rean understood himself well enough to know his mind back then would have conjured all manners of rationalizations about why he was unfit for the highest secret of the Eighth Leaves. He would have turned into his own worst enemy – again.
He never ceased to trouble the people close to him.
Rean looked with a mix of longing and trepidation at the three inconspicuous scrolls made of rice paper. They were numbered with black ink from a calligraphy brush. Should he open the first?
"The next stop is Trista. Trista. The Ministry of Railway thanks you for your patronage and wishes you a good day."
Seems like time was not on his side. The black haired young man packed his belongings. There was the ceremonial uniform he would change into when he reached Thors, his trusty tachi as well as a couple of letters. In addition there were three personal notebooks and the instruction scrolls. He secured everything in his backpack except the blade and readied himself to leave. Rean walked across the wagon, each step carefully placed to compensate for the slight shifts in inertia as the vehicle thundered across the rail tracks. He came across a young mother, holding her infant son in one arm and hefting a big piece of luggage in her other. He offered to help her carry it outside the train, an offer she gladly accepted.
"Ma'am, you should brace yourself. The train is going to brake."
Luckily the young mother did as he instructed. Rean simply shifted his body weight, all the while standing ramrod straight and, compensating for the inertia by slightly shifting his center of balance. The train stopped, the doors opened and after he carried out the luggage, he politely accepted the young mother's gratitude. Then he straightened himself and walked towards the exit of Trista Station, all the while observing the other cadets wearing Thors uniforms. Mostly green, some white, but he saw none wearing red.
How curious.
His ruminations came to an abrupt stop as he entered Trista proper, his gaze drawn to the row of Lino trees in full bloom. Rean stopped and drank in the sight before him. The vitality of the flowers were almost palpable, the blindingly white petals falling down like snow. The trees seemed to pulse with life. Each time a gust of wind caused another wave of petals to loosen themselves, they streamed across the air like the breath of spring.
Rean closed his eyes and inhaled, imbibing the tasty air. Each breath he drew allowed him to partake in the vibrancy suffusing his environment. The energy of life and creation entered his body. He changed his breathing rhythm, directing the Ki to flow from the base of his stomach upwards to the solar plexus. From there Rean let it disperse across his upper body, loosening any tension he acquired during the long train ride.
Another breath, another wave of energy coursing through him. Rean expanded his perception, his skin sensing the minuscule movements of the air, his nose smelling the up and down of Lino fragrance, his ears catching the steps of travelers leaving the station. He concentrated, creating an image, a three-dimensional quartz-picture of the world outside himself. His honed senses told him of movements in his immediate surrounding – and warned him that someone was about to run into his back.
Rean performed a forward Tai Sabaki, a three step maneuver, placing himself away from a collision course. A gentle brush across his cheek. The person he avoided had long, flowing hair.
"What?" He heard a soft gasp, felt the individual turning to face him. Well, it was probably the polite thing to open his eyes. Seems like she was intent on conversation.
"Rean? Is that you?" And just like that, the energy flow he gathered inside his body spiraled out of control. The preternatural calm he grasped shattered like cheap china.
"A-Alisa?"
There she was, like the last time he saw her. The same wheat blond hair, glittering in the sun like spun gold, the same red eyes, shining like polished Carnelia. Her beautiful figure dressed in the same red uniform as him, though she sported a red skirt instead of black pants.
"Long time no see?" She sounded as nervous as he felt.
"Yeah, you are right, long time no see. I mean, what is it? Two months already?"
Oh Aidios, could he become any lamer?
"Yeah," she stuttered, "I guess so?"
Their conversation came to a grinding halt, the silence between them so awkward, that Rean wished the ground would swallow him up.
After another couple seconds of zero communication, Alisa spoke up again: "So you really applied for Thors. Still, I'm glad I'm not the only one wearing this red uniform."
And here she was, addressing the proverbial elephant in the room. Rean scratched his cheek. "Do you think we will end up in the same class?"
He could see the conflict flickering across her face. Not that he felt any different. "Very likely. Though a good part of officer school curriculum are electives. There's the possibility we both ended up part of a special program. Mother hinted at something, but I don't know the details."
Didn't that sound intriguing, or perhaps ominous would be more appropriate?
"Seems like you already know more about our situation than I do." He scratched his head. "Thanks for the heads up."
She made a motion with her head that barely resembled a nod. "Well, if you don't mind I'll be going ahead. Sorry for disturbing your flower viewing."
"Not at all, you didn't disturb anything, but yeah, it would be best if you go ahead. See you later, probably."
"Probably. But take care not to be late. You tend to lose your sense of time when you focus on something."
Rean chuckled though it sounded like an awkward mess to him. "You know me too well, Alisa. Till later."
"Bye," she muttered. Then she stalked off, her blurring steps carrying her away quickly .
Rean slumped his shoulders, sighing as deeply as the bottom of the ocean. This was some kind of cruel joke, right? Or did the bad karma he accumulated in a previous life demanded payback now?
What were the chances, after all, of being placed in the same course program as his ex-girlfriend? He grimaced as he thought back to Master Ka-Fai's letter. Right now, he wished the Sword Hermit could spare some of his overflowing smoothness with the ladies for his unfortunate pupil.
He shook his head. Enough with the self-pity. He had an entrance ceremony to attend.
Rean went into the park, the Lino petals forgotten. He watched elderly, children and even couples relax on park benches. To his surprise, he also discovered another cadet wearing red. A petite girl on the cusp of womanhood, silvery white hair streaked wildly about her. Her lithe form was stretched out on the bench, her chin resting on her folded hands.
He scratched his head. Was she sleeping? He closed his eyes, probing for her presence, surprised how little she registered on his senses. Rean opened his eyes again. While obscured by the red skirt, she had something strapped to her right thigh. Throwing knifes? The combat boots she wore were steel tipped and were those leather holsters at the small of her back?
She certainly came prepared.
The young woman woke up yawning, her arms outstretched and her back arced in an impressive display of flexibility. Rean wasn't fooled. Even with her eyes closed and her front unguarded, her body was coiled like a spring. Then she opened her eyes, a greenish yellow or a yellowish green? She tilted her head with both of them taking the continued measure of their opposite.
"You are another one, huh?" She mumbled, her voice lacking any inflection. Was she talking about the color of their uniforms?
He wanted to speak up, but her continued alertness cautioned him to stay silent.
Then, in a motion so impossibly smooth he couldn't tell beginning from end, she arced her upper body back again. Her left arm bent behind her shoulders with her single hand grabbing the top of the bench. Without any visible exertion, as if the concept of body weight was foreign to her, she raised her whole body from a half-prone position to an elegant one-handed back-flip, the transition from landing to walking indiscernible.
"See you!" She said, her back already turned towards him. No change in the rhythm or deepness of her breathing. She stalked away at a brisk pace, her steps making no sound at all.
Dual pistols? No, the barrel shape was off. Rean couldn't help but feel intrigued. She seemed to be quite a unique one, but wondering about her wasn't going to do him any good at the moment. Once their class settled, he had all the time in the world to get to know her. Thinking about her looks, he admittedly wouldn't mind.
Rean groaned at his feeble mindedness. He needed to get his head out of the gutter.
The rest of the way until the entrance to Thors was traversed quickly, with Rean taking in the sights. For a moment, he struggled with the idea of visiting the church for a short spell. While he didn't consider himself overly devout, a quick prayer to the goddess had never steered anybody wrong. The solemn atmosphere inside the house of Aidios could as well be what he needed to calm down his emotions, to free himself from the trepidation gripping his chest. As he was about to enter, the entrance opened and a tall figure stepped out. He was wearing another set of the distinct Thors uniform.
It was a person Rean recognized from his time at Baldurs. "Hey Gaius, how do you do?"
"Well, if it isn't Rean," the Nord denizen replied in his smooth, calming baritone. His face only showed about two seconds of mild surprise, before his handsome features settled into his trademark expression of friendly unflappability. "I was afraid to be the only one wearing this red uniform."
Rean laughed, meeting Gaius halfway to the church. He stretched out his hand and was welcomed with a firm grip. "You took the words right out of my mouth."
The young man from the plains nodded. "You wanted to pray at the church right? It's a nice quiet chapel. Don't let me prevent you from speaking to the goddess."
Rean scratched his head, his laugh sounding awkward again. "I wanted to calm myself down, nerves and all, but now that I've met you, would you mind walking to Thors together?"
"I'd be glad to."
Both of them turned their backs to the chapel and continued their trek towards the hallowed institution. The road rose up in a soft incline with the entrance gate slowly becoming visible.
"I was wondering Rean, but isn't red quite a significant color here in the Empire?"
The young swordsman nodded. "Red is usually associated with the Imperial Family." He raised his left arm and scrutinized it. "But the hue isn't quite the same as the Imperial Crimson."
Gaius nodded attentively. "Still, even if the hue is different, there's symbolic value here, isn't it? Combined with the small numbers of people wearing it, it gives the impression of exclusivity."
Rean couldn't agree more. "I did encounter two other people wearing these uniforms, but pitted against the hundreds of students in the regular colors, it's astonishingly little."
Gaius' interest was piqued. "What kind of people were they?"
He sighed. "Alisa is one them."
"The Reinford heiress?"
"The very same."
The nomad took in the information with the same stoicism he absorbed everything else. Sometimes Rean envied the fellow youth for the resilience he displayed in body and mind. "And the other person?"
"A white haired girl." Rean thought back. "Let's call her a young woman, but she seems to be a year or two younger than the usual age for, well, attending Thors. She also seemed...", he struggled for words, "I don't know, wild? Feral? She wasn't exactly showing it, but I felt something animalistic from her."
Gaius quirked an eyebrow. "Interesting. Coming from you, there's probably some basis to your impression."
He scratched his cheek. "You are giving me too much credit. I'm just rambling."
"Hardly. We didn't cross paths that often at Baldur's, but the student council regularly talked about your 'discerning eye'. Besides, I bore witness to it myself once. You have a knack for seeing right into the core of things."
Before Rean could respond, both young men finally overcame the slope and received an unobstructed view at Thors campus, the buildings bearing down on them in their majesty .
The place was a fortress. The masonry was exquisite, the walls and guard towers decorated with horses and lion-heads. Additional adornments in the form of stylized letters and swords were carved into the stonework, giving it a fairly sophisticated look. Even so, It didn't detract from the sheer brutal functionality of the design, what with the walls about nine to ten arge high, crenelated and castellated. The guard towers interspersed there were of solid construction reinforced with steel plating and concrete. Orbal cannons jutted out like gigantic blackened fingers, ready to unleash their lethal payload. The entrance was as broad as the road leading here, enough space for two heavy tanks to drive beside each other.
The campus itself was a curious mixture of old and new, of dignified opulence and cold pragmatism. The ground was paved for the most part, aside from some strategically placed greenery with the main building dominating the view. Rean looked up, taking in the sight of the architectural front. Rose windows with a pointed arch, sections with projected alcoves, sculpted columns studding the walls. A tower rose at least sixty arge high, the centerpiece of a squarish layout.
As they came closer more details became visible. He saw life sized statuary placed atop the main portal. It was typical Gothic style architecture, less ostentatious compared to governmental buildings or churches, but still more artistic flourish than he expected from the military.
"Wait, how can this be?" Gaius spoke up, his voice trembling. "One of these statues depicts a Nord Warrior."
Rean looked up. "Oh, these are the Seven Worthies. They are pretty famous here in Erebonia."
"I guess the Nord Warrior we see here is among those who accompanied Dreichels during the War of the Lions?"
"Yeah. That's Zeo Calez, the Storm Rider, who represents the virtue of Justice."
Gaius face lit up, his voice reverent. "Zeo is one of our most esteemed tribal heroes." He smiled softly. "And when you mentioned justice, are you referring to the four cardinal and three theological virtues of the Septian Scriptures?"
Rean chuckled. "Yeah, correct. I'm not surprised a devout church goer like you noticed it."
"Nah, just something I picked up from a wandering priest. But I'm curious now - who are the others and what do they represent?" The Nord denizen narrowed his eyes. "Though I can take an educated guess who the woman in the middle is."
The swordsman nodded. "Saint Lianne Sandlot, the Lance Maiden. Her ascribed virtue is Hope. To be honest, I've forgotten the exact story how the Seven Worthies were chosen and how the symbolism got mixed up with Church teachings. Here in the Empire, they are thought to exemplify the pinnacle of either chivalric or moral virtue."
He stroked his chin. "Let's see whether I can list them all - The guy at the left with the ridiculous sword and the coin pouch should be Zektor Argastos, the Mercenary King. His Virtue is Courage. Zeo is next in line and the woman in robes beside him is Saint Veronica, who represents Charity. Saint Sandlot is the one in the middle and the priest beside her is Saint Quirinus. Faith. At his right is Saphrato, the antique philosopher. The toga and scroll is pretty distinct. He represents Prudence. That leaves the guy with the crossbow furthest at the right. Reginald Istari, the Warrior Monk. Temperance."
"To see a hero of Nord displayed along such legends." Gaius sounded proud. "Once again, it becomes clear how deeply the histories of both our people are intertwined. Thank you for telling me all this, Rean."
"No issue. I haven't done much. However, I'm interested in stories about Zeo. His accomplishments during the civil war 250 years ago are pretty well recorded. Unfortunately, the history books have almost nothing to say about the life he lived with his own people."
"It will be an honor to share my tribe's stories with you. We will probably end up in the same class or project so there should be ample opportunity in the future." He took out his combat orbment and looked at the time. "But we should hurry, before the entrance ceremony starts without us."
They turned away from the main building's portal in amicable silence. They were supposed to arrive at the barracks first, change into ceremonial garb, followed by going to the Auditorium.
The campus barracks turned out to be an utilitarian building consisting of steel, concrete and not much else. A steady stream of fresh cadets were ushered inside by commissioned officers, while their personal weapons were taken into storage by a gaggle of adjutants.
As Rean and Gaius came close, both of them were waved nearer by a female navy officer with a thick braid of light brown hair. She wore the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander. Both cadets saluted.
"Cadet Schwarzer reporting."
"Cadet Worzel reporting."
"Quartermaster Anne Leuventhal. At ease." She smirked as if she was enjoying a private joke. "The two of you should be the last of the Red Jackets. You are carrying your ceremonial garb?" Both of them nodded. "Good. Then kindly pass me your weapons and your combat orbments."
Rean furrowed his brows. "If I may be so bold to ask, ma'am, is there a reason we are required to give up our orbments? The other cadets are only asked to pass their armaments."
The statuesque woman folded her arms. "Yes, there's a reason, Cadet Schwarzer. And no, I'm not going to tell you. All will be revealed in due time. Now get a move on. You're already running late."
"Yes ma'am!" Both of them answered and did as they were told. After that they were led into the barracks. The inside looked as spartan as the outside, harsh walls painted in gray as well as drab, unadorned doors. They followed the other male cadets until they ended up in a changing room. Once inside, they encountered another person in red, a short youth with a friendly face and hair the color of carrots. He was already changed except for the decorative saber he was fiddling with. Rean showed him how to attach the blade while changing out of the regular uniform himself. The youth was called Elliot Craig and he seemed as clueless about the meaning of their uniforms as Rean and Gaius. Soon enough, they fell into easy chatter, their easygoing personalities meshing well with each other.
All three hurried together to the Auditorium which turned out to be another fancy structure. This time, Rean didn't find it in him to look at further architectural details. He found his mind embroiled with the atmosphere of the wide room, the anticipation of the many people brimming with a kind of palpable energy. It made it difficult to concentrate, the pressure of wild swirling emotions choking his heart. There were no chairs. All the fresh cadets were told to stand at parade rest.
Then the doors to the Auditorium opened in full, revealing a procession of men and women wearing either the white of the Provincial or the violet of the Imperial Army. What they all had in common though, was the badge of the golden eagle. The elite of the elite, members of the Imperial General Staff Office. This group of Erebonian top brass were further headed by three people of high prominence: Minister of Defense, Ingrid Rorschach, former director of Reinford's second factory division, Thors Principal Tristan Vandyck, former supreme commander of the Imperial Army as well as his successor, current General Field Marshal Erwin von Richthofen.
"Cadets, ATTENTION!"
Over three hundred people straightened themselves, herded by the roar from the Master of Ceremony.
"Salute!"
A stream of rustling was heard as the junior officers raised their right arm to follow the directive.
The procession entered the stage with the staff officers fanning out. Principal Vandyck was the first to use the podium, while Field Marshal Richthofen and Minister Rorschach stood behind him. The man playfully tipped against the microphone, producing some static. Then he leaned forward, his herculean form looming over the wooden construct, a mere toy furniture in light of the man's massive frame.
"Welcome, fresh cadets, to the 220th entrance ceremony of Thors Officer School. Oh, and be at ease, please." His voice sounded gravelly, but warm, almost grandfatherly. More than three hundred people in the room ceased their salute.
"I'm glad to see so many new faces ready to tackle the educational experience this institution has to offer. Thors was founded by Dreichels the Lionheart himself and began as a military academy. Over the decades, it has spawned similar institutions located at key cities across the Erebonian Empire. Yet the original seed planted by Dreichels continues to play a special role until today. Ninety years ago, with the establishment of the Imperial General Staff Office, often called the nervous system of the Erebonian military, the demands for officers and their skill set changed drastically."
From then on, old type military leadership, which hinged on feat of arms, dominance play and sheer charisma, needed to co-exist beside a new type of leadership that emphasized rationality, exhaustive planning and intellectual sophistication. As the original seed planted by Dreichels himself, Thors once again served as a hotbed for innovation. To meet the demands of the time, it became the first and until today singular Officer School in Erebonia. It offers a curriculum which combines cutting-edge knowledge from all disciplines with the ever evolving field of military science."
When the Orbal Revolution began fifty years ago, it also led to the mechanization of the army. While this development has reduced the demand for common soldiers, the need for highly educated officers, who can keep up with the increasing pace of technology, has become even greater. The course and graduate system here at Thors reflects this. The electives here on campus are varied and allows the cadets to tailor their curriculum along their individual strength. As a further point, instead of forcing the same length of education on every single person, the common duration until graduation is one year. For a cadet to attend Thors a second year, the individual needs to display excellent conduct and higher than average grades. As a result, someone who graduates after two years can hope to climb the ranks much faster. But it is only the exceptional attendee who is granted the honor of a third year. These individuals are subjected to grueling course work and tasks which push the limits of human intellectual and physical capability. If they persevere, they have the option of becoming a prospective member of the Imperial General Staff Office immediately."
A hush went through the mass of cadets, with different emotions colliding across the hall. Rean himself didn't think much about the lure of fast promotion. There was no way he would ever be a candidate for a second year at Thors, after all.
Meanwhile, Principal Vandyck had changed his place with the Defense Minister. Some belated applause was heard, but even Rean only clapped a few times for politeness sake. The speech was more informative than inspirational. The way the principal cut it off made it clear it was just the beginning act. Minister Rorschach cleared her throat, drawing the hall's attention to herself. She wore a charcoal colored business suit with a severe, almost military cut. Her white hair was styled in a pragmatic bob.
"There is this famous aphorism: war is the continuation of politics by other means." The woman's voice reflected her looks, a hard alto, her intonation that of a practiced orator.
"I don't have a military background, so I won't be taken as seriously here by default. As such, I start this speech with Phillipp Gottfried's famous quote, to remind you all how the military is part of a much larger system. There's of course the weapons industry, a branch I'm intimately familiar with. Then there's the government, its diverse institutions, the mass media. All intricate parts like those found in a combat orbment, every single one indispensable to make everything function as a whole. If you cadets deem the aforementioned aphorism to be true, you accept that every high ranking officer is a political entity. An officer's burden of leadership doesn't just affect the lives of his subordinates. It's at the same time an expression of Erebonian policy."
I'm glad to say Thors as an institution prepares its cadets for this kind of responsibility. Today, a military officer isn't measured solely by his competence in war making, but also his or her diplomatic acumen. Your future conduct, cadets, your every gesture and word reflects on Erebonia and may be subject to the same kind of scrutiny as that of a high ranking politician, especially the moment you deal with foreign forces. Keep this in mind and be prepared."
Rean furrowed his brows as he joined in the modest applause. Somehow, the minister's words were to be expected from a career politician. Flipping them around boiled down to her telling the cadets they had to take care not to embarrass the Erebonian government. To save face, if he were to use an Eastern saying.
As Field Marshal Richthofen took his position, every hush and whisper among the more than three hundred cadets died down. The silence was so absolute one could've heard a single pin drop, the suspense thick enough to be cut. The current supreme leader of the Imperial Army, barring the Emperor's and High Chancellor's command authority, stood in stark contrast to his predecessor. Where principal Vandyck looked like an old god of antique pagan myths, his physique almost comically huge and muscled, Richthofen was slender, his shoulders slightly hunched. He carried himself with the typical posture of a swordsman. The Field Marshal was comparably young, with only small frostings of white on his otherwise black hair. His face was smooth, but ascetic. His expression carried a hint of perpetual melancholy contrasting Vandyck's open and friendly visage.
"Arise O youth, and become the foundation of the new world." The man chuckled ruefully. "You should know these words by heart now. This motto is part and parcel of every opening speech held by every principal of every military academy across Erebonia."
He shrugged, the motion playful with a smidgen of irreverence. "Tradition can be so predictable."
"But back on topic. Erebonia culture loves its ritualistic dribble. Too often, Dreichels' mandate ends up as lip service to the vaunted tradition of our country. Empty words uttered for the sake of uttering them, their true meaning ignored."
He leaned forward, his voice rising in volume. "Let's put some facts on the table, shall we? The average age of every Imperial Army officer above the rank of Colonel is 48 years. If we look at the same age average while confining ourselves to the rank bracket between major and colonel we get 37 years. Think about it the next time, when some self-important military speaker has the temerity to spout some bullshit about the world being the domain of the young."
On the surface the provincial armies have a better track record. I won't further bore you with numbers, but a couple of their most notorious and influential officers are only in their late twenties. I'm a pretty good example myself, being given the responsibility and honor of the highest military rank in the Imperial Army at the tender age of 35. And let us be honest here: neither accomplishments nor competence is the true reason I get to occupy the office of Field Marshal with a seventeen year difference compared to my predecessor. If anything, my accomplishments pale when pitted against Vandyck's own. But in case of Thors' honored principal this is the price of being a commoner in Erebonia."
He slammed down his fist, the sound reverberating throughout the hall. "A waste, I say!"
Some of you are probably asking yourselves, why is youth so important? Isn't it irresponsible to put young people in position of true power and influence? Don't they lack the experience, the wisdom, the prudence of old age? Well, the argument is a valid one and I'm not claiming to remove the members of the old guard. Their wisdom has worth and old age is very valuable in tempering the brashness of youth."
Still, when it comes to military matters, or all matters that involves the unpredictability and irrationality of human nature, prudence and foresight can only carry you so far. And here is where the most important feature of youth shines forth: malleability. The ability, the will, the drive to mold yourself in accordance to the obstacles and barriers the world throws at you. In today's world, fifty years after the Orbal Revolution, when new military technology is churned out several times a year, when international relations in politics become increasingly complex and intertwined, this malleability is even more crucial. To quote the core philosophy of my grandfather, who was the core architect of the Imperial General Staff Office:
No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main strength.
What it boils down to is that we as military officers deal with uncertainty as a matter of course. Our job is to be ready for the unknown and even here we have different flavors. There's the known unknown and the unknown unknown. As a member of the nobility, I'm well aware of their usual rhetoric. The nobles have been in charge of Erebonian society for a long time which justifies their continued privileges, for the hindsight of centuries somehow enables people like me to see the best course of action for the next hundred years."
I say it loud and clear: this is Intellectual hubris. An epistemological fallacy. Mental laziness. Tell me: where was the vaunted wisdom of the nobility, when the Orbal Revolution took off fifty years ago? Did they possess the magical foresight to predict the sheer scope of consequences when a simple researcher from Leman State invented the first combat orbment? Or did we, like every other nation on Zemuria simply rode on the coattails of the Epstein Foundation and its chief disciples, all the while stumbling along the way? Where was the prodigious insight of the old guard, the prudence of old age during the Hundred Days War, when Liberl turned the tables on us by taking the battlefield to the third dimension? Did anybody predict the deployment of combat aircrafts and how the Liberlian Royal Army smashed several Armored Divisions to paste?"
The truth of the matter is that Liberl's combat aircrafts were a prime example of an unknown unknown. And these kinds of pesky unknowns are not subject to predictions by their very definition. The proper way to deal with them? Malleability in mind and action, improvisation and contingencies. Oh, and contingencies for the contingencies. During the invasion twelve years ago the Imperial Army lacked proper contingencies except throwing more troops at the problem. Why? The answer is arrogance."
My advice to you when next time someone utters Dreichels famous mandate: take them by their word. Arise! Be ambitious and don't let yourself be cowed by the experience and superior wisdom of your supposed betters. Dreichels asked young people like you to become the foundation of the world, not the foundation to prop up your elders."
When Field Marshal Richthofen left the podium, the silence persisted. Rean had heard rumors about the man. His popularity with the common soldiers despite his status as a noble, the whispers about him being something of a maverick. Turned out the rumors didn't do him justice.
"That was quite a speech," Elliot murmured. "Every speech really. The expectations here at Thors are something else."
Rean nodded. "I hear you."
Shortly after, the members of the Imperial General Staff Office left the Auditorium together with the dignitaries. Commoner and noble cadets alike gathered around the instructors, who had been sitting in the first row during the ceremony.
"All riiight!" Another instructor said from the direction of the podium. "Students in red uniforms, if I can have your attention, please?"
The one talking was a female officer, though on closer look Rean wasn't sure anymore. The fuchsia haired woman was technically wearing the violet uniform of an Imperial Army officer. Yet it would be more accurate to say that she had draped the garment across her shoulders like a cape with the empty sleeves fluttering around. She wore a short yellow jacket beneath the uniform and a blue feminine dress with half a dozen belts keeping everything in place. As she walked towards them, her dress turned out to have a slit at the right side which exposed a well toned thigh and hinted at the other.
Rean gulped. Did she wear this kind of get-up while sitting in the first row? In front of Erebonia's top brass? He wasn't sure if he should admire her guts or condemn her sheer brazenness.
"Hello fresh cadets. Right now, you are probably confused. 'Where's my assignment?', you are asking."
Everyone in red gave some sort of agreement or kept listening.
"Well, your situation is slightly more complicated than the others."
"We are part of some special program, right?" A green haired cadet with glasses said. Several others nodded, having reached the same easy conclusion.
"Worry not!" The strange instructor said, wagging her fingers. "Everything will be clear soon enough. Follow me to the barracks. You first need to change back to your regular uniforms. This ceremonial garb isn't fit for field situations."
"A field situation?" Another cadet with glasses asked, her voice wavering.
"Exactly." The fuchsia haired woman winked. "You are going to join me on an orienteering exercise."
Towa and Angelica were watching from above a hill as the prospective members of Class VII followed Instructor Sara into the old schoolhouse ruin.
"I guess the moment of truth has finally arrived," the petite brunette said.
"Do you want to take part in Crow's little betting pool, about how many of them decide to take the plunge?"
Towa smiled sweetly. "Why not. I'll wager three breakfasts at Kirsche's."
Angelica smirked. "That's rare, my dear, sweet Towa, for you to take part in Crow's antics. What's your bet?"
"Whatever you wagered on, Angie. I trust your luck."
"It warms my heart to hear you say this." She squinted her eyes, her gaze getting a predatory glint. "But really, the chosen ladies for Class VII are a true feast for the eyes. I can't wait to introduce myself."
Towa tilted her head. "We already know Fie, but you're also acquainted with Alisa, aren't you?"
Angelica puffed out her chest. "Acquaintance? What are you talking about, Towa? Alisa and I are bona fide childhood friends." She smirked. "Although, olala, she certainly filled out. I take my eyes off her for two years and here she is, with one hell of a dynamite body."
The brunette smiled wistfully. "It's ironic that my tenure at Baldurs fell exactly into the time-frame, when you were trying to get some breathing room from your family, Angie. We could have known each other far earlier."
The Rogner heir sighed. "You tell me. Seemed like I missed all the fun, though Weapons School wasn't so bad." She snaked an arm around her small friends waist, drawing her close and eliciting a faint 'eep' from her. "But now that we are talking about Baldurs, care to show me which one of these nice hunks was your ever reliable student council problem solver?"
Towa rolled her eyes. "I thought you only go for females."
"I can appreciate a nice piece of man-meat as well as any other woman. Now stop stalling."
The group of students plus one instructor were now all crowded around the front entrance of the old schoolhouse. Towa raised her finger hesitantly. "It's the black haired one. That's Rean."
As if on cue, the one being pointed out chose this moment to turn around. A mere second later, he zoomed in on the two second years, his body language turning from guarded to surprised. Towa chuckled and stretched her arm above her head to give him a friendly wave. The black haired youth waved back shortly after, a pleased smile on his face.
"Oookay, was that lover's telepathy?" Angelica teased.
Towa sighed. "Rean is a practitioner of eastern martial arts. His senses are extremely sharp. The moment I focused my intent on him, he was bound to notice."
"Eastern martial art, huh. And from this distance?" The Rogner heir whistled. "Impressive. Still, you seem awfully familiar with each other." She strengthened the grip around her friend's waist. "You sure, you haven't forgotten to tell me something important?"
"Angie, please. We are just friends. Besides, he's already in a relationship."
The leather clad second year froze. "Really? Hmm, this Rean figure is becoming more formidable by the second. Perhaps he has the potential to be another apex predator like me, preying on the hearts of innocent maidens and ensnaring them in his lecherous grip."
"Stop projecting Angie. Rean isn't like that, though I hope him being in the same class as Alisa won't lead to problems."
This time, Angelica released her hold on the brunette, her expression calculated and for once serious. "Towa, are you telling me he's supposed to be Alisa's boyfriend?"
"Yes?"
"How recent is their relationship?"
"I think they became a couple the moment I graduated from Baldurs. Why?"
The Rogner heir hesitated for a moment, but finally worded her suspicion. "It's just, Alisa and I wrote to each other not long ago. We tried to catch up after being out of touch for the last two years and she told me in her letter how she dumped a guy. Someone she's been dating for about a year."
Towa's mouth was open, a small 'oh' escaping her lips. Then she slumped her shoulders. "This is going to be such a mess."
For the umpteenth time this day, Elliot Craig felt like he was completely over his head. Right now, he could be standing in the august halls of Heimdallr's Academy of Music, taking the first steps in fulfilling his life long aspiration, the career path he had always focused on since he was old enough to read sheet music.
But life had a strange way of subverting one's expectations.
After the solstice concert at Valflame Palace, key instructors from the Academy of Music were falling head over heels to recruit him. Moreover, even his dad gave him his blessing, proud of his accomplishments as a musician as well as a military student of Odins.
When it comes to professional musicians, there are two types: There's the technician who pours everything he has into mastering his skill with an instrument. He pulls of flawless sixteenth triplets or a vibrant glissando like it's the easiest thing in the world, treating music as an expression of his mastery of bodily control . This kind of musician is inherently selfish. His art stands aside from his audience, the listeners mere adoring spectators to his craft. Then there's the performer. The one who sees music as a vessel to convey and inspire emotions, a means of communication. For him, playing his instrument is a two-way street, the attentiveness of his audience a crucial part of the artistic process. So tell me, Elliot Craig, which type of musician are you?
Even now, the Azure Diva's words were resounding inside his head, her speaking voice as intoxicating as her singing one. If he wanted to go the way of the technician, attending the Academy of Music would've been the correct decision. But his tenure at Odins showed him how much there was to know and learn about the world outside of music. He could hone his violin playing to a razor's edge, pulling of rhythmic stunts and harmonic feats no layman could conceive, but was that the true road of an artist? A person who devoted himself solely and utterly to music, to the exclusion of everything else, how could such a person comprehend the hearts of his fellow men and women?
Except for fellow musicians with the same level of obsession of course.
So here he was, rushing forward to attend the most elite institution in Erebonia. Part of it was curiosity and daring, the desire to test himself outside his comfort zone. He wanted to experience things he otherwise never would. Another part was his wish to continue trace his father's footsteps, although he was sure he wouldn't last longer than one year at Thors. But even one year was plenty, for it was only when Elliot became a military student that he truly connected with his dad. Sure, there was never any doubt they were family. Olaf Craig was a good husband and parent, who knew to keep his military persona outside the threshold of their home. Yet it took Elliot until now to realize how his dad was for years the odd man out in the family. He was the only one who didn't play an instrument. As such he had always been a spectator in the Craig household to a certain extent.
How lonely his father must have felt, when mom died. And for so long, he recklessly pursued his music career without locking left or right, blind to the rest of the world and his loved ones. Well, no more.
Right now he was willing to keep his options open. As he followed the strange instructor towards a decrepit building, his nervousness continued to build up by the second. The woman remained tight-lipped the whole way from the auditorium to the barracks, where they changed out of their ceremonial uniforms. She continued to deflect their questions when they left the barracks for the destination of some orienteering exercise. Along the way, Elliot made more small talk with Rean as well as Gaius. Both of them seemed nice and easy-going, putting some of his worries to rest. Nevertheless, he could put one and one together as well as anybody else: they were all part of some elite program.
And listening to the other red shirts, it showed.
Elliot wasn't inclined to violence or the pursuit of martial skills. But when he became a military student, there was no avoiding it. This in turn pitted him with some classmates who received combat training from an early age. In the beginning it felt like a musical neophyte trying to keep up with a professional musician, except with him in the role of the beginner. It brought him no small amount of frustration until a certain upperclassmen told him to play by his strengths. It sounded like nice advice, but Elliot wasn't sure how he should implement it in the beginning. Music wasn't exactly something used in combat, or so he thought. But with some more nudging and tinkering, he indeed found his own niche: the offensive manipulation of sonic waves and analyzing the battle situation with his sharp hearing.
Trained fighters often possessed a sixth sense. They used it to either gauge the danger of an opponent or to guide them during the heat of battle. Elliot couldn't grasp something like this with his limited training, so he kept it simple. Instead of developing some esoteric sixth sense he focused his hearing to discern things other than music. It worked surprisingly well and he didn't even need to practice much.
Bit by bit, he listened to each of the cadet's breathing rhythm, which was a reliable way to estimate their level of training. What he got in return awed and frightened him. Among them, the lady with the glasses was pretty mundane, her stamina that of an untrained civilian. Elliot had to suppress a snicker, for since when did he start to separate people in civilians and combatants? The others were all better conditioned than him though. The blond lady as well as Machias Regnitz were still the least impressive. Their breathing was even, deep and as steady as a metronome. It hinted at good stamina, that their bodies were in excellent shape, but not much more. The blond youth, whose demeanor screamed noble as well as Gaius, were a step above. Their breathing matched their gait perfectly. The skilled classmates at Odins with a lifetime of combat training sounded like this. Then there was the tall blue haired woman and Elliot had to force himself to look away lest he stared. The other ladies were all very pretty in their own way, but there was something striking about her. But even as he averted his eyes, his ears perceived the unique rhythm of her inhaling and exhaling. It wasn't so much synchronized with her gait, but instead provided a melodic counterpoint to her walking motion. There was an ebb and flow to her body dynamic. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on. But even so, he marveled at how she could make an act as simple as breathing sound so beautiful.
Incidentally, the female instructor also displayed a unique rhythm, though compared to the beautiful, calming sound of the blue haired lady, the instructor's breathing was a suppressed rumble, like the preparatory notes before a crescendo... no more like a sforzando. Then there was Rean and the white haired girl. They were in a way the most impressive, because he couldn't perceive any sound, as if they weren't drawing air at all.
If he didn't know better, he would call them dead men walking. They still showed chest movement, so their lungs had to be working somehow. Still, Elliot didn't have the foggiest how both of them could render their breathing as silent as that. He would also bet his favorite violin that they could erase any breathing motion if the situation required it.
Dueling these two was probably an utter nightmare.
They finally entered the building, but Elliot didn't expect to find the interior decked out with machinery, cables and orbal terminals. People worked in front of monitors, their fingers flying over keyboards. There were also engineers wandering about, who were busy maintaining terminal cables or running diagnostics on arcane machines. The instructor went straight through, leading them towards a steel door. It opened itself automatically with both halves sliding into the wall. They entered another, smaller room which contained more of the same. The only marked difference was an Imperial Army Officer standing in the middle. Elliot froze in his steps. He knew the profile and when the man turned around he showed himself to be someone the young cadet knew very well.
"Christoph?" He blurted out. Then he caught himself. "S-sorry, I mean Major Neithardt, what are you doing here, Sir?"
Everybody in their procession focused their attention on him, making Elliot feel very self-conscious.
"I see," the female instructor murmured, her voice easygoing. "You are Fiona's little brother, aren't you?"
This time, Elliot was the one to stare. "Wait instructor, you know my sister?"
The question marks on the faces of the other cadets became even more pronounced.
Major Neidhardt cleared his throat, directing the attention back to him. "Cadets, my name is Christoph Neithardt. I'm a major of the 4th Armored Division of the Imperial Army. Nine years of service. I have a double specialization as a tank and communications officer. I'm pretty sure you all have a lot of questions and Elliot's, I mean Cadet Craig's interaction with me probably raised even more. Suffice to say, I'm a friend of his family. Further details will be shared at his discretion. I would like us all to focus on the purpose of being here instead."
The strange instructor shrugged, before walking leisurely towards the major, placing herself beside the man and opposite the cadets.
"Finally, the moment of truth," she drawled, her demeanor not military at all. "Name's Sara Valestein. I'm a provisional military officer with the rank of first lieutenant. I serve as a combat instructor and field consultant. Some of you might be aware, but here at Thors almost all courses are held by a duo of instructors. One of them is usually outside the military, like a researcher or specialist who brings cutting edge knowledge or skills on the table. Then there's an officer who isn't as specialized, because, well, he or she needs to do soldiering most of the time. Their role is to... what was the word, ah, integrate the knowledge of the specialist into military procedures and other boring stuff. So much about our roles as regular instructors." She paused and folded her arms, propping up her considerable bust in the process.
Elliot forced himself to look upwards, his throat becoming dry.
"The major and I also have an additional job which concerns the nine of you. I guess right now most of you are pretty confused, what with the red uniform and this gloomy high-tech building and all. Well, let me illuminate: you have been chosen for a very special program this year. It's called Class VII and it's totally different from the other classes, because here we have no distinction between commoners and nobles."
There were several moments of silence. Elliot wasn't quite sure what to think and the others around him looked equally bewildered. To his surprise, the one trivia taking up his attention was the woman being a provisional officer as well as her rank. First lieutenant put her barely above the cadets during a field situation.
"This must be some kind of joke!"
The one who spoke was Machias Regnitz. Elliot didn't have much interaction with his fellow graduate during his time at Odins, but the son of Heimdallr's governor was pretty famous. He was the consistent top scorer at the academy and there was the rumor he used every opportunity available to show up nobles in all kinds of competitive settings.
"And why is it the first time I have heard of it?" The green haired youth continued his tirade, sounding indignant.
"Well, uh...err who are you again?" The female instructor asked.
Major Neithardt palmed his face. When he removed his hand, his expression had the kind of resignation one wore when watching a derailing train on high speed.
"Machias Regnitz, and with all due respect, instructor, it's ludicrous to intermix commoners and nobles like this."
This time, the fuchsia haired woman bristled. "Ohhh, 'with all due respect', is it? I've been teaching here for a year now and when mouthy cadets start their complaints with this phrase, it usually means everything but respect. More like a polite way to say I can stick it up my ass. Is that what you are telling me?"
Machias stepped back, apparently not ready for the sudden aggression or profanity. The blond haired youth chose this exact moment to scoff. Immediately, the Odins graduate turned his ire on his fellow cadet. He had probably noticed the blond's noble lineage, too. "And what's your problem, your lordship?"
"Oh, nothing much," he said, his voice oozing bored nonchalance. The blond noble didn't even deign to turn his body to face the other cadet. "I just find the irony of your behavior rather... humorous."
Before the headstrong youth could retaliate, Major Neithardt's voice thundered across the room. "Enough!"
He folded his arms, his expression stormy. "Cadet Regnitz, Cadet Albarea." Elliot did a double take and a hush went through their group. "From this moment on, both of you are proud members of Thors Officer school. This place doesn't tolerate the kind of leniency the military academies allow. This is not a place where more than half of the graduates become part of the civilian workforce. Here, I expect military discipline, professionalism, camaraderie and dignity fit for an officer of the Erebonian Empire. Neither of you have displayed any of these qualities right now, especially you Regnitz. If you don't keep your act together, I swear by the goddess I will make you, your political connections be damned. Am I understood?"
"Y-yes," both of them stuttered.
"I don't hear you, cadets!" Neithardt barked. "AM I UNDERSTOOD?"
"Yes, Sir!" This time both of them saluted.
Major Neithardt nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"Well, well, look at you, major, keeping the young hotheads in line." The female instructor seemed a little miffed. "Didn't we agree that the military discipline should be kept to a minimum?"
The major pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you properly do your job, First Lieutenant Valestein," the woman bristled again, "I wouldn't need to resort to shouting."
The fuchsia haired woman glared, before she turned her gaze to the two cadets the major just disciplined, a playful smirk on her lips. "The shouting might just be what the doctor ordered. And you major, are the perfect guy for the job. After all, I'm not a big burly man who can easily intimidate fresh cadets, especially the male ones."
Then she winked, her voice half lascivious, half menacing. "Just you wait, boys. A few combat courses under my tender mercies. They will make even the most pig headed cadet take me seriously."
Major Neithardt sighed. "Don't rough them up more than necessary. Colonel Beatrix and her infirmary is already tasked beyond capacity."
"Boo, spoilsport. Bringing the colonel into the discussion isn't fair."
"This is exactly why I'm doing it."
Elliot looked at the two adults, his head spinning. Despite both instructors being as different as night and day there was a strange rapport between the duo.
"Aidios, they are joking right?" He heard both Regnitz and the Albarea heir murmur in a funny display of synchronization. And wasn't this a bombshell? A member of the second highest noble house in the whole of Erebonia was standing mere arge beside him. This was a far cry from the kind of nobility he was used to at Odins.
"I get the impression they aren't joking," Rean replied.
Elliot didn't know what came over him, but he nodded in agreement. "I know the major. He's a great guy, but he doesn't have a single funny bone in his body."
Machias Regnitz audibly gulped, while the others looked at him again.
The female instructor clapped her hands to capture their attention. "Now to get back on track, fresh cadets, I would like to point out that this special class is voluntary. The project is pretty expensive and all, so we need people who are a hundred percent committed. If some of you," and here she looked straight at Regnitz, "dislike the whole shebang, you are free to quit right here right now. You'll be sorted to the class you were originally meant to then. No detriments. We are still at the beginning of the school year, so a sudden change in classes won't affect your studies. Easy, right?"
Major Neithardt held up a hand. "I would like to inquire something beforehand, Cadet Regnitz, although my questions may become slightly personal. You're free to decline answering in that case. Is that acceptable?"
"Eh, yes of course, Sir."
The officer nodded. "Cadet Regnitz, do you oppose the policies your father pursues?"
"What?" The youth blanched. "Of course not, Sir. I'm fully behind what my father is trying to accomplish as a politician."
The major quirked an eyebrow. "And what is the ultimate political goal your father tries to reach?"
"Abolishing this detestable social relic called the nobility of course." His answer was as quick as the shot of a pistol.
"Right. Now let us imagine for a moment an Erebonian society without the nobility. What would be the characteristics of such? How would one's place in life be determined?"
"Naturally through actual accomplishments and aptitude instead of dirty nepotism."
"Basically a meritocratic order with no distinction between the social classes or one's background."
"Exact..."
Elliot had to suppress a chuckle. Now he finally understood what the Albarea heir meant with 'ironic' and judging by Machias' expression, he had also caught on. His mouth was gaping and closing without him uttering a single coherent word. The young musician felt a little pity for his fellow Odins graduate.
"You realize the contradiction now," the major remarked, his voice completely neutral. He spoke his words as a statement, as fact.
Machias straightened himself. Then he bowed stiffly. "I apologize instructors. My prior outburst was not only in poor taste, but also in poor judgment. Consider myself... intrigued by Class VII as a concept."
"Interesting," the female instructor commented. "This was pretty smooth, major. I didn't think a military man like yourself had it in you."
Major Neithardt sighed again. "Unlike what your prejudices tell you, Valestein, officers don't pull rank all the time when communicating with their subordinates. We do explain the rationale for our actions and orders when the situation permits it." He turned back to the cadets. "My colleague spoke about full commitment for this special project, but am I correct to assume almost none of you are quite willing to devote yourself to this social experiment?"
Hesitant nods were the answer.
"Is there anyone present who definitely can't imagine him or herself to be part of Class VII?"
Elliot stilled. Should he speak up? The situation was completely over his head and it was clear the people gathered here were the elite of the elites despite the claim that social background didn't matter in this class. He wondered for a moment whether he was chosen because of his father's influence. It would make this whole concept of Class VII look hypocritical if it were the case.
No. There was no way his father would stoop so low to pull strings to place him here. He was as straightforward as an arrow and tough love was his second name. They once talked about the responsibilities of an officer and dad said there was nothing as bad as a person holding a military rank beyond his capabilities. If his father had any say in creating this project he would have made doubly sure he was fitting for the role.
Elliot shook his head like the others.
"In this case," the female instructor chimed in, demeanor all perky, "we have prepared just the thing to give you a taste of what Class VII is all about. The orienteering exercise!"
"To elaborate," the major seamlessly continued, "there's an obstacle course you have to overcome as a team. It will involve combat, applied knowledge and tactical planning. Before we proceed, all of you are required to sign a non-disclosure contract, for you will come into touch with classified military technology and research. This is standard procedure for every cadet here at Thors, though this kind of paperwork is usually done a few days after class induction. Are you ready?"
The bespectacled lady raised her hand. It was shaking. "Instructor Neithardt, you mentioned combat. If I may ask, what exactly are we going to fight?"
"Monsters of course," the female instructor answered. She sounded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Elliot gulped. Way to kill his resolve.
"Interesting," Gaius said. "I didn't expect monsters in the middle of what constitutes a fortified military base. Are they kept here for training purposes?"
"Weeell," the fuchsia haired woman drawled, "not exactly. We call this place the old school house."
"This is an Ancient Ruin, isn't it?" Rean spoke up. He stroked his chin. "Or to be more exact, the building here was constructed over an Ancient Ruin. And it potentially contains Lost Technology or perhaps even an Artifact."
"What?" The blond haired lady with twin tails cried out. "Are you serious, Rean?"
So they knew each other? Elliot watched the two as Rean affirmed his statement without looking in her direction. The lady also became flustered after her outburst and soon enough mimicked the black haired youth, both clearly uncomfortable with each others presence.
"Oh?" The strange instructor looked smug, while Major Neithardt made a face as if he... well, had an ulcer. "How did you reach this kind of conclusion, Mr Rean... Schwarzer, right?"
If the black haired youth was surprised that the woman somehow remembered his name, but didn't bother to learn about the identity of the son of Heimdallr's governor, he didn't show it.
"Judging from your reactions, instructors, I've guessed correctly."
"Cadet Schwarzer, I'm also very interested to hear about the way you've reached this kind of guess."
The whole group was staring at him. The major was voicing everybody's curiosity.
Rean stroked his chin again. "Several points, which doesn't add up if one takes things at face value. First this building - if this is the former Thors schoolhouse, it's safe to assume the place was built when Dreichels the Lionheart himself was alive. The style and decor here is early Renaissance, so the epoch fits. Looking at the decrepit condition, it has been abandoned for a while and the Thors administration didn't see it fit to keep it in good shape. It may have value as a historical landmark, but it was otherwise considered a place without worth until something... changed."
He began to pace. "I mean, I'm not that good with technology, but I've counted four active orbal computers until now. Mere restoration or reconstruction work doesn't require this kind of data processing power. Thus, what has lured all these technical specialists here isn't the building we see right now, but something else. Something that is concealed."
He turned towards the major. "Your wording, Instructor Neithardt, was also noteworthy: when you mentioned the non-disclosure contract, you said classified military technology and research. The first part is understandable, the second part is not. Thors doesn't have the facilities to conduct research, officially at least. Much less research of a caliber which would make secrecy a necessity."
He folded his arms. "There's also the way the perimeter around the building is secured: no visible guards, but I counted two five man patrols hidden in the woods as well as four snipers. This place is protected, but you don't want to make it obvious to outside observers. At this point there aren't many circumstances that justifies this kind of expenditure. If we add monsters to the equation, which aren't deliberately kept according to Instructor Valestein, and an Ancient Ruin with Lost Technology becomes a probable hypothesis. Especially if the Erebonian military doesn't plan to share what's found here with the Septian Church."
Elliot gaped. How did he figure out everything so quickly? The Albarea heir chuckled, his bored visage gone, replaced by an intrigued expression. The other cadets were as gob smacked as him except for Gaius and Alisa, who almost looked like they expected this kind of crazy deduction. Oh, and the white haired girl was as expressionless as ever.
"Nothing gets by you, doesn't it?" The female instructor drawled.
The major pinched the bridge of his nose. "He may be sharper than Armbrust, which is a scary thought."
"He missed two snipers," the white haired girl deadpanned.
Rean faced her. "Really? I noticed a pair at four o'clock and another pair at eight o'clock, while we walked towards this building's entrance."
"Yeah." She nodded. "Both pairs are a sniper plus spotter. There's also one at ten o'clock and one at two o'clock, 400 arge distance. Those two work solo."
This time, the major groaned. "It seems I need to have a serious word with the protective duty. They need more training if they're this easily picked out by first year cadets."
"Wow!" The black haired youth regarded their smallest member with admiration. "Seems like I still have ways to go. You're amazing."
She shrugged. "You aren't bad yourself."
Major Neithardt cleared his throat again. "Now that Cadet Schwarzer has divulged classified military information, none of you will leave this building until all your signatures are where they belong - at the bottom of a non-disclosure contract. Follow me cadets." The imperial officer turned smartly on his heels and lead them deeper into the building.
"And while we are at it," the fuchsia haired woman said, walking side by side with the major, "we should also make a little round of introductions. Break the ice a little."
The cadets followed after the instructors, some of them hesitant, some relaxed, some determined.
Elemental Septium: I'm displaying the names of all elemental Septium here. I already put the list at the beginning of the first chapter, but I consider the terms pretty crucial, so here they are again.
Earth - Amberl
Water - Sapphirl
Air - Esmelas
Fire - Carnelia
Time - Nohval
Mirage - Argem
Space - Goldia
About the Eight Leaves One Blade School: Rean being taught the Seventh Form is canon and detailed in the first Sen no Kiseki drama CD with Class VII relaxing in Ymir before their school concert in ToCS1. If any of you ever wondered how Rean suddenly jumped from Beginner level in the first game to Intermediate in the second, the Drama CD gives you the answer, though the details are sparse and there is no 'on-screen' appearance from Rean's master.
To make Yun Ka-Fai's teachings seem more authentic, I'm also drawing inspiration from a historical source, namely the Go Rin No Sho, the Book of Five Rings, a work about kenjutsu and the 'Way of Strategy' written by Miyamoto Musashi. Personally, I think the Eight Leaves already draws some inspiration from Musashi in canon. For one, the man was called kensai during his lifetime which literally translates to 'Sword Saint'. Pretty similar to the title of Divine Blade, I think. Another parallel is Void. The Go Rin No Sho is divided into five books named after the five elements in Japanese mysticism, namely earth (translated as ground), water, fire, air (translated as wind) and finally void. The concept behind Musashi's final book also seems similar to Ka-Fai's description of the Seventh Form according to my limited knowledge.
Tai sabaki: The term is Japanese and refers to a three step maneuver that once mastered is a means to freely adjust your body axis, while at same time shifting your line of movement. The maximum degree to perform the maneuver which makes sense is a half turn (180 degrees). Due to its simplicity and universal applicability, it's pretty wide spread throughout a lot of different systems in Japanese budo, like aikido, karate or kendo. The maneuver also exists in Chinese martial arts under a different name and I wouldn't be surprised if similar or even the same idea exists in all kinds of martial arts systems throughout the world. It's pretty simple to perform, even for a beginner, but getting a feel for the timing and angle as well as the correct accompanying attack in the heat of action is probably what separates a master from a novice.
Tiancai: A Chinese term referring to a very talented person, bordering on genius. Yun Ka-Fai isn't a Japanese name, so I see no reason why I shouldn't freely mix Japanese and Chinese concepts when making up stuff for Kiseki 'Eastern culture'.
Gongfu: The Chinese Hanyu-Pinyin-Romanization of Kungfu, which originally doesn't refer to martial-arts in particular (although Western popular culture and misconception distorted the meaning), but simply means effort or any skill acquired through a big investment of time and effort. Yun Ka-Fai's usage of the term refers to its original meaning. When talking about an umbrella term for martial-arts a Chinese native speaker uses Wushu.
The only kind of Chinese Romanization I will use in my story is the aforementioned Hanyu-Pinyin method which has been the internationally approved standard since the 1980s. I will only deviate in case Kiseki canon provides a different kind of Romanization - case in point: Yun Ka-Fai.
About military aphorisms: 'War is the continuation of politics by other means' is a quote ascribed to Carl von Clausewitz, Prussia military philosopher whose treatise On War is regarded today on about the same level as Sun-Tzu's Art of War. The man's middle names are Phillipp Gottfried btw.
'No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main strength' is part of the main thesis on military strategy formulated by Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke. A much more popular and shortened version of the saying is known as 'No plan survives contact with the enemy." The guy was a contemporary of Otto von Bismark, a Prussian Field Marshal and the first person to create a General Staff Office in any kind of real world military ever.
Seriously, Erebonia being a fantasy counterpart culture of Prussia is absolutely awesome. Prussian military history is a goldmine of ideas and exceptional figures once you start digging.
Sixteenth triplet: For those of you who have never dealt with sheet music, a sixteenth note refers to the sixteenth part of a rhythmic bar (or measure), which is basically a full rhythmic unit. The length of this rhythmic unit is relative, meaning that each piece of sheet music needs to define the length or tempo of a single bar at the beginning. A triplet is a special rhythmic notation which is taken as 'play three notes in the time it takes to play two'. To use Vita's example of sixteenth triplet means playing three notes with equal rhythmic value in the time it takes to play two sixteenth notes. To give you a measure of how difficult it can be, let us assume that a bar contains four beats, which is pretty standard in musical notation. Let us also define, that one beat is exactly one second long, a tempo which is neither slow nor fast. A sixteenth note in this example is therefore only one-fourth of a second long. A sixteenth triplet in turn are three tones that are each one-sixth of a second. Depending on the exact composition of the tones, this can already be technically challenging. To drive the musician even further to despair, simply intermix the sixteenth triplets with regular one-sixteenth notes... there is a reason Elliot practices like a fanatic in canon.
Metronome: A mechanical or electric tool which gives off equally timed beats as acoustic signals. The tempo of the beats is adjustable beforehand, measured in beats per minute. The metronome is a wide spread training tool for advanced musicians to practice their sense of rhythm. It's of course also possible to force a beginner to use a metronome, but music teachers usually avoid doing so, because most of the time it drains away all the fun for someone who hasn't yet grasped the fundamentals of his instrument.
Glissando: A term from classical music. Refers to a technique of tone sliding between notes. To explain it in physical terms, a tone given off by an instrument can be described as a discrete frequency. 440 Hertz for example, is the 5th A on a piano keyboard, a popular tone which is frequently used by orchestras or groups of musicians to tune or 'calibrate' their instruments. Now a glissando means that when a musician slides from tone A, which is 440 Hertz, to let's say tone E which is about 660 Hertz, he manages to sound off more frequencies in-between these two pitches than the instrument is conventionally designed for. To elaborate, most modern classical instruments (yeah, I know that sounds kind of contradictory), can play pitches along a so-called chromatic scale, meaning the smallest tonal difference which can be conventionally played are half-tone units. During a glissando sliding, the instrument also gives off multiple frequencies that lie between these half-tone units. The reason I'm harping on the details is because it's also possible to slide along the discrete half-tones or full tone units without deviations in defined tonal frequencies. This technique is called legato which is easier to perform in most cases. The glissando is a technique most commonly associated with bowed string instruments like the violin.
Crescendo and Sforzando: Terms in classical music. Crescendo is a continuous increase in volume. Sforzando is a sudden strong emphasis on a single note, usually expressed by an instantaneous increase in volume. Yeah, Elliot is able to pick up on Sara's lightning abilities simply by listening to her breathing. Unfortunately, he isn't experienced enough yet to comprehend what he's hearing.