From the Baptism of Fire (1)
That day, toward the end of the lecture, several names were called out. It seemed Professor Montecuccoli wanted someone who could at least mimic a real battle situation, given it was practical training. Aside from a few exceptions, no one had caught the eye of our wide-awake professor. And among them, the guy treated like the biggest problem child—the one summoned for a private interview—was me.
Oh ho, who was this heading into the professor's room? Who else but yours truly.
Sitting in the chair in his private office, our Professor Montecuccoli glared up at me like he was about to devour me whole. His furrowed brow seemed to scream: You know your crime.
But he wasn't the type to waste his fiery temper on a pointless staring contest. The moment I sat down across from him, he locked his eyes straight onto my face and spoke.
“Baron Hebel, do you know why I called you here?”
He'd called me by name casually in class, but honored my title out here—guess that promise held true. His tone hadn't softened, though.
“Well... because of the mock battle, right? Nothing else comes to mind.”
“Correct. I clutched my neck watching that fiasco. So I'll ask directly: why did you kill your own soldiers?”
Yeah, figured it'd be that. I confessed readily.
“No other method came to mind.”
“No method came to mind?”
“The troop composition was botched from the start. Once it went off the rails, there was no fixing it. I had to force something, and that's what popped up.”
“And you're aware how utterly absurd that was?”
“If it'd been real orders, no one would've followed. In a real fight, I'd probably be the one dead.”
It only worked because they were soulless constructs without egos. Give them self-awareness, and they'd turn their bows on me before joining that madness. Even setting aside centaurs—a race where chronic food shortages make elder-killing routine—anyone would've done the same. You can't obey an order to block a storm, but you sure as hell can shoot the idiot captain screaming it and bolt. And that idiot captain? That was me.
Unsurprisingly, disbelief washed over the professor's face at my answer.
“You knew that and did it anyway?”
“Because it wasn't a taboo internally. At least not until then. You said it yourself—you'd add 'military discipline' settings next time. Until now, it was only minimally implemented.”
Per the course guidelines for this practical lecture, they started simple—omitting various corrections and features on purpose to teach basic command. A true tutorial of the basics. Then, as students adapted, they'd layer in more realistic elements until it matched full-scale real-war command, basing the exam on that experience.
In short, what regular students did versus us shiny newbies was genuinely 'game-level' fidelity. That's why I could treat it like a game—and why it wasn't an 'impossible action.'
“In other words, up to that point, I saw it as a viable option. Because it wasn't reality.”
Of course, Professor Montecuccoli's reaction was far from pleased. Brazen as my answer was.
“Not a taboo? Not explicitly forbidden by rules... So then, could I hop into the mock battle and beat you senseless—short of killing you—since it's not taboo?”
“Of course not.”
“Your stunt's no different. Isn't it? If you wanted to win so bad, why not sweat the details from the start?”
“You're right. My sloppy choices forced those desperate patches.”
I nodded. Truth be told, the root of it all—at least in my self-assessment—was that I hadn't taken it seriously. Didn't commit, half-assed it, hit a wall, solved it half-assedly, and clawed to a draw via teamkill. Put another way, I'd stolen a victory. Pathetic.
“I've learned my lesson, so I won't screw up like that next time.”
“Learned what, exactly?”
“Half-assing it disrespects the opponent and drags them down too. Plus, hey—got this chat with you out of it.”
“Those flashy toys you dragged in already twisted my guts. But at least you're not the idiot who can't grasp why I called you. Small mercies.”
So that was his real gripe. Makes sense—no professor welcomes a clownfish stirring shit among serious scholars.
Especially not one who slipped in on makeup credits...
I got his frustration inwardly. Sheepish, I rubbed the back of my neck. The professor, who'd briefly closed his eyes, shot me a sidelong glance and spoke.
“Let's be frank, Baron Hebel.”
“About what?”
“Word is your admission was... irregular. I want to know if you actually plan to study properly in this department.”
“That's...”
I tapped my head lightly. That brief hesitation was answer enough, in a way. But instead of pressing, Montecuccoli held back, eyeing me with clear displeasure.
Fine then. My turn for honesty.
“At first? Yeah, planned to coast. Because... I don't enjoy doing it myself. I only liked mock battles as casual fun.”
“Figured.”
“So when everyone started nominating me, spotlighting me... Honestly, I approached it half-heartedly. Came to the academy for history studies originally.”
“And your conclusion?”
I let out a small sigh.
“Thought that way, but... turns out I hate losing anyway.”
“So you wanted to lose otherwise?”
“Not quite. ...But people started expecting things from me.”
I gave a wry smile. Those people? My lifelong patron, this odd blonde girl I'd only known a short while, and the professor who'd spotted potential in me. Heavy stuff, that sense of responsibility. Maybe that's why I'd picked a life of currying favor from the throne's footstool over sitting on it. Let someone else shoulder the weight for me, live for them──
Apparently not.
“Above all, I felt a thrill out there.”
“That 'hate to lose' spark, eh?”
“Exactly.”
The follow-up hung in silence. The professor seemed to mull it over, piecing together the implications. At last, he spoke again.
“Well, folks come here for all sorts of reasons. Not everyone's got noble goals from day one. ...We'll let this slide, but remember—I'm watching. That answer means you're here to build martial prowess, not play tourist. Don't delude yourself otherwise. Clear?”
“Crystal.”
“And no special treatment fantasies. Botch your achievements, and I'll boot you from the rest of my lectures without hesitation—same for anyone.”
“Never expected otherwise.”
“...Hmph. Smooth talker.”
“Better than sulking with a pout after a scolding?”
Montecuccoli's eyes screamed This punk? He snorted once more.
“Fair. Beats the ones who whimper at a harsh word.”
“High praise—thanks.”
“Cut the nonsense. If you get it, study hard. And I'm watching—don't forget.”
That line that makes every student's heart skip, and with an oblivious wave of his hand, Professor Montecuccoli dismissed me. Test passed? Lecture over? I sighed in relief and bowed to him.
As I stood to leave—
“Oh, right. Take this.”
“What...?”
He tossed it over suddenly—bad vibes all around. And sure enough, it was every student's nightmare.
“Can't just wave off missed time because you're on makeup credits. Supplementary assignment: discuss with your mock battle opponent and deliver a thorough analysis grounded in the art of war.”
“Y-Yes... what?”
An assignment—and one requiring talks with the princess, no less.
Can't even imagine what she'll say...
We'd formed our trio anyway, so we'd meet soon... But with fresh guilt nagging me, I couldn't hide my awkward grimace.
What could I do?
“I'll deliver the best report possible!”
As a student, bold promises were all I had.
*
The next day, after magic lecture, I met Margrave Albert and Princess Charlotte at the academy hall as planned. A study group, officially—'study session' pretext and all.
My slight worry was the vibe on day one. After yesterday's mess, things might feel off—but aside from some awkwardness, no real issues.
Our margrave couldn't handle awkward silences well, though, and looked uncomfortable.
That's what the leader's for—smoothing it over.
“So, what exactly are we doing here?”
Not heading straight to the arena, the princess opened with a bored tone. Who knows what she was really holding back.
“How about we start with some reading?”
With that, I piled the books from my bag thickly in front of Margrave Albert and Princess Charlotte.
“These...?”
“Borrowed from the library.”
“Rental fees must've cost a fortune.”
“I've got allowance for it. Anyway...”
I shrugged at the two staring at me.
“Both of you wondered how I pull off unseen tactics just from books, right?”
Though really, past-life game knowledge. Surprisingly, that game had solid philosophy behind it—enabling certain plays. It didn't perfectly mimic real history, but historically valid strategies usually worked in-game too. That's why history buffs flocked to it, genre be damned. I was one of them.
And now the game's here—in higher fidelity.
“Today onward, we'll unravel that secret by diving into these books.”
The gist: study first. No downside to knowledge.
Oh, and I had another natural angle to pursue.
“You two have firsthand experience to draw from—let's reference that and chat it out today?”
Bonus: knock out the professor's makeup assignment in one go.
I planned to run this study group hard—do it right, for once.