Chapter 13: Duel (2)
Chapter 13: Duel (2)
“…So you’re saying, instead of swordfighting, you’re going to have a snowball fight with that annoying brat?”
“…Yeah.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do? There’s basically half a head of difference between me and that bastard. Do you want to watch your poor little brother get sliced up without being able to do anything?”
“Sure. Going right up to the banks of the Jordan River once might be a good life experience, no? If you meet a guy like Hades, maybe you’ll learn how to respect your elders.”
Wow. Is this guy taking a shot at me because I haven’t been reading the dogshit novels he’s been writing lately?
Seriously petty. Petty as hell.
Is this really the heroic Napoleon—one of the historical greats that kids in the 21st century love?
The real Napoleon is a legend. This is making my chest swell with awe.
How the hell is this stingy little bastard Napoleon?
“P-please… uh… help me…”
“Hm…”
Even though I begged earnestly, Napoleon-hyung kept his eyes half-lidded, listening like he didn’t really care.
Wait. That look.
That’s the look of a man who desperately wants something.
What does he want? His head’s basically filled with school, the army, and food.
At most… novels?
…No.
No way.
He can’t be that narrow-minded, right?
“…You can just give it to me…”
“Huh? What’d you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Just read it! Read it!”
“Of course. When my close little brother is calling for me like that, answering the call is only natural.”
The moment I finished speaking, Napoleon-hyung put on a deeply satisfied expression.
I’m enduring this because it’s disgusting. Because it’s disgusting.
Seriously—he’s not some one- or two-year-old elementary brat. He’s sixteen and he’s pulling this?
What if “Hero Napoleon” is just a fictional figure the French government invented?
Because the guy in front of me looks, no matter how I slice it, like some bad-tempered namesake.
“So then, how am I supposed to help you?”
“First—are you really saying you’ll help me completely?”
“…Huh? Well… yeah?”
“Hyung, didn’t you say before you wanted to try commanding people at least once?”
“I did. Ah—so I’m commanding those thirty men? I’m down.”
Napoleon-hyung said, grinning.
But, sir.
You should actually listen to the terms before you stamp the contract.
You just stamped it.
Poor thing.
“One more thing.”
“Huh? What is it?”
“Now go out and recruit fourteen people.”
“…?”
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you going?”
“Hey! I didn’t hear that part!”
Napoleon-hyung blinked for a moment, then shouted with a flushed face.
But why are you mad, sir?
You should’ve read the tiny gray text under the terms.
You stamped it and now you’re mad?
“Heh heh heh. That’s why you should’ve heard all the conditions before deciding. I barely know any cadets by name—how did you think I’d gotten all thirty? Ah, surely an ‘honorable’ officer cadet wouldn’t go back on his word, right? Still, I’ll find the other fourteen.”
“Gyaaaaah!”
The most annoying and difficult thing in the world is gathering people.
Sure, if it’s three or four, you can drag them along somehow, but thirty—thirty people you basically don’t know?
And it’s not like you’re inviting them to eat. It’s basically making them work for free. Who would come willingly?
From the standpoint of someone who finished a full Army sergeant term, the best move here is always to dump the work on someone else.
“As expected of Napoleon-hyung~. I believed in you, damn! Then I’ll be counting on you~.”
“…”
Ah, refreshing. This is what dumping work on someone feels like.
Huh? Then why is he getting up?
Napoleon-hyung stood, started winding his fists, and came toward me.
At that moment—
Bang bang bang!
“Is this Guillaume de Toulon’s house?!”
At the sudden voice and pounding on the door, Napoleon-hyung and I had no choice but to let go of each other’s collars.
“Extra! Extra! Hrk—huff!”
“What is it, what happened? Why are you making such a fuss?”
Seeing his roommate fling open the boardinghouse door and rush in, Mathieu set down the book he’d been reading.
The roommate caught his breath for a moment and even downed a bowl of cold water, then began.
What he said was shocking.
Hugo de La—the annoying bastard who acted as the ringleader of the Paris-born cadets—had challenged Guillaume to a duel today.
At some point, it stopped being a story only Mathieu was hearing.
Everyone in the boardinghouse came out to listen, and it practically turned into a public denunciation session.
“…So the Paris bastards were trying to screw Guillaume over?”
“That annoying piece of shit Hugo—I knew he’d pull something like this someday!”
“Ha! When is that thug act going to end?”
Some cadets spoke calmly, some in rage, some with bitter self-mockery—but the thought they all shared was the same.
This time, the Paris crowd went too far.
Guillaume hadn’t thrown the first punch. They picked the fight, and now they had guys who were sixteen or seventeen—big bruisers—challenging a kid who’d only just turned fourteen to a duel?
Even for petty Paris bastards, it was truly vile and pathetic.
“…So what happened to the duel…?”
When Mathieu asked what happened next, the boardinghouse went quiet for an instant.
“Not sure what Guillaume was thinking, but he changed the format. They said harming each other’s bodies would be a huge loss for the future Kingdom of France, so they agreed to hold the duel as a snowball fight instead.”
“What? A snowball fight?”
The quiet atmosphere exploded again.
A snowball fight. They weren’t five-year-old kids—these were students old enough to be grown, and they were going to have a snowball fight. And they were calling that a duel?
“What is that supposed to be…?”
“This isn’t even kids’ play.”
“Isn’t that a bit much?”
As expected, the atmosphere that had been fiercely condemning Hugo and the Paris crowd a moment ago turned cold.
“Guillaume made the right call.”
Mathieu said it, completely out of step with the chilled mood.
“Huh? What do you mean, right?”
“Then what was Guillaume supposed to do? Fight a duel he has no chance of winning against someone half a head taller?”
“That’s… not it.”
“Guillaume made an appropriate choice. Still—Hugo actually accepted it.”
“I heard he persuaded them by saying they’d duel based on officer qualities—each side gathers people and fights a mock battle.”
“…Huh. If he fell into water, only his mouth would float. Still, that’s impressive.”
“But can Guillaume even gather people? He doesn’t have friends.”
The moment someone said that, the slightly softened atmosphere turned cold again.
“So what if he’s short on people? We can just go for him, can’t we?”
Someone among the cadets listening said that.
That was the spark.
Voices started popping up all over, breaking the cold mood, and the room heated up again.
“I hated those Paris bastards from the start! I’ll go too!”
“Me too! Let’s teach those arrogant pricks who look down on everyone else because they’re ‘central nobles’ a lesson!”
“Look at the Paris crowd picking on Guillaume just because some provincial kid is doing well! If we fellow provincials don’t protect him, who will?”
“Wooo! Kill them! Kill them!”
At some point, the boardinghouse had turned into something like a send-off ceremony for heroes going to defeat an evil demon king.
“This isn’t a crusade…”
Mathieu muttered low.
“But it’s not bad.”
The roommate who’d brought the news replied.
“Yeah. Not bad.”
Mathieu’s face bloomed into a smile.
Guillaume had become a rallying point for provincial and commoner cadets.
Mathieu didn’t hate that.
More than anything, the thought of landing a punch on the Paris bastards made his body itch.