Chapter 55 - The Scandalous Letter Fiasco (5)
"Wait!"
"Fire!"
Bang!
A desperate voice rang out, trying to halt the duel, but right after, Armin gave the signal to begin.
The two young men, tense as could be, reacted with remarkable swiftness.
Before the two shouts had even faded, a single gunshot tore through the crisp morning air, echoing across the entire courtyard and all the way to Grimman's Street.
"...."
"...."
It was movement almost like a flash of lightning.
The fourteen-year-old boy, Ernest Krieger, spun around, aimed his gun, and fired—faster than the blink of an eye.
It was not the measured action meant for a formal duel.
One bullet, one life.
It was an action born of the sole purpose to kill the enemy and save himself.
Because it was only that, there was no trace of dignity in it.
Before Gunter could even turn and raise his pistol, Ernest had already fired.
In the chilling, razor-sharp silence, Gunter—frozen for a moment—slowly began to move.
Bang!
Like Ernest before him, Gunter fired.
But, unable to muster the same accuracy as Ernest, he lifted his gun skyward and pulled the trigger.
Ernest's bullet struck the ground right in front of Gunter's foot.
The bullet struck the ground, bounced off, and then fell limply, rolling across the floor.
If this had been a real duel, Gunter wouldn't have even gotten the chance to pull the trigger before losing his life.
That would have been the end of it.
But neither of them had aimed to fire at the other.
Even after everything that happened, both of them had decided to stop the duel.
No, it was obvious to anyone watching that they never intended to kill each other in the first place.
After firing into the ground, Ernest lowered his gun and stared directly at Gunter without so much as a blink.
Gunter, though pale and visibly shaken, had also fired into the sky, as if it were the most natural thing to do.
"So… this was all just an act?"
The cadets pressed to the windows whispered among themselves.
And now, all eyes were drawn to a new figure who had run into the courtyard.
"…Jaf Gross."
Taking his eyes off Ernest, Gunter growled, his voice low, as he looked back at Jaf Gross, the fourth-year cadet who had dashed into the courtyard to stop the duel.
"How dare you."
"…Wolfram."
Jaf stared at Gunter, his face soaked with cold sweat.
Clear fear was written there.
"..."
Jaf slowly shifted his gaze to Ernest, who was still quietly watching him, dueling pistol lowered at his side.
Ernest simply observed the whole situation with an unreadable expression.
"Will you call off the duel?"
It was Armin's voice.
"Yes, we will stop."
"…Yes."
Ernest answered immediately, and Gunter replied as well, struggling to contain his emotions.
As if the duel that had just taken place was nothing but a lie, the two strode over to Armin, stood side by side, and handed over their pistols and bullet pouches.
"Very well. The duel between Gunter Wolfram and Ernest Krieger ends here."
Armin declared the conclusion of the duel in a firm voice.
Yet, he didn't close the case containing the dueling pistols.
"…I'm sorry, Krieger."
Jaf apologized to Ernest, his voice trembling.
"I couldn't find the courage, and ended up dragging you into all this."
Ernest didn't say a word.
He only tilted his head slightly toward Jaf.
"Robert."
"…Ah, yeah."
Ernest, snapping the dazed Robert out of it, saluted Armin together with him, then calmly walked out of the courtyard as if nothing had happened.
After seeing this, it was clear to everyone that the duel between Ernest and Gunter had been nothing more than a staged act to draw out Jaf Gross, the true owner of the Adultery Letter.
Nobody was foolish enough to miss that.
With this, Gunter's dishonor—of trying to kill Ernest, the only heir to the Krieger family and just a fourteen-year-old boy—had been restored.
Ernest had also demonstrated to the Noble Society just what kind of person he was.
And they had even succeeded in making Jaf Gross, author of the Adultery Letter, come forward of his own accord.
Ernest had done everything he could.
Now, all that remained was for Gunter and Jaf to 'act properly.'
"I won't say I'm sorry."
Though Jaf was much smaller than Gunter and his face was deathly pale, he forced himself to speak calmly.
"My feelings for her were sincere, and I truly believe her feelings were sincere too."
Jaf spoke, voice trembling and face weak, but by the time he finished his words, his expression had hardened with firm resolve.
"I can make her happier than you ever could, Wolfram—because you don't love her."
"You must be out of your mind, Gross."
"Yeah, if I'd been in my right mind, I never would've started any of this in the first place."
Jaf spoke with a bitter smile.
"How else could I have done something like that unless I'd lost my mind?"
Gross is Wolfram's vassal.
Jaf, as Gross's lord's son, had entered into a forbidden relationship with Gunter Wolfram's fiancée.
That was how much Jaf loved Theresia.
And Theresia loved him just as much, enough to keep completely silent in order to protect him.
The two young men, who had known each other for a long time—not quite friends, but far too close to be strangers—glared at each other with fierce intensity.
"Gunter Wolfram."
Jaf spoke in a calm voice.
"I challenge you to a duel."
It was not Gunter, shamed by his fiancée's affair, but Jaf—the one who had disgraced himself with the adultery—who issued the challenge.
"I accept, Jaf Gross."
Gunter responded without a moment's hesitation.
"The duel will be fought with pistols."
Armin immediately stepped forward as the witness and took charge of the duel.
Unlike earlier, when he oversaw Ernest and Gunter's duel, he now spoke in an extremely strict tone.
"Gunter Wolfram, decide on the terms of the duel."
"Ten paces, fire simultaneously, until death."
"Decide on the time and place."
"Right now, right here."
"Very well."
Standing before Armin, Gunter looked over at Jaf.
Even with his face pale and drenched in cold sweat, Jaf slowly approached them.
"Check your weapons."
"No issues."
"...No issues here."
Gunter inspected the pistol he had just used, while Jaf checked the one Ernest had fired with.
"These are the bullets. There are three loaded."
Armin handed each young man a fresh pouch of bullets.
Gunter, his lips tightly pressed together, tied the pouch back onto his belt.
Jaf's hands were shaking so badly that he fumbled for a while before finally managing to secure his own bullet pouch at his waist.
"Take your places."
Gunter and Jaf moved to the center of the courtyard.
They stood in silence, locking eyes.
Even the cadets crowding the windows for a view held their breath, not making a sound.
"Turn around and take five paces each."
At Armin's command, Gunter and Jaf turned around and walked.
They came to a stop.
Ten paces.
Even with a powder gun, whose accuracy drops at this distance, it was close enough to kill someone with a single shot.
With a Balt Gun, even a child could easily take a life at this range.
"Load your weapons."
Gunter loaded his gun swiftly—his hands moving even faster than they had when he'd dueled with Ernest. Jaf was much slower by comparison.
Waiting for Armin's signal, Jaf slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Fire!"
Armin didn't make them wait long.
There was no need for it.
The moment the signal rang out, the two young men spun around at the same time, raising their muzzles to aim.
Bang!
Pale Balt Light flared simultaneously with the crack of gunfire.
"Aaagh…!"
Thud.
Jaf screamed and collapsed.
A faint murmur rippled through the air, and once the overlapping echoes of the gunshots faded away, only Jaf's ragged, pain-filled breathing remained in the courtyard.
Jaf, collapsed on the ground, shakily reached with trembling hands to his wounded right thigh.
The bullet fired by Gunter had pierced his thigh cleanly.
In contrast, Gunter was completely unscathed.
At the moment they fired, Gunter had aimed precisely and shot Jaf in the thigh, while Jaf had pointed his gun toward the sky as he pulled the trigger.
For the sake of Gross, the retainer of the House of Wolfram, and for his beloved Theresia, Jaf was determined to take full responsibility and die at the end of this duel with Gunter.
If, in this process, Gunter were to be injured at all by Jaf's bullet—even a scratch—Jaf's death would lose all meaning.
Jaf had hoped that Gunter would kill him swiftly.
But instead, Gunter had shot him in the thigh, leaving him to writhe in pain on the ground, watching in silence.
"Will you continue the duel?" Armin asked the two young men.
"Yes. I will continue," Gunter answered, his voice low and resolute.
"Ggh… Aah…!"
Thud! Thud!
Jaf bit his lip hard and slammed his left fist with all his strength onto the hard stone floor.
Blood dripped from his split lip and fist, and using the pain to steady himself, he somehow managed to stand on his own two feet.
"Haah! Haa! Ugh…!"
Pain and blood loss turned Jaf's vision a blinding white, and his ears began to ring dully.
Jaf couldn't even be sure if he was truly standing on his own two feet.
"Jaf Gross. Will you continue?"
Armin's voice barely reached Jaf's muffled ears.
Struggling to see through the shock, Jaf wiped his eyes with his hand, staggered, and answered.
"Yes…!"
Giving up on the duel was unthinkable.
Jaf had to die here, in this duel.
"Very well. Reload."
With a heavy tone, Armin gave the order to reload.
Gunter reloaded swiftly, but Jaf's hands were numb and tingling—he couldn't even manage to open the chamber cover properly.
"Huff… Huff…"
Jaf's ragged gasps rang painfully through the courtyard.
The cadets watching from the windows realized that this was no longer an honorable duel, but an execution meant to finish off a condemned man.
Some couldn't bear to watch until the end—they turned away from the duel, stepping back from the windows.
"..."
But many watched the scene below with solemn expressions.
The noble boys fully understood what was happening here now.
Gunter had to kill Jaf Gross, the retainer of Wolfram who had committed adultery with his fiancée, in this duel to protect both his and his family's honor.
Jaf, for the sake of his own family and the woman he loved, had to die here in this duel, and knowing this, he had willingly stepped onto the execution ground.
Both Gunter's and Jaf's situations were understandable.
That was why many did not look away from this brutal execution, did not denounce it as unjust, and simply watched in silence.
As time passed, Jaf gradually recovered from the shock.
Though he was still bleeding, the bullet had been small, so the wound was as well, and it wasn't enough for him to lose consciousness or die right away.
The gunshot wound in his thigh had also missed the artery.
Once Jaf finished reloading, the two young men faced each other, raising their muzzles skyward as they awaited Armin's signal.
"Fire."
Armin gave the signal in a calm voice.
Bang!
Jaf squeezed his eyes shut and fired immediately without even lowering the muzzle.
Blue Balt Light flashed, and the bullet soared high into the sky and vanished.
Bang!
"Argh!"
Then Gunter fired, and his bullet struck Jaf in the right arm.
Jaf dropped his pistol with a scream and collapsed.
Gunter, having shot Jaf in the right leg and now in the right arm, looked down at the writhing, gasping Jaf with a detached gaze.
"Damn it! Just kill him quickly!"
Someone, unable to bear the sight any longer, shouted out.
"Silence."
Just as that outcry was about to swell into an uproar, everything fell silent at Armin's quiet warning.
No one dared to open their mouth.
In Armin Mannheim's words, it wasn't only his authority that resided.
Having personally killed more people than he could count and, with a single command or gesture, having been responsible for the deaths of countless more, Armin—truly a killer in every sense—spoke with unmistakable weight.
"Will the duel continue?"
Armin asked again.
"Yes, it will continue."
Gunter answered firmly.
"Yes... it will continue. Continue..."
Jaf, though collapsed on the ground and gasping, mumbled his answer as well.
Jaf was clearly in no condition to keep fighting. Even so, he insisted on continuing the duel. This was exactly the moment when the second was supposed to step in and continue the duel on Jaf's behalf, but there was no one willing to do that for him. This wasn't a duel anymore—it was an execution. And all of this was the price Jaf had to pay for a love that could not be forgiven.
"Jaf Gross. If you wish to continue the duel, stand up."
Armin addressed Jaf in a stern voice. Even if it was only a matter of formality, this was still a duel. If Jaf could not get up after falling, then it would be over.
"Hnnngh… hnnngh…"
Jaf, wracked by pain and blood loss, couldn't control his body. Still, he had to get up, and since no one would help him, he fumbled across the ground, grabbed his pistol in his left hand, and used all his strength to push himself off the ground.
"Aaagh…!"
But the moment Jaf stood, he immediately collapsed again. Just when he managed to get up, he had put his weight on his wounded right leg and toppled over.
"This is your last chance. Get up."
Armin spoke again, his voice even harsher.
"Aaaahhh!"
Jaf slammed his head against the ground in desperation and, with a tortured scream, forced himself upright.
Blood from the gash on his forehead slowly trickled down his face. The shock made his mind hazy, and for a moment, he managed to stand, having forgotten the pain.
"Reload."
Seeing Jaf standing on his own shaky legs, Armin gave a cold order to reload.
Gunter quickly reloaded his pistol, but Jaf simply couldn't do the same.
"Gasp! Huff! Pff… kuh…"
Blood streaming from his forehead mixed with his ragged breaths, running into his nose and mouth. Jaf struggled to reload while gasping for air. On top of that, his right arm was nearly useless due to the gunshot wound.
With trembling left hand, Jaf fumbled out a bullet, used his teeth to pry open the chamber cover, bit down on the bullet to slip it into the chamber, then awkwardly used his chin to slam the cover shut.
His gun, now soaked with his own blood, finished reloading at last. He pointed it skyward, swaying unsteadily, waiting for the cue to fire.
"...."
"...."
Armin, glancing quietly at Gunter, seemed to understand that Jaf could barely see straight.
'Are you truly prepared not to pull the trigger?'
Armin's gaze silently posed the question.
But Gunter gave no answer.
He couldn't answer.
His gaze was consumed by burning hatred, fixed solely on Jaf.
Armin slowly closed his eyes.
He knew.
He understood all too well that being willing not to pull the trigger weighed heavier than being willing to pull it.
That it was something truly difficult and painful.
Seventeen years old.
Armin was well aware that it had been a misjudgment to expect such resolve from a spirited young man who had never experienced the horrors of war.
Even though Armin Mannheim, the Major General and Headmaster of the Imperial Military Academy himself, had declared unequivocally that death would be limited to the duel between Ernest and Gunter, Gunter had long since forgotten those words.
Even so, the reason he allowed things to proceed was because Ernest Krieger, the only son of the hero Haires Krieger whom Armin knew personally, wanted it.
A single bullet, a single life.
Understanding the weight of that, at the mere age of fourteen, he had braced himself to hold back from pulling the trigger.
Instead of charging toward death and scattering it in the name of honor, he reached out to seize even the faintest possibility.
Comprehending this, Armin Mannheim had no choice but to allow this doomed plan to go forward.
He did have the hope that, even if it failed, things could be resolved without letting matters spiral further out of control.
Still—
"Fire."
Armin's indifferent voice.
"Theresia."
Jaf's whisper.
Bang!
Jaf's gun fired into the sky, and with a flash of blue Balt Light, blood splattered from the muzzle and sprayed through the air.
...
And then, silence descended upon the courtyard.
"Krieger."
Someone whispered.
It was Gunter's voice, the muzzle of his gun aimed at Jaf's heart.
"..."
"..."
Ernest was now pressed flush against the dormitory wall at the edge of the courtyard.
No one had any idea when or how he had silently slipped away to stand there unnoticed.
Ernest gazed quietly at Gunter, his deep, dark eyes glimmering.
There was no sign of urgency in his face, no anger, and certainly none of the desperate pleading of a man begging for mercy.
He simply watched Gunter—expressionless, not even blinking, as if nothing was swirling in his mind.
"..."
Locking eyes with Ernest over Jaf's shoulder, Gunter clenched his teeth tightly.
Even from such a distance, he was certain he could see his own reflection in Ernest's black eyes.
By all rights, Gunter was justified.
Even if he killed Jaf, no one would blame him; in fact, he would likely be praised for defending his honor.
No one could condemn him for his actions.
No one, except for Ernest Krieger—the one true victim in all this, who, more than anyone else, had hoped for a peaceful resolution and risked everything to make it happen.
Tick...
At the tip of Gunter's finger, the trigger shifts.
Just a little.
The hammer, ready to fire, trembles.
With just a tiny bit more pressure, the hammer will strike the Balt Battery, setting off the shot.
Gunter looked into Ernest's eyes.
More than anything, he wished Ernest would do something—say a word, send a look, give any sort of sign.
If Ernest gave him anything, Gunter would follow his decision, just for Ernest's sake.
But Ernest only continued to meet his gaze with those eyes like black glass.
Black glass... No, it was more like the far side of a bottomless Abyss, or perhaps a mirror reflecting back whoever looked into it.
And then, as Gunter faced that unblinking gaze, he realized that what he was really seeing wasn't Ernest—but himself.
Gunter was at a loss.
He couldn't tell whether he should pull the trigger or stop.
That was why he saw nothing in Ernest's eyes.
From the very beginning until now, Ernest had been quietly, wordlessly whispering to him not to pull the trigger.
Suddenly, Gunter recalled a memory from his childhood.
He had spent a lot of time with Jaf, even if they couldn't really be called close friends.
They were the same age, after all, and since Gunter wasn't set to inherit a countship—or even a barony or any meaningful title—and wouldn't come into much wealth, he crossed paths with Jaf quite a bit as they both enrolled in the Military Academy.
Jaf, with eyes closed, had been waiting for death.
But when it didn't come—no matter how long he waited—he slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Gunter.
Jaf thought he was hallucinating from having lost too much blood.
"…Jaf."
With his face contorted in anguish and his eyes reddening, Gunter called Jaf's name, just like he had when they were children.
"…Gunter."
Struggling for breath, Jaf also called Gunter's name.
They weren't really friends.
Gunter was the son of a count, and Jaf was just the son of Gross, a retainer to that count.
…Or was that really true?
Had they not been friends, when as children they rode horses together across the fields, hid in the garden and giggled until they fell asleep, and then got scolded together when they were caught?
At what moment did they stop being friends?
Was it when Count Anton Wolfram told his son that someone like the son of Gross, a mere retainer, could never be his friend?
Or was it when the Head of Gross told his own son that someone of his standing could never be friends with the count's son?
Or was it when Gunter, by his father's decision, became engaged to Theresia Leimann—a woman he didn't even love?
When, by doing so, he so violently wounded the hearts of Jaf and Theresia, who had already, in secret, fallen in love?
Like Jaf, who whispered Theresia's name as death drew near, had Gunter Wolfram ever once called her name with true feeling?
Had he ever allowed even a small place for her in his own heart?
Is this how he came to hate Jaf, the boy he grew up with, all because of a woman he didn't even love?
To the extent that he would shoot him through the heart?
Whose hatred is this?
What on earth is honor?
Gunter and Jaf's eyes met, perfectly aligned without the slightest deviation.
Gunter's face twisted in anguish.
Jaf gave a faint, weary smile, just as he had when they were children.
Bang!
A piercing Balt Light, sharp as a blade to the eye, flickered and faded across the courtyard as the high sun cast its gaze down.
The explosive crack of gunfire.
The long and lingering echo.
And then, a painful silence.
Thud.
Jaf collapsed, his body going limp.
Gunter slowly lowered his gun, letting it hang at his side.
Clatter.
The pistol slipped from his weakened hand and skidded across the ground.
Three shots had been fired.
"Do you wish to continue the duel?" Armin asked.
With his eyes closed, Gunter answered in a low voice, "No, I wish to stop."
At that answer, Armin's face, which had been as solemn as stone, slowly rippled like waves.
"Excellent."
With a gentle, kind smile, Armin spoke in a low but resonant voice.
Unlike the usual mask he wore to conceal his true self, this was filled with genuine satisfaction and praise for the remarkable decision made by these young, inexperienced boys.
"Since Jaf Gross is unable to continue the duel, and Gunter Wolfram has requested to end it, the duel is hereby concluded."
Armin declared the end of the duel in a voice full of conviction. Gunter had fired into the sky, not at Jaf's heart.
Jaf collapsed because he fainted from blood loss, not because he was shot in the heart.
"Tend to Gross's wounds."
"Yes, Headmaster."
Now that the duel was over, Jaf once again fell under Armin's protection as a cadet of the Imperial Military Academy.
Naturally, a wounded cadet on the verge of death must receive treatment.
A First-Class Baltracher, who had been standing by, quickly rushed over at Armin's command and began treating Jaf, while Disciplinary Officers holding the rank of Lieutenant and Captain hurried over like fresh recruits to gather up the dueling pistols scattered on the ground.
"Make sure today's training isn't disrupted."
"Yes, sir!"
When Armin gave his usual hearty laugh and spoke, the Disciplinary Officer answered energetically.
"What are you all doing? Any cadet late to assembly will receive demerits!"
At the Disciplinary Officers' sharp shout, the cadets who had been watching the duel in the courtyard began to scatter in a rush.
The commotion and chatter filled the air to the point that it was almost deafening.
"...."
"...."
Amid all the chaos, Ernest and Armin met each other's eyes.
Armin gave a satisfied nod with a warm smile, and after Ernest saluted him, Armin returned the salute in a crisp, dignified manner.
With that, Ernest quickly dashed into the dormitory.
Ernest had done everything he could, and it seemed he had pulled it off splendidly.
Now, the thorny political matters ahead would be left to the people in higher places to resolve.
"It worked out!"
Robert, who had been anxiously trembling as he waited for Ernest at the entrance to the dormitory, bolted up the stairs the moment he heard those words.
"Hurry up! I'm about to pee myself!"
Still half-asleep from having been dragged out for the duel, Robert hadn't even had time to use the bathroom, and the stress of the duel had made him so nervous that he nearly lost control.
And the truth was, Ernest was just as tense—his legs were shaking as he sprinted up the stairs, desperate for the bathroom too.
But Ernest's face was glowing with relief.
Even though Jaf was badly hurt, no one had died, and although there would still be some uncertain political challenges, Armin would handle them well.
Despite how tangled the whole mess was, fourteen-year-old Ernest Krieger had, with the help of Wilfried, Haires, and Armin, managed to resolve it all in impressive fashion.
It might not have been perfect, but Ernest had succeeded in seizing the very best outcome available to him.