Pa-pa-pa—
Pa-pa-pa-pam—
The cheerful and bright sound of a bugle rings through the heads of soldiers deep in sleep.
Perhaps due to the tension of their first enlistment, the recruits were in a mess—some were stiff as Pharaohs in a coffin, while others were tangled in their blankets with their backs arched awkwardly.
Gasping and groaning,
They all sat up half-conscious, forced awake in a way they had never experienced in their lives.
"The bugle sounded ages ago. Why are you still lying down? Change into your uniforms immediately. Move!"
"M-Moving!"
An instructor had already opened the door to the barracks and was scanning them with a sharp gaze from the hallway.
Only then did they realize they had truly enlisted, and they hurriedly changed into the new military uniforms they had been issued.
Although the Wandenreich is an empire modeled after a military, it does not impose excessive discipline on children or adolescents who have not yet officially enlisted.
The process of making them function as soldiers begins immediately after they enlist upon reaching adulthood.
Since these clumsy youths didn't quite feel like soldiers yet, the instructors needed to intensively instill military discipline in them during the early stages of enlistment.
"Only ten minutes left. Since there are many of you, wash up quickly. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
It was a morning preparation at a speed they had never felt before.
"To prepare for roll call, the barracks leader will check the headcount and report to the squad leader. Move!"
""Moving!""
The roll call followed at an explosive pace.
'What's with these side dishes...'
'Did they ruin civilian food on purpose? No, that can't be...'
"Don't complain about the food; just eat. You are soldiers, not children. Understood?"
"Ye... Yes, sir!"
'Is he a mind reader or something...'
Mealtime.
"In the first week of training, you will learn to manifest the Heilig Bogen, the most basic Quincy weapon, and master its fundamental use.
Everyone, take out your issued Quincy Cross.
From now on, that will be your personal armory and your identification. You must never lose it."
Training.
"...Thus, the Kaiser Gesang you have heard since childhood was used as a song to predict the great resurrection of His Majesty. This will later..."
Mental education.
"A thousand years ago, the Lichtreich located in the World of the Living fell to the invasion of the Soul Reapers, and His Majesty established the great Wandenreich once again."
Even detailed history.
The short evening break after finishing a storm-like daily routine was the only time they could catch their breath.
The so-called 'Self-Development Time' given for about an hour before bed.
While the goal was to raise stats uniformly to produce a high-quality army, Spiritual Pressure is heavily influenced by individual talent, so occasionally, a 'crane among chickens' would emerge.
For Soul Reapers, it was Bankai.
For Hollows, it was Resurrección.
For Quincies, it was Sklaverei.
Although the exact concepts differed, there was a threshold recognized across all races as 'irreplaceable ability or strength' that set one apart from ordinary personnel.
Therefore, it was a system that guaranteed a bit of individual training time for the rare talents that appeared like beans sprouting in a drought.
It was a 'good if it happens, fine if it doesn't' kind of thing.
Of course, there were those who believed in their potential and trained as if possessed during this time.
But for most soldiers, this time was simply a sweet rest.
Gathering with comrades they had befriended and chatting about their impressions of the first day of enlistment was how they spent their time.
"The instructors are seriously crazy. They follow you everywhere!"
"I heard a guy in the next barracks got beaten because he was sleeping until ten minutes before roll call."
"More importantly, did you see the girls' barracks when we passed by earlier? There was one girl who was absolutely stunning..."
Unproductive and trivial, but meaningful conversations could be heard here and there.
Flip, flip.
Amidst the noise, the sound of pages turning quietly could be heard.
There are always bookworms everywhere.
Thinking he was just a boring guy reading recommended books in silence, a comrade sitting next to him decided to strike up a conversation.
"Hey, hey. Why are you reading a book so boringly?"
"Hmm? Ah. I thought books would be the most efficient way to obtain objective information."
He was even more boring than expected.
He was the same guy who had been digging through the history textbook they had barely started learning during lunch, so that said it all.
A truly hardcore bookworm. How was he going to make friends like that?
He was one of the tallest, and from what he saw during lunch, his face wasn't bad either.
"Geez, there's nothing better than chatting to get information. Let's just badmouth the instructors for a bit. This is the only way to blow off steam, isn't it?"
"Hmm... I suppose so."
The protagonist already knew most of the textbook knowledge.
However, while he knew the chemical structure of fibers or the outlines of worldviews proposed by ancient philosophers, he accepted the proposal because things like the atmosphere of current society or the knack for conversing with others only improved through actual experience.
"But why are you still wearing that mask? Isn't it stuffy?"
"Isn't this the standard uniform for a Soldat?"
"It is, but why wear it during rest time? I saw you take it off just fine when we were eating earlier."
"...I want to keep it on except for essential things like that."
It was almost bedtime, yet he was wearing his uniform, coat, hat, and even his mask, which made the observer feel stifled just looking at him.
"Is there a reason?"
"Just... because this attire is treated as the identity of a Soldat here."
But the reason he insisted was—
"I've never been anything myself before. So for now, I'm trying to at least become a perfect Soldat."
"Hah..."
He really was a peculiar guy.
In his barely twenty years of life, he had never seen such a unique character.
Well, they say the military is where all sorts of people gather, so he just had to deal with it.
Still, he didn't seem to have a twisted personality.
"Sure, that's your freedom. I'll root for you."
"Thanks. By the way, what is your name?"
"We haven't even introduced ourselves yet. I'm Belmaia. Belmaia Bank. You?"
"Ah... I am..."
'I see. Yes, your name is—'
"Einsamer Nachahmer."
He reached out and shook hands.
The sensation of his arm moving up and down was unusually vivid.
"Nice to meet you."
*****
A world with only a pitch-black sky, where it was impossible to distinguish day from night because there was no sun.
To maintain the minimum biological rhythm of life, they set day and night and lived according to the schedule of the World of the Living.
As if living in a perpetual polar night.
However, Haschwalth continued his work silently, regardless of the time.
From waking up to sleeping, he did not waste a single moment.
That would be his repayment for His Majesty daring to evaluate him as his other half.
Only a few small lamps were lit, creating a quiet atmosphere.
A pen dipped in ink scratched across the paper, writing characters in a beautiful but rigid style.
Thud.
After finishing some final tasks, he finally put down the pen.
Proper rest is the way to maximize work efficiency. Therefore, a moderate amount of sleep was a necessity, not an option.
"Phew..."
He let out a long breath, cooling down his brain which had maintained high concentration for several hours.
Now he should wrap up and try to sleep.
Suddenly, the most recent piece of information flashed through his mind.
The mysterious Quincy found the day before—the one he named Einsamer Nachahmer.
Now, Recruit Einsamer.
It was because of his actions.
More accurately, it was his origin, rather than his actions.
Or his background.
"..."
It had been over a thousand years since he began serving His Majesty.
Naturally, he had watched the fate of the Quincies with his own two eyes, from the bloody battles of the past to the present.
Not just the fall and resurrection of the Quincy collective, but also notable individuals.
Hubert Parcher.
Algora Wahadennol.
Zeidritz de Castolania.
Nikita Desloque.
And so on.
The Sternritter of the past, or figures with even greater influence, were still faintly etched in his memory.
Even though they were already dead.
Unlike them, there was one strong individual who was still alive.
The one whose power His Majesty personally sealed due to the danger and the possibility of accompanying variables.
The Headless One.
He had been suspicious when he heard the answer to the first question. The possibility of 'what if.'
That was why he sent even Quilge away and faced the fellow alone.
Quilge was by no means loose-lipped, but even so, this was a matter that had to be kept strictly confidential.
It would be best for that fellow to have minimal contact with the Sternritter.
However, if he were to execute him on the spot, news might leak due to his resistance and reach 'him,' which would be a loss.
Based on his estimated basic stats, he was strong enough to be qualified to receive a Schrift, but as mentioned before, it was not good for him to stand out.
Thus, he assigned him as a regular Soldat.
He even chose a unit farthest from the palace.
Quietly eliminating him when the opportunity arose was one way, but the top priority was His Majesty's recovery and the smooth preparation for war.
In fact, letting him live quietly until the declaration of war could be a good strategy.
After all, once His Majesty becomes perfect, it won't matter what happens.
Fortunately, according to the first observation report, he hides his appearance by wearing his military uniform and mask at all times, except for essential activities...
It seems best not to attempt any forced disposal.
With those thoughts, he took off his heavy coat and headed to the bathroom.
In the room with windows embroidered by a black canvas, only the sound of a shallow stream of water began to drift about.
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