Chapter 44 - Compass of Bewilderment (4)
"Before we really get started, let me show you a simple way to defend against mental attacks."
It seemed Liselotte had completely abandoned any attempt at sounding like a soldier.
She now spoke as though she were a kind older sister talking to her younger siblings.
"The basics of a mental attack start with reading the other person's mind. You have to understand your target to know where and how to approach them. Of course, there are very few Baltrachers in the entire Empire capable of launching that level of mental attack—so few you could count them on one hand. The Alliance Army, which already has a hard time supplying Balt Batteries to train new Baltrachers, almost certainly doesn't have anyone of that caliber."
Listening to Liselotte's gentle voice, it felt less like the sweltering heat of summer and more like basking in the warm sunlight of a spring day.
"So chances are, the worst you'll actually experience is having your thoughts read. All you really need to know is how to keep that from happening."
Liselotte brushed away a strand of her blond hair that had become stuck to her face with sweat from the heat.
The cadets, entranced all over again, fell into a daze at the sight.
It was as if none of them were in their right minds.
"It's actually pretty easy to tell when someone's reading your thoughts. You'll suddenly have thoughts pop into your head that aren't yours, and you'll find yourself obsessively fixated on them. Once you feel it for yourself, you'll understand right away. But the first time it happens, it's almost impossible to resist. Which is why we're going to try it now. You there, come up here."
Liselotte called the cadet who had been staring at her in a daze to the front.
"...Me?"
"Hehe, yes, you."
When the surprised cadet snapped out of it and asked for confirmation, Liselotte nodded with a smile. The cadet's face flushed bright red. As he hesitated and made his way forward, Liselotte extended her hand toward him.
"Take it."
"Uh, well, um..."
"Go on."
"Y-yes..."
The redness spread to the cadet's ears and the nape of his neck. With a trembling hand, he grasped Liselotte's hand. Her small hand was as white and soft as milk.
"..."
"..."
Immediately after, the color drained from his face, calming all that red.
He stood there, staring blankly at Liselotte's hand, completely unmoving.
It was as if he were under a trance.
The chilling sight snapped the other cadets out of their reverie, startling them as though waking from a dream.
"Just like that"
"Huh?"
As Liselotte let go of his hand, the cadet snapped back to his senses and staggered backward.
His face had gone completely pale, and he was trembling all over.
Clutching himself tightly, he froze in place.
The inexplicable trembling vanished as quickly as it had come.
"If your thoughts are completely exposed, it's not just about leaking information—you can be left wide open to attacks as well."
"..."
"Tell us what you were just thinking."
Liselotte spoke kindly to the cadet, whose face was as white as a sheet. The cadet, terrified, took another step away from her.
"I-I was thinking… how cold it was… That it was so cold, I could hardly bear it…"
No one could fathom how he could have such a thought in this sweltering heat. In the instant he held Liselotte's hand and then let go, he truly felt a chill so intense that it seemed his limbs might freeze and break off. And yet, his body was still sweating from the heat.
"What if, instead of cold, it had been fear? Or what if it had been such comfort that you'd want to abandon everything else? Or maybe a sense of loyalty toward me—what then?"
"..."
At Liselotte's words, all the cadets fell silent. Now everyone understood. The beautiful woman standing before them was a Baltracher, someone with such extraordinary psychic abilities that it was almost frightening.
"Did you feel your thoughts become wildly unsettled?"
"Yes, I did."
"Don't forget that feeling. It means you're being attacked. Of course, unless you commit treason, you'll probably never actually encounter it."
"…I'll remember that."
When Liselotte first mentioned treason, the cadets couldn't fully grasp the weight of her words. But now, it was different. If they were ever involved in treason, this terrifying woman would seize hold of every thought and mental process they had, exposing even the tiniest fragments of their memories.
"Next—any volunteers?"
Liselotte gave a gentle smile and waved her white hand, but no one wanted to take it. In the end, Liselotte started calling them one by one. The cadets, like pigs being led to slaughter, had no choice but to step forward and take her hand.
However, as time passed, their fear of Liselotte and her powers gradually gave way to curiosity and even excitement about this strange experience. By the time about half the cadets had taken her hand and experienced her power for themselves, the tension in the room had all but faded.
"Next, how about you over there with blond hair like mine?"
"Yes."
And so it was Wilfried's turn. Wilfried rose with composure and stepped forward. However, that very composure seemed unnatural. If it were any other cadet, they'd be either excited by the strange experience or, like Robert, blushing all the way up to their neck at the thought of holding the hand of that pretty blond older sister.
"Robert, could you quit it? It's gross."
"My hands just keep getting sweaty."
"…"
Ernest shot a frown at Robert, who kept wiping his palms on his pants, then turned his gaze back to Wilfried.
While Wilfried seemed no different from usual on the outside, to Ernest's eyes, he looked like a condemned prisoner walking toward the guillotine.
That condemned man might put on a brave front as if he'd accepted his fate, but surely, he must still feel the terror of impending death.
'…Ah.'
As that thought occurred to him, Ernest suddenly realized something dreadful. His face, already suffering from a headache, turned deathly pale.
"Then, even if it's a little different, we're accomplices."
Words he himself had once spoken echoed in Ernest's ears.
Although Ernest and Wilfried saw things from slightly different perspectives, they shared one dangerous thing: suspicion towards His Majesty the Emperor.
What if Liselotte found that out?
Ernest desperately hoped Wilfried would be able to fend off Liselotte's mental assault.
But he knew perfectly well that was almost impossible—and that he, too, would be effortlessly broken by Liselotte if it came to that.
Wilfried was the Duke's son; maybe he'd slip through quietly. But what about Ernest?
Wilfried stared intently at Liselotte's white hand, steadied himself, and slowly reached out to grasp it.
'How despicable. It's not enough that they herd the noble boys into the Military Academy for brainwashing—now they come up with this excuse just to probe our beliefs too.'
Wilfried tried desperately to defend himself, but the moment he took Liselotte's hand, his thoughts were no longer his own.
'If they're going this far, the Emperor must not be as at ease as he'd like everyone to think. Really, it makes sense. He's a madman who once set the world ablaze with the fires of war, driven by his ambition to seize everything, only to fail. For someone like that, even the smallest flaw must be intolerable.'
Wilfried, fearful of anyone overhearing or watching, inwardly muttered these biting thoughts about the Emperor—thoughts he'd never dared to think so directly before.
'With such overwhelming power, with the very strength to make that insane claim of ruling the entire world a reality, what could the Emperor possibly fear to push him to such extremes?'
The instant he reached this realization, one he'd never had before, Wilfried suddenly felt as if he'd been shaken awake from a dream, hurled back into the world, alone.
"..."
"Do you remember what you were just thinking about?" Liselotte asked.
Wilfried stared blankly at her, his hand still clawing at the empty air.
Sometime during the exchange, Liselotte had slipped her hand from his grip and hidden it behind her back.
"…No, I don't remember."
Wilfried couldn't recall when Liselotte had let go of his hand—or what he had been thinking about just a moment ago.
All he remembered was walking to the front of the lecture hall and taking her hand; everything else was a blur. Still, somewhere deep inside, he could sense that his thoughts had spun wildly out of his control, as if he'd been swept along without any will of his own.
With his face pale, Wilfried took a shaky step back. He realized then that, in just a brief moment, Liselotte had manipulated his very memories.
"This was nothing more than practice for defending yourself against mental attacks."
Liselotte leaned in and whispered to Wilfried in a gentle voice. Whatever she had found out, she was letting him know that this was the end of it. But Wilfried wasn't foolish enough to feel relieved by her words.
'Obey. That's what this is really about.'
It wasn't just the mind reading—this entire situation was, in itself, a warning from the Emperor. Once the boys of such noble families have gone through something like this, they will grow up to raise their own children in fear, making sure to instill absolute loyalty to the Emperor, dreading even the slightest hint of doubt.
That's probably why, during the first 'History of the Empire' lecture, most cadets so quickly fell under the instructor's spell.
The only reason Wilfried was able to remain a bit outside this enormous system was his unique circumstances. Duke Ravid had certainly raised Wilfried with rigorous discipline, ensuring he would never show the slightest suspicion toward the Emperor and thus attract unwelcome attention. But the clever Wilfried, even within those constraints, eventually arrived at his own ideals and managed to poke a tiny hole in the vast yet suffocating world built by the Empire, allowing himself a small glimpse of the real world.
If Wilfried hadn't been someone who had to fight so desperately just to survive—even as the Duke's son—such a realization would have been nearly impossible.
"Now you understand what it feels like to have your thoughts read, don't you, Wilfried?"
Liselotte gave him a smiling glance as she whispered—calling him Wilfried, even though he'd never introduced himself to her, nor had he ever asked anyone to use that name instead of Ravid.
"Yes, I understand very well."
With as calm an expression and voice as he could muster, Wilfried replied and then slowly turned around, walking back to his seat.
The remaining cadets underwent the same experience.
Ferdinand remained completely nonchalant even as he held the hand of this beautiful yet dangerous woman. Liselotte was indeed an exceptionally beautiful lady, but she was so small and delicate that she wasn't at all Ferdinand's type. And while she possessed a terrifying power, Ferdinand—determined to fulfill his duty as a soldier—did not consider her a threat.
"Ugh!"
However, after holding Liselotte's hand for a moment, Ferdinand was suddenly startled. He jerked his hand away from hers and instinctively took a step back. His face had turned bright red, and his eyes wandered as if searching for somewhere to look.
"..."
Liselotte simply smiled sweetly at Ferdinand and waved her white hand softly in the air. Thanks to Liselotte's attack, Ferdinand found himself feeling an overwhelming affection for this small, fragile woman—so utterly unlike his usual tastes.
"What's wrong? Did you have some dirty thoughts or something?" Robert whispered as Ferdinand returned to his seat and sat down. At the menacing warning Ferdinand muttered between his teeth, Robert flinched and sat up straight, suddenly cowed.
Ferdinand was genuinely angry.
Then the moment Robert had been anticipating arrived—it was his turn. Like a bee lured by the sweet scent of a lavish flower's nectar, Robert seemed almost drawn forward, nervously grasping Liselotte's pale hand with trembling fingers.
After only a short moment, he returned, an oddly serene smile on his face, and sat down next to Ernest.
"Wh-what's with you?"
Ernest couldn't help but be unnerved by Robert's strange behavior. When he asked with a quivering voice, Robert turned his head slowly, that same gentle smile on his face, and looked at Ernest.
"Desire is such a futile thing Isn't that right, Teacher Ernest."
"R-Robert…!"
"I hope you'll do me the kindness of forgetting the shameful days when I lost my head over blond women."
"Get a grip! This isn't you! You used to chase your desires a lot more than this!"
"I've never felt my heart so clear before. How could I have been so disgraceful until now?"
Apparently, even Liselotte was put off by Robert's obsession with pretty blond women, because after holding her hand, he suddenly began acting like a philosopher who had discovered the truth. Liselotte watched Robert with an awkward smile.
"It won't last long."
At those words, Ernest wasn't sure if he should be relieved or if Liselotte should fix this pervert's mind for good. At the same time, he was hit by a wave of fear and intense stress at the thought of having to bare his thoughts to someone with such overwhelming power.
Ernest already knew that his thinking was very unusual, not just for the Military Academy but for the entire Empire. By now, he fully understood just how different he was. So what would happen if someone like him, after holding Liselotte's hand, had his true self exposed? How would she react?
The other cadets continued to take turns approaching, taking Liselotte's hand, and experiencing her power. There were sixty First Years, so it took a very long time. During this endless wait, Ernest realized just how utterly alone and isolated he truly was.
Those eyes from before. She really did see me… just as I saw her.
Ernest realized that Liselotte was deliberately trying to put pressure on him. Just as he had looked at her and recognized her true nature behind those cold eyes, Liselotte must have also seen through his restless gaze to glimpse his essence.
Maybe it was because they were different, yet so similar.
Their eyes were unmistakably those of hunters, gathering information as they searched for their prey.
Ernest guessed that he would be the last to go, and he was exactly right.
"Last one."
"Yes."
Responding calmly to Liselotte, who smiled at him with her eyes, Ernest stood up from his seat and walked forward.
As she watched him, Liselotte's crescent-moon eyes sharpened even more with her smile.
So steadfast.
Liselotte read everything about Ernest—his complexion, his expression, his posture, the movement of his eyes, his breathing, even the trembling of his fingertips—and realized that behind the ordinary boyish façade he'd shown just moments before, he'd built an astonishingly solid mind.
Truly, even Liselotte, who as a Baltracher and with her sharp insight could analyze human beings, couldn't find anything amiss about Ernest as he was now.
Liselotte was deeply curious about how this young boy could manage such a feat.
It was as if… he were some carefully crafted being, carved with exquisitely delicate yet harsh hands.
Utterly alien.
With a bright smile, Liselotte extended her white hand to Ernest Ernest calmly took her hand as if it were nothing.
Their eyes met.
Liselotte gave him a gentle smile.
In that blink of an eye, Liselotte was already peering inside Ernest.
Even for a Baltracher who specialized in psychic abilities, simply reading someone's thoughts or analyzing and attacking their mind wasn't an easy feat.
This was a highly abstract power, and because Balt abilities could only be activated with precise intent, using it properly was extremely difficult.
That's why, to master this power that touches the mind, a Baltracher forms a tremendously strong mental image.
Liselotte's chosen image was a compass.
Using a compass that could find and point her toward the path she desired, Liselotte would never lose her way in the tangled intricacies of the human psyche.
Countless thoughts would rise up, memories desperately hidden away, yet all she had to do was follow the needle of the compass.
Liselotte's power was incredibly strong.
Unless you were a fellow Baltracher, no one could block her attack, not even the most well-trained mind.
'······.'
And so, Liselotte was able to peer into Ernest's mind with ease. But at that very moment, overwhelmed by a scene she had never once encountered in her life, she found herself unable to do anything more.
Usually, when Liselotte looked into a person's mind, the scene she faced would be that of a single compass struggling to conceal something, its needle wavering restlessly.
The human mind is complex yet monotonous. The most compasses Liselotte had ever seen in a person's mind was five. And that individual suffered from such a severe mental illness that even holding a normal conversation was impossible.
Normally, people possessed just one compass, maybe two at most; on extremely rare occasions, she'd seen three.
But right now, the compasses spread before Liselotte's eyes numbered a staggering six.
"Horrifying."
That was what Liselotte thought as she watched six compasses lying scattered chaotically on the ground, their needles spinning wildly as if mad. It was as though six eyeballs were darting frantically in search of something.
It wasn't simply their appearance that made Liselotte find this so terrifying.
Liselotte had absolutely no idea what could have happened within Ernest's mind to bring about such a situation.
However, one fact was clear: this boy, who just seemed somewhat scatterbrained on the surface, was actually suffering from a far more acute case of dissociative symptoms than any madman afflicted with severe mental illness that Liselotte had ever encountered.
For Liselotte, a single, orderly compass in a person's mind represented coherent thought.
Most people cannot focus on two thoughts at once.
They might believe they're thinking several things simultaneously, but that's an illusion.
At best, they're just switching rapidly between them.
Only truly extraordinary individuals are able to handle more than one thought at a time, and even two is excessive.
At that point, they're no longer normal.
And yet, here were six compasses—each one seemingly lost, their needles whirling endlessly in confusion.
There was no doubt about it.
Ernest Krieger was decidedly not normal.
If, in this state, he was still able to function and think logically, then surely, he could no longer be called human.
"This morning."
Liselotte finally spoke out loud.
For someone like her, with such powerful Mental-Type Ability, to use her power and simultaneously speak to catch her target off-guard was extremely rare.
Unless her opponent was a Baltracher, defending themselves with formidable strength, she almost never did this.
"I saw you collapse..."
Rattle!
The moment Liselotte said this, the six compasses—previously scattered and quivering randomly—suddenly began to spin their needles even more violently, as if driven mad.
Staring into Ernest's eyes, Liselotte watched those invisible compasses, reading what could not be seen.
Clatter. Click.
"Yes, I just fainted for a moment because of the heat. I was sweating a lot."
Liselotte flinched in surprise.
As soon as Ernest spoke, the wildly trembling needles sequentially clicked and halted, each pointing in a different direction.
Then, as if aligning in perfect order, they all pointed the same way before once again spinning chaotically.
"...Were you feeling unwell?"
Liselotte asked softly, her tone gentle and caring.
Rattle!
Once again, the six compass needles shook violently, as if an earthquake were shaking them.
Clatter.
This time, the order was different than before, yet once again, the needles paused one after another, pointing in either new directions—or the same direction as before.
Click.
Afterward, they all pointed firmly in the same direction once more.
"I woke up a bit early this morning because the room was too hot."
Then, just like in the beginning, the compasses shook in all directions in total disorder.
'This boy…'
Liselotte realized, with a chill, that this mad boy—who was unmistakably suffering from severe Dissociative Disorder—was giving a terrifyingly well-structured order to his near-chaotic mental activity.
In other words, astonishing as it was, this boy who seemed to be running six different trains of thought at once—perhaps carrying six distinct selves within a single body—was able to control them all by his own will, thinking and making judgments like any perfectly ordinary person.
'Even if it looks chaotic, every process is systematized.'
Liselotte was at a loss for how to comprehend this situation, something she was experiencing for the first time.
But at the very least, she was certain that, in his own way, Ernest was controlling this whole situation—and that he was by no means a lunatic.
That was something she would never have believed if she hadn't witnessed it herself.
'And yet, even if it appears systematized, it's still confusing. There's no way I could use this as a guide to move forward.'
Liselotte didn't have the courage to follow these compasses into Ernest's mind.
No matter how many compasses there were, if every single one was broken, how could anyone trust them to venture out into an endless sea?
Ernest might be able to find his way forward using these broken compasses, but for Liselotte, it was impossible. This was something that only Ernest Krieger himself in this world could handle.
"That's enough for now."
Liselotte let go of Ernest's hand. She almost instinctively took a step back, then caught herself.
She felt a sense of discomfort and aversion toward this alien existence. Even though she could have reduced him to a handful of blood without lifting a finger, just by having the Balt Battery, that uneasy feeling kept her from wanting to get any closer.
"How was it? What did you feel?"
Liselotte asked, her gentle smile and warm tone just as soft as when she spoke to the other cadets.
"…I felt like my concentration was a little sharper than usual."
Ernest, after a moment's hesitation, answered honestly. The sensation reminded him of when his tonic dosage had been reduced.
This was the result of Liselotte Kirchner—a powerful Baltracher—doing her utmost, in her own way, to guide Ernest's mind and read his memories and thoughts.
In other words, no matter how powerful a Baltracher might be, to exert any more influence on Ernest's mind would mean risking the possibility of fracturing it altogether.
'If it were His Majesty the Emperor, the Master Baltracher, maybe something more would be possible.'
Liselotte had met the Emperor, Walter Ulrich Mihahil, in person and experienced his power for herself.
Even for someone as gifted as her among the First-Class Baltrachers, the Emperor's power was astonishingly immense—almost incomprehensible.
If Liselotte was a campfire, then the Emperor was a vast blaze setting the whole field alight.
"Is that so?"
Liselotte gave a vague response to Ernest's words. With a smile and a glance, she motioned for Ernest to return to his seat. Then, in a gentle tone, she addressed the others.
"I'm sure you all have some idea of what it feels like now. It's very difficult to deal with in the moment, but if you always keep that sensation in mind, you just might be able to sense an attack and protect yourself."
Liselotte added, her smile blooming like a flower.
"Well, that's it for now. Let's meet again someday, if the chance arises. Of course, it might be better for you if we never cross paths again."
With that chilling parting remark, Liselotte strode calmly out of the lecture hall.
"…She was incredibly beautiful, wasn't she?"
"That's what you're thinking about right now? Weren't you scared at all?"
"But she really was beautiful."
"Okay, but seriously, weren't you afraid?"
"Why would I be afraid of someone so pretty?"
"…Are you sure your head's okay?"
Even after Liselotte left, a few cadets could hardly get a grip on themselves, lost in praise for her looks.
"Thinking someone is pretty or scary is just about your own mind anyway. She's just existing as herself, but it's my own desires that make me see her differently from someone else," said Robert.
"Robert, snap out of it."
"I'm more lucid now than I've ever been."
"No, you are absolutely not."
With Robert spouting nonsense in an oddly serene, enlightened tone—almost as if he'd gained new wisdom about the universe—the other cadets grew increasingly uneasy. Fortunately, by Dinner time, everyone seemed back to normal.
"She really was beautiful, wasn't she?"
"Robert, I honestly don't want to believe you're in your right mind right now."
"No, but she really was beautiful."
"..."
Even after all that, Robert Jimman still couldn't let go of his unwavering preference for pretty blond women.
He truly is a consistent guy.