A voice laced with something beyond urgency—pure terror.
It was bizarre. Too bizarre.
"Why's he like that?"
"No idea. Did enemies infiltrate or something?"
"If the enemy pushed this far, the Empire's done for."
Whatever the case, the instructor had called, so everyone rose from their seats and headed to the small parade ground.
"Isn't the graduation still a ways off?"
"Yeah, what the hell's going on?"
With results already out, the cadets gathered on the small parade ground showed little discipline.
The instructors look freaked too. They have no clue what's happening either?
Just as everyone exchanged puzzled glances,
the instructor climbed onto the platform.
"At... attention."
His face was blank, soul drained. A closer look revealed a hint of panic.
Did the enemy really invade or something?
Nothing else could explain the instructor's grim expression right before graduation.
"The reason your instructor urgently summoned you cadets is this: His Imperial Majesty the Emperor will attend the upcoming graduation ceremony."
"?!"
What had I just heard?
The news was so unbelievable I doubted my own ears. And I wasn't alone—everyone reacted the same.
"The Emperor's coming to graduation?"
"No way."
"We haven't prepared at all."
Even for nobles, seeing the Emperor was a once-in-a-lifetime event unless you were high-ranking. It was only natural the cadets were reeling.
"We practiced plenty yesterday, but with His Majesty attending, not a single mistake can be tolerated."
Everyone nodded without exception at the instructor's words.
Has there ever been a moment when cadets and instructors were this in sync?
Not in my memory, at least.
"We'll need time for grooming too, so just one more hour of practice. Short time means stay sharp and focused."
"Understood!!"
Discipline returned in a flash, and rehearsal began with unprecedented focus.
"Salute the flag!"
"Loyal—"
"Ah, shit!"
"Who was that?!"
During the flag salute, mouths stay shut—only hands move. But someone yelled.
"Focus, damn it! You gonna show that in front of His Majesty?!"
The instructor's face flushed red as he bellowed. He was genuinely furious.
His hands must be shaking. If we screw up, it falls on him.
I could understand the outburst.
"S-sorry!"
"Can't keep quiet? Lip-sync every salute then. Don't improvise."
From salutes to regimental songs, they ran through each step in order.
"Oath!"
"Oath!!"
"I solemnly swear to dedicate body and soul to His Imperial Majesty the Emperor and the citizens of the Lycan Empire. Cadet Ion Belburn."
"Palan Oclo."
"Crush El Castle."
"Derek Rahila."
.
.
Ion read the oath, but timing the name was key.
Even a split-second late, and you stick out like a sore thumb.
You'd draw glares from all the bigwigs.
Chills just thinking about it.
Whether sharing my fear or not, they made massive progress in that hour. Practice ended, and everyone returned to the barracks to change into the uniforms issued yesterday.
"Hm."
Standing before the mirror, checking the fit—honestly, not bad.
This guy's proportions are killer.
I wasn't short in my past life, but Palan's body? Superior. An 8.5-head figure that could pass for a model, objectively handsome face. In Korea, he'd pull numbers even if not a celeb.
What's the point? Stuck suffering in this sausage-fest army.
A sword's only worth what it can cut.
"No weird spots on me?"
Ion spun in front of me.
"Looks fine."
"Ugh, so tense. Been ages since I stood before His Majesty."
"If you're tense, I'm dead. Nail it up front."
Top three got diplomas straight from the Emperor.
Salute, receive, kneel on one knee: 'Your grace humbles me.'
Not that hard, difficulty-wise.
"I'll do my best."
Ion's face was uncharacteristically taut with nerves. Even a duke's son saw the Emperor as heaven.
"Whew."
I'd thought today would be chill, but an unexpected twist flew by in a blink.
*Bampapam, param-bambam! Bampam!*
The military band's tune echoed from the grand parade ground. Graduation was imminent.
"With His Majesty present, maintain precise marching. Understood?!"
"Understood!!!!"
Somehow, the final day had the tightest discipline.
"Your instructor... believes in you cadets."
His face screamed doubt. But what choice did he have? Faith was all that remained.
Bro, I'll make it shine.
Me acing it alone wouldn't save the day, but better than flopping.
"The officer cadets' graduation ceremony will now commence. Honored guests and families, please take your seats. Thank you."
The announcer's opening signaled the real start.
"After two grueling weeks of training, 1,307 cadets reborn as Imperial officers will now enter the grand parade ground. Give them a big round of applause!"
*Thud! Thud! Thud!*
The lead cadet from marching—who'd repped us—took point, 1st Battalion marching out.
Wait, that guy's steps are off.
The instructor spotted it, dashed over, and corrected him.
Poor bastard.
Face etched with anxiety. Scary as hell with us, but he was just a fresh lieutenant.
"2nd Battalion, forward march!"
1st cleared out, then 2nd. A bit longer, and it was our turn—last.
"Whew, let's go."
Deep breath to steady, then step.
*Thud! Thud! Thud!*
Cresting the uphill peak, the grand parade ground crowd came into view. Front row on the platform, one man exuded overwhelming presence. Face indistinct at distance, but everyone knew: the Emperor.
Focus. No mistakes.
Lead screw-up tanks the whole unit—I poured everything into my stride.
"Entering now is 3rd Battalion, who aced marching with unmatched perseverance..."
Announcer's intro fell on deaf ears.
One-two, one-two.
Thanks to my all-in effort, we hit the battalion checkpoint flawless.
"With all protagonists assembled, let the ceremony begin. First, the national anthem."
Oh God, Buddha, Jesus—please, no screw-ups.
One loyalty-shouter, and the instructor might foam at the mouth.
"Salute the flag."
Announcer's cue. Soldiers saluted; civilians clenched fists over hearts.
Oh?
Heaven's grace? Miraculously, no loyalty-yellers.
"Time constraints: anthem first verse only."
With the Emperor, they belted it throat-shreddingly. Then silence for fallen heroes, His Majesty's address—dull proceedings. Thirty minutes in,
our moment arrived.
"I solemnly swear to dedicate body and soul to the citizens of the Empire. Cadet Ion Belburn."
"Palan Oclo!"
"Derek Rahila!"
.
Perfect rhythm, unbelievably so.
These guys could do it—they just wouldn't.
Absurd.
"We've heard the cadets' fervent oaths. Next: diploma presentation. Top three cadets, to the platform."
The dreaded time. Praying inwardly for no issues, I marched ramrod-straight to the stage.
"Full-force salute when His Majesty approaches. Got it?"
The waiting instructor reminded us pre-climb.
"Yes."
"Good. I trust you. Go."
Permission granted. Rank order, we lined up the stairs.
Is this heaven?
Halfway up, faces emerged. Most striking: the Empire's sun, the Emperor.
Younger than expected.
Not the white-haired elder I'd pictured—a sturdy middle-aged man, fatherly.
Beside him: three-star general. Per intro, Training Command head—overseeing this unit.
Behind: two-stars, one-stars in rows. Cels the brigadier looked tiny now.
"This diploma presentation will be conducted specially by His Imperial Majesty, the Sun of the Empire."
Words barely out, the Emperor rose—first time since start.
Why so intimidating?
Not just aura. Pure charisma. Fierce eyes like he'd devour souls; mid-length hair evoked a Viking warrior, not emperor.
"Loyalty!!! Ion Belburn, greets His Imperial Majesty!"
Emperor approached; Ion saluted, named himself.
"Hm, you've grown. Last saw you... last year?"
"Yes!"
"Top rank too. Belburn excellence endures. Splendid."
"Thank you!!!!"
His shaking hand betrayed the tension.
"Unit assignment?"
"Western Border Defense Command!"
"Perfect fit. Contribute that sharp mind to victory."
"I'll give my all!"
"I expect it."
Emperor patted Ion's shoulder, handed the diploma from the commander.
"Your grace humbles me!"
Ion's turn done. Emperor stepped before me.
"Loyalty!!! Palan Oclo. Greets His Imperial Majesty!"
Salute to start, same as Ion. But the Emperor's expression was odd.
"Palan? New name. Which son of the family?"
"Third!"
His face crumpled—subtly, but there. Minor to most, but he was the Empire's sky and sun.
We're screwed.
He'd conscripted personally, yet they sent the youngest. Clear fury.
"Well, second place means your finest heir. Right?"
"Y-yes!!!"
Seemed to slide by. No—better for me.
He just called me heir? Locked in now.
No matter Big Bro's schemes, the Emperor had me pegged as successor. Game over unless I died.
"Oclo family's role crucial in this war. Fine officer from the heir—reassuring."
"Your... grace humbles me!"
Emperor's face softened, patted my shoulder. Then the killer question.
"So, where are you headed?"
Ah.
I'd dreaded this since his question to Ion.
What do I say?
Lie? Tempting, but impossible. Opponent: the Emperor.
Fu... ck... shit.
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