Chapter 7
As Oskar approached the age of ten, his military education became much more serious.
Before, he’d learned posture and etiquette, along with a little military history. Now his lessons included reading maps, measuring distances, and even basic marksmanship.
Naturally, I wanted to join in.
I was especially eager to attend the tactical lessons. Watching the instructor explain troop movements by placing colorful wooden blocks on a huge paper map reminded me of the war games I’d played in my previous life. The only difference was that here, I couldn’t move the troops with a single click.
The tutor refused, of course.
Rather than give up, I waited until Oskar finished his lessons and secretly moved the wooden blocks around on the map. I’d once heard that blue represented our forces and red the enemy’s.
I herded the enemy across the river and removed the bridge, completing a perfect encirclement.
“Hehe, fire the cannons!”
The next day, the tutor saw the map in disarray and scolded Oskar.
“I didn’t do it!”
Oskar looked at me indignantly. I whistled and gazed out the window.
That evening, I gave him half my dessert as an apology.
“Your Highness has a separate curriculum.”
“Why? I can do it too!”
“That isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
The tutor couldn’t answer.
Strictly speaking, the tutor knew the answer. It just seemed impossible to tell a princess to her face, “You can’t because you’re a girl.”
In the end, instead of officially joining the lessons, I watched from outside the window or through a crack in the door.
At first, Oskar found it annoying that I followed him around.
But his attitude changed when they started shooting practice.
At the little shooting range near the palace, they had practice rifles and air guns scaled down for boys. They used small pellets instead of live ammunition, but they were enough to teach proper stance and aim.
Oskar wanted to show off in front of me.
“Watch. I’ll hit the bull’s-eye.”
“Heh... Last time, you hit the paper next to the target.”
“That was because of the wind.”
“What are you talking about? We were indoors.”
He didn’t answer. He just picked up the rifle, and I giggled at him.
“Press the buttstock firmly against your shoulder. Pull the trigger slowly.”
Following the instructor’s advice, Oskar held his breath and squeezed the trigger.
There was a small pop.
The pellet hit the edge of the target’s black circle.
“I hit it!”
“It’s not the center, but... congratulations.”
“I hit the target, and that’s what matters!”
Oskar looked at me triumphantly.
I crossed my arms.
“I want to try.”
The shooting instructor looked flustered.
“Your Highness...”
“Do you think I can’t do better than him?”
“That’s not what I mean, but...”
“Then let me try.”
The instructor looked as if they were calculating what would happen if the princess got hurt.
“I’ll be careful not to get hurt! I just have to keep the muzzle pointed away from people—forward or up, right?”
The instructor’s eyes widened a little.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Papa told me when I got my revolver.”
That was only partly true, but the instructor had no way of knowing which parts were true.
Being a princess came in handy at times like this.
The instructor hesitated for a moment, then handed me an air rifle with low-powered pellets.
“You must do exactly as I say. You hear me?!”
I went, “Yes, yes,” and picked up the rifle as if I knew what I was doing.
I’d handled real guns in my previous life. I knew the safety rules, the proper stance, and more or less how to pull the trigger.
The problem was my body.
The rifle was heavier than I’d expected.
Even though it was made for children, my arms started shaking almost at once. I did bodyweight exercises in my room, but apparently that was no match for Oskar, who trained seriously.
‘I haven’t even hit puberty yet, and it’s already this bad?’
Even so, I couldn’t back down in front of Oskar.
I got into position as best I could and aimed at the target. Then I held my breath and slowly squeezed the trigger.
Bang.
The pellet hit the white area outside the target.
Oskar saw it and burst out laughing, making fun of me.
“Look! I won!”
“How can it be over after one shot?”
“You made fun of me after one shot just now.”
“That’s because you said you’d hit the center.”
We bickered for a while, then decided to shoot five rounds each.
Oskar shot much better than I did for the first and second shots.
But from the third shot onward, my aim gradually improved. By the fourth and fifth, it was obvious I was much better.
‘Now that’s a Republic of Korea reservist.’
All told, I won by a narrow margin.
“That doesn’t count.”
“?”
“I was just about to cough, so I couldn’t shoot properly.”
“??? What are you talking about? You didn’t cough.”
“I did it in my head.”
He was so indignant that he even came up with a ridiculous excuse.
I nodded with the magnanimity of a victor.
“A little brother can never beat his big sister.”
At that, the shooting instructor whipped around. They were clearly trying to hold back a laugh.
After that, I formally asked Wilhelm to let me receive proper shooting lessons.
Wilhelm was reluctant at first, but when he learned I’d already been sneaking into the lessons and shooting, he decided it would be safer to teach me properly.
“However, you can’t take the entire military curriculum Oskar does.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re a princess.”
“Do bullets avoid princesses?”
Wilhelm’s mouth tightened. Not because he had no answer, but because he was dumbfounded.
He probably had plenty he could say: that a princess had no reason to go where bullets might fly, that her guards would shield her from them, and so on. But maybe he thought that if he said any more, he’d have to put up with another one of my tantrums.
And while I had the chance, I added a few conditions of my own.
“Please let me join the tactical lessons, horseback riding, and shooting.”
“On the condition that you don’t skip your etiquette lessons.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll follow the instructor’s orders.”
“I understand.”
“You won’t push yourself too hard competing with Oskar.”
I hesitated for a moment.
“...Yes.”
Wilhelm narrowed his eyes at my belated answer.
“That last answer worries me.”
“It’s just your imagination. Just your imagination.”
I could always think about firearm mechanisms in my head during etiquette lessons anyway.
And so, I officially began attending some of Oskar’s classes.
In our first tactical lesson, the instructor asked where we should position the troops crossing a river. Oskar advanced them along the road, as the manual instructed, while I said we should first secure the high ground around the crossing.
The instructor didn’t say my answer was entirely correct. Without knowing the actual number of troops, how much time we had, or where the enemy was, the instructor said, we couldn’t make a decision.
I liked that answer.
‘So reality isn’t a game where you move one square at a time.’
We’d started out as rivals, but as we attended lessons together, we gradually grew closer.
Oskar was good at memorizing things and diligently carried out whatever he was told. I, on the other hand, questioned the reasoning and kept doubting the established methods.
“Why do the infantry have to stand so close together?”
“It makes them easier to command and control.”
“If a shell lands, a lot of people will die all at once.”
The instructor looked troubled. They seemed to be wondering how to explain it to a kid who wasn’t even ten yet.
Seeing the instructor’s expression, Oskar whispered beside me,
“Bessie, don’t give the instructor a hard time.”
“I’m just asking because I’m curious.”
“Aren’t you curious about too many things?”
“But how will I know if I don’t ask?”
“You can just wait until the instructor explains it.”
“What if a shell hits before then?”
Oskar shut his mouth, looking at me as if to say, What the hell is she on about now?
One day, after class, Oskar held out his textbook.
“You can borrow this.”
“Why?”
“You take it all the time without asking.”
“I’ve never taken it without asking.”
“Then did the book grow legs and walk from my desk to your room?”
I took the book without a word.
“Well, thanks.”
Oskar shrugged.
“An older brother is supposed to give way.”
After hanging around with me, it seemed he’d even picked up my way of talking.
‘I don’t think I was quite that obnoxious.’
Anyway, we thought of each other as rivals, but we were also the people we felt most comfortable talking to.
That summer, Wilhelm took us to a military shooting range.
He wanted to show us the soldiers firing the newly adopted rifle.
Long, heavy rifles roared in unison.
“That is the Gewehr 98.”
Wilhelm said proudly.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the rifle.
The Mauser rifle I’d seen countless times in drawings and videos in my previous life.
It was a legendary weapon that would be produced by the tens of millions, if you counted all its variants.
“Papa.”
“What is it?”
“Give me one of those for my birthday.”
Wilhelm looked at me for a moment.
“It’s much bigger and heavier than a revolver. Are you sure you can handle it?”
“I’m sure.”
Oskar immediately joined in.
“I want one too.”
Wilhelm looked from one of us to the other, then smiled.
“All right. But you both have to keep up with your shooting practice until you turn ten.”
“And make mine prettier than Oskar’s.”
I wanted to keep it as a display piece if possible. It turns out that decorating things makes them even prettier...
Anyway, Wilhelm burst out laughing at that and said,
“I’ll make each of yours to suit you.”
I nodded enthusiastically.
And on my birthday, the thing I’d been waiting for finally appeared before my eyes.