If Kircheis Had Lived: A Legend of Galactic Heroes What-If
In the far future of the galaxy, where massive space battleships fire arrows of light, Reinhard von Müsel was about to lose his best friend, Kircheis, in a cruel conspiracy. But on that fateful day, Kircheis miraculously survived.
'Thank goodness you're alive...!'
Their tearful reunion is short-lived, however. Strange occurrences begin happening around Reinhard. Sinister rumors swirl among the nobles, a huge war begins to shake the galaxy, and worst of all, his sister Annerose might be the tar
If Kircheis Had Lived: A Legend of Galactic Heroes What-If - The golden-haired reaper stands upon the battlefield.
[[Enemy fleet ahead showing signs of disorder. Encirclement formation, complete]]
Reinhard von Müsel stared at the cold, inorganic text on the monitor with his icy blue eyes.
"Send in the second wave. Don't block their escape route."
The air on the bridge tightened with tension. The operators' fingers danced in unison, and only the quiet electronic beeps of the terminals echoed.
The Leutenberg system. An unremarkable stretch of space on the Empire's frontier. But now, two fleets crowded this region. Twelve thousand ships of the Goldenbaum Empire's regular forces, and nine thousand invading vessels from the Falken Free Star Alliance. In a war that had dragged on for over a century, skirmishes like this were nothing unusual.
But.
This time, something was different.
"...That formation. That's not in the Alliance's standard tactical manual."
In a corner of the bridge, the newly assigned adjutant murmured. A young officer, barely past twenty. Lieutenant Commander Kaltenborn. He had only arrived three days ago and still hadn't acclimated to the atmosphere of this ship.
"Of course it isn't."
Reinhard answered without turning around. His slender shoulders, wrapped in a jet-black military uniform, were edged in silver by the monitor's glow. His blazing golden hair swayed gently in the faint breeze of the climate control.
"I just came up with it."
"...Huh?"
Lieutenant Commander Kaltenborn's eyes went wide. Just came up with it? In the middle of battle?
Reinhard's fingers glided across the console. The points of light representing the allied fleet traced a gentle arc on the monitor, enveloping the enemy. The movement was almost elegant. Natural and without hesitation, like a flower blooming in the void of space.
"A formation that only pinches from left and right lets the enemy escape to the rear. But if you crush them from above and below simultaneously, there's nowhere to run. Simple."
"Simple...? I've never seen anything like this before."
"That's why it works."
Reinhard's lips relaxed, just a fraction. Not quite a smile — more like the corner of his mouth merely lifted. But that expression sent a chill down Kaltenborn's spine.
What is this youth?
Senior Admiral in his early twenties. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and striking beauty. And this overwhelming tactical brilliance. He finally understood why the Imperial military called him the "Blonde Reaper."
On the main monitor, light burst.
Directed energy cannons. The main guns the soldiers called "arrows of light" vaporized the armor of the enemy ships. A torrent of charged particles unleashed at 99.7% the speed of light — a single hit could destroy even a battleship. Deadly straight lines with an effective range of thirty thousand kilometers carved through the dark space in every direction.
"Enemy first wave, annihilated. Second wave, beginning retreat."
The operator's voice calmly read out the situation.
"Don't let them escape. Shift to pursuit."
There was no heat of victory in Reinhard's voice. Only a cold detachment, as if he were carrying out a routine task.
Everyone on the bridge felt awe toward this young admiral. No — perhaps closer to dread than awe. The kind of look reserved for something beyond human.
The battle ended in the blink of an eye.
The surviving Alliance fleet surrendered. Imperial losses were near zero. A complete victory.
"...All hands, well done. Stand down from battle stations."
When Reinhard gave the brief order, a wave of released tension swept across the bridge. A few let out quiet sighs. A few exchanged glances and small smiles.
Kaltenborn, too, secretly exhaled in relief.
Thank goodness. The battle is over. Now all that's left is to compile the victory report and send it to the Imperial capital—
"Adjutant."
"Y-yes, sir!"
Reinhard had turned around. His ice-blue eyes gazed steadily down at Kaltenborn. Height, 178 centimeters. On the left breast of his uniform, a small silver brooch — a gift from his sister — glinted.
"Tea. Assam. Temperature, 85 degrees. Steeping time, exactly three minutes. With milk."
"A-Assam...?"
"You don't know it?"
It wasn't a cold voice. But there was something utterly devoid of warmth in its tone.
Kaltenborn broke into a cold sweat. They didn't teach tea varieties at the officers' academy. At most, how to brew synthetic coffee. What the hell was Assam? Something from India?
"...I'll prepare it right away."
He headed for the galley for now. He stood frozen in front of the water heater, desperately rifling through the stocked tea packages. Darjeeling, Ceylon, Earl Grey... no Assam. No, there it was. Shoved into a corner. The label read "Assam Mangalam." Sounded like a strong name.
Temperature 85 degrees? How was he supposed to measure that? Steep for three minutes? Just watch the clock and wait? With milk, he said — but how much should he—
In the end, he produced a thoroughly mediocre cup of tea.
"...Sorry for the wait."
Reinhard took a sip from the offered cup, his expression blank.
Silence.
"...It's lukewarm."
"I'm sorry..."
"Also, over-steeped. Too much astringency. And far too much milk. This is just brown cow's milk at this point."
Merciless. But he didn't sound angry. Just a tone of stating facts. That made it cut all the deeper.
Reinhard set the cup down and looked out the window. The wreckage of battle still glimmered faintly.
"...Kirchheis wouldn't make a mistake like this."
Kaltenborn knew that name. Siegfried Kirchheis. Reinhard's childhood friend, his most trusted adjutant. A warm-natured young man with red hair, always at Reinhard's side. But right now, he was away on business in the Imperial capital. He wasn't on this ship.
"Kirchheis knows everything about my tea preferences. The temperature, the leaves, the steeping time — he remembers it all perfectly. Even the amount of milk — if I change it depending on my mood that day, he notices and adjusts accordingly."
"Ahh..."
"Well, it can't be helped. You only arrived three days ago, after all."
Reinhard shrugged his shoulders, just slightly. That gesture was somehow strangely human, and Kaltenborn felt a little of the tension leave him.
This man is just a twenty-year-old too.
The moment he thought that—
"Senior Admiral, emergency transmission. From the Imperial capital. Encryption level Gamma."
The communications officer's voice froze the air on the bridge.
Encryption level Gamma. A top-secret classification almost never used in peacetime. Even during battle, encryption this high was rarely employed.
Reinhard's fingers struck the console.
"Route it to my personal monitor. Audio through the headset."
"Understood."
Text appeared on the bridge monitor. Only Reinhard read it.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Expression drained from Reinhard's face.
No — drained wasn't quite right. It fell away. The presence of the twenty-year-old young man that had been there until now vanished somewhere with an almost audible sound.
His blue eyes slowly narrowed. Deep within them, something began to burn. A cold flame. Cold as ice, yet burning everything it touched — killing intent.
"...Admiral?"
Kaltenborn hesitantly called out.
Reinhard didn't answer. He removed the headset and looked across everyone on the bridge. That gaze alone silenced every person present.
"Kirchheis has been shot."
The air on the bridge froze completely.
"In a corridor of the Ministry of Military Affairs. Point-blank range, laser gun. He's been transported to the Imperial Capital Central Hospital just now. Condition unknown. The assailant was shot dead on the scene. The background is still unclear."
A flat voice. A voice stripped clean of emotion. But precisely because of that, what lay beneath it reached everyone on the bridge.
"We're returning to the capital. All ships, prepare for immediate withdrawal. Take the shortest route. Ignore warp cooldown times. Tell the engine room. I don't care if the engines break — just get us speed."
"B-but Admiral, if we ignore the cooldown time, the ship will—"
"I said I don't care what happens to the ship."
Kaltenborn could say nothing more.
Reinhard murmured in a voice no one could hear.
"...Whoever hurt you — I will never forgive them."
That voice reached no one's ears on the bridge. But the cold killing intent contained in those words became the very air of the bridge, piercing everyone's skin.
Reinhard looked out the window.
Countless stars glittered. Among them lay the Imperial capital, Waldheisen. The heart of the Empire, with a population of four and a half billion. And the place where Kirchheis now wandered the border between life and death.
He slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his uniform.
What he took out was an old photograph.
A young woman, smiling quietly. Soft chestnut hair. Gentle eyes. His sister, Annerose. Eleven years ago, when Reinhard was only nine, her beauty had led to her being taken into the Emperor's harem.
"Big sister, don't go."
His sister held the sobbing Reinhard tight.
"It's alright, Reinhard. I'll always be in your heart."
But that wasn't true. His sister was taken away. Reinhard was powerless. A nine-year-old child had no way to defy the Empire's authority.
From that day on, he swore an oath.
To become strong. Stronger than anyone. Strong enough to crush this rotten aristocracy.
He gently put the photograph away.
"...Kirchheis."
The other irreplaceable presence.
They had been together since childhood. On that day his sister was taken, Kirchheis was there too. He silently held the shoulders of the weeping Reinhard.
"Someday, let's get your sister back."
Kirchheis was the only one who said that to him.
Without him, Reinhard would never have come this far. His ambitions, his revenge — all of it was only possible because Kirchheis was there—
Reinhard clenched his fist.
"...How much longer until the capital?"
"If we force the warp, approximately two days. However, the ship will—"
"I don't care. Do it."
"Understood."
The ship trembled faintly. The engines roared, and preparations for warp navigation began. Superluminal travel that "folded" space. Normally, a six-hour cooldown between jumps was required, but Reinhard ignored it.
The ship vanished into the sea of stars.
The victory in the Leutenberg system was already a thing of the past. Now, only a single thought filled Reinhard's heart.
Kirchheis. Please, be alive.
And — I will find whoever shot you. No matter what.
The cold flame dwelling in those blue eyes was a color no one had ever seen before.
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