“Nix, you rascal. What about your master? Did you just come in alone?”
Lakan smiled as he saw the black dog panting and entering the tent.
It was late at night, but Lakan had been waiting with the gathered officers and staff for the Admiral’s arrival when he saw the Admiral himself part the tent flap and step inside, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Your Excellency.”
“Be seated.”
As the division commander and his subordinates rose at the Admiral’s entrance and then sat back down, the operational briefing began immediately.
Casar could not focus on the meeting at all, lost in thought as he watched the large black dog, Nix, curled up at his feet, rubbing its face against his boot.
The woman’s face, seen again after several years, her wide, startled jewel-like eyes, still captivating him so thoroughly that his mind felt utterly scrambled.
Back then, when he had mistaken her for a prostitute, he had genuinely resolved to kill the husband who had allowed her to fall into such a state, as well as every man who had ever held her.
“So then, where exactly is the Bat?”
When Fedlimid’s division commander asked, swallowing hard, someone else cut in before the Admiral could answer.
“Well, only the squad carrying out the operation needs to know that, right?”
“But if we do not share the details of the operation, how can we properly coordinate should anything go wrong?”
Hearing the commanders’ debate gradually grow more heated, Casar dragged his thin hand down his face.
The official justification for this war was that Attila, formerly the Second Imperial Prince, had ascended the throne after being named Crown Prince, causing the First Prince Ezra to defect to the Teshia Empire.
Even without Attila demanding Blachnatt’s participation, Casar had his own reason to capture Prince Ezra.
Three years ago.
“The late Duke’s firearm was discovered along the Lineva Riverbank. Since it was not hunting season, yet traces of a fired bullet remained…”
“Enough.”
Casar cut off Lakan, who was rambling, and tossed the report he had submitted onto the desk. The motion caused a small, palm-sized gray rabbit doll sitting nearby to topple over. That was the extent of his lingering sentiment.
She had left with the man she had promised to wed, so any lingering attachment he had toward her, no larger than the size of his palm, was pointless now, especially since she had surely married him long ago.
“Just confirm it, was it Ezra’s doing?”
Lakan rarely expressed certainty, but this time was different.
The Blachnatt family, who had refused to join Teshia’s invasion of Ebern and instead backed Attila, the Second Prince, as Crown Prince, had clearly incited the bitter resentment of the First Prince Ezra. There was no doubt it was his handiwork.
“Yes.”
Thus, she had been nothing but a scapegoat, a whistleblower who had bought the real culprit enough time to vanish.
He wanted to capture Ezra to ease his guilt toward her. After that, he planned to find her and offer recompense for his blunder three years prior.
So while he would not quite say he had entered this war specifically for her sake, that desire was indeed the driving force behind his relentless devastation of western Teshia.
Yet despite repeated victories, the war dragged on indecisively, not only because of Teshia’s duplicitous stance but also because Ezra still remained unfound.
Now that they had secured intelligence on the Bat’s whereabouts, they needed to execute an operation so critical it could be considered the war’s primary objective, but ever since seeing her again, Casar simply could not concentrate.
Ultimately, after exhausting rounds of fruitless discussion without any clear resolution, Casar summoned one of Blachnatt’s squad leaders and dismissed everyone. Unusually for him, he issued a remarkably simple order.
“Your squad will infiltrate Chrom Hald immediately and locate the target within twenty-four hours. The operational area is classified. Capture alive, but lethal force is authorized if resisted.”
The next morning.
Cathleen folded her arms, frowning slightly as she surveyed the neatly organized medicine warehouse.
She never expected they would accomplish it so brazenly. The warehouse had become quite tidy overnight, leaving her too flustered even to scold them properly.
“Did those kind soldiers help you again?”
“Yes.”
Cathleen, who had anticipated some defiant or evasive reply, could not hide her surprise and snapped her head toward Scáthach, her expression dazed.
“Miss Scáthach?”
“Yes?”
“I mean, who helped you?”
Cathleen’s sharp follow-up trailed off abruptly. A group of soldiers had just come to a stop right outside the warehouse, led by none other than Admiral Blachnatt himself.
“Good morning.”
The soldiers lined up behind the Admiral offered polite greetings to Cathleen and Scáthach.
Ah.
Scáthach turned her head away, unable to meet those piercing red eyes fixed intently on her.
The cut on his lip seemed to broadcast to everyone exactly what they had done together the previous night. And she no longer wanted to be swayed by him.
She had hoped he would simply pass by, but instead, he sent the soldiers ahead and stepped into the warehouse himself.
“I greet Your Excellency the Admiral. Goodness, you have injured your lip!”
Cathleen’s normally brisk tone softened into something exceedingly gentle and polite.
A minor lip wound hardly mattered on a battlefield, but for a duke who maintained perfect composure even here, such a small blemish stood out. Especially on that handsome face, it was simply unacceptable.
“Yes. I was on my way to get ointment. It hurts more than I expected.”
Clearly, that was meant for her ears, and only hers.
“Oh my, then right away!”
“Before that.”
As the head nurse turned to fetch medicine, he cut her off.
“I have moved a soldier injured during a covert operation to a private room. Miss Cathleen, I would appreciate it if you would assess his condition immediately.”
Head Nurse Cathleen welcomed such direct assignments.
Especially when the Admiral personally requested her by name, it reinforced precisely why she had chosen to stay here.
Her mood visibly lifted, yet Cathleen remained professional enough not to neglect the Admiral’s own wound.
“Miss Scáthach! Please attend to His Excellency’s injury at once.”
Leaving that brief instruction, Cathleen hurried off toward the hospital. Scáthach, watching her retreating figure blankly, slowly gathered the necessary medical supplies.
She must not waver.
It was not because he was Blachnatt. Ever since she had decided to accept him back in Lindkoem, that could no longer serve as a reason.
Simply put, this man would abandon her without hesitation if it served his honor. She had not known it then, but now she did.
There was no need to wonder why he had sent Cathleen away and left her alone. Approaching him with a stiff, unreadable expression, Scáthach silently repeated a mantra in her heart.
He is not a person, he is a rock. A slightly wounded rock. I have completely erased that man from my mind. If I cannot manage that, I will just pretend he is a stranger.
Leading the Duke to a treatment cot in one corner of the warehouse, Scáthach set down warm water, a cloth, and ointment.
“Sit down.”
The Duke obediently followed her and sat quietly on the cot, softly murmuring her name.
“Scáthach.”
It sounded like a whisper to himself, so Scáthach deliberately chose not to respond. Even if he had called her clearly and directly, it likely would not have made much difference.
Then the Duke caught Scáthach’s wrist as she soaked cotton in antiseptic and pulled her toward him.
Startled, Scáthach fumbled and dropped her tweezers, landing squarely on the Duke’s lap. She barely suppressed a scream and instinctively jumped up.
But he immediately wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead somewhere between her solar plexus and abdomen, and murmured as if confessing a sin.
“You should not have caught my eye.”
After remaining frozen like a statue for a long moment, Scáthach clenched her trembling fingertips into fists, hiding her agitation, then gently but firmly pushed his arms away.
He released her without resistance and stared at her blankly.
“It is simple, Your Grace. You just need to pretend you never saw me.”
“…”
“Open your mouth, please.”
Like a docile lamb, he obeyed, his expression now utterly unreadable. Catching a glimpse of the crimson tongue between his parted lips, Scáthach instantly recalled their kiss from the night before, and her face flushed hot.
This was clearly beyond conscious control. Blushing was not something she could command with her mind.
Watching her reaction, the Duke slowly enunciated:
“I want to kiss you.”
He spoke as if expecting her not to understand, articulating each word with the careful clarity of someone teaching a child to speak.
“No. You know we cannot.”
“What do I know?”
“That it is impossible.”
The Duke’s eyes slowly closed and reopened as he fixed his gaze intently on her. Whenever their eyes met, he always acted as though utterly smitten.
Even though, in the end, he would casually discard her when faced with what truly mattered to him.
“I have a husband.”
Surely even God would forgive her for exploiting his misunderstanding. Scáthach, who had never sworn a betrothal vow before a church nor ever intended to, smiled brightly like sunshine.
“I love him.”
Crash!
“Damn Teshian dogs!”
Ezra Ru La Farsade, formerly the First Imperial Prince of the Farsade Empire, finally hurled his whiskey bottle and roared in fury before the bullet fragments embedded in his shoulder could even be removed.
Had he not sworn an oath after usurping the throne to surrender all northern mines? Yet the Farsade Imperial Army had stripped him bare, then treated that contract as worth less than scrap paper.
And to top it off, were they not now hunting him even more zealously than the Farsade troops themselves, all to deliver him straight to that bastard Casar de Blachnatt?
“Damn it! I never trusted those bastards in the first place!”
Ezra had succeeded in escaping by sacrificing one of his men as bait, but not before taking bullet wounds to his shoulder and thigh.
“Damn, damn, damn! How the hell do I crush those bastards?”
“Hold still, Your Highness. It will fester.”
Seeing the elderly doctor they had abducted from a nearby village trembling uncontrollably while treating his wounds, Paedan tried to calm Ezra down.
“Hah… Right… Right…”
At Paedan’s urging, Ezra exhaled roughly. Had anyone else spoken, their head would have already rolled. After staring blankly at the floor for a long while, Ezra suddenly spoke.
“Hey, Paedan.”
“Yes?”
Was it the whiskey? His usually sluggish mind spun dizzyingly.
“Do you think we can survive against the Imperial Family?”
“I do not know.”
He meant it sincerely.
He had somehow survived Ezra’s mercurial temper, but if Paedan were truly Ezra’s loyal subordinate, surviving the relentless pursuit of Admiral Blachnatt, who had severed even his alliance with Teshia in his obsessive hunt for them, seemed nearly impossible.
“Think about it. Only the Ten Great Houses can challenge the Imperial Family… and their leader, Casar, that bastard, would never side with me, would he?”
“No, he would not.”
Paedan replied evenly, carefully hiding the thought simmering inside: You killed his father. Why on earth would the Admiral ever take your side?
“Then who could possibly ally with me against the throne?”
“Hmm… Perhaps we could persuade another house besides Blachnatt… say, House Fedlimid…”
But even half-drunk on strong liquor, Ezra was careful not to openly reveal his connection with Fedlimid. That caution was precisely why Paedan still remained at his side.
“Those fools? Do not be an idiot. Think bigger than mere pawns on a chessboard.”
“Hmm…”
As Paedan stroked his chin, feigning deep thought, Ezra twisted his lips into a mocking sneer.
“I hear the Vakra class is really grinding Attila’s nerves lately. What is that group called again? ‘Le Demang’? Since most of the Imperial treasury now flows from their pockets, the throne cannot afford to ignore them.”
“Indeed, Your Highness.”
“And half of the Vakra class, where are they from originally?”
“Ebern, Your Highness.”
Hearing Paedan’s answer, Ezra’s pupils dilated as he grinned savagely.
Right, allying with the Teshia Empire had not been entirely disadvantageous. For instance, it had unearthed forgotten rumors long buried from public knowledge.
Like the tale of how, during the execution of Ebern’s royal family, one young princess mysteriously vanished, and how they had hastily substituted a lookalike for her execution.
After years of combing the land like hunters for vermin, they had finally given up, assuming she had died somewhere in obscurity.
The Teshian royal who had mentioned this story probably dismissed it as a drunken anecdote. After all, it had happened over a decade ago, but to Ezra, who had heard it from an ally, it was perfect fuel to reignite old memories.
Princess Erwin del Adne, the very girl who had nearly become his imperial consort!
“To sway public opinion, we will need some dramatic flair. Find Princess Erwin. If she is dead, find someone who resembles her.”
“What will you do once you find her?”
“By whatever means necessary, seduction or otherwise, I will make her my First Imperial Consort.”
“My consort?”
Well, his previous consort had passed away, so that made sense, but after defecting to Teshia and having his imperial rank officially stripped, how could he possibly claim a new consort?
“Listen closely. I will forge an alliance with the Vakra class. It will not be that Teshia abandoned me. I will make it seem as though I abandoned Teshia. The First Prince sacrificed himself to bring down Teshia.”
“Brilliant strategy, Your Highness!”
Paedan exclaimed in feigned awe, bowing his head dramatically.
Among the Vakra class, there were likely many Ebern natives who had drunk Teshia’s water, but none could stir nostalgic yearning among Ebern loyalists more effectively than their lost princess, Erwin.
In truth, this plan was far too clever to have originated in Ezra’s mind. Which was precisely why Paedan hoped it would force Ezra to finally reveal exactly whom he was collaborating with, and what secrets he was still hiding.
“Just wait and see. Using the Vakra class as my stepping stone, I, Ezra Ru La Farsade, shall make a spectacular comeback. I can already picture Attila and Casar, those bastards, with shit-eating grins on their faces. Krahah!”